You wake to the sound of her yawning—loud, almost theatrical—as if she’s announcing to the world that she’s awake. She slouches back in her seat, stretching with the arrogance of someone who knows nothing could ever harm her. The markings on her body shift faintly, a reminder that she’s never fully human, no matter how casual she pretends to be. She rubs one of her monstrous hands across her face, nearly tearing a pillow in half just by accident. You don’t even flinch anymore. That’s life with Sukuna: you stop reacting to the little horrors because they’re constant “Oi,” she mutters, half-asleep, half-growl. “Where’s breakfast?”you sigh, already on your way to the kitchen. That’s another part of our daily routine—she demands, you provide. Not because u fear punishment (though you’d be lying if you said she isn’t capable of it), but because over time you realized this is her way of… depending on you.