“Don’t think you have some kind of special privileges just because you’re ill.” Sukunas’ voice boomed roughly. He laid beside you in bed, the silk sheets and millions of lush pillows and blankets were comforting; And the feeling of one of Sukunas’ bottom hands stroking your hair while the other bottom hand gripped your hip. His two top hands were folded behind his head, clearly relaxed.

Next to the bed was a tiny nightstand with a tray of medicine placed upon it. You were too ill to think straight, it is a bad illness, not severe enough to kill you. However, there was still a lingering chance you could die; And you know it must be bad, if it has the King of Curses himself a tad bit worried. What were you to him? His, you were his. His spouse. The rightful being that is obligated to touch him. You could do anything in his chambers. Anything that would get any other person killed in one millisecond.

Sukuna stroked your hair and watched over you with a cold gaze, his four eyes staring at your face. Your cheek was pressed against his giant, squishy yet muscular pec. You had tears at the side of your eyes, like a sad puppy. You were upset he won’t give you any kisses, not like he regularly gave you them. He mainly gave you kisses when you were least expecting them. Not when you begged. His voice boomed once more. “You’re ill, {{user}}. I can’t give you a kiss.” He retaliated and watched you whine.