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husband!sukuna wakes up in the middle of the night cause he feels your side of the bed empty. (◞‸◟)

the night was still, thick with that kind of silence that makes every small sound feel too loud. the door slid open with a soft hiss and the chill crept into the room. sukuna stirred. at first, he didn’t open his eyes — just reached out lazily across the bed, fingers brushing against nothing but cool silk.

his eyes cracked open.

empty space.

he sat up, a faint scowl pulling at his mouth. “tch,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough from sleep. the moonlight cut pale lines across his bare chest as he stood up, pulling on the first robe he could find.

you weren’t supposed to wander at night — not without a word and certainly not without him.

the estate was quiet, servants long asleep, the night air heavy with the scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet. his bare feet made almost no sound on the wooden floors as he stepped out into the garden, guided by a faint glow at the far edge — soft, silvery and almost magical.

and there you were.

kneeling among the tall grass, your white robes pooled around you, brushing against the damp earth. the moonflowers had opened, their petals glowing faintly, breathing light into the dark. your hands hovered just above the petals, like you were afraid to disturb their delicate glow. you looked like you belonged there — small, quiet and completely absorbed by them.

sukuna stopped a few steps away, all four of his arms folding over his chest. for a moment, he just watched you. his irritation melted into something heavier.

how beautiful you were, he thought.

“you’ll ruin your robes out here, woman,” he said finally, voice low and refined but still rough around the edges.

you startled, looking over your shoulder. “you scared me,” you whispered, a little breathless.

“you scared me first,” he said, stepping closer. “i woke to find your side cold.”

“i didn’t mean to wake you up,” you admitted softly, your fingers brushing over a glowing moonflower. “i apologize.”

“it doesn’t matter,” he said immediately, crouching down beside you, his gaze soft, catching the light smile on your face. “i cannot sleep without you by my side regardless.”

you blinked, slightly embarrassed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “i just… wanted to see them,” you murmured. “they only bloom once a month. i couldn’t stay away.”

he reached out, brushing a finger along your cheek, tilting your face gently to look at him. “you are reckless, you know that?” he said, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “it is endearing, in a maddening sort of way.”

“maddening?” you asked, then let out a low laugh, almost lost in the night air.

“yes,” he said, leaning closer. “your stubborn little heart, wandering where you ought not… it is maddening.”

he pressed his lips to yours then, tasting the quiet of the night and the faint scent of moonflowers on your skin. your hands rose instinctively, resting on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath the silk of his robe. the world narrowed to just the two of you, the flowers glowing faintly around you like witnesses to something fragile and sacred.

he pulled back just a little, resting his forehead against yours, his voice held a tender edge. “come. before you catch a cold.”

you looked at him, heart racing. before you could protest, he scooped you up in his arms — two under your knees, the others supporting your back and shoulders — “i would not have you shivering through the night,” he said, carrying you effortlessly through the grass, your robes brushing against dew-soaked stems.

“i’m warm,” you whispered, but your voice was filled with laughter and awe. “i’m fine.”

“stop talking nonsense, woman,” he said, shaking his head, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “i will not leave you to chance. you are my queen.”

as he walked back toward the sleeping palace, you rested your head against his shoulder, letting yourself relax completely in his arms. the faint glow of moonflowers faded behind you, but the warmth of the moment lingered, a secret between the two of you.

“next time,” he murmured, voice low near your ear, “wake me.”

you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “you will come?” you echoed.

“i shall come, yes.”

toji getting worked up over his grey hair. (˶•𐃷•˶)

there’s a lot of things you find hot about toji.

obviously, the man is just… hot. like, ridiculously hot.

6’2, with broad shoulders that somehow make every t-shirt he wears look like it was tailored just for him and a body that any guy your age would probably kill to have. a presence that makes people notice when he walks into a room without even trying.

he was simply intimidatingly sexy.

but somehow, the things that you find most appealing about him are his grey hairs.

yeah, it’s weird — maybe not the most obvious thing anyone would call sexy, but to you? it’s like the best thing ever.

it’s not even in a kinky way, it’s just… it reminds you that he’s lived. that he’s been through shit, he’s fought and he’s still standing there looking like he could crush you with one hand if he wanted to.

and even though you sometimes make fun of him for it, like when he rants about how old he’s getting and you call him a “grandpa,” you can’t help but love it.

it’s just…if you get it, you get it.

simple as that.

