Ony's Baby

“Mind your own business.”

He asked this because he just wanted an excuse to hurt her. It’s kind of hard to soft-launch sadistic tendencies.

“I’m sorry, I—”

Sukuna’s hand closed around her throat, squeezing without a shred of shame or fear of killing her.

“You know damn well all of this is for someone else,” he mocked her, lowering his head to kiss her.

Tongues tangled, breath ragged from the grinding of his hips, yet there was no passion to be found. The R&B playlist she’d put on to set the mood, her lingerie, and her perfectly styled hair, all wasted efforts to connect with a heartless man.

And yet, his heart beat for you; she knew it.

Everyone knew the D&S duo: Dollette & Sukuna.

That was your nickname. Your personal branding strategy was perfect : black-and-white outfits and accessories in a coquette style, with ribbon bows and lace. A dark doll. When you acted in movies, people were blown away by your ability to embody aesthetics other than the one so intrinsically tied to your public image.

Every photo of you and Sukuna ended up on women’s Pinterest boards, and the “best friends with sexual tension” trope exploded on BookTok. You two were the OGs. A hit couple without actually being a couple.

So, as his coach’s daughter, Yorozu knew him well. She knew exactly who was on his mind while he fucked her.

It showed in the way he touched her hips, and in the frown that creased his brow when he couldn't find the curves, the thickness, that you possessed. She could feel it when his body was pressed against hers, his eyes narrowed on her as if he wanted to punish her for lacking your softness. When he pulled her hair, he’d click his tongue in disapproval. It wasn't the same texture as your braids, nor the same volume as your curly hair. He was so bored with her.

Sukuna was bored with everything in life; she knew this.

She had thought she could heal his loneliness with her love. She had fallen in love the moment she met his merciless gaze during a boxing session with her father.

But when he finished training, he didn't turn to her to get to know her.

He turned to you.

Dollette. The actress who had already won multiple prestigious movie awards at just twenty-four. Known for her theatrical personality she displayed during hypomanic episodes, traits that infused her acting roles with raw emotion. Always seen in black Mary Jane heels and high white lace socks.

The kind of woman Yorozu couldn't compete with.

But you were his best friend, not his girlfriend. Sukuna wanted nothing serious. The love he felt for you was an exception, a distortion of reality, something that happens once every thousand years, a genetic anomaly.

Sukuna only fucked women when he needed to hurt someone. Foreplay was a pain in the ass to him. He was there for the violent sound of the bed banging against the wall, for the scratches on his back as his partner reached their peak.

Yorozu smiled at him as he strangled her. 

“You think you're cute? I can't even cum with your face.”

He buried his face in her neck; his stomach churned with disgust at her scent. So far from the blend of vanilla mist, caramel perfume, and cocoa butter cream that was yours. He was allergic to any woman who wasn't you.

He closed his eyes and imagined you in her place.

Maybe you would be the only woman he’d make love to. The one with whom he’d take his time. The one with whom he’d pay attention to pleasure. All while still hurting you, because violence was his love language, his mark on humanity; that was why he boxed.

He pictured your cheeks wet with tears as you sat on his lap, in the throes of a psychotic episode. Your speech broken. The words that made no sense in your sentences. Your face buried in his chest, begging him to silence the noise in your head. You at your rawest.

He loved your tears, he loved it when you suffered. But only because of him. He hated your demons, the shadows of your mind that enveloped you in a world no one understood, not even him.

“Let’s stop this shit,” he grumbled, pulling away from Yorozu, who was whining.

She missed the warmth of his body, even though she wasn’t unaware of the coldness in his heart.

Sukuna’s lip corners lifted in a spiteful smile as he took off the condom and put on his clothes. “I didn’t even fuck you with any passion, the fuck are you whining for?”

Yorozu straightened her elbows, hoping he liked seeing her breasts (he didn't). 

“Why did you dye your hair black? We can see the pink roots.”

“To make stupid bitches like you talk,” he chuckled, remaining shirtless, his muscular body and sculpted abs on display. He got out of bed, wearing the Jaded London baggy jeans you'd bought him. You were the fashionable one in the duo; he couldn't care less about his appearance.

As he rummaged through his things to find a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, Yorozu tried to ignore the energy emanating from his room. Everything was dark and so cold, as usual. Impersonal. Nothing that suggested anything intimate about him. Yorozu always came to his place with excitement to discover new information about the man she loved, but she was greeted by the physical evidence of his disconnection from the world.

The only thing radiating light was your smile in a framed photo on his bedside table. An androgynous person with short white hair had an arm around you and looked nervous, as if whoever was taking the picture was glaring at them for touching their girl.

Uraume. Sukuna’s personal physical therapist.

Yorozu tried to sleep with him too to get information on Sukuna since he was his childhood friend, but he never gave her the attention she wanted.

She nibbled at the inside of her cheek, glaring at the photo frame.

“We could have a picnic this weekend,” she said softly, playing with her hair, hoping he would find her hairstyle attractive (he didn’t). “You have a few days left before the next MMA event, we could—” 

The bedroom door slammed shut as he stepped out onto the living room balcony. He rested his elbows on the railing, gazing at the city of Tokyo across the street, smoking his cigarette.

Sometimes he liked to watch people walking down the street and see his neighbors from the building across the street through the window to remind himself that he was superior to everyone.

All those people who felt guilt, empathy to the point of losing their sense of self. He could jerk off in front of Tokyo, show those idiots (who said how terrifying he was and had probably killed someone, making it undeserving to be among Rizin's champions) that he'd cummed on their faces.

Being empathetic, regretting something, feeling guilty was a drag.

Sukuna was as fast as lightning without his feelings, taking him to the very top of the MMA championships because that man genuinely didn't give a fuck.

He proudly declared himself the best in interviews and mocked his losing opponents. He cheated with his weight by losing quickly to be in a lower weight class and gain an advantage. He slept with his coach's daughter behind his back. Not a single fuck, and he waited for someone to challenge him.

His phone rang, and it was the special "Totally Spies" ringtone you'd set yourself so he'd know it was your group of friends and avoid ignoring his phone.

He smiled, checking his notifications.

[chats from ‘dollette's voices’ group chat]

schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿 : kuna didn't say good night to me :(((

schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿: im heartbroken and gonna kms for real now

sukuna : who gives a fuck about you

schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿: nobody 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

sukuna's dick rider 💯 : you're mean kuna, she misses you

sukuna : don't even start uraume i just fucked yorozu im in a bad mood

[schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿 is now offline].

big ass blue eyes 👁 : sukuna you have no game why tf did you say that in front of her

sukuna : that girl doesnt want my dick lets be real she said i was a slut

big ass blue eyes 👁 : u are

sukuna : acting as if you dont have suguru's mouth around your dick rn

big ass blue eyes 👁 : 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

big ass blue eyes 👁 : [photo]

sukuna : delete that disgusting shit immediately 

peace n love 💐 : did yall forget i was a minor

emo boy : sukuna you're the worst big brother i know tf is that conversation yuji is 16!!!!!

sukuna : blah blah blah tell dollette to stop ignoring my calls

big ass blue eyes 👁 : is patrick bateman just experiencing guilt ??

sukuna : dont compare me to that whiny bitch he is hella insecure 

emo boy : stop saying the b word

sukuna : suck my dick choso 

emo boy : be a goddamn good older brother for once in your life

Sukuna rolled his eyes and focused on his phone to call you. After the tenth call, you finally picked up. He let out a heavy breath hearing sniffles.

