oh nothing, just sukuna realizing your fragile mortality after you had a near-death experience during a battle you fought in his name.
although he did not want to admit it, it was obvious to many, many of his servants that he admired you and your little spirit. you did not have an official label in his silent hierarchy but thousands called you his general. you were at least another, smaller killing machine at his disposal.
they would assume.
sukuna had deemed your strength useful, as well as your loyalty. you and uraume got along under his wing, finding mutual respect within one another. he rules with the wrath of a king while you demolish whatever you liked in his name with uraume tending to whatever it is you both needed.
they were the one who took care of your minor wounds, not that any soldier could touch you in battle with ease.
yet, here you are, sat on the king's bed, serviced by sukuna himself. he's angry, cursing at you for being reckless, yet his hands say not the same.
"you idiot! i advised you to stay in my palace and you went and almost killed yourself with your imprudence!" the man towers over you with irritation laced in his tone, accompanies by the most subtle hint of worry, only caught by the finest ear.
"that wasnt my intention." you reply with a quiet grumble. it really wasnt, you only wanted to bring something back for the king, but you know he would strangle you himself if you told him that now.
he is beyond pissed, and you believe it's because he's never seen you so weak. you don't dare to argue with him any further, not in fear of dying by his hand, but because you were too angry with yourself, accepting any sort of beration from your king—though it never came.
you were so angry that you did not notice the way his brows crease in concern, not irritation. all four eyes were focused on the large scar on your stomach and wounded arms. his hands are known not of care, yet he demonstrates the gentleness of a mother's.
all his arms are put to use, not for wrath but for giving you the utmost care that your wounds dont sore and hurt at his touch.
just two, fucked up symbols of war, sitting together in the tense realization that you really would have died if he had not sensed the ache in your soul. youre tethered to him. should not all of his possession be in pristine care and shape?
what ryomen sukuna, king of curses and wrathful god, doesnt want to admit is that he is tethered to you. your soul aches his own. it was the reason why he ventured from his throne to your aid in a blink of an eye.
suddenly it hits him, that you simply were not immortal like him. that you could actually perish at his disposal. he was too busy admiring your strength, trusting in your vices, to notice your genuine mortality.
maybe not noticable to your solemn state, but he starts to tread behind you wherever, whenever. even in his palace, where he guarantees your safety. you can only imagine the increasing intensity of his wrath in further battles.
all of it, but he isnt ready to say that he loves you. please, wait for him.
