making 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Sukuna Ryomen ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ wear hello kitty pajama pants to match with yours .✦ ݁˖
The hum of the sewing machine had finally stopped, but the real challenge was about to begin.
On the bed lay two matching pairs of pajama sets.
They were made of the softest, most obnoxious pastel pink fleece imaginable, completely covered in an all-over print of Hello Kitty’s face, complete with her signature red bow.
One set was a standard size.
The other was custom-altered—clumsily widened in the shoulders, lengthened in the sleeves, and modified to comfortably accommodate an extra pair of muscular arms.
You took a deep breath, scooped up the giant pink bundle, and walked into the living room.
Ryomen was slouched on the couch, the dark fabric of his usual yukata hanging loosely off his frame. Two of his eyes were closed in a state of half-sleep, while the other two lazily tracked you as you approached.
He didn't move a muscle, but the dangerous aura that constantly radiated from him shifted, laced with a sudden prickle of suspicion.
“What,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that could rattle teeth, “is that?”
With a bright, entirely unapologetic smile, you held up the massive pink top. The tiny, innocent face of Hello Kitty stared blankly at the King of Curses.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the room. Ryomen's upper eyes snapped open. All four crimson eyes were now locked onto the fuzzy pink monstrosity in your hands.
The markings on his face seemed to twitch.
“Absolutely not,” he said, his voice dropping an octave into a tone that usually made sorcerers drop dead of heart failure. “Burn it. Before I dissect you and use your blood to paint the walls.”
“It's a matching set!” you insisted, completely unfazed by the threat. You had lived with him long enough to know when he was genuinely murderous and when he was just being dramatic because his pride was wounded. Right now, it was entirely the latter. “Look, I already have mine on.”
You gestured down to your own matching pink pants. “We're staying in tonight, eating junk food, and you are going to be comfortable.”
“I am comfortable,” he snarled, a secondary arm gesturing vaguely to his robes. “I am a calamity. I am the pinnacle of cruelty. I do not wear... whatever wretched, round-eared creature that is.”
“Her name is Hello Kitty, she weighs three apples, and she is an icon,” you corrected, stepping closer and dropping the pile of fleece right onto his lap. “Just try it on. If you hate it, you can tear it to shreds. But you have to put it on first.”
Ryomen looked down at the soft pink fabric resting against his lap as if it were a pile of toxic waste.
He poked it with one sharp, black-clawed fingernail.
The fleece sank plushly under his touch.
“You dare command me?” he muttered, looking up at you through a fringe of pinkish-brown hair.
There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, but underneath it, a tiny, buried shred of amusement. He loved a challenge, even if the challenge was surviving an onslaught of aggressive domesticity.
“I am highly requesting it,” you corrected, crossing your arms. “Please? Just for tonight.”
Ryomen let out a long, theatrical sigh that sounded like a dying beast. He muttered a string of ancient curses under his breath—words that probably described a thousand different ways to flay a human alive—but he stood up.
“If anyone speaks of this,” he warned, pointing a massive finger at your face, “there will not be enough of this city left to bury.”
You turned around to give him some privacy, though you could hear the rustle of heavy fabric as he shed his yukata. Then came the sound of furious pulling, a low growl as his extra arms got momentarily tangled, and the soft snaps of the buttons being forced into place.
“This is ridiculous,” his voice grumbled from behind you. “It is entirely too soft. There is no structural integrity. If I were attacked right now, I would look absurd.”
“You can turn around now,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing prematurely.
When you turned, you had to physically clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle the wheeze that threatened to escape.
Sukuna Ryomen—the undisputed King of Curses, a being of pure malice and terrifying power—was standing in the middle of your living room clad in head-to-toe pastel pink fleece. The trousers clung tightly to his heavily muscled thighs, and the top was practically stretched to its limits across his broad chest, despite your best tailoring efforts. His extra arms were crossed over his torso, thrusting two giant Hello Kitty faces right out at you. The dark, jagged curse markings on his face and body stood out in sharp, hilarious contrast against the sweet, innocent aesthetic of the pajamas.
He looked absolutely ridiculous.
And incredibly, impossibly cozy.
“Say one word,” Ryomen growled, his face flushing a faint, dark color that might have been anger or genuine embarrassment. “Just one, and I will dismantle this entire building.”
“You look...” You took a steps forward, your eyes shining. “You look amazing. And so soft.”
Before he could swat you away, you stepped into his space and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face right into the middle of his chest. The fleece was incredibly warm, trapping his natural, radiating heat like a furnace.
His top two arms hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment, his claws twitching. He let out another deep, rumbling growl, but the tension slowly bled out of his massive frame. One by one, his arms came down. His primary arms wrapped around your back, pulling you flush against him, while his secondary arms settled lower around your waist.
“You are an incredibly annoying creature,” he murmured into your hair, his voice losing its sharp edge.
“But I'm your matching annoying creature,” you mumbled back against the pink fleece.
He huffed, a sound that was suspiciously close to a chuckle. “Hmph... Sit down before I change my mind and rip this off.”
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