“Your needy ass needs to stop.”

“I know but like anything breaks me down right now.”

“I know,” he said gently, the type of voice he uses only with you. “I told you to take your meds.”

“You don't get it, 'kuna. I need antipsychotics for the schizophrenic aspect of my disorder, but these meds make me so sleepy and basically a zombie. I need mood regulators for the bipolar aspects, but every time I have a hypomanic episode, I stop taking them so I never have the—”

“Wow, slow down,” he cut in. His heart squeezed at your faster speech. Bipolar disorder was complex, and sometimes depressive symptoms could overlap with hypomanic ones, creating mixed episodes. He was always on the lookout for contradictory behavior in you.

“How much have you spent in the last three days?”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Dollette,” he grunted. “The fuck?”

“Well, there were tons of sales in Shibuya and Harujuku…”

“That’s not a reason to spend so much in 72 hours.”

“W-What? How do you know?”

“I know my baby.”

“Mhmm, I love it when you call me that.”

“Yeah? Enjoy it while you can because it’ll never happen again.”

“‘KUNA!”

What followed was a passionate conversation about the lace lingerie you had bought, your passion for fashion, ending in tears because nothing was going well in your life and you wanted to die.

“Happiness is a butterfly, Dollette.”

Sukuna knew how to calm you down because his sentence instantly soothed you.

“Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you” is a quote that rocked your complicated childhood with Sukuna. Most of Sukuna's tattoos were for you, but the butterfly one was the most special.

“You're right, I should calm down a bit. Rest.”

“You need some dick.”

“You're a fucking slut, don't ever touch me.”

“Oh okay, I thought you wanted that dick when you talked about lingerie.

“You're just my best friend.”

Sukuna tensed, gripping the phone tighter.

Best friend, my ass. The way he cared for you was nothing like the friendship he had with Uraume.

“I guess,” he mumbled, his jaw clenching. “I’ll come cook for you tomorrow. I bet you haven’t had anything homemade in days.”

“Thank you, ‘kuna. Love you a lot.”

“As you should.” Me too.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

Happiness is a butterfly, and you were desperately chasing after it.

Sometimes your hypomanic episodes were so clever they happened at a natural time.

You'd read a mind-blowing book that gave you a new perspective on life, and bam! You'd buy 300 similar books, change your entire wardrobe because you were a new person, and your heart would race every day because you were bursting with creativity.

It was impossible for you to realize you were spiraling downward; changing your life after a good book seemed valid.

“And then he forced her to give him a blowjob or he'd throw her off a cliff in chapter two, but we learn later in the book it was her kink to be forced, and when they have consensual sex, she begs him not to be gentle with her. So hot, he's a psychopath like you,” you chuckled, rearranging your bookshelves.

“What did he do in chapter 2?”

 You turned your head, holding ‘God of Malice’ by Rina Kent. You glared at him, his eyes on your ass.

“You never listen to me. I’ve already told you about Killian Carson. He has the same mind as you, that’s why he’s my book boyfriend.”

“Wow, what a love confession,” Sukuna chuckled, his head buried in your unicorn plushies, his legs spread wide on your bed as he smoked his blunt. He was on vacation and could afford drugs without his agent yelling at him that he was self-sabotaging.

Even if you were hypomanic right now, Sukuna loved you when you were like that.

There was so much color and life in you in those moments. The real you was amplified. Not the schizophrenic you, not the bipolar you. Just you. With your love for dark romance books, your love for cinema, your love for fashion.

It's a shame the mania came with so much suffering for you.

“What do you think of this?” You lifted your skirt to show him the lingerie you'd bought.

A groan echoed through the room, and you twirled around, hoping he'd have a better sight overall.

“C'mere,” he ordered, his voice deep.

His heart yearned for a kiss so bad. A kiss on your thigh to lead to something more sexual.

You sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

With his free hand, he gripped your ass under your skirt, kneading the pillowy flesh.

You talked about something; he guessed about another weird ass man in your romance novels, but his gaze was on your moving lips.

He bit the inside of his cheek, distracted and in love.

His phone rang several times, but he ignored it. He had the girl of his dreams on his lap.

“Wanna redo my dye with me?” he asked, tilting his head to better see your face light up. He fought a smile.

You spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom, black dye all over the sink, but Sukuna relaxed with your fingers in his hair. He stared at you as you focused on applying the chemical perfectly to his roots.

He swore he had never seen a woman prettier and cuter than you.

With long brown braids that reached your hips, your face was framed by layered french curls. Your soft face was adorned with a highlighter with satin pigments, which complemented your white strapless dress with its flowing skirt. The rest of your accessories were black, still very coquettish, with ribbon bows, barrettes, and a headband.

A princess. He wished he could be your prince.

“Shower me and shave me, too. I hurt myself in training,” he lied. He desperately wanted your touch. Desperately wanted to hurt you. Lovingly, tho. In a Sukuna way.

“You were smoking and touching my ass just fine.”

He smirked. “Don’t need any effort for that.”

────────

After a clean body, a shaved face, and a fresh dye, you finally emerge from the bathroom after two hours.

Sukuna grabbed his phone and clutched it tightly when he saw the 36 calls from Megumi.

Megumi never spoke to Sukuna; they had each other's numbers for Yuji.

Dread gripped his heart as he read the numerous messages from Choso and Megumi.

emo boy : i'm too drunk can you drive me home im with yuji

emo boy : no uber is available omg pls sukunaaaaa

emo boy : fine i will try to be careful im so tired i need to tell you what happened i think a girl liked me at the bar :))

megumi : i'm at the hospital rn because your grown ass was lollygagging when your brothers got in a car accident 

────────

When you and Sukuna arrived at the hospital, it was too late. Yuji and Choso were already dead; the attempts to make their hearts beat during the emergency surgeries were futile.

“I’m so sorry, ‘kuna,” you tried to say, but he interrupted you.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, staring at the floor.

The doctors and nurses were busy dealing with other emergencies now, but they glanced at Sukuna.

Everyone here knew who Sukuna was.

The champion of Rizin. The one who had brought an avalanche of international fans to the Japanese MMA organization. Known for his brutality, the madness in his eyes when he fought, his mocking tone in interviews. The one whose entrances at MMA events garnered millions of views on YouTube.

How would a psychopath like him react to the death of his brothers?

Only you noticed the emotions in him. His legs were restless. His hands were trembling. His voice was harsher because he didn't know how to deal with his loss.

“It's not that deep, stop looking at me like that.”

You drew your lips into a thin line. “Sukuna…”

“I said stop looking at me like that, damn it.”

He stood up abruptly, ignoring you, and left the emergency room to go outside. But when he reached the doors, he saw his parents, stiffened, immediately looking down at the floor. His mother's violent slap didn't make him look up. Nor did her shouts. Nor his father's heavy, disapproving, broken gaze.

“Do you realize what you've done? They're… They're…” His mother placed her hand on his chest, which rose and fell, her cheeks flushed. “I told you we should have given up on him, honey.” 

Sukuna's fists clenched as he remained silent, staring at the white floor.

His mother continued talking, but could she really be called a mother? She didn't care about his own loss. She didn't care that Choso had driven drunk. It was all Sukuna's fault, as usual.

Sukuna shoved her with his broad shoulders and left the hospital.

He never liked them, anyway.

