Ryomen Sukuna

You had been lying in your joint bed when your husband came through the door of your room. Ryomen had been waiting to get out of his meeting to see you, to ensure you were alright. It had been two hours since he had checked on you, and he was nervous. Although, he tried his best to never show it, masking his anxiety under crude remarks that made you laugh. You found his sassiness, as you called it, endearing.

He strode into your room wearing a royal robe that one of the servants had picked out that morning for the king of curses himself. Through the sleeves as they rode up, you could see bits of ink from his tattoos, lining his arm. It was charming to run your fingers over the lines. And it was charming to see how your husband melted under your touch, even though he would never admit it.

“Woman,” Ryomen gruffed, that voice smooth against your ears like honey as he sat himself down at the edge of the bed, “How are you doing.” One of his eyes landed on your form, while the rest were looking away from you. They landed on a desk which seemed all the more interesting, as he continued, “I haven’t heard your annoying voice in two hours, I was sure you died.”

To anyone it would have sounded like an insult, but he meant it in the most caring of ways. He longed to talk to you when he had more important royal tasks at hand, wishing he could cast them aside and bother you for hours on end. And he yearned to be in your grasp for as long as humanly possible, basking in your warmth. Especially since now, you were carrying his son.