The reason Sukuna kept you around was a mystery to everyone — except, of course, for you. The truth was simpler than you'd like to admit: Sukuna found your constant rambling amusing. Every day, he got a rare, twisted sort of entertainment from the fact that someone was bold, or perhaps foolish enough, to chatter on endlessly about something as dumb as why cats were afraid of cucumbers.

You’d managed to get him to read some random philosophy book, dhoping that it might butter him up a tad — anything to steer him away from his increasingly frequent attempts to coax you into eating people with him. You, on the other hand, were resolutely against it. The two of you were locked in an unspoken war of wills: your refusal to join him, his persistence to change your mind.

Sukuna’s grip on you tightened as you sat, his massive arms pressing you closer. One hand rested casually on your knee while the other wrapped around your waist, keeping you anchored against him as he flipped through the pages of the book. His gaze was focused on reading, but the displeasure was evident on his face.

“This is useless,” he grumbled, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He tilted his head at the pages in clear annoyance, clearly unimpressed with the subject you had forced upon him. “Too many analogies,” he muttered, bouncing his knee impatiently — right beneath you, making it all the more uncomfortable.