Choso was too perfect. Sukuna's parents constantly compared him to him. Because Choso had everything Sukuna lacked: kindness, empathy, compassion, care for his brothers.

He tried to light his lighter, but the wind was in his direction, preventing the flame from igniting. He grunted, his hands trembling even more.

Yuji was a dumb ass. Stupid as fuck. Sukuna didn't know what Megumi loved so dearly about Yuji. 

His lighter continued to malfunction, and Sukuna struggled to see where to press his thumb because his vision was blurred. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he spat out his cigarette. A butterfly fluttered past him. He chuckled at the absurdity of the situation, sniffing. Happiness was a butterfly, but with that loss, he didn't know if he could catch it anymore.

────────

But to better understand Sukuna and his grief, you need to go back in time to where it all began for the two of you.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞, 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Being a victim was boring as fuck.

Sukuna's bullies were having fun today. They stole his bento, Sukuna shed some (fake) tears when they gave him more cigarette burns, and now Sukuna was choking.

Mahito laughed hysterically as he pulled Sukuna's hair, his head in the toilet bowl.

Sukuna prepared a terrified expression for when he was freed from the water.

“That'll teach you to help my girlfriend with school. She doesn't need your damn help.”

Bored, Sukuna blinked but then remembered the role he needed to play.

“I-I'm sorry!”

“Yeah, you better be. Now let's go, I hear a teacher coming.”

Mahito and his friends left the bathroom, leaving a soaking wet Sukuna alone.

Sukuna burst out laughing once he was alone.

He shook his head, chuckling. “This is getting ridiculous.”

He grabbed his Cars school bag, the one he shared with his brothers, and left middle school. He'd been teased about his bag when he first arrived, but Yuji's happy smile at sharing something with his older brother was worth all the ridicule in the world.

He glanced at his watch. He needed to pick up Choso from elementary school and Yuji from daycare before his parents got home from work and started yelling at everyone because they were late.

He couldn't care less about disappointing his parents, but he didn't want to end up in foster care like they'd threatened him with ever since he stabbed his cousin.

His family had to move because of the reputation that had developed around the Ryomen family. His parents wanted to give him a chance and were having him see a psychologist.

So he wished he could destroy his bullies and show them real bullying, but if he did that, he could say goodbye to his brothers.

“Why are you all wet?” Choso asked him, accepting the ice cream Sukuna offered.

“I went swimming.”

“It’s winter.”

“Mind your own business and eat.”

Yuji came running up, a ton of new drawings for his family in his bag. Sukuna rolled his eyes at Yuji’s bright, admiring gaze at his two older brothers.

Sukuna ruffled Yuji’s hair and gave him the ice cream he had stolen.

“Tell Mom there was an ice cream sale at elementary school and it slowed me down if she’s upset.”

Yuji shook his head. “I don’t want to lie to Mom.”

“That’s fine, I’ll tell her you wet the bed last night.”

Yuji’s cheeks flushed. “That’s not true!!” 

Choso sighed, taking Yuji's hand and walking ahead without Sukuna, who wanted to give them candy (which he had also stolen).

He was stupid. He was a threatening nuisance who needed to be kept away from them.

He threw the candy in a trash can, ignoring his heart pounding painfully before joining his brothers.

────────

Sukuna watched you from his bedroom window.

He wanted to come over and get to know you better. Not out of kindness, but mainly to see which category of people you fell into.

Sukuna sorted humanity into four categories. There were the NPCs. People he had no interest in talking to. The victims. People he enjoyed hurting and found amusing to manipulate for his own gain. There were the "friends”, people who understood him, with whom he could reveal his true madness and still be accepted (Satoru & Uraume). And then, there were the exceptions. The people he desperately sought out; the ones who made him want to live and die all at once because he cared about them so deeply. He hadn't found any of those, aside from his brothers.

You looked like a victim with those ribbons in your hair. A sheep waiting to be devoured by the wolf.

Sukuna’s mother was chatting with the new neighbors in the garden, but it wasn't the lemon tart she was offering them that looked most delicious to Sukuna, it was you.

He should welcome his new neighbors properly, rather than plotting exactly how he would break you.

But you were so pretty. He loved destroying pretty things. He wanted to know what your blood tasted like.

Sukuna had been obsessed with blood and violence since birth.

He didn't practice martial arts for the love of the sport. His body hummed with excitement whenever he heard a grunt caused by a particularly hard blow; he did it to inflict pain.

He hadn't stabbed his cousin with the intention of killing him. His pupils would dilate at the sight of blood flowing from the wound; he did it to witness the damage.

He used to hurt birds and snicker at their attempts to fly away and escape so he would break their wings. He had set up a little torture chamber in the garden shed where his parents never went.

He was forced to put a stop to this barbarity when his parents threatened to abandon him.

Sukuna knew right from wrong, and it was a pain in the ass.

So, so much restraint. All for the sake of his brothers.

His brothers were too young to understand that there was something fundamentally different about them; Sukuna wanted to preserve that innocence.

Sukuna’s impulsiveness was like fire flowing through his veins, setting his whole body ablaze whenever the urge to act became too strong.

His hands trembled with the desire to strangle you and rip the ribbons from your hair just to stomp on them. He wished he could torture birds to relieve the tension.

He grabbed a sheet of paper, drew a sheep on it, and folded it into a paper airplane. He waited until you were alone in the garden next to his before launching it.

You were wandering around your garden barefoot, clutching a large pink unicorn plushie. Sukuna frowned at the sight but sent the plane flying anyway.

He had to wait for you to circle the garden before you stumbled upon the paper. You read it, smiled, and spun around, raising your arms to the sky in thanks.

“What is she doing?” Choso asked, having snuck into Sukuna’s room, before leaning out the window to look as well.

“Dunno.”

──

“I’d like you to be kind to the new neighbors’ child. She’s suffering from depression.”

She didn’t look depressed when she walked barefoot in her garden, smiling up at the sky, Sukuna thought as he ate the maki rolls he’d made with his brothers.

Sukuna’s parents loved their children deeply, and despite the struggles they faced with Sukuna, they moved to avoid a bad reputation, yes, but above all to keep Choso and Yuji from finding out the truth about their older brother. As long as Sukuna kept seeing his therapist and doing things with his brothers, everything should be fine.

No one noticed it but Sukun, watching from the kitchen window, but you were still out walking after nightfall.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

Just as you laid your head on the pillow to sleep, your mother knocked to let you know it was time for school. You let out a heavy sigh and let your mother tend to you in silence.

Normal eleven-year-olds got themselves ready for school, but you struggled to find the motivation for anything in life.

The only thing that interested you was the Unicorn Goddess and writing her sacred book. The Unicorn Goddess had told you it would silence the demonic shrieks that made you cry at night.

Mom thought you were depressed; with your child’s mind, you struggled to grasp the meaning of the word, but you didn't feel sad.

You were terrified. As you grew older, you had withdrawn from the world, and the demons were closing in on you. Sometimes you could sleep, but at other times the screaming was so loud that you had to sleep with hyperpop blasting in your ears. You needed the Unicorn Goddess to save you.

You reached for your unicorn, but your mother grabbed your hand.

“Baby, you were bullied over this. You need to grow up.”

“But that's my only friend…”

Your mother smiled fondly, as if it were cute and not a sign of childhood schizophrenia.

“I know, my love. But you have to make an effort to fit in at your new school.”

“Fit in? Why? I just want my unicorn.”

“What happened, baby?” Her voice trembled. “You used to be such a cheerful and sociable child. Do you remember your friends Shoko and Utahime?”

