ryomen sukuna— the king of curses, one of the most terrifying beings alive, feared by nearly everybody who knows his name— is not so terrifying when you knock some sense into him.
a rice bowl clatters against the tile, breaking into pieces before you and your husband. he looks down at the servant who dare dirty his court with glass shards and grains scattering across the floor. the poor server looks terrified, looking up with glassy eyes realizing just how bad of a fuck up that was. she’s clearly shaking in terror of what’s to happen.
sukuna’s face scrunches, brows furrow. his breath turns heavy in that way it always does before he yells like a madman. his voice is sharp, cold and laced with tenacity.
“useless. you’ve failed at such a simple task as carrying rice and you’re pandering for pity with that look in your eyes? pathetic.” his voice crackles. “everybody else—” his eyes glaze over the other workers in the room. “leave. you are unneeded in this.” shooing them away as the poor girl pleas and murmurs apologies— probably close to tears.
he steps infront of her as she kneels in sorrow, ready to unleash wrath she’s heard others endure an be banished from his estate and never seen again. you stop him in his tracks.
“ryomen.” your voice piercing as he feels his hair gripped tightly. you’ve reached up and grasped a hold of his thick hair at the crown of his head. you pull him back before he can even react— utterly stunned.
“you are not to react like this over some bowl.” you forcefully turn his head to look at you. “do i make myself clear?”
“unhand me, woman! i am not to be disrespected like this in my own court.” he squirms and grunt as you grip tighter, trying to untangle your fingers and his hair with one of his arms.
“oh do not ‘woman’ me!” you yell, appalled. “she is not to be disrespected like this when she did barely anything! do not think your back talk will get you anywhere, sukuna.”
“she is nothing but a servant! she is only useful for pleasing me and she has failed. now i said unhand me!”
a smack rings against the courts walls and high ceilings, echoing the loud crack. you… slapped him. you slapped your husband, the most feared man in japan with not a regret in the world of it. he feels the undeniable sensation against his left cheek, arm lifting up to graze over the sting.
“you are to apologize to this poor woman—now.” you say the ‘now’ in your terrifying voice he usually never defies. you ignore his stutter and ragged breaths in shock from you…hitting him. hitting him. he’s honestly not sure which part to emphasize.
he hesitates to say anything. you snap at his face, annoyed.
“do not make me count to three.”
“i am not apologizing! if anything, you both should be ashamed for how you have treated me today, your lor—” you cut him off.
“one.” your fingernails dig at his scalp as your words dig at his dignity.
he grunts in frustration— and in pain, your grip on his hair was nothing short of iron.
“do not.” he speaks up. you glare at him, tug him down to your level.
“fine!” he practically yelps. your hold on him loosens, a reward for obeying.
“good boy.” he physically shivers in held back anger at that.
he looks at her— the server still kneeling there in awe as she witnessed this whole thing— in the eyes for the first time in, well, ever.
“i..” he grunts out his statement like it physically hurts to do this. to submit to the likes of a menial attendant. he finally gets his words out when he catches your look from his peripheral.
“i am sorry for acting out like that. i acted hastfully. just be more careful with our diningware next time…” you look at him again. “…please.”
