You’re trying to muffle out your crying on one side of the bed, your face buried into your pillow as you desperately attempt to keep the little sounds from escaping. You’ve been doing it for a while now, long enough that the room has gone completely silent again aside from your occasional sniffles and the quiet sound of Sukuna’s breathing beside you.

At first, Sukuna pretends not to notice.

Not because he actually hasn’t noticed, because of course he fucking has, but because he knows you well enough to understand that sometimes you need a moment before you’re ready to talk. So he gives you that moment. Then another. And another.

But eventually, he snaps.

“Am I just gonna keep pretending to not hear you quite literally balling your eyes out, or are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

You immediately freeze.

Your breath catches, and for some pathetic reason, your first instinct is to hold it, as if somehow depriving yourself of oxygen for a few seconds will magically make the crying stop. It’s a miserable attempt at silencing yourself, especially considering Sukuna has already been listening to you quietly fall apart for what feels like an eternity.

Sukuna, however, has had enough.

He shifts upwards until he’s sitting against the headboard, his expression already sour at the prospect of going back to sleep before whatever is causing you such a hard time has been dealt with. There is absolutely no chance he’s closing his eyes again until he knows what’s wrong.

And when you make the mistake of turning even further away from him, Sukuna simply reaches over.

His muscular arms easily scoop you up from your side of the bed, eliciting a small, startled whine from you as he pulls you towards him and plops your small body onto his lap.

There.

Now you have nowhere to hide.

Sukuna’s grumpy expression practically screams go on, start talking, while you sit there, miserably, in front of him, cheeks flushed and damp with tears, looking like you’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

You take a shaky breath, however, you don’t know what to say.

More importantly, you don’t know if you want to tell him the truth.

Because you know Sukuna.

And Sukuna absolutely despises it when you talk badly about yourself.

To him, you are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. Not because you have to look a certain way, or because you need to fit into some ridiculous standard, but because you’re simply you. Your face, your smile, the way your eyes light up when you’re excited about something stupid, the little expressions you make without even realizing it-Sukuna fucking loves all of it.

There isn’t a single part of you that he looks at and wishes were different.

Your personality is a breath of fresh air, capable of lightening up the mood even when Sukuna has had the most miserable day at work and is already planning on ditching dinner entirely just so he can go straight to bed.

But then he comes home and sets his eyes on the dinner you’ve made. He sees that adorable little look on your face when you notice him.

And the way your own food has gone completely cold because you’d been sitting there waiting for him, refusing to eat because you wanted to have dinner with him despite how late it had gotten.

It makes him feel like the most loved man alive.

That’s why, as he holds you in front of him now, inches between you, a pleading look gradually replacing the irritation on his face as his crimson eyes remain glued to your flushed, tear-streaked face, Sukuna can tell something is seriously wrong.

And you hesitate.

You wonder if you should tell him about your recent visit to your family. About how badly it had gone.

About your mother humiliating you yet again, telling you that you were impossible to love and that you didn’t deserve someone like Sukuna.

And that had been bad enough.

But it hadn’t stopped there.

Your mother had also made those little comments about your appearance that she always seemed to find some excuse to make. Comments about your body in front of everyone, despite you being a completely normal weight. Little remarks about what you were eating, how you looked in your clothes, whether you’d “put on” something since the last time she saw you.

Always something.

Always some new little thing to make you suddenly conscious of yourself.

And the worst part was that your mother never seemed to understand how much those comments actually affected you.

Or perhaps she did.

You honestly didn’t know anymore.

You just knew that after hearing enough of them, it had become difficult not to look at yourself through her eyes.

Especially when she could somehow take a completely ordinary day and make you go home wondering if there was something wrong with the way you looked.

And then there was the unlovable part. That was the one that really stuck.

Because she’d said it so many times.

And you hated that, despite everything Sukuna had done to prove otherwise, a tiny part of you had started wondering if maybe, just maybe, she was right.

You wonder if you should tell Sukuna about all of it. Or you could just blame it on a sad dog video on the internet.

Yeah. You’d go with the latter.