You swallowed hard. They had been frightened of you when you told them about the demons at night. They had been kind and defended you against bullies, but they didn't understand you on a fundamental level. 

“I'm sorry, Mommy.” You looked at the floor. “I’ll try harder to make friends.”

Your mother’s smile grew wider, even though your heart ached more and more from constantly being misunderstood.

──

After school, you were thinking about what kind of friends you could invent to please your mother. Telling her you’d eaten lunch alone and that classmates thought you were weird would break her heart.

In any case, your dream was to be an actress; embodying and creating characters came easily to you.

You were riding your bike, stopping at a convenience store to pick up some candy for your mom, just in case she discovered your lie. The truth would go down a lot easier with a bit of sugar.

“Hey, ballet-flat girl!”

A male voice called out to you, but you were lost in your own world.

You had developed concentration issues upon starting school. Your parents had you tested for ADHD, but you didn't meet all the criteria.

Someone struggling with dopamine issues, executive dysfunction, and boredom was worlds apart from someone who was simply inattentive because they were lost in their own hallucinatory world.

Still focused on thoughts of the Unicorn Goddess and how she would save you if you kept writing her sacred book, you stowed your purchases in your bag and got back on your bike.

You managed to ride two blocks before someone shoved you violently, knocking you to the ground.

You scraped your knee against the asphalt and froze as you noticed three persons your age looming over you.

Two of them had short white hair. One had a bob cut, and the other had sparkling blue eyes. But the one who really caught your attention was the boy with piercing red eyes and pink hair. He was taller than the others and wore a menacing smirk.

“So, the doll finally notices us?” he muttered, kicking your bike again. “Slash her tires,” he ordered his friends. 

“I swear I’m only doing this because he promised me Digimon cards,” the blue-eyed boy blurted out.

“If you want cards, I’ve got plenty. I’m playing a character who’s a fan of them in a play; I wanted to understand his psyche better,” you said softly, rummaging through your bag.

His eyes widened. “No way… What the hell?! This card is so rare!!” He sat down next to you, eyes full of wonder.

“This isn’t what we were supposed to do, dumbass.” The red-eyed boy clenched his fists.

“Kuna, stop it ! She seems really nice!”

“Satoru, I don’t give a fuck.”

The other person hesitated for a few seconds before sitting down on the sidewalk too.

“Not you too, Uraume,” Sukuna sighed.

“My bad, ‘kuna.”

Sukuna fixed his gaze on you, narrowing his eyes. You were wearing black platform Mary Janes with lace trim and tall white socks. Your afro puff was tied back with a ribbon.

“You do theater? You should go to fashion school. Do you think this is Fashion Week or something?”

“F-Fashion what?”

“And she’s dumb. Wow.”

Sukuna waited for you to burst into tears over the bike and his insult. But you barely reacted, as if you were miles away.

His fists clenched and unclenched.

He kicked your bike a third time, breaking a part and making it unusable for the moment. He turned toward you, an unfriendly smile on his face.

“What are you gonna do now?”

You blinked a few times, your expression blank. You stood up, smoothed your skirt, handed a few Digimon cards to Satoru, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked off down the sidewalk.

Sukuna glared at you. You thought you were special with your nonchalant attitude? He’s going to teach you some manners. He’s going to show you his torture chamber to shock you, then threaten you so you don’t say anything to his parents.

─

“I saw a demon today.”

You were cuddling your unicorn plushie for comfort on your bed.

“Maybe it’s a demon that screams at night. Maybe it needs a little love to stop screaming in pain.”

You got out of bed, still barefoot in your Strawberry Shortcake pajamas, and quietly left your room to press your ear against your parents’ door.

“She has serious inattention issues and doesn’t even react when we call her! Your daughter is severely disabled; she even lost her bike!” your father yelled, as if being disabled were a moral failure.

“She was bullied! She’s doing her best!”

You tensed up, a knot forming in your stomach.

Would they argue even more if you told them about the demons screaming at night? Would they be afraid of you, like Shoko and Utahime?

You took advantage of their argument to perform your favorite ritual for sleepless nights: circling the garden while chanting incantations.

It was important to show respect to the Unicorn Goddess so she would save you from the demons.

─

You were pretty creepy.

You'd walked past Sukuna for over ten laps of the garden but hadn't noticed him because you were so focused on muttering incomprehensible things.

He threw some dirt at you to get your attention.

In the moonlight, you were even prettier and you made his stomach churn.

"Who are you talking to?"

"The Unicorn Goddess."

"Ah, so you're really that weird."

You were about to continue your walk, ignoring him, but Sukuna called to you again.

"Come into my garden, I have something your Unicorn Goddess will love," he lied. 

Your eyes lit up, and he helped you through the broken fence that separated your gardens.

Maybe it was Sukuna's love language. To bully, scare, make people cry.

Because he'd never shown his torture chamber to anyone. He swore it was to scare you, but his heart was pounding, as if he hoped your strangeness would make you an exception in his world.

“You’re very hurt,” was all you said when you saw the multiple bloody bird carcasses hidden in his father’s shed. “Take this. This is going to soothe the shrieks.” You gave him your unicorn plushie.

“The shrieks?” he murmured, frowning.

“You’re a demon. I’m haunted by demons. Unicorn Goddess is going to save us,” you said softly. “But you have to whisper; demons always come to haunt us in closed rooms.”

He didn’t understand why you didn’t scream and said he needed to go to foster care. He didn’t understand why you didn’t treat him like a public menace, but like a wounded boy who needed divine healing. He stared at you, speechless, lost.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, looking at the animal carcasses around you. “Um…”

“Yeah, I know. Do you want to be my friend?”

You shrugged, distracted by a butterfly landing on your arm.

Why not?

──────── 𝟒 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

Time dragged so slowly in the psychiatric ward.

You spent your time sleeping because of the antipsychotics. They made you gain weight, forcing you to wear those ugly, baggy, blue hospital clothes.

You wouldn't miss the plain walls and floors, the sound of doors opening and closing, or the musty air conditioning once you got out.

Most girls spent the summer before the start of the school year trying to have a "glow-up"; they didn't have psychotic episodes like you did.

The psychiatrist entered your room as you stared outside at the patients who were allowed to go out, unlike you.

“How are you feeling today?”

That stupid ass question they asked every other day. You were a literal zombie with no time to gain perspective on the situation because you were constantly asleep. Yet, they had the audacity to ask that.

“I'm fine.”

“You have visitors in the common room. You’re allowed to go out into the hospital grounds during the visit. You have one hour.”

Your world regained its color and vitality.

You struggled to get out of bed so the psychiatrist helped you to the common room where your group of friends was waiting.

“What did they do to my girl?!” Satoru exclaimed, rushing over to hug you.

“Your girl?” Choso chuckled. “You’re gay.”

“Hi,” Uraume greeted you calmly, rubbing your arm.

Only Sukuna stared at you piercingly without saying a word, before looking away, his hands in his baggy jeans.

He had changed since the eleven-year-old boy who wanted to kiss you in a shed filled with animal carcasses. Now, he struggled a great deal with his feelings, especially guilt, which manifested differently in him than in other people. He remained silent while everyone else laughed, trying to ignore the state you were in. A state that pained everyone, Sukuna included.

Uraume knew their best friend well and decided to leave you alone with Sukuna while the others went to get food from a vending machine.

