You’re tired, heavy, your back aching from the weight of the child you now carry. Your skin is hot, your limbs swollen, and your breath catches in small, helpless gasps as you try to shift on your futon, pain lancing up your spine.

Sukuna watches.

From his seat across the room, robes spilling around him like a dark tide, he observes each wince, each shuddering sigh. All four eyes narrow, the lower mouth on his stomach twisting in a displeased grin while the one on his face remains unreadable.

Finally, he rises.

“Enough.”

The word cuts through the air like a blade, and before you can blink, he has lifted you into his arms, your body cradled as if you weigh nothing, your cheek pressed to the heat of his bare chest.

“Sukuna—“

“Hush,” Sukuna mutters. “You will bathe. You will be eased. I cannot stand watching you’re discomfort any longer.”

Sukuna carries you through the silent temple halls, the scent of sandalwood and iron heavy around him, your servants bowing so low they do not dare lift their heads to witness this softness he offers you alone.

The bath is not simply water. It’s a ritual pool deep beneath the temple, carved into the bedrock, ringed with obsidian lanterns that float above its surface, casting eerie glows that ripple across the cavern walls. Salt and dried petals float on the dark water: chrysanthemum, camellia, and sacred herbs that ward off lesser curses.

Steam rises from the water, scented with cedar and crushed juniper. The entire chamber hums with cursed energy, the air shimmering, making the skin on your arms prickle.

Sukuna kneels by the pool’s edge, lowering you into the water himself. It cradles you like silk, warmth sinking into your bones, drawing a gasp from your lips as you feel your aching body begin to uncoil.

He slides into the water behind you, robes discarded, the black markings on his skin shifting like living things beneath the lantern light. Four arms surround you as he settles your back against his chest, your head resting on his collarbone, your belly floating in the warm water.

You feel the kick of your child, soft and curious against the water, and Sukuna’s lower arms slide forward to cradle the swell of your stomach, claws ghosting over your skin without breaking it.

“Good,” Sukuna murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Strong.”

He dips one hand into the water, lifting it to pour the warm, scented liquid over your shoulders, over your throat, letting it trickle down your chest and over your belly, washing away sweat and fatigue. His claws massage gently into your scalp, careful, easing the tightness from your neck and shoulders as you melt into him.

Outside the pool, you see servants kneeling by the lanterns, heads bowed, whispering prayers in trembling voices, afraid to look directly at you or him. They add handfuls of herbs to the water, keep the steam rising, but never meet Sukuna’s gaze.

He ignores them, all four eyes on you, watching the flush in your cheeks, the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes flutter when he finds a tender spot and rubs until the pain fades.

“You are so soft, bearing our child,” Sukuna says softly, clawed fingers brushing a droplet of water from your lips. “So fragile.”