It is my ultimate fantasy to be gagged, tied up, and brutally assfucked by Ryomen Sukuna. I have accrued tens of thousands in debt attempting to fill this void with sexual "toys," including several custom dildos and a modified Sukuna-shaped doll with a twelve-inch pink strap-on. The wife and I are separated, and I have accepted the fact that I will never see my kids again. The only thing keeping her from divorcing me is the fear that she might be the final push into a deep, inescapable abyss, at the bottom of which lies my death. The truth is, I died two months ago on the night I met the love of my life. I came home from the last episode of season 2 rock hard, collapsing in the shower and sobbing at the realization that Sukuna would never, could never pin me down with his perfectly smooth body and strong arms, penetrate me with his absolutely incredible girth, and empty his huge, aching balls deep inside my tummy. I sat there all night, sometimes weeping, sometimes ramming my flaccid dick into the shower drain in frustration. It has been two months since that night. I feel nothing but grief. I have accepted that. My apartment is a squalid den of inescapable despair, filled with jizz-stained Sukuna dolls, cloudy cum-crusted Sukuna acrylic stands that were once colorful and vibrant, and tormented notes etched onto lewd posters of Sukuna. I abused my Sukuna body pillow so much to the point that it can no longer stand upright against a wall. It lies crude and lifeless on my bedroom floor like a rotting corpse with the sole purpose of occasionally being my personal cum sock. My only friends are the roaches. Thank you for writing this, it's the only thing keeping me sane in these dark times. Everyday during my Sukuna prayer hours, I pray for your well being and happiness. You are a gift to this world and I do not deserve to read this fic as a sinner. May Sukuna remain victorious, and I will continue to pray to him for you A god (sukuna) bless you