“You're feeling guilty,” you stated as you sat on a bench, side by side, your thighs touching.

“I'm not,” he mumbled. “Just… Conflicted. I don't know what to do for you to be okay. I don't feel guilty about calling an ambulance for your episode; I'm angry. They don't try to treat you; it’s like they just want you to shut up and not make too much noise for their own comfort.”

“They said I’m probably bipolar but couldn't diagnose me yet because I’m a minor.”

“And they’re giving you huge doses of medication anyway? They’re completely crazy.”

“I wish I had the same condition as you,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “You channel your energy easily. Finding out that my stories about demons were actually auditory hallucinations was disorienting.”

“Mind you, I believed you.”

“No you didn't; you saved me as ‘schizoaffective baddie’ in your contacts.”

“Alright… Acting like being a baddie with mental illness is a fatal character flaw.”

“It really is. I had an audition for a movie today,” you pouted.

Sukuna patted your head.

“You were unlucky today, but you’ll win all the acting awards later on. A talented, schizophrenic, bipolar actress only comes along once every thousand years.”

“Don't go romanticizing the thing that's ruining my life.”

“Wait ‘till you hear what I think about psychopathy.”

You chuckled but stopped when you remembered the face of your mother when she heard you had schizophrenic traits and not depression.

“I'm such a disappointment,” you whispered. “Mommy is weird with me now.” 

You missed when she would be so caring with you when she thought you were just depressed. Now, there is hurt in her eyes as if having mental illness was a betrayal.

“Mom can't stand me too.” Sukuna took your hands, intertwining you fingers. “But it's okay, you're not a disappointment to me.”

“That's not a compliment coming from you.”

“The fuck?”

Your shoulders shook with your laugh. 

The need for belonging somewhere and the desire to be cuddled by someone who saw your flaws and chose to cherish them nonetheless shaped your life together. It's kind of funny you found solace with someone as hurt and mentally ill as you.

──────── 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“Happy birthday, ‘kuna,” you breathed on his neck.

You had climbed the wall just before midnight to arrive on time. But you raised an eyebrow when you saw dark hair instead of his pink.

“What are you doing here?” he grumbled, his voice sleepy. He hadn't opened his eyes but recognized your scent. He let out a groan when he felt your softness against him. His hands went under your skirt to grab your ass, kneading your ample flesh.

“That's not your gift.”

“That's fucking enough f’me, just need some bonus tits.”

He turned you around so he was lying on top of you. He leaned down to place soft kisses on your neck. You shivered; it was the first time a man had touched you like that.

Sukuna had often had his hand on your ass, but he had never kissed your body before today. “S-Sukuna, what are you doing?”

He added his tongue to the kisses, and the sucking. A wave of heat surged through your stomach, and you wanted even more, wanting to experience something normal in your daily life as a mentally ill teenager. But not with Sukuna.

“S-Stop.”

“Why? You shake at my touch. And I’m doing nothing. Needy slut.”

You slapped Sukuna, stiffening at his insult. But he said that on purpose, because he smirked.

“I’m into that. Let’s hurt each other.”

“Sukuna, you’re not my type.”

Sukuna's eyes squinted.

“What is your type?”

“Suguru. Calm. Gentle. Girl dad energy.”

“Suguru is fucking gay,” he glared at you. “What type of energy do I give?”

You looked at his muscular chest, his piercing red gaze and his broad shoulders. You gulped, looking away. You will never say it to his face.

“Wow, you're the shy type in bed. Interesting. I need to adapt,” he let out a mocking laugh but his affection was evident in the way he stroked your thigh.

“No need to adapt, I told you this isn't your gift.” You tried to get out of his grip to get his present from your bag.

“Why are you acting like I'm some average guy? I don't give a damn about your gift. Give me your body.”

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes and he let out a heavy sigh as if you were a burden.

“I had a bad day, don’t start.”

You sniffled. “I spent hours on it, ‘kuna.”

“And how is that my problem? I asked for nothing. My parents stopped giving me gifts since I stabbed that boy. I don't care about my birthday.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

“But you give me amazing gifts.” You nuzzled him.

For your birthday this year, Sukuna made a scrapbook listing all your favorite movies. Sukuna wasn't very creative, so he asked his brothers for help to make it look nice. Last year, it was about your favorite books, and when you were younger, he made a book himself out of paper to list your favorite recipes. He always needed other people to help make the gift less impersonal, but the love and affection in the thought of the gift came from him.

“It's to manipulate you into giving me your body, don't get it twisted.”

“Maybe I want you to twist my body.”

He froze.

He flirted with you constantly, and when he wasn't doing it seductively, he did it meanly. He was capable of asking you to kiss him and bullying you within the span of less than twenty-four hours.

But you never gave in. Until now.

“I thought your type was gay ass men. Lunatic as fuck.”

“I just don't think you're the right man for the life I want.”

He suppressed an eye roll, his tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.

Your bullshit about being a mom pissed him off. You always talked about this. Motherhood. Everyone found it touching that a sixteen-year-old girl knew what she wanted so early in life. Sukuna was the only one who felt like vomiting at the idea.

“You will never be a mom because you're gonna be my fucking wife. And we will have a great child-free life.”

He crushed his lips against yours. You burst into sobs. You wanted that life with him. Being with someone who understood your weird, darker parts. But you desperately wanted to belong somewhere. Maybe if you were a mom, your own mother wouldn't be disappointed in your mental state anymore? Maybe society would stop seeing you as a poor victim of psychosis. You would have control.

“No, you won't. You just won't. Baby, sometimes you don't have the motivation to brush your teeth and I do it for you,” he whispered against your mouth, reading your thoughts because he was intimately connected to you.

“I’ll be a new person for this.”

“Something psychotic people like you love to say, and everyone laughs.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bitch, I am fucking you.”

You wanted to protest, but the roll of his hips pressing his erection against you silenced any urge to stand up for yourself.

“Sukuna, I’ve never done this.”

He wiped away the tears of frustration streaming down your cheeks. “Me neither.”

“You—What?!”

“You're the only girl that matters; I will never touch anyone else.”

Your expression softened, and you accepted him.

His kisses trailing along your thick thighs. His odd way of trying to go down on you through your cotton panties made you laugh. His fingers touching the deepest parts of your body. You swore he had access to your heart, as you clung to him as if your life depended on it.

His fingers moved in and out of you, like a romantic dance without any sudden, frantic speed. He was trembling, as if aroused, or holding back the urge to be rough, or a mix of both. Either way, you were grateful he was making an effort and not giving in to his sadistic fantasies right away.

You wanted to please him too, so your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs.

He smiled against your lips; butterflies took flight in your stomach.

But the door suddenly flew open, and Sukuna’s mother looked on with surprise and concern as Sukuna’s hand pulled away from between your legs.

An awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments before you grabbed your bag and left Sukuna’s room.

“I didn't know you were his girlfriend.”

“I'm just his best friend. We were a bit lost tonight,” you said politely to his mother, accepting the glass of orange juice she handed you.

“I know you love my son very much, but I need to warn you: he’s not the man for you. He’s violent, selfish, and a literal psychopath.”

You gazed out at the garden, trying to escape the uncomfortable conversation.

“Thanks, but I’m already aware of that. I know what he did to his cousin.”

“And you still talk to him?”

 “So what? Am I supposed to stay away from him because of something he didn't ask for? He hasn't hurt anyone since that incident. You spend all your time threatening to abandon him. Sukuna is suffering so much in silence.”

