#uraume

[belimah]

Old sleepy Sukuna and little uraume art by chucklenuts

[yotume]

The Three Musketeers of Gender Debate

[drenched-in-sunlight]

2 people who weren’t even married but are already divorced (found divorce)

[nanamisgirly]

⊹₊。꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ you shy? ˖ 𑣲 feed back and reblogs are always appreciated my girliees <333

art cred @/hunnismokah

shy!sukuna who looks like everything but shy. 

with his inked arms, hands, neck, wrists and his pierced lips and eyebrows…. everyone on the campus could hardly picture him as shy. and it was even more hard when everyone on the campus know his weird relationsip with Gojo Satoru—the loud, cocky frat boy who couldn’t take a single hint if it was carved into his forehead. 

you'd see them around campus constantly. Gojo running his mouth, throwing his arm over sukuna's shoulder like they were the bestest friend ever. all while sukuna was beside him, looking two seconds away from homicide. and if Gojo pushed it too far, just a little too far, people would see sukuna's hand grab him by the collar, slam him back against a wall, tattooed fingers fisted tight while he hissed something sharp and so low only Gojo could hear his threat. 

shy!sukuna didn't do talking to fill the blank space. he could give a fuck less to what people thought about him. being shy didn’t mean insecure. he had no need to parade confidence to prove anything nor was he searching for any social approval. no wait, let me correct that, he wasn't seeking the approval of people who had no bearing on his life, not even remotely. only one opinion mattered to him... Uraume's opinion.

Uraume was the only person who somehow got past the scowls and silence. Uraume who he actually spoke to in full sentences. And, also Uraume was the only person on this earth to pull a subtle smile from his mouth. 

so what was your surprise when you're in front of a 6 feet something, tattooed to hell shy sukuna. he's very red in the face and fidgeting with his own fingers. your brain stalls for a second. because this is the same guy who you saw once strangling Gojo behind the library.. and all you did was ask for his coffee order. your fingers hover over the touchscreen register, waiting. he shifts his weight from one feet to the other, extremely aware of the full college cafeteria looking at him right now. 

shy!sukuna truly truly can't bring his crimson eyes to meet yours. he's trying, painfully trying, to remember what Uraume told him to get—but the harder he tries, the more his brain is reduced to mush. 

shy!sukuna's getting more and more nervous as he feels all those fuckass pair of eyes riving on him. including yours. and you're sooo incredible pretty he's about to combust right in front of you. he groans under his breath, dragging a big, veined hand through his unusual pastel-pink hair.. “h-huh. just… wait,” he mumbles in a hoarse slow voice. “callin' that dumbie.” he yanks his phone out, thumbs moving fast, calling Uraume like his life depends on it. and it does

shy!sukuna is sure he's about to kill them. three rings and still no answer, he dares looks down at your eyes who's scrutinizing him like he's the biggest mystery you've ever encountered. you look like you're trying to solve him right there and here. but god, you didn’t even mean to stare that much, it’s just… confusing. seeing him like this.

he curses, jaw ticking, when the call drops to voicemail. 

“gonna kill 'em,” he mumbles—meant for no one’s ears. but of course—

“excuse me?” you blink, leaning a little closer. 

“n-no! not you—huh, i meant—fuck,” shy!sukuna's face burns. 

ꉂ (≧ヮ≦) permanent taglist? click here <3

[xuviec]

uncle sukuna and his nephew !!

[planetsandmagic]

more sillies

[bunnieeteeth]

₊⟡ quiet ripples

heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; husband!sukuna | fluff | oneshot | "a king of curses feared by the world and yet, a husband and father in the quiet sanctuary of the garden" | 2.2k words

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Spring has only just begun yet the heat of the sun today feels more like summer has approached much too early — unwanted.

In your garden filled to the brim with flowers (or weeds, as Sukuna always says distastefully), the spring breeze blows ever so lightly.

Up ahead, with its long, cascading branches, the willow tree sways gently in the wind. Birdsong is scarce today, as if the turn of winter into spring has not reached the small creatures yet; they have yet to migrate back north after fleeing the harsh snow of winter just gone.

