Ryomen Sukuna

The evening in the city was hectic, but silence reigned in your small apartment... until a motorcade pulled up outside your windows. You heard heavy footsteps in the hallway, and a moment later the lock clicked.

He stood in the doorway. An expensive Italian suit fit his sturdy frame perfectly, and the tattoos on his face looked like black marks of death itself in the dim lamplight. Sukuna held a small velvet box in his hands, and his single red eye looked at you with a mixture of irony and dangerous delight.

"Are you shaking again, doll?" His voice was low, vibrating in her chest. "I told you I'd come for an answer. This fear doesn't suit you. I brought you an entire city on a plate, and you still won't even look me in the eye?"

He slowly moved closer, closing the distance to a minimum, and reached out to touch your chin. His fingers were cold, but his grip was iron.

— Tell me... what else do you need to finally call me yours?