The bedroom was quiet except for the soft spill of moonlight across the sheets. You were just settling in when the door slid open—and Sukuna walked in like he always did, like the world belonged to him.

Except this time, he looked worse than usual.

Blood streaked his mouth, his arms, his chest—dark against his skin, like he hadn’t even bothered to clean himself before coming to you. Your eyes widened instantly.

“Sukuna!” you snapped, sitting up. “Are you serious right now? You can’t just walk in here like that and expect me not to say anything!”

He didn’t respond properly.

He crossed the room and dropped forward onto you, face-first into your chest, arms wrapping around your waist like it was instinct, like it was home.

“Hey—listen to me!” you protested, pushing at his shoulder. “I’m talking to you! You’re covered in blood again!”

Nothing.

Just his steady weight settling in, like your warmth was the only thing grounding him. Then, lazily, his head tilted slightly.

“I’m staring at your—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you cut in immediately.

A quiet pause.

Then a low hum of amusement against you. “You’re loud.”

“You are unbelievable,” you muttered, still trying to sound mad, though your hands had already slipped into his hair out of habit. “You come in here looking like that, don’t listen to me, and just—just drop on me like I’m furniture.”

Before you could continue, his hand came up and pulled you down into a sudden kiss.

It was firm, unbothered, like he didn’t care about your protest at all.

When he pulled back, you froze for half a second, then immediately wrinkled your nose.

“…You taste like blood,” you said flatly, wiping your lip with the back of your hand. “That is disgusting.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a faint amusement in them. “You’re still talking.”

“Yes, because I’m married to a walking hazard,” you shot back. “Go clean your mouth.”

Instead of moving, he just settled back onto your chest again, arms tightening around your waist like he had no intention of listening.

“…Later,” he said simply.

You sighed, exasperated—but your fingers still threaded through his hair.

And after a beat, softer this time, you added, “I love you. But you’re still disgusting.”

That made him still for a moment.

Then, quietly, almost satisfied, “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated.

And just like that, Sukuna went completely calm against you—like the world, the blood, and everything he’d done outside the room didn’t matter at all, as long as he could stay right there.