Instead, the garden is lively with the gentle tinkling of the river's crystal water flowing through the pond and further downstream to the villages below Ryomen Sukuna's feared temple. Today, it is rather peaceful and all of the servants have been kept busy with cleaning the bloodbath of the throne room from the night before.

Your dear lord husband had lost his temper again. Something about the sorcerers from the west infiltrating. Something about the curses he had assigned to keep them out not performing their duties well enough. Nothing you need to concern yourself with at this time. Even as cursed energy fills the air all around you like an ever-growing bubble, you remind yourself that he does not want you dirtying your hands or tainting your silk kimonos.

The orange koi in the pond swim in circles. Even they know not of the violence that ensues in the throne room – what a peaceful life they live. Still, you remind yourself that their peace is at the mercy of your dear husband. For without you having begged to have some wildlife here, he would have had Uraume discard of them all at first glance.

Kneeling by the pond's edge, you tug up the sleeve of your light blue kimono, a pale hand reaching in to break the still surface of the cool water. Your fingers draw large circles over the koi; they swim around the ripples. Overhead, a wind chime hung over the branches of the reddening maple tree jingles and turns in the quiet wind. A gift from Sukuna last spring; you had mentioned in a fleeting moment while strolling the temple grounds that the garden was often too quiet. The wind chime appeared the next morning.

Today, he told you that he has matters to attend to; of what exactly, you are not entirely sure. Uninterested, more like. All of this politicking bores you. When the sun had barely peaked over the mountain, and the golden light had not yet spilled into warm, orange spray over your face in bed, Sukuna laid a lingering kiss onto the palm of your hand before you heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway.

But as the early morning sun brightens over the afternoon, and he still doesn't appear, you expect that you may not see him until supper.

Behind you suddenly, footsteps patter down the tatami. Then, shrill laughter that cuts through the tranquillity of the garden, and the shushing and apologetic fretting of a panicked servant girl.

A light smile lifts the corners of your lips.

"That's alright, Junko." You say as you turn to her, hand still swirling the cold water. "You can go."

Your daughter, just shy of two and barely able to string together a full sentence, runs at you over the dewy grass and moss-covered stone, chubby arms outstretched. She has been dressed in a dark navy kimono, with a hair clip resembling sakura blossoms slotted into her pink hair. It is unruly and soft like her father's.

Junko hovers for a moment but utters an apology for the disturbance and scuttles away like a shy bug. Now, it is just the two of you. Though, you are never truly alone because Uraume is always around somewhere – just in case, Sukuna insists.

"How is my darling girl?" You ask quietly, adjusting the chubby thing on your hip.

She babbles and has a fist enclosed tightly over the collar of your silky kimono.

"Did you behave for Junko?" You ask, and nudge her full cheeks with your nose. She makes a noise that earns a gentle laugh from you, lost amongst the soft chiming and the running water.

Still, the wind carries it so, and your husband finds himself smiling as he leans against the shoji, one set of arms folded across his broad chest and the other resting on his hips. He towers over the doorway, swallowing the space whole.

Sukuna says nothing, just watching as you sway a little with little Kanako sitting on your hip. All four eyes are concentrated on the two of you. There is dried blood beneath his nails and a thin streak of it darkens the edge of his collar where someone had reached for him before dying; the scent of iron still clings faintly to him, though the breeze carries it away before it can sully the garden entirely.

All four eyes soften.

It is a strange thing, love, when it belongs to someone like him. Sukuna has crushed skulls beneath his heel like crunching on autumn leaves; he has pillaged and massacred entire villages for one wrong glance. His name alone curdles courage in the throats of men and the fear is widespread; people do not dare say it for fear it may summon him.

And yet, Sukuna feels something tighten in his chest when you dip your fingers back into the water and brush a droplet of its coldness on Kanako's nose. She giggles at the splash of it, clutching tighter to your collar, her small body warm and trusting. He is still as he watches you press a kiss to the crown of her pink hair.

His gaze drags over you now, taking in the slope of your bare wrist, the way the light glimmers on your pale blue silk. You have seen the throne room after violent nights like yesterday when he loses his temper. You have stepped carefully over bloodstained stone. Over mangled bodies. You have watched servants tremble at the sound of his footsteps.

Kanako suddenly turns her head, sharp little instincts so much like his own, and spots him in the doorway.