“you’re not even 25 and i’m out here looking like i could be in an old folks’ home.” he complains one night, rubbing the side of his head where a stubborn streak of grey is sticking up.

without thinking, you climb onto his lap, straddling him, letting your hands rest lightly on his shoulders as you look down at him. his hands go to your hips, holding you steady and you smirk at how flustered he looks.

you try to bite back a laugh (failing miserably) because, god, does he really think this is a bad thing?

“yeah yeah, keep laughin’. give it a month and i’ll be a full silver fox or some shit,” he adds.

you reach up, running a finger through the silvery strands peeking out from his dark hair. “you do realize this is like… the sexiest thing ever, right?” you say, your voice ridiculously soft. “you’re still hot. they make you look experienced.”

he scoffs, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “experienced? sounds like a polite way of sayin’ old as fuck. hell, i look like your fuckin’ dad.”

“old as fuck is an understatement,” you say, trying to make fun of him, leaning in so your nose almost touches his jawline.

“watch it, brat,” he says, smacking your ass.

“ow! ouch! okay s’rry!” you huff at him. “but seriously, that’s literally what makes you hotter. i don’t know why, but it’s just… i can’t even explain it. it’s not just the hair. it’s every little thing about you. i don’t know, i feel like i could stare at you forever and never get tired. but yeah, the grey just… makes it better, i guess.”

he shakes his head, a smirk finally breaking through. “you’re too young to be sayin’ shit like that. i’m supposed to be intimidating, not makin’ you blush.”

“nope, you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do,” you whisper, stepping closer on his lap, letting your hands rest lightly on his chest. “i like knowing that you’ve been around, that you’ve seen stuff i can’t even imagine. that you’re not just some guy my age pretending to know things. you’ve got history and it’s hot. your hair… it’s just one of so many ways to show it.”

he lets out a low laugh, clearly pleased with how this was going and you can’t resist brushing your thumb across his jawline, letting him feel how much you mean it.

“so… grey hair, huh?” he mutters, almost to himself. “dirty girl. you like seein’ ‘em cause they remind you how much older i am than you?”

and then you shift slightly, moving just a little against him, feeling the hard bulge pressing against you. his grip on your hips tightens immediately, his low growl sending shivers down your spine.

“yeah,” you say, smiling up at him. “so don’t even think about covering it up.”

sleepless night with husband!sukuna. (,,¬﹏¬,,)

the clatter is tiny. barely anything. just the soft tap of a wooden comb slipping off your bedside tray. but it’s the middle of the night and the room is so quiet that even a whisper sounds like thunder.

and of course he hears it.

you freeze, halfway reaching for the comb, when a low rumble vibrates behind you.

“woman.” sukuna’s voice is thick with sleep, rougher than usual, edged with that irritated tone he wears like armor. “what are you doing?”

you turn your head just enough to see him through the dimness. he’s lying on his side, pink hair spilling messy over the silk pillows, all four arms shifting in slow, annoyed stretches. his crimson eyes aren’t even open yet — just slits glowing faintly in the dark.

“i didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper quickly. “i’m sorry, go back to sleep.”

“you’re still awake.” his eyes open fully now, sharp as a blade even in half darkness. “care to tell me why?” he raises an eyebrow at you. he isn’t really asking. sukuna never asks —when he speaks, he wants an answer.

you swallow, comb in hand, suddenly feeling small under that gaze. “i just . . . couldn’t sleep. again.”

yeah, you’ve been having trouble sleeping for days now —nothing dramatic, really. just that restless and unsettled feeling that keeps your eyes open long after the lamps go out.

it’s frustrating, though.

you hear him grunting. it’s definitely not a sympathetic sound but it isn’t dismissive either.

one of his upper arms drags over his face like he’s trying to wipe the exhaustion off, while the other three shift the blankets aside.

“come here.” he demands.

you blink. “i’m right here.”

“not close enough,” he mutters, his voice deepening, it’s colder but in that familiar way that somehow still makes your heart warm. “i can hear your thoughts rattling around like loose stones. it’s irritating.”

you almost smile. he’ll never say he’s worried. never directly.

you move back toward him, settling near his chest, but before you can get comfortable, all four of his arms wrap around you at once — two around your waist, one across your upper back and one slipping under your legs.

“sukuna—”

he sits up in one smooth, unnervingly effortless motion, lifting you with him like you weigh absolutely nothing. your breath catches as he shifts you higher into his hold, one hand supporting your thigh, the others keeping you tightly against him.

“if you cannot sleep,” he says, slow and stern, “then neither can i.”

