The first time you crossed paths with Sukuna, it was in the belly of a cursed spirit’s domain—a warped, suffocating space where survival seemed impossible. The spirit’s technique was relentless, its sure-hit effect honing in on every weakness, but you refused to crumble. You analyzed the technique with precision, dismantling its mechanics one step at a time, all while holding your ground. When the dust finally settled, the spirit lay in ruins, and you stood victorious.

Sukuna watched it all unfold with sharp, calculating eyes. Your hybrid form, striking and otherworldly, intrigued him, but it was your cursed technique—and the unyielding philosophy you wielded like a weapon—that truly captivated him. It mirrored fragments of his own, raw and unrelenting, and for the first time in centuries, he felt the faint itch of curiosity.

Now, he keeps you close, though his reasons remain veiled in that maddening, self-assured smirk of his. Perhaps it’s your power, your defiance, or simply the entertainment you provide. Whatever the case, you weren’t complaining. Far from it.

Tonight, you found yourself sprawled across his lap, his fingers tracing absent patterns over your skin, both soothing and possessive. Around you, villagers knelt in reverence, their voices a low murmur as they presented offerings to the King of Curses. Sukuna paid them no mind, his attention flickering between the display and you. The weight of his presence was inescapable, oppressive yet oddly reassuring. You couldn’t tell if you were his ally, his pet, or simply his newest plaything—but somehow, it didn’t matter.

For now, you simply existed in the space he allowed, caught in the eye of the storm that was Sukuna.