Her face lights up.

You follow her gaze and the same smile adorns your face when you see him there, watching, towering. Rising carefully to your feet, Kanako balanced on your hip, you greet him softly.

"My lord," You say. "All finished with the matters of the day?"

Sukuna scoffs, finally moving to you in slow, lazy steps.

"Feeling rather formal today, are we?" He says. "Wife."

"Perhaps." You murmur.

A large hand smooths down Kanako's unruly hair. She giggles and her little hands latch onto Sukuna's massive index and middle fingers.

"Dada– 'Kuna–"

He barks a laugh, the sound reverberating like thunder in your quiet garden. Ever since she first discovered the word 'dada', much to Sukuna's triumph and your chagrin, she has wielded it proudly.

The second, was clearly an accident; you still remember the day you had let Kanako toddle along beside you in the engawa, and you were cooing Sukuna's nickname. The next morning, while your husband sat half-dressed with blood-stained scrolls in hand in the throne room, Kanako waddled up to him with fearless certainty, pointed at his chest, and said “Kuna" in front of Uraume and a few other servants.

You hadn’t even realised she was listening, but then again, children are always listening.

"Hello, little one." He says huffs a laugh. "Been good for your mother?"

"So far, husband," You say. "But the day is still young."

One of his large hands goes to cradle your jaw; the scent of copper suddenly permeates and then he watches as your eyes flicker to the spot of dried blood on his collar. You shift a little. His thumb rubs your smooth cheek tenderly. A silent apology for his state.

"She has no respect for me." Sukuna says with light amusement, dark red eyes twinkling under the sun. "I've been reduced to a nickname."

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you slowly.

You feign innocence. “Children are impressionable, 'Kuna.”

“Mhm.” His tone is dry but there is no bite to it. “And whose fault is that?”

You bite back a smile but he sees it anyway. Feeling his chest warm at the sight of your amusement, he exhales through his nose, the ghost of another smile threatening his mouth.

Between you, Kanako's light brows draw together in concentration, her lower lip jutting forward ever so slightly in a cute pout. She starts squirming now, stubborn and unruly just like her father.

Her little sandals knock gently against your thigh as she twists her whole body towards him, arms outstretched for her father. You sigh quietly, conceding, as she grabs onto his black haori. All of her focus is on the towering figure in dark robes before you now.

“Kunaaa,” Kanako drags, doe eyes looking at her father.

Sukuna arches a brow.

“You are being held.” Sukuna points out in a gruff voice.

She shakes her head, pink strands bouncing wildly.

He scoffs softly, though his gaze never leaves her pouty face, eyes full of adoration. “Demanding creature.”

Kanako's eyes look suspiciously glossy now as she eyes her father. With a huff, one of Sukuna's four arms braces her tiny back while the other slips steady beneath her legs, lifting her from your hip as though she is light as a feather. To him, she probably is.

Kanako squeals with delight. She says his name again, pinching the skin of his jaw between her tiny fingers.

“Brat,” he murmurs under his breath, though his thumb gently strokes over the back of Kanako's hand. “It is Sukuna.”

She palms at Sukuna's marked cheeks, tiny fingers tracing the black lines. The eyes under his main set narrow. With Kanako settled comfortably in one set of arms, another of his hands comes to rest at the curve of your waist; the silk brushes against his rough palms. The touch is firm and grounding. Sukuna draws you closer into his side.

You tilt your face slightly, meeting his gaze. Something swirls behind those sharp red irises, and then he leans down to grace the side of your head with a slow, deliberate kiss. The garden stills, the water continues to trickle.

Word travels fast when Sukuna’s temper flares. Today, the throne room had not survived the afternoon unscathed with raised voices and the crack of bone, the splatter of fresh blood. Another delegation of sorcerers testing boundaries and incompetent curses who can't seem to deter them. You largely avoided all of that by choice; but come tomorrow, you are sure Uraume will not spare you all of the gory details.

You can still smell the faint scent of blood on him. The mark on his collar doesn't fade.

The kiss he lays on your temple feels as though there is apology there, though he will never phrase it that way – only a quiet acknowledgment.

As the afternoon light floods through the willow’s trailing branches, the surface of the pond glints lazily. Kanako shifts in his strong arms, momentarily distracted by a blue dragonfly skimming across the water.