“that’s not very sweet of you,” you mumble into his neck.

“i’m not sweet,” he snaps back immediately. “but i am tired. and if carrying you outside is the only way to silence that restless little head of yours, then so be it.”

you don’t have time to argue. he’s already standing, already walking, bare feet silent against the wooden floors of the estate. the lanterns outside the sliding doors glow faintly —low, warm and guiding.

“you could’ve just held me,” you whisper as he pushes open the door with one foot.

“i am holding you,” he replies, unimpressed.

“i mean — in bed.”

“you were still awake,” he reminds you, stepping out into the courtyard. cool night air brushes your skin instantly, making you shiver. he tightens all four arms around you. “and you were fidgeting.”

“i moved one thing—”

“it was enough.”

you roll your eyes, but he ignores it, heading toward the center of the courtyard where the lanterns hang from wooden posts like suspended fireflies. the moon is huge tonight — pale, perfectly round and glowing like a polished pearl above the tiled rooftops.

he kneels, lowering himself with a grace no one his size should have, then settles with you in his lap. his lower arms stay around your waist, locking you in place, while the upper ones rest over your shoulders and thighs, holding you like you might drift away if he let go.

“look,” he orders quietly, chin nudging your temple. “the sky is calm. surely even your thoughts can follow its example.”

“you could just tell me you wanted to look at the moon with me,” you mutter, teasing him.

“i do not want anything. you are the one who cannot sleep.”

you smile into his chest, knowing he feels it when one of his arms pulls you closer, almost instinctively. the cool night, the faint scent of wet earth, the distant chirps of nocturnal insects — it all sits softly around you.

“thank you,” you whisper.

he exhales slowly, his breath warm against the top of your head.

“rest,” he murmurs, his voice losing its edge just a little. “i will keep watch.”

“like i’m some princess.”

“you are my wife,” he says simply. “it is practically the same.”

your cheeks heat. you lean your head against him fully now, letting the rhythm of his breathing settle into you.

he doesn’t complain. he just holds you tighter, four strong arms wrapped around you under the moonlight — impossibly gentle in the only way he knows how.

satoru loves falling asleep with his cock buried inside you.

he drags you close, one arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other tangled in your hair and just holds you there. “don’t move, okay? i don’t wanna fall out while we sleep,” he murmurs after a few minutes, half-asleep.

you press your back against him in response, feeling every inch of him inside you. he shifts slightly, lazy smirk on his face. “you like it, don’t you? me inside you while we nap?”

you bite your lip, humming and he chuckles, teeth brushing your shoulder. “good… stay still, baby. i wanna feel you all night, keep me nice and warm.” then one of his hands drifts under your shirt, all the way up to your chest and he takes one boob into his hand, squeezing it without even thinking.

“satoru… if you do this, then we’ll do more than just sleep,” you whisper.

“i’m s’rry, it’s not my fault, sweets… you’re just so soft,” he murmurs back, fully smiling against your shoulder now.

you move your hips lazily then, teasing him with little movements and he groans softly, “fuck… you’re gonna make me cum in my sleep, aren’t you?”

you whine and press against him even closer, feeling him twitch inside you and he laughs quietly, “i don’t even care… just stay like this all night.”

by morning, he stretches, then gently pushes you onto your back, settling on top with his cock still buried inside you, kissing your jaw and thrusting in you slowly.

and seeing you hum against his lips, hips moving to meet his thrusts even in your sleep? that’s one hell of a sight for him to wake up to.

“c’mon, babyyyy…wake up. let’s start the day right.”

sukuna taking care of his sick wife. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

you were curled up on the bed, shivering under layers of blankets, your nose all red and your voice hoarse from sneezing. the fire crackled weakly in the corner of the room, but it didn’t seem enough to keep you warm.

sukuna was sitting on a chair beside the bed, a pair of arms crossed—and the other two resting on his knees, fingers tapping lightly—he was watching you.

or rather, say that he was actually scowling down at you, his crimson eyes boring into you like he could feel every ache, every shiver running through your body.

“truly, i do not comprehend how one can be so fragile,” he muttered, shifting forward slightly so his upper arms hovered closer to your sides, “i told you, woman, not to walk in the gardens in the middle of the night, yet here you lie, shivering like some helpless child. do you take no heed of my words?”

“i… i just caught a cold,” you croaked, trying to smile despite the ache in your head. “i’ll be fine. i’m not that fragile.”

