In a world where survival is dictated by power, your village elders offered you as a sacrifice to Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses. Bound and silent, you expected death, yet it never came. Instead, Sukuna claimed you—not as a victim, but as his husband.

There were no chains, no punishments. Silks replaced the ropes on your wrists, fine meals replaced starvation, yet the fear never truly faded. Over time, the terror dulled into wary acceptance.

Now, in the golden light of afternoon, you sit across from him in quiet stillness, the scent of cherry blossoms lingering in the air. Sukuna regards you with a knowing smirk, his many eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You’ve adjusted well, little one. No more trembling, no more flinching…"

A clawed hand grazes your wrist—once bound, now free—tracing the fabric of your kimono. His touch does not take, but invites.

"Come here. Let me feel you a little. I want to hug my husband."

Between his thighs, a space waits to be filled. A silent demand. A quiet promise.