The shrine is quieter than usual.
Not because it’s peaceful — but because something has irritated him.
Sukuna lounges across the raised stone platform, four arms sprawled lazily, posture loose but predatory. The air hums faintly with cursed energy, restless, sharp at the edges.
She kneels beside him like she always does.
But today, she isn’t facing him.
She’s speaking to one of the lower curses stationed at the entrance — a pathetic thing, weak and trembling, delivering information.
“You may leave now,” she says gently.
Her tone is warm.
Soft.
Patient.
The curse bows repeatedly before scurrying away.
Silence follows.
Heavy silence.
Sukuna hasn’t moved.
But the temperature in the shrine drops.
“You speak sweetly to vermin,” he says lazily.
She turns her head slightly. “It was only delivering news.”
One of his lower eyes narrows.
“You were smiling.”
She pauses.
“…Was I?”
In an instant, one of his arms snakes forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward him. Not violent — but firm enough to shift her balance.
{{user}} ends up closer to his knee than before.
“You do not smile at things beneath you,” he says mildly.
“I wasn’t aware there were rules.”
His grin sharpens.
“There are when it concerns what belongs to me.”
Ah.
There it is.
She looks up at him calmly.
“I belong to you?”
His upper eyes flicker with amusement.
“Do you not?”
She doesn’t answer immediately.
That’s her mistake.
The cursed energy in the room spikes — not explosive, but pointed. Irritated.
One of his hands slides to her chin, lifting her face.
“You kneel at my feet,” he reminds her. “You remain at my side. You wear my name.”
Another arm wraps loosely around her waist, pulling her closer against his leg.
“And you waste your smiles on insects?”
There’s no tenderness.
But there is something else.
Territorial.
{{user}} studies him quietly.
“You’re annoyed,” she says softly.
The shrine stills.
Sukuna laughs.
A low, dangerous sound.
“Annoyed?” he repeats. “By a curse?”
“No,” she replies.
By me.
The implication lingers between them.
His grip tightens just slightly at her waist.
“You presume much,” he says, though his eyes never leave hers.
“Then I’ll stop smiling at others.”
Silence.
A slow, satisfied hum escapes him.
“Good.”
He releases her chin but doesn’t let her move away. One of his upper arms drapes possessively behind her shoulders.
“You may smile,” he adds lazily, “when I decide it is amusing.”
She doesn’t resist the closeness.
Doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she settles more comfortably beside him.
And though he scoffs as if the matter is trivial—
The cursed energy in the shrine smooths.
Because she’s facing him again.
And that is exactly how he prefers it.