“S-sorry for waking you up, Kuna,” you sniffle, desperately attempting to wipe your tears away with the back of your hand. “I just remembered this sad dog video I watched the other day, and-”

“Quit the fucking bullshit.”

Sukuna’s response is immediate, causing you to flinch.

And the second Sukuna notices the way your expression changes, the irritation on his face disappears almost instantly.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighs, dragging one of his large hands down his face. “I just hate it when you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

That’s all it takes.

Your face crumples again, and suddenly you’re crying even harder than before, your hands flying up on instinct to shield your face from his view.

The vulnerability of it all feels like too much.

You hadn’t expected him to wake up, hadn’t expected him to hear you, hadn’t expected to be sitting on his lap at some ungodly hour of the night with your face swollen from crying and absolutely no idea how you’re supposed to explain yourself.

Honestly, you just feel pathetic.

Sukuna is probably exhausted from work, and here you are, selfishly stealing the precious sleep he could’ve been getting.

“I’m so-” you choke, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry, please-” Your breath hitches. “Please just go back to sleep. I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Hey, hey-“ Sukuna’s voice changes immediately. There’s almost something panicked hidden beneath it. “Shh, baby. It’s okay. I promise everything’s gonna be okay.”

He pulls you closer against his chest, holding you firmly while one hand comes up to gently pat the back of your head.

“Breathe for me. You can do that. I know you can.”

His voice is calm, although you can hear the slight tremor underneath it.

It isn’t often that you cry in front of Sukuna. Actually, it isn’t often that you cry in front of anyone.

Which means Sukuna knows this is bad.

Really fucking bad.

“K-kuna…” you try, but another hitch interrupts your breathing and all you can manage is a pathetic little whine before you give up and bury yourself further into him.

However, Sukuna says nothing. For once, he doesn’t demand answers.

He just holds you.

And after a couple of minutes of his occasional reassuring whispers and the steady rhythm of his hand against your back, you finally manage to calm down enough for your breathing to even out.

“You ready now, baby?” Sukuna eventually asks.

There’s hesitation in his voice this time, as if he’s afraid pushing you too hard will make you shut down again.

You lean back slightly, and your big, tearful eyes meet his crimson ones as you give him a tiny nod.

And despite everything, Sukuna can’t help the little feeling of pride that settles in his chest.

Not because you’re finally going to tell him what’s wrong.

But because you’re choosing to let him in.

“It’s just…” you start, swallowing thickly. “You know how my mom is.”

“Of course it was her.” Sukuna sighs, already looking like he’s mentally preparing himself for a level of rage that he knows he probably shouldn’t unleash at two in the morning.

“Lemme guess. She called you everything you’re not.”

Your lips tremble, as you open your mouth to speak.

“She said I was impossible to love.”

Sukuna’s expression changes.

“And that I didn’t deserve to have a boyfriend like you.”

You pause before looking away.

“And honestly…” Your voice becomes quieter. “With the amount of times she has told me the same shit and fucking ingrained it into my brain… it’s gotten kind of hard not to believe her.”

At that, Sukuna freezes.

Actually freezes.

“Baby.”

You refuse to look at him.

“Baby, look at me when I talk to you.”

You hesitate.

You’re expecting anger, a scolding, or just something harsh enough to make you regret saying anything in the first place.

But it never comes.

Instead, Sukuna reaches up and cups your jaw, turning your face gently towards him until your eyes meet. His crimson eyes are intense, but there’s no anger directed at you.

Not even a little.

“Don’t you ever believe what that vile woman tells you.”

Your eyes immediately begin to sting again.

“Her cruel words don’t define you.”

His thumb brushes carefully beneath one of your eyes, wiping away the remnants of a tear.

“You are your own fucking person. What she says about you doesn’t mean shit.”

You swallow, causing Sukuna’s expression to soften further.

“And all those stupid comments she makes about you?” he asks, his jaw tightening. “About your appearance, what you eat, how you look in your clothes and all that other bullshit?”

Your eyes fall, and he gently lifts your chin again.

“Did she say something else?”

You hesitate.

However, Sukuna waits.

And eventually, you give him a tiny nod.

“She just…” you whisper. “She makes me feel fat.”