Sukuna's sharp gaze flicks down to you then to his darling child in his arms. He notices everything from the loose strand of hair falls across your temple, to the gentle sway of your kimono as you reach over and smooth down your child's pink hair; he eyes the curve of your cheek as you smile up at her. Distracted by how excited Kanako seems at the dragonfly, you cannot see that in his eyes there is a mix of awe and quiet adoration. Though you feel the warmth of his other arm wrap a little tighter around your waist, he says nothing for a moment.

“Are my girls hungry?” he asks at last, voice low amongst the breeze.

Your gaze flickers to meet his. "A little."

Sukuna’s sharp mouth curves faintly at the corner. “Then it seems I have neglected my duties.”

You tilt your head at him. “You were quite busy today, husband.”

A quiet scoff leaves him. “And that took me away from my wife and child.”

Still wrapped in one another beneath the golden afternoon sun, you begin walking back toward the temple. You can feel his gaze on you as your feet quietly patter along the tatami; the way he glances down at the two of you with quiet possession and something even greater, almost like peace away from the chaos of the world beyond the temple's walls, makes you feel warm inside.

You realise how differently his subjects see him: A king of curses feared by the world and yet, a husband and father in the quiet sanctuary of the garden.

But for all his grumbling, Sukuna never loosens his grip once.

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♡ looking for more sukuna? here you go!

i just needed something soft and also dad!kuna RARARARARAR

[rambld]

trueform sukuna decides to torture uraume using you | 18+

The moon hangs heavy over the palace, a silver blade slicing through the humid night. Emperor Sukuna wanders like a ghost through the vermillion corridors, his silk robes whispering against the polished floorboards. 

For a man of his hulking stature with four bulky arms, corded muscle packed into his body as if a strategist sculpted him for war, eyes like rubies, a gnarled mask upon one side of his face and more mouths than necessary, he moves with the delicate, soundless footfalls of the tiniest mouse.

Though his cunning, calculating nature is more akin to that of a sly cat slinking through these grounds undetected and hunting down said mouses to devour whole.

He had built this sanctuary—a gilded cage for the broken, a haven for the daughters of scorched earth and the wives of dead rivals. He asked only for their loyalty, a debt paid in silence and presence.

Murmurs that do not belong to the wind bring him to a halt near the Wisteria Pavilion. 

Shadows dance against a heavy cedar pillar. There, his most trusted advisor, the stoic and glacial Lord Uraume, is pinned by a woman.

The rosy-haired man's muscles bunch, energy thrumming quietly inside him as he readies himself to conjure it and slice down the attacker. A woman being an assassin is no surprise to him as they are far more intelligent and know how to bide their time unlike impulsive males. 

Has this one nullified Uraume's cursed technique? Did she render them powerless? That must be the reason as Uraume would waste no time taunting their foe like Sukuna does. They prefer a quick and clean finish. 

Squinting, the emperor vaguely recognises the woman. He must have seen her in passing. One he had rescued from a northern massacre. Her fingers are frantic and pawing, shedding Uraume's stiff brocade layers as if peeling fruit.

“You are asking for a beheading,” the ivory-haired advisor hisses, their voice a jagged edge of restraint. “If His Majesty finds out about your treachery, there is no mercy. I will not choose you, woman. I will stand at his right hand while you are cast to the wolves.”

The woman giggles as if in the presence of a jester—you, as Uraume whispers in warning—an unfazed, chiming sound of pure ignorance. Perhaps defiance. Something about it is intoxicating like warm, fruity wine sliding down one's throat but the melody leaves one parched and thirsty for more rather than satiated. 

A temptress then, Sukuna muses in his thoughts. 

“If the wolves are meant to feast on me, they will,” you purr, your glossy mouth crashing against theirs in a desperate, bruising kiss as you guide their hand beneath your paper thin robes that reveal your tantalizing silhouette in all its feminine glory when the moonlight bathes you just right.

Sukuna watches from the darkness, his expression unreadable. Rage does not simmer in his gut. Though, this does not surprise him. He may indulge now and then by bedding more than willing women but it's not something he's ravenous for. Desire does not control him, his lust has no hands to clutch the reins of his mind like animalistic men make it seem. 

