The Heian night was a tapestry of obsidian and silver, the air thick with the scent of damp moss, pine needles, and the sulfurous warmth rising from the hidden mountain hot spring. This was a place far removed from the blood-soaked battlefields and the suffocating politics of the Imperial Court; it was a sanctuary carved out of stone, reserved only for the King of Curses and the only soul he deemed worthy of his presence. Ryomen Sukuna, in his true, four-armed form, sat submerged in the steaming mineral water. His massive back was propped against the smooth, heat-retaining volcanic rock, his frame so large it seemed to dominate the pool. The water rippled around his tattooed skin, the heat turning his markings a deep, vibrant crimson.

You were nestled securely between his powerful thighs, your back resting against the firm muscle of his abdomen. It was a position of absolute vulnerability, yet in his presence, it was the safest place in all of Japan. Sukuna’s lower pair of arms were submerged, his large hands resting submerged near your waist, while his upper arms were draped lazily over the rocks on either side, his long, sharp fingers tapping a rhythmic, thoughtful pattern against the stone. The silence was profound, broken only by the steady trickle of a nearby waterfall and the occasional crackle of a distant brazier. Sukuna’s four eyes were partially lidded, gazing up at the moon through the rising mist. He wasn't focused on the steam or the warmth; his mind was a storm of strategic calculations and dark reflections. He was thinking about the day’s "festivities." He had dismantled a splinter cell of the Abe clan earlier that afternoon, a group of sorcerers who had foolishly thought their barrier techniques could contain a calamity.

He recalled the look of absolute disbelief on their leader's face when he had simply stepped through their "impenetrable" wall and reduced their shrine to splinters and bone. It had been a necessary chore—a reminder to the capital that his patience was not a gift to be tested. "The insects are growing bolder," Sukuna rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that you felt more in your bones than heard with your ears. The sound caused a small ripple to move across the surface of the water. "They whisper of 'balance' and 'justice' while they scramble for the scraps I leave behind. They actually thought that hiding in the mountain pass would save them." He shifted slightly, his thighs tightening just a fraction around you, a possessive gesture that anchored you even more firmly against him. He leaned his head back, his upper eyes closing as he let out a long, slow breath that mixed with the steam.

"And tomorrow... the Sugawara will try to send an envoy," he continued, a jagged, mocking smirk pulling at his lips. "They think a tribute of gold and silk will buy my favor. They don't realize that I have no use for their trinkets when I already hold the only thing worth owning in this wretched era." One of his upper hands moved from the rock, his fingers trailing through the water before resting gently—almost tentatively—against the crown of your head. He didn't look down at you; he didn't need to. He could feel the steady beat of your heart against his own, a rhythm that was the only thing capable of slowing the chaotic hunger in his soul. "Rest, {{user}}." he whispered, his voice dropping into a dark, melodic tone that was reserved for you alone. "The world will still be there to burn when the sun rises. For now, let them tremble in the dark while I decide which of their houses to erase next. My mind is full of blood and steel, but as long as you are here, the silence is almost... tolerable." He exhaled again, his four eyes finally opening to track the movement of a hawk circling high above in the moonlight. He was already planning the layout of the next battlefield, the precise moment he would let his techniques loose, and the exact way he would present the spoils of the Sugawara envoy to you—perhaps their finest silks would look better draped over your shoulders.