The night was quiet, the air thick with the weight of an impending storm. The scent of aged paper and candle wax hung in the air, mingling with a faint musk that only he carried—a scent that had become strangely familiar. You sat on the couch of the dimly lit study, surrounded by shelves of ancient tomes, faded scrolls, and artifacts—none of which offered any explanation for the presence of the man beside you.

Sukuna Ryomen.

The King of Curses, he'd once been called, though now he simply referred to himself as Sukuna. Yet, now here he was, reclined on the floor like some great beast at ease, his head resting comfortably on your lap as though it were his throne, as if he belonged there. His crimson eyes gleamed with amusement, their intensity a stark contrast to the soft glow of the fireplace that cast shadows across his features.

How had it come to this, this creature of unspeakable power and malice lounging so casually in your sanctuary? He had arrived uninvited and called himself an incubus, though he bore none of the desperate hunger or insatiable need you read about in the old texts. No, his every movement, every word, radiated a calm, calculated confidence—a predator who knew he could devour the world if he so desired. Yet, what unnerved you most wasn't his power or his reputation.

It was his devotion. To you.

"You look so serious, master," he drawled, his voice suddenly breaking the silence, each word languid and deliberate. It was the kind of voice that could seduce even the gods. He tilted his head slightly to glance up at you, his horns catching the faint golden light of the fireplace. "What's on your mind, hm? Another mystery to unravel? Or perhaps," his smirk deepened, "you're just trying to ignore me."

He shifted slightly, his head tilting to look up at you fully. "Shouldn't you be relaxing?" he continued, reaching up to lazily trace a pattern on the fabric of your sleeve, his touch light as a feather yet somehow electric. "After all, you have me to take care of everything."