Ryomen Sukuna is nothing if not a sovereign.

However—

As his scarlet gaze traces over the lines of your body, one that resembles the tapestries, artwork, poems and ballads of forest nymphs that he's heard of, his irises swirl with a gnawing, teeth-aching sweetness that he's come to know as curiosity. 

With his palace flourishing in terms of riches, women, food, flowers, wildlife and such, it's only natural that a beauty such as yourself has been hidden from him all this time. Perhaps you ensured you stepped into the dark corners as you clearly enjoyed slipping his notice. 

Poor you, your days of frolicking around and rolling in the sheets with his advisor are over now. Not that you know yet but he'll be delighted to inform you soon. 

Speaking of his advisor, Sukuna thought Uraume to be an ascetic, a person of paper and ink. To see them undone by the very mercy the Emperor had provided is a fascinating breach of the natural order.

Philandering, Sukuna is seemingly hypnotized by watching two silhouettes disappear into the pavillion only to reappear at the window in shadows lit by warm lanterns, bodies melting into one as the songs of lovers coupling spill into the night's air, chorused by nocturnal creatures chirping and the breeze rustling leaves. 

The last thing the Emperor sees before he tears his eyes away and departs is you hovering over Uraume as if he were your devotee and you his goddess with the reverence of one and the danger of a female preying mantis about to seduce her mate then eat him to feed her young.

Three days later, the air in the throne room is thick and stifling. The scent of sandalwood incense curls around the high pillars. Emperor Sukuna sits upon his elevated, lacquered throne, his robes of black and red spilling over the dais like a pool of fresh blood.

Before him, dozens of ministers and high-ranking officials remain pressed to the floor deep bows, their foreheads touching the cold tile. They are statues of subservience, forbidden from lifting their eyes.

Today's reason is vastly different from the norm. 

A breathtakingly beautiful woman is perched on His Majesty's lap.

Back pressed against his chest, your legs are parted wide over his powerful thighs. Your layered, silk robes have been discarded, leaving you in a thin, translucent chemise that clung to your damp skin. 

Large, warm hands are anchored firmly on your plush hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as Sukuna shifts his weight. 

Below the dais, Lord Uraume stands rigid. Their eyes are fixed strictly on the scroll in their slightly twitching hands, though their face is a mask of pale marble.

“Continue, Uraume,” the Emperor drawls, his voice deep and smooth, betraying nothing of the throbbing between his thighs. “The reports on the drought in the southern provinces. I find the details are lacking.”

As Uraume starts to read, his voice cracking slightly, Sukuna grips your waist and gives a sharp, upward thrust. He's buried deep within you, stuffing you full and bulging in your belly yet he's still trying to sink further inside as if there's more room, the wet, slick noises of your union echoing through the silent, bowing court. 

Breathlessly, you gasp, your head falling back against the Emperor’s shoulder, your soft hands clutching at his lower forearms for stability as the upper pair of hands plucks and pinch at your aching nipples through your flimsy chemise.

A flat, wide tongue of sorts is soaking the back of your garment in globs of hot saliva and yet it pales in comparison to the slick coating your thighs in sopping dribbles.

“The irrigation channels are failing, Your Majesty,” Uraume informs, his eyes flickering for a fraction of a second toward the lazy roll of the Emperor’s hips that have your own bucking for more friction.

Despite the debauchery interrupting him, the advisor carries himself with grace and iron discipline. He does not look up unless the Emperor is talking. 

Behind him, the court remains paralyzed, hearing the groan of the Emperor’s heavy throne and the soft, breathless whimpers of the woman seated upon his lap, juices splashing against the silk of your under-robes filling the silence between.

Sukuna doesn't slow down as he hums in response, expression thoughtful as he inclines his head. He sets a sloppy yet punishing rhythm, his cock withdrawing until the fat tip nearly slips out of your fluttering pussy that's trying to cling to it before plunging back in with a heavy, visceral thud that forces a salacious sob from your wet throat. 

Leaning forward, you mewl at how his massive form crowds you, as hot as iron against your sweat-slicked back. Head dipping, his lips brush your ear as he whispers—loud enough for Uraume to hear—“Is this not what you craved? To see them splinter for you?”

