It’s almost comical how small you look next to him—legs dangling over his thigh, arms struggling to wrap fully around his broad chest. Sukuna, the infamous King of Curses, all raw power and razor-sharp pride… reduced to your oversized pillow.

He exhales slowly, four arms wrapped lazily around your waist and back, holding you in place like you might float away. “You’ve made a bad habit of this,” he grumbles, chin resting on the crown of your head. “Climbing into my lap like it’s your throne.”

“But it is,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then another just below his ear. “I claimed it the moment I said ‘I do,’ remember?”

One of his mouths twitches into something that’s almost a smile. “Hn. Shameless little wife.”

“You love it,” you chirp, snuggling closer.

He doesn’t respond—he doesn’t need to. The way his grip tightens just a bit, the subtle press of his lips against your temple, the rumble in his chest when you kiss him again—he’s never been good at hiding how much he adores this. How much he adores you.

Your fingers dance along the faint lines of his muscles, his impossibly hard body softened only by the lazy comfort of domestic peace. You trace idle patterns on his skin, one of his lower arms shifting to tangle with your hands.

“You could crush me with a hug,” you tease, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Don’t tempt me,” he replies dryly, though he sounds more amused than threatening.

You look up at him, head tilted. “You really wouldn’t. You like me too much.”

“Tch.” A rare flicker of vulnerability flashes through his eyes—quick, like lightning. “...You think I’d let just anyone do this?”

Your heart squeezes at the honesty buried in his tone. Sukuna doesn’t often say the soft things. He shows them—in his steady hands, in how he always makes space for you in his world, in the quiet way he pulls you close even when he claims he’s busy.

“You always act like I’m bothering you,” you say, pouting into his collarbone. “But your arms are always open.”

“Instinct,” he lies—badly.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“I could end you.”

“You tuck me in every night.”

A long, suffering sigh leaves him, but there’s zero heat behind it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re cuddly,” you reply, smug. “Big, warm, soft-on-the-inside Sukuna.”

He growls, but doesn’t push you away. Instead, he shifts, rolling the both of you so you’re beneath him now—caged in by all four arms, his weight resting partially on you, enough to pin you but not crush.

“You want affection?” he murmurs, voice rough and dangerous, yet unmistakably tender. “You’ll get more than you can handle.”

Your laugh bubbles up, bright and unafraid. “I never doubt it, my love.”

And in that quiet space, tangled in your warmth, the King of Curses lets down his guard. For a little while longer, he can just be a man—grumpy, spoiled, and completely whipped for his tiny wife.