Sukuna’s mother flushed with anger. “You’re sixteen; you can’t understand. I’m doing what’s best for my family. And Sukuna is no longer part of it.”

You flinched and covered your mouth to stifle a gasp of surprise when you saw Sukuna in the doorway. He held a finger to his lips, and you gave a discreet nod.

“Sukuna is an anomaly in our genetic makeup, I don’t know what happened... he was born completely unhinged. Even his mixed martial arts coach tells him he’s too violent. But Sukuna won’t listen to a thing...”

“You do realize when you talk like that you make me feel...”

“No, not you,” she reassured you. “You’re the good kind of crazy. It’s absolutely not your fault that you deal with schizophrenia and manic episodes. Sukuna is a danger to the public. I’m sure he’ll end up in prison. He needs to be a bit more like Choso. He’s truly the perfect child.”

You glanced over to where Sukuna had been, but he was gone.

With a knot in your stomach, you knew he had heard what his mother said, and you understood why he had dyed his hair black—he wanted to look like the ideal brother. Choso.

──────── 𝟖 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“Why them and not him?”

“God took the wrong brothers.”

“Sukuna is an abomination to the Ryomen.”

Sukuna remained silent as he walked through the room, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, yet he heard everything being said at the funeral.

He agreed with them. It should have been him.

He had nothing but violence to offer humanity; being an MMA celebrity was merely putting glitter and paint over a foundation of rotten wood. Sukuna was rotten to the core. He had known that for a long time. But in the days following Choso and Yuji’s deaths, he was suffocating under a reality he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge: he should have killed himself long ago to spare his family the suffering, but he was too selfish to do it. Rotten.

Sukuna had wept at the news of their deaths, though it wasn't as if he cared all that much about his family.

He listened to the Buddhist priest chanting the sutras, wondering if he would have the privilege of having his spirit guided like that when he died.

When the attendees stepped forward to offer incense and say prayers for Yuji and Choso, he went outside to smoke, sitting on the steps.

What he was doing was incredibly rude. That was surely why no one had spoken to him during the otsuya tradition. (the Japanese wake held the evening before the funeral, where the deceased's family receives comfort through offerings)

A noise caught his attention; he turned toward you as you stepped out of a taxi, trying to push your way through the paparazzi. They were forbidden from approaching the funeral itself, so they lingered outside the building, hoping to snap a photo of at least one of the two celebrities in attendance.

“I'm so sorry, Sukuna!!!” you apologized profusely, bowing your head exaggeratedly. Sukuna smirked, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. 

“What’s your excuse for being late on the most tragic day of my life?”

“I… I had hallucinations and had a panic attack.”

His eyes softened and he opened his arms for you to sit on the steps between his legs, which you did gladly.

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “I left during oshōkō.” (when they gave incense offerings and prayers)

You gasped. “You give the idea you don't care about them when you do that, Sukuna.”

“Yeah, because I don't.” He pressed your back even tighter against his chest.

“I saw you trembling that day.”

Sukuna stiffened. “It was just shock. I don't give a damn about them.”

“What about accepting Mahito's bullying so you wouldn't be abandoned by your parents? What about your dark hair, just to be a better brother to them? What about—”

He crushed the lit end of his cigarette against the brown skin of your arm. You cried out in pain, and he sneered.

“Now, shut your damn mouth.”

He wrapped his arms around you, but you held your breath as you noticed the cigarette burn scars on his skin. Your heart ached every time you saw them. Physical manifestations of a time when he was desperate enough to do anything to avoid being separated from his brothers.

“Mahito was cruel,” you said softly, caressing his scars.

“No more cruel than me. Who else could attempt murder at ten years old like I did?”

Your giggle warmed his heart. He leaned down to kiss your neck, his warm lips peppering kisses all over you. Several camera flashes bothered him, and he lifted his head to glare at them.

“Don't do anything that could damage my reputation; I start filming my movie tomorrow.”

“Is there a kiss with a man in the movie?”

“There’s even a sex scene.”

He burned you with the cigarette again.

“Sukuna, stop!”

“You're a fucking virgin. Why would you ever do that?”

“Do you have to kill someone to play a murderer?”

“Well, yeah. Where do I sign up for the role?”

You rolled your eyes and straightened yourself up. He adjusted your skirt for you and kissed your knees.

“I’m going to bring flowers to your brothers.”

“What about me? I’m grieving. I need gifts.”

“I remember clearly being heartbroken because I wanted to give you a gift—”

 “And I was heartbroken because I wanted to fuck you.”

“You lied that day. You deserve it.”

“Lied?”

There was no way you were going to let him know that you had wanted to be his first, or that you cherished the moment he said he wouldn't touch anyone else. Because he lied. Sukuna always lied. You hated the man you loved.

You smacked him on the head with your bag and ignored his insults as you walked into the building.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“You stink,” Satoru complained, downing a glass of vodka while his eyes remained fixed on his best friend.

Sukuna fiddled with his tie. A pathetic attempt to look put-together and hide his distress. But everyone noticed it: the dark circles under his eyes, his disheveled hair, his lack of hygiene.

“He’s been like that since the photo with Nanami,” Uraume admitted.

Sukuna glared at the people in the bar who were watching them with admiration. Satoru was a well-known public figure, a bit like Vinnie Hacker; he ran a YouTube channel where he posted commentary and reviews of anime. His good looks brought him a lot of visibility, and the fact that his boyfriend, Suguru, was a rockstar played a huge part, too. Sukuna hated how popular they were, both in Tokyo and internationally.

“Don’t talk about that!” Sukuna slammed his fist onto the bar counter. “I’m trying to forget that thing.”

“I’ve found Sukuna’s kryptonite!” Satoru let out a mocking laugh, brandishing the photo of you kissing Nanami in a café.

Sukuna growled and grabbed Satoru by the collar of his T-shirt, shoving him against the nearest wall. He landed a lightning-fast punch that made Satoru’s head spin, yet Satoru lifted his head, nose bleeding, and smiled.

“You love that girl so bad.”

Satoru didn’t get it. Nobody could get it.

It wasn’t about love, affection, or grief. It was about him. Always about him. Sukuna was selfish.

If Choso and Yuji were dead and you had a boyfriend now, who would be his exception? Who would be there to make him feel like he belonged somewhere, despite his broken brain? Who would be his butterfly?

He was so angry. He hated you and his brothers. He had tasted that human emotion, and now he was hooked. If he had no one left now, he might as well go completely mad.

He kept striking Satoru, who grunted and spat blood onto Sukuna’s face. The blows rained down. A futile attempt to vent his rage, for it would never be enough. A psychopath’s soul is greedy; he wanted to possess you and his brothers so that you would always be with him.

Uraume managed to stop Sukuna just as Satoru collapsed unconscious to the floor, amidst the screams of the bar patrons.

Sukuna stared at his bloodied fist, realizing just how right his mother had been to want to abandon him, for he felt no guilt whatsoever for having hurt his best friend.

─

Suguru’s eyes shot daggers when Sukuna entered the hospital room.

“What the fuck?”

“He pissed me off,” Sukuna yawned and slumped into a chair, manspreading. He looked at Satoru’s sleeping, bandaged face and chuckled. “He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up.”

“I’m going to make him press charges against you.”

“Ooh, I’m scared. Emo boy is gonna ruin my career.”

“Are you always like this?” Suguru tensed.

“Worse in bed.”

