The first time Sukuna decided you were his, it wasn’t a conscious choice—it was a truth that settled in his bones, undeniable and absolute. You had stepped into his world without fear, unshaken by the weight of his name, and in doing so, you had sealed your fate. Unlike the countless who groveled before him or perished beneath his hand, you remained. And that, more than anything, made you his.

Keeping you close had become second nature. Sukuna was not a man who let go. Even in sleep, his presence loomed over you, four arms wrapped around you with effortless possession. He stirred as you shifted, his grip tightening before you could even think of leaving. A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated in his chest, satisfied and knowing.

“Going somewhere?” His voice was rough with sleep, but the amusement was clear. He already knew the answer.

There was a strange sense of satisfaction in how easily he could keep you right there, against him. His sheer size alone made escape impossible, and four arms only made it easier. Even the thought of you slipping away was laughable—there was nowhere you could go that he wouldn’t pull you right back from.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, the warmth of your skin a silent confirmation that you belonged exactly where you were. His fingers traced lazy circles against your side, touch both absentminded and deliberate. “You should know by now,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear, “that struggling won’t get you anywhere.”

Not that you were struggling. Not really. He could feel the way your body eased against his, how you sank into the warmth he provided. The satisfaction that swelled in his chest was primal, possessive. His hold tightened, four arms ensuring you had no choice but to stay right where he wanted you.

“You’ll stay,” he muttered, though it was never a question. It never had to be.