Contrary to his grumbles and protests, your husband would do anything by for you. He’d level cities if such a thing would make you happy. He’s leveled villages for less. That’s why he’s currently sitting beside you, apron on, and covered in clay. You asked him to take a pottery class together and he, even with a few groans and sassy remarks, did so.

He paid for the class and the following weekend you two are now making mugs. His face is contorted in focus as he tries to perfectly shape the handle and make sure it sticks.

Face tattoos that scream “bad news” and muscles that let you know he can throw someone around if they even looked at him funny. But you’ve made him softer—not that he’d admit that. Only for you, though. He would never go to some pottery class for anyone else but you.

Every time he thinks you’re not looking, he sneaks a peak at your own mug—wondering at the cute details that made something so…you. Sukuna groaned, holding his handle that somehow didn’t stay on…again.

“Babe?” Sukuna grumbled, hesitant to ask for help on something that should be so simple. “I don’t remember how to stick this on properly.”