Suguru ignored the remark and stroked Satoru’s arm. He knew his boyfriend was crazy and would forgive Sukuna, even if it made him mad.

Sukuna thought it was stupid to care that much about someone else until he remembered that he would commit genocide if anyone ever laid a hand on you.

Sukuna received a Google notification on his phone.

“Dollette and Nanami Kento: the new hit couple who met on the set of their new film have made it official!”

He hurled his phone against the wall. Suguru jumped, looking at Sukuna as if he were insane.

Sukuna placed the apology candy and chocolates he’d bought on the bed before walking out. He needed to fuck and hurt someone.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“Does he know about your mental illness?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you took the phone off speaker.

“Sukuna, I’m getting my makeup done for a photoshoot; don't say things like that.”

“So that’s a no,” he chuckled on the other end of the line.

“Well, it’s kind of scary to tell someone, ‘Hey, I have schizoaffective disorder, it’s a mix of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder!’”

“I don’t see the problem. Everyone knows you’re mentally ill.”

“He thinks I’m a tortured artist. He doesn’t understand how sick I really am. I don’t know how to tell him. It’s like you really want me to tell him so he’ll leave me.”

“Exactly. You’ve found me out.”

You hung up on him and let your makeup artist make you look beautiful.

Sukuna loved sabotaging your relationships a bit too much, but you weren’t going to let him do that with Nanami.

Nanami was the perfect man. Gentle. Someone who wanted a family. Serious.

Everything Sukuna wasn’t.

‘Have a good day, love.’

Butterflies took flight in your belly whenever Nanami texted you; you’d chat with him for a few moments before receiving a message from Sukuna and losing your smile.

‘He’d find the Unicorn Goddess cringe. Would she even want to save him? We’re her favorites.’

‘Those were schizophrenic delusions, ‘Kuna.’

‘And yet, I feel like you saved me anyway when you gave me that plushie. Maybe it was real.’

 No.

He lied; he was a manipulator.

Just a few days earlier, he had deliberately sent you a sex tape of himself and Yorozu, pretending he’d sent it to the wrong person.

You were in a relationship, yet seeing your best friend fucking another girl made you want to cry. Because he had said you were the only one who mattered.

You didn't reply to the message, leaving it on "read."

After a busy day, you had a date with Nanami and were spending the night with him.

His face was gentle. He didn't have Sukuna's tough look which gave him such an intimidating aura, or those piercing red eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

Everything was so calm with Nanami.

He kissed your entire body as if you were a being to be cherished, not conquered like Sukuna did. Every moan was earned, not taken by force. Every caress was a genuine touch, not a form of manipulation.

But you covered your breasts with your hands, not because you were insecure, but because Nanami lacked that feverish gaze Sukuna had when he looked at you. You didn't know if you were truly wanted. If you really belonged here, in this bed with him.

After sleeping with Nanami for the first time, you lay in the dark regretting your actions, his arms wrapped around your waist.

He was fast asleep when the darkness of the room began to suffocate you, with demons crawling across your back. Paralyzed and terrified, their limbs left a slimy fluid trickling over your skin. You trembled in discomfort, unable to speak, your clothes feeling too tight.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and it wasn't until the screams, the ones you were so used, rang out that you finally snapped back to reality.

You tried to break free from Nanami’s embrace, but he was holding you tight against him. You sobbed even harder.

You shook him, waking him abruptly.

You said something in a panic, but your words made no sense. He turned on the bedside lamp and stared at you, frowning.

“Did you have a nightmare? It's okay, Dollette. Do you want some tea?”

The demonic shrieks grew in intensity, and you hyperventilated, choking on your tears.

“D-Dollette, I—”

You froze, staring at something in the room that Nanami couldn't see. The look of horror on your face unnerved Nanami; he didn't understand what was happening. You let out a scream of terror and leapt out of bed, running out of Nanami’s room.

He followed close behind, worried.

“Dollette!”

You rushed out of the apartment and scrambled down the stairs, gasping for breath, still in your pajamas and barefoot. Once outside, you ran through the streets looking for a garden where you could circle around and perform your incantations.

You only remember running for a long time, because when you woke up, you were in the hospital.

“W-What happened?” you asked the nurse who had come to change your IV drip.

“You had an episode. We have to wait for the doctor to prescribe the right medication. How are you feeling? Can you tell me today's date?”

“Oh—”

A noise to your left made you stop and turn your head, staring at the wall for several long seconds.

“Miss Dollette?”

“Excuse me,” you whispered, embarrassed. “Could I have some headphones and my MP3 player?”

 “Of course. Someone with dark hair dropped off a lot of your things.”

She went to get your belongings, and you drifted off to sleep listening to the hyperpop music that soothed your anxiety. But you were jolted awake by the panicked voices of nurses surrounding you.

“But there was no history of suicidal behavior noted in her medical file...”

“Ms. Dollette, we have to follow protocol; we’re going to put diapers on you to make things easier for everyone.”

Before you could even protest, they were undressing you and restraining your hands.

“What did I do wrong?” you asked in a trembling voice, recognizing the procedure.

“You tried to strangle yourself with your earbuds; we found them wrapped around your neck while you were asleep.”

“They just got tangled—”

“You have a schizoaffective profile; it’s only natural that you wouldn't understand yourself...”

You stopped listening, recognizing that kind of attitude.

Once you were labeled psychotic, people assumed that everything you said was just the ramblings of a schizophrenic who couldn't be trusted. No matter how intelligent or relevant your point was, being psychotic meant your ability to be heard was compromised.

The humiliation of having to pee on yourself was something you hadn't missed about the hospital since you were fifteen.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“Why the fuck did you call an ambulance?” Sukuna yelled.

Nanami’s tense face remained unreadable as he adjusted his tie.

“She seemed to need medical help.”

“They constantly mistreat her. In a psych ward, they treat you like an animal if you aren't just depressed or anxious. What kind of world do you live in not to know that?!”

Nanami focused on the mental health posters on the psychiatric ward's blue walls.

“You really aren't the guy she needs.”

“I don't want to hear criticism from a man who disfigured his own friend in front of everyone,” Nanami said flatly, remembering the Satoru incident that went viral even after this, he said Sukuna was still his brother and we should move on.

“So what?” Sukuna smirked. “At least I would’ve run after her to comfort her and tell her they were just hallucinations. You chose to be a fucking pussy and call emergency services, just to humiliate her.” His voice barely concealed his venom.

“She wasn't on a regular treatment plan; that’s extremely dangerous.”

“She just needs headphones, a garden, and emergency antipsychotics for when the episode gets too intense.”

“But she’s also bipolar; that’s what the doctors said.”

“Who gives a shit about that?” Sukuna shoved Nanami, his hands on the other man's shoulders. “I’ll be the one handling her finances and advising her if she’s manic and wants to buy a bunch of stuff. She’s hypomanic, not in a full-blown manic episode with paranoia. Stop seeing her as a woman with no autonomy,” he added defensively, cracking his knuckles and getting ready to fight.

“I see you’ve got mental health issues too.”

His smirk widened into a grin. “Hell yeah. You scared?” He tilted his head.

A noise interrupted them as you leaned against the wall, making your way toward the hospital’s common room. Sukuna turned pale when he saw you and rushed over to pull you into his arms.

“Those motherfuckers are dead, you know that, baby?” He kissed your forehead. “This is literally medical abuse. You don’t need that much medication.”

You shrugged, still groggy from your nap. “I just need a few minutes to wake up.”