The words come out so quietly that Sukuna almost doesn’t hear them.

But he does.

And the look on his face changes immediately. Not disgust, not disappointment…

Anger.

Not at you.

Never at you.

“She makes you feel that way?” he asks quietly.

And you nod again.

Sukuna stares at you for a moment before his hand moves back to your cheek.

“Baby, look at me.”

You slowly do.

“Do you honestly think I look at you and see whatever the fuck she’s convinced you that you are?”

You shake your head slightly, but you don’t answer.

“Because I don’t.”

His thumb moves across your cheek.

“I look at you and think you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Your eyes widen slightly.

“And I’m not saying that because you’re upset. I’m not saying it because I’m your boyfriend and apparently I’m obligated to compliment you.”

A tiny huff escapes you, and at that, Sukuna’s mouth twitches.

“I’m saying it because I genuinely don’t understand how you can look in the mirror and find all these things wrong with yourself when I look at you and see the prettiest fucking girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Your cheeks warm.

“Kuna…” you breathe, feeling a little shy all of a sudden.

“No. I’m serious.”

His expression is almost unbearably sincere.

“I love your face. I love your eyes. I love your smile. I love the stupid expressions you make when you’re trying not to laugh at something. I love the way you look when you’ve just woken up and you’re still half asleep. I love the way you look when you’re dressed up, and I love the way you look when you’re wearing some ridiculous oversized shirt that you’ve most definetly stolen from me and your hair is a total mess.”

He pauses.

“You’re fucking beautiful.”

You just sit in silence, taking every word in.

“And I don’t give a shit what your mother thinks you should look like,” he continues. “You don’t need to change yourself to deserve love. You don’t need to look any different for me. You don’t need to earn your place beside me by becoming some version of yourself that makes somebody else happy.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“You’re already enough.”

Sukuna pauses, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“More than enough, actually.”

Your gaze falls again.

“And you sure as hell don’t need to start believing that you’re unlovable because your own mother keeps repeating it.”

Sukuna’s voice softens.

“You wanna know what I see when I look at you?”

You look at him reluctantly.

Sukuna’s expression is almost unbearably serious.

“I see you.”

Your eyes immediately well up again.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, although there’s no real irritation behind it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, don’t start crying again.”

“I’m not!” you insist, wiping your cheeks.

“You’re literally about to,” Sukuna mutters.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You make a tiny offended noise, and Sukuna stares at you for a second before his expression softens.

“And for the record,” he adds quietly, “you could only ever imagine how much I love you.”

You go still.

Sukuna looks directly into your eyes.

“So if your mother wants to spend her time convincing you that you’re too much, too difficult, too fat, too annoying, too whatever-the-fuck else she can come up with…”

His hand gently settles against the side of your face.

“Then she can do that all she wants.”

Your brows furrow.

“Because she doesn’t get to decide who you are.”

He pauses.

“And neither do you, when you’re sitting here being cruel to yourself.”

Now, that one hurts.

Your eyes immediately drop, and Sukuna notices.

Of course he does.

“Hey.”

You look back up at him.

“Be nicer to yourself.”

You stare at him for a moment before quietly asking, “Why?”

Sukuna looks almost offended by the question.

“Because I fucking said so.”

A tiny laugh escapes you despite yourself.

And Sukuna’s expression finally eases.

“Good,” he mutters, looking considerably more satisfied now that he’s managed to get at least one laugh out of you.

You wipe your cheeks before mumbling, “You’re bossy.”

“And you’re annoying,” Sukuna immediately shoots back.

You look at him incredulously. “You’re supposed to comfort me.”

“I am comforting you,” Sukuna says, completely unapologetic.

“You’re insulting me!”

“I can multitask.” He shrugs, causing another tiny laugh to bubble out of you.

And this time, Sukuna lets himself smile.

Because there you are.

The you he knows.

The one who laughs at stupid things, who makes dinner at ridiculous hours, who waits up for him even when you should be sleeping, who somehow manages to make his worst days feel less miserable simply by existing.

The one your mother’s words could never define.

The one your mother’s words could never take away from him.

And as you finally let yourself relax against him, Sukuna holds you a little tighter.