“you’ll be fine, indeed. but this shall not stand.” he moved closer, two hands tugging blankets snugly around you while the other two cupped a steaming bowl of some thick, herbal concoction that had been sitting on the bedside table. the scent was so strong it almost made you want to throw up.

“drink this. it shall restore what you have foolishly allowed to slip away.”

“you’re… so bossy,” you muttered, attempting to sit up, but he pressed a hand to your shoulder with firm authority, gently pushing you back against the headboard.

“i am your king,” he said, commanding, rising from the chair and kneeling at your side of the bed like a careful guardian, “and you will obey.”

you tried not to giggle at the formal way he spoke, like some grumpy prince of old, but it was impossible. his frown deepened as you snuggled into the blankets again, hiding your face from him.

“okay, my lord,” you whispered, unable to stop a small smile from forming.

sukuna grunted, as if satisfied. one of his upper arms brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, another gently pressed against your back to keep you warm. you felt the tenderness in his gestures.

“do not speak unless necessary. you must rest.”

you stayed silent, letting him fuss. he propped up your pillows, held the bowl to your lips, guiding it carefully so you could sip despite your protest.

“it tastes terrible,” you muttered, wrinkling your nose.

“yes, i’m aware. it is beneficial, therefore you shall drink. whether it pleases you is irrelevant.”

‘cute,’ you thought.

hours passed. you dozed intermittently and each time you stirred, sukuna was there, brushing stray hairs from your face or subtly shifting your position so you wouldn’t shiver. at one point, you shivered so violently he scooped you up from behind and settled you into his lap, holding you tightly against his chest, tucking your legs around him so no part of you could get cold.

“you are foolish,” he muttered, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. “i have endured a thousand years of battle and bloodshed and yet here i am, undone by a woman who cannot stay warm.”

you laughed softly, snuggling closer. “you really are dramatic.”

“i am dramatic only because it concerns you,” he added, shifting slightly to wrap an extra blanket around both of you and pressing a hand along your arm, caressing you, “now, rest. do not force yourself to rise.”

you blinked up at him, smirking. “you’re so warm.”

“do not make me repeat myself, woman.” his frown deepened and he leaned you even closer, adjusting your position so your head rested comfortably on his chest, his gaze softening as he watched you. “i told you to rest. now close your running mouth and sleep. i shall still be here when you wake,” he murmured, gently playing with your hair.

there was no malice—only love tangled with his innate grumpiness.

you leaned against him, finally letting yourself relax completely and for a long while, the only sounds in the room were the crackle of the fire and sukuna’s low, protective hums as he held you close.

you had never felt more healthy in your entire life.

waking up satoru in the middle of the night and telling him you want cookies. (ᵕ•_•)

it’s like 3:10 in the morning when you poke at satoru’s bare shoulder.

“toru,” you mumble, with all the guilt in your guts.

he groans into the pillow, all white hair messy and sticking up like he fought a war in his sleep. “baby,” he mutters, his voice still half asleep. “why’re you awake? it’s—” he squints toward the clock on the nightstand, “—too early.”

you chew on your lip, suddenly feeling kind of dumb but too deep in it to stop now. “i want cookies.”

he goes still for a second, then turns his head slowly toward you with one eye barely open. “you what?”

“cookies,” you repeat, curling into the blanket like that makes it sound less ridiculous. “like, the chewy chocolate chip ones? i saw them on tiktok while scrolling and now i can’t stop thinking about them.”

for a second he just stares at you. “sweetheart, you woke me up at three a.m. for cookies?”

you nod.

he sighs into the pillow again, but then he sits up, stretches his long arms over his head, yawns and swings his legs out of the bed.

“wait—where are you going?” you ask, blinking up at him.

“to get you cookies,” he says simply, running a hand through his hair.

“no, no, i was just joking!” you say quickly, grabbing his wrist before he can stand all the way. “i didn’t mean it like that, toru. please get back to bed. you have work in like, two hours.”

he looks down at you, lips curving into that lazy little grin that always makes your stomach flutter. “nuh uh,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “my girl said she wants cookies, so she’ll have cookies.”

“toru, seriously, i’m not making you drive at three a.m. for—”

“baby,” he interrupts, still smiling, “you think i’m gonna let you crave something and not get it for you?”

you stare at him, heart melting in your chest because he looks so unbothered about the fact that you woke him up on a work night at three a.m. just for stupid cookies.

shirtless, sleepy and somehow still the most determined man on earth.

“you’re insane,” you whisper, laughing a little as he searches for sweatpants.

