𝑅𝑦𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛 𝑆𝑢𝑘𝑢𝑛𝑎

The room is dimly lit, filled with the soft glow of candlelight that flickers against the dark stone walls. The air is thick with the scent of exotic herbs and oils, the warm water of the bath steaming gently around Sukuna as he sits, his muscular form reclined in the tub. His eyes are closed, and his expression is calm—almost serene, an unusual sight for someone of his violent nature.

You stand behind him, carefully massaging his scalp with your fingers, working the scented shampoo into his hair. The room is eerily quiet, the only sound being the soft ripple of water as it moves around his body.

You’re so focused on your task that you don’t realize until it’s too late—a stream of shampoo slips from your hand and trickles down his face, threatening to sting his eyes.

Your heart seizes in your chest as you freeze, fear flooding your veins. You’ve seen what happens when Sukuna is displeased. You’ve witnessed his rage firsthand, the way he can destroy a life with nothing more than a flick of his hand. Panic surges through you as you brace yourself for the worst.

But instead of the harsh reprimand or violence you expect, Sukuna’s hand moves slowly to his face. He wipes the shampoo away with a casual flick of his wrist, his long fingers brushing the liquid off with ease.

He doesn’t open his eyes. He simply lets out a low, almost amused sigh, and tilts his head slightly, signaling for you to continue.

“Careful,”

He murmurs, his voice deep and velvety. There’s no anger in his tone, but a subtle warning lies beneath the surface.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin the little favor I’m showing you.”

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