Gaze cutting directly to his advisor over the your trembling shoulder that's donning the bruising indent of his teeth, he juts his chin. “Go on, Advisor. The civil unrest in the villages. Tell me how you propose to settle the bloodlust of men who have nothing left.”

Uraume's knuckles are white. They have to listen to the Emperor’s unbidden grunts and cusses, the filthy, squelching slap of skin on skin, and the high-pitched, desperate moans as you begin to unravel once again, about to worsen to the puddle of cum on the floor.

A thrill crawls down Sukuna's spine as it dawns upon him once more that you're being filled by the man Uraume serves, while your bleary, heavy-lidded gaze is on the one you had bedded in the shadows. His cock kicks as he watches Uraume's face—the vein pulsing in their forehead, the sweat dripping from their temple, hidden by their fringe. What he finds most amusing is the slight shifts in their stance which tells him that this is arousing his advisor and they despise it.

Tightening his hold on your hips with his upper arms, Sukuna plants his feet wide and hammers into you from below in earth-shattering thrusts that shake your cries and whimpers with the very force of his hips as your body jostles along, the jewellery you're adorning clinking and jingling in musical alarm. Manicured nails claw into his forearm in vermillion streaks, you grind down uncontrollably against his heavy, veiny cock.

“My, you're not bashful at all, are you?” Sukuna's words are a rumble of delight that has your lower belly dipping, arousal dripping down your thighs and messing his like sticky honey churning into cream with his precum.

He was utterly impressed earlier when he told you what he wanted you to do and while there was room for you to refuse, you cocked your nose in the air and held your head up high as you agreed. Something about you told him that you may have been a princess before this.

“Ah-ahhh-h, Your Majesty,” you breathe, brows knotting in an almost pained expression, plump lips spit-slick and agape on needy pants as your glazed over eyes peer down at the one of two cocks splitting you in half. 

The other is drenched in your prior orgasms, a pearl of precum beading at the slit as it jerks, standing to attention just minutes after it spilled inside you.

Sukuna's long, drawn-out groans and grunts descend into feral huffs and growls against your sensitive nape as his thrusts become shallow and frantic, hips snapping up into you erratically. One of his lower hands reaches down to spread your thighs further to ensure Uraume can see the pretty petals of your drooling cunt swallowing his cock in ravenous gurgles while his other finds your puffy clit, fingers rubbing circles against it with ruthless precision. 

Back bowing, your body arches, your pussy molding to his shape and clamping down on him as your orgasm crashes down on you in a violent wave. The prettiest cry falls from your mouth, the sound piercing the (barely) formal silence of the court.

Sukuna follows you shortly after, a low growl escaping his throat as he spills himself inside you again, ropes of pearlescent, syrupy cum painting your walls. The scent of your coupling is thick enough to choke the kneeling ministers.

Pants and gasps pour from you both as he slumps back against the throne, you boneless against him, heaving for air, while the court remains frozen in their bows, trembling now from having been in that position for so long.

“A sound strategy, Uraume,” Sukuna praises, face flushed and dewy with a blissed-out glow, his voice returning to its terrifyingly calm cadence as he wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. “Though I think you’ll find that when a man is truly hungry, he will take what he desires, regardless of the cost.”

To add insult to injury, he bands a thick arm across your neck, cupping the side of your face to push your damp cheek against his, your hair curling against your forehead as your hooded, drowsy find Uraume's. Cotton fills your ears, muting everything around you, only the rush of your blood, pound of your heart and your shallow breaths audible.

“I think I have found your future Empress,” he announces and it lands like he just declared war on one of his allies with how the entire court tenses. 

A sharp grin splits his cheeks as he glances down at his advisor, who is staring at the floor, reeling from the news. “You are dismissed. All of you. Leave me with my bride-to-be.”

he's such a dick sorry y'all

tags: @yailuxe @liahcharms @getopilleds @cttelina @mrswhitethornbelikov @shazzer29 @dadonprimma @vigumii @petalsmoons @sunabff @luoodle @wwasabiiiii @bruleecream @princesspeach0-0 @vm4879bb-blog @zenaskull @icebearcucumber @beaniesayshi @iluvgetosuguru @yoonsucks