“insanely in love,” he mutters, pulling on a hoodie. “now tell me what kind of cookies we’re talking about. the thick, gooey, chocolate chip ones, right? you said chewy?”

you flop back on the bed with a groan, burying your face in the pillow. “you’re actually doing this.”

“mhm,” he hums, already sliding his phone out to check which stores are open. “you got a video or something? i need to know what they look like.”

you reach for your phone on the nightstand and hand it to him, the screen lighting up with the video you were watching before you woke him. “these,” you mumble, pointing at the gooey cookies with melted chocolate and sea salt flakes.

he watches the short clip, then nods like it’s the most serious mission he’s ever taken.

“got it. i’ll be back soon.”

“are you sure?” you say, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

“yes,” he says, leaning down to kiss you again. “go back to sleep, baby.”

you watch him leave, barefoot and humming under his breath, hoodie halfway zipped and still half-asleep.

and when the door closes behind him, you can’t stop grinning into the pillow, already imagining him showing up twenty minutes later with a paper bag in one hand and that stupid proud smile on his face.

you fall asleep before he’s even back and when you wake up to the smell of chocolate and your boyfriend gently nudging you awake, whispering, “hey sleepyhead, got your cookies,” you can’t help but laugh — because of course he did.

of course he actually did.

u and sukuna talking about having kids. (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

you were lying on your stomach, hair a tangled mess down your back. your body still trembled faintly with aftershocks. the air was thick — warm and sticky with sweat, clinging to your skin and making every small sound louder than it should be. the fire had died down to embers, painting the walls with lazy orange light.

sukuna was sitting beside you, legs stretched out, one of your arms draped across his thigh where your head rested. his skin was hot against your cheek, the slow rise and fall of his breathing grounding. one of his hands trailed lazily down your spine, tracing the faint marks he’d left, while the others rested around you — like a cage that somehow felt safe.

for a while, neither of you spoke. the night outside hummed with cicadas and the distant whisper of wind through the trees. the quiet between you was comfortable — the kind of silence that came only after being completely undone.

you thought maybe he’d already fallen asleep, his eyes were half-lidded and his chest was rising slow.

then you said it — quietly, almost without thinking.

“do you ever think about having kids?”

the words slipped out before you could catch them. they hung there, fragile and strange in the dark. for a moment, you almost hoped he hadn’t heard — thinking maybe you had said something that should’ve just stayed in the back of your mind.

sukuna’s fingers paused mid-stroke on your back, the warmth of his palm going still.

his eyes flicked down at you, that sharp, unreadable crimson gaze stronger in the low light. “children?” he repeated, a faint curl of amusement tugging at his mouth. “you choose the most peculiar times to speak of such things.”

you hummed into his thigh, embarrassed but unwilling to take it back. “i just wondered,” you murmured, turning your head slightly so your cheek rested more fully against him. “what it would be like. if you’d even want that.”

he huffed — leaning back on one of his other arms. “want?” he repeated, as if the word itself amused him. “i’ve lived centuries and not once have i found myself wishing for some tiny creature to scream in my halls. what creature would wish to bring forth little demons of its own?”

you turned your head a little, looking up at him. his expression was unreadable, shadows crawling over the sharp planes of his face. “you say that,” you murmured, “but you were one once too. you’d love them.”

that made him snort. “i was never little.” one of his lower hands dragged lazily down your thigh. “you mistake cruelty for care, woman. i’d have them disciplined before they could even walk.”

“so dramatic,” you teased, rolling onto your side. his touch followed without thought, tracing the shift of your body. “you’d probably end up spoiling them rotten.”

“spoiling,” he repeated, eyes narrowing faintly. “do you take me for some lovesick fool?”

you reached up, brushing your fingers over his jaw. “no, not really,” you said quietly. “but you care. even when you pretend you don’t. i can see it, you know.”

his gaze lingered on you for too long — you could feel it peel you open. then he clicked his tongue, looking away, the tips of his fingers pressing harder into your skin, grounding himself in something physical.

“care is a weakness,” he muttered. “one that ruins even the strongest of men.”

“good thing you’re the strongest of them all, then,” you said back.

he made a low sound in his throat — not quite a laugh and not quite a sigh. his hand slid up, fingers spreading across your back, thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. his touch, though rough, was steady, familiar. it felt like a contradiction — a monster holding something fragile as if afraid to break it.

the silence after stretched again, heavier this time, but not uncomfortable. one of his upper hands combed idly through your hair, the motion absent, almost tender. the others stayed on you — one at your hip, one on your thigh, one resting over your ribs, where your heart beat slow against his palm.

“if i were ever to sire children,” he said eventually, his tone quieter than it had any right to be, “they would be nothing but considered monsters. the world would eat them alive for that.”

“then you’d protect them,” you said simply.

he looked down at you again, the firelight flickering across his face. “perhaps,” he admitted, voice barely more than a rumble. “though gods help them if they inherit your mouth.”

you laughed, a soft and breathless laugh. “you like my mouth.”

that earned you a faint, dangerous grin. “too much,” he said, brushing his thumb over your lower lip.

“you’d be an amazing father.” you said it with a sleepy sort of certainty, tracing the markings on his arm. “they’d be strong. stubborn. kind in their own way. just like you.”

his expression shifted, something unreadable flickering there before he exhaled slowly. “foolish woman,” he said finally. “you see light where there is none.”

you smiled faintly. “maybe,” you whispered, “or maybe you just don’t want to admit there’s still some left in you.”

then you shifted closer until your forehead touched his chest, the steady thrum of his heart loud in your ear. one of his hands came to rest at the back of your head, holding you there — his grip was tight, like he was scared you’d drift too far.

for a long time neither of you spoke again. outside, the cicadas kept singing and inside, the world felt small — just the two of you tangled in warmth and the smell of sweaty skin.

before you fell asleep, you felt him murmur against your hair, quiet enough that you almost thought you imagined it. . .

“if it were with you . . . perhaps i wouldn’t mind having a spawn.”

sukuna braiding your hair. (≧ᗜ≦)

you’re sitting on the tatami while sukuna is behind you, his four arms moving with that precise, terrifying grace he always has. two of them are carefully separating strands of your hair, while the other two adjust loose pieces and pinch stubborn knots.

“remain still, woman,” he says, his voice carrying a flicker of patience hidden under its usual sharpness. “you are moving far too much for me to work properly.”

“i’m not moving that much,” you whine, squirming a little as one of his hands tugs too hard. “you’re hurting me!”

he frowns, leaning closer so his face hovers behind your ear, crimson eyes narrowing just slightly. “you instructed me to do this. if you desire my work, you must endure it. stay still—now.”

you bite your lip, trying not to laugh, because he sounds so exasperated. and honestly, it’s kind of adorable, watching the king of curses, ryomen sukuna, get frustrated over something so . . . domestic.

“ryo, seriously, i’m actually in pain here!” you protest, turning your head just slightly.

“woman!” he snaps, his tone sharp and lordly, “i am braiding your hair. you are moving; therefore, you are making this task far more difficult than it need be. hold still, or i shall pull harder.”

you yelp, because of course he does. then he huffs, clearly irritated at having to explain himself further and moves two more arms to smooth stray strands. this time, his touch is careful and precise, but still firm enough to make you squirm.

every so often, one of his fingers brushes your neck or the side of your cheek, a small and teasing pressure that makes your chest warm.

“i hate you,” you whine again, giggling despite yourself.

“hate me all you want,” he mutters, quieter now, a trace of reluctant authority in his tone. “you begged me to do this, i had no desire of my own.”

you glance over your shoulder and side-eye him. his four arms are a whirlwind of motion—twisting, looping, knotting, smoothing—the braid he’s making is already beautiful. messy enough to feel effortless.

small strands tickle your shoulders and nape and you can’t help shivering a little at the contact.

“there,” he finally says, stepping back slightly and inspecting his work. “your hair is satisfactory. you look really good. lovely, even.”

you run your fingers lightly over the braid.

you look back at him. “it’s . . . really beautiful,” you murmur, feeling your cheeks heat and the faintest flutter in your chest. “you did really a good job.”

he shifts, as if noticing your words is a bother. “hmpf,” he mutters. “it is only hair. do not make a display of foolish delight over something so trivial.“

you laugh quietly, leaning back against him, feeling the warmth of his chest through the silk of his robes. he doesn’t move, just lets you sit there, fingers brushing lightly over the braid now and then. for a moment, the feared ryomen sukuna— the king of curses, the one no one dares oppose — looks almost human. it was . . . endearing.

at least, until he clears his throat and reminds you, all four arms settling back into position: “and do not think you shall get away with moving so much next time. i shall punish you later in our chamber for that.”

you can’t help but shiver, already thinking about how he might tease you for that later.

you already know it’s gonna be a very long night.