Nanami watched you, realizing he was intruding; he set his flowers down on a chair before leaving. Sukuna tossed them in the trash, taking advantage of your disoriented state.

“When you were running, you were looking for a garden, right? To walk around and pray?” Sukuna asked as you sat down.

You nodded mechanically, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Dollette, there’s a way out of this. Don’t be so spaced out.”

“Since when are you so optimistic about life?”

“I’m angry and happy. Happy that Nanami failed at being a good boyfriend so I have to step up, angry because you’re being abused. Is it true they forced you to wear a diaper, like you said in your text?”

You winced.

“In the emergency unit, yes. But I’m spending a few weeks here, and they haven’t put me in one.”

“I’m really gonna kill them.”

“Sukuna, it’s really sweet of you to come, but I want to continue my relationship with Nanami.”

Sukuna’s eyes widened.

“Dollette, he literally sent you to hell.”

“He didn’t know. Not everyone knows that psychiatric wards are horrible.”

Sukuna’s body vibrated with anger, and he let out a mocking laugh. “You think you found your man and you’re gonna leave me?”

You regained a bit of energy and pushed him away. “I need to get my life together.”

“Do it with me!” He grabbed your wrists to pull you up and stormed into the restroom, forcing you to follow him.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, but he locked the two of you inside the wheelchair-accessible stall.

“Fuck me, then. Because you aren’t giving Nanami a baby without giving me a taste of your pussy first. I can tell you that.”

“That’s all you ever think about; it’s always like that with you!” Tears welled up in your eyes and you tried to punch him, but he hoisted you up and forced you onto the sink.

“Awww, are you mad because I’m not romantic like your Nanami? What does he do better than me besides that, huh?” he snapped, radiating a terrifying aura with fury in his eyes. He slapped your thigh hard. “Stop crying; you piss me off.”

You slapped him back, your tears intensifying.

He grinned, rubbing his cheek, aroused. “I missed this.” He knelt before you and kissed your calves, moving up to your thighs. “You’re lost, ꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱. You think a baby will heal you? Since you were born, you’ve kept talking about being saved and healed. When are you going to embrace who you are?”

The shock of hearing your real name after years kept you from pushing his hand away in time before it slid beneath your skirt.

With clammy hands, you bunched up your skirt and tried to ignore his fingers caressing the wet warmth between your thighs. You cleared your throat as a wave of heat rose deep within you—an explosive cocktail mixed with your tears.

“You don’t embrace a life-ruining illness; you treat it.”

“There’s no cure for schizophrenia, baby. You just have to aim for remission, but you’ll always be scared of a new episode. So learn to love yourself. Screaming demons might turn into silent ghosts, but they’ll still be ghosts haunting you. A baby won’t change that.”

“So what’s your solution?” You sniffled. “Loving myself won’t stop the delusions, hallucinations, and negative symptoms of schizophrenia.”

“Your solution is me.” Your arousal soaked the fabric of your panties, and he slipped his fingers underneath. “Your body agrees with me; she is so wet.”

The feverish heat between your legs tightened around his fingers as he moved them in and out. They were big, calloused, and tattooed as if the devil’s own hands were penetrating you. But if you looked too closely, you’d see the cigarette burns on his arms all over again. You were thinking back to your childhood with him, how he is your only safe place and you didn't want to.

“You can't cure me, Sukuna,” you whined. His thumb on your clit sent an electric jolt through your body.

“I don't want to cure you; I think you're perfect like this. Society just wants us to be ashamed of who we are, and I don't buy that bullshit.” He kissed your inner thighs, pushing your panties to the side. “I’ll buy you a house with the biggest garden ever for your hallucinations. I’ll keep a stock of antipsychotics in case they get too intense, but I’ll never call those motherfuckers to drug you. I’ll help you with your chores when you lose your motivation and help you connect with the outside world when you don't want to leave the house. That’s what I’ve been doing for thirteen years, isn't it?”

“You spent years having sex with Yorozu; you never focused on me. You promised you wouldn't touch anyone but me.”

Your sobs were the only sound in the room.

Sukuna lifted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Because a certain bitch didn't want me in case you forgot, dumbass.”

“Stop insulting me,” you sniffled, your voice trembling.

“You deserve it. Why do I have to force you to even look at me?” He parted your lips. “You shaved for him but not for me. Who is your safe place, huh?”

“No, it means I don't care about you.”

“Me when I lie,” he laughed quietly, his hot breath caressing your cunt.

He lifted your skirt so you could see him clearly and sank his tongue inside you, grabbing your thick thighs to hoist them onto his shoulders. He lapped between your folds, groaning at the taste of you. A taste he’d waited years to discover. Pleasure coursed through your body; you shivered at the divine sensation of his licks on your throbbing bud, your back arching away from the mirror.

Your phone rang, and your hands clenched when you saw it was the man you were cheating on.

“Nanami, I-I’m a little busy.”

Sukuna paused, glaring at you, but remained silent.

“It’s okay; I wanted to let you know we’re having dinner at my parents’ place when you get out of the psychiatric ward.”

Your heart swelled with joy. You belonged somewhere. You were going to be a mom. Everything was okay.

“You aren’t uncomfortable with me?”

“No, of course not. It’s not your fault.”

You grinned. Your body was warm with the feeling that you mattered, not from Sukuna’s tongue. You were about to push Sukuna’s head away when your smile suddenly vanished.

“I told them you had some drug issues because of the pressure, don’t worry. No need to tell them about your mental health struggles.”

Your vision blurred again. “W-Why?”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds before Nanami sighed.

“I don’t think… I want to be associated with… You know…”

“See?” Sukuna murmured against you as you sobbed, hanging up on Nanami. “You have nowhere to go. It will always be me.”

Your chest heaved frantically, racked by your breakdown.

Happiness is a butterfly, and you had spent your whole life chasing it.

But if the butterfly was a psychopath, what were you supposed to do?

Relax and wait for it to land on you, the way you would with those insects?

Sukuna straightened up, and instead of stopping because you were clearly distressed (like a normal person would) he crushed his lips against yours. You fought against him, stifled by his kiss, but he grabbed your hands and pinned them behind his back.

“Stop fighting it, dammit. Nobody will love you more than me.”

You could breathe a little easier at that declaration of love, your gaze softening. But it would never be enough. Sukuna would never be enough to bridge the gap separating you from other, non-psychotic women. Even if Sukuna loved you madly, unless you worked on yourself, you would always feel like you belonged nowhere. The void was something that had to be filled from within, not by love from the outside.

Fuck it, honestly. Just fuck it; you were exhausted.

Craving connection, you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back.

“Fucking lunatic,” he quipped against your lips.

He unbuttoned his jeans and stripped off his lower clothes. He took his thick cock in his hands, rubbing the pierced tip against your clit as a gasp escaped your lips at the sight of its size and the piercing.

“When are you going to admit I’ve got big dick energy?”

You knew what he was referring to. That almost-first time back when you were sixteen. “You’re so corny,” you smiled fondly, still tearful.

“You’re really a lunatic, baby.” He nibbled your lower lip and plunged into your tight heat just as his tongue entered your mouth. “To be totally honest… I only showered today because I wanted to look presentable for you. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’ve lost weight. I changed fighter weight classes in Rizin.”

Feeling so full, you stammered repeatedly, eliciting a chuckle from the man who (you weren't even sure if he was your boyfriend anymore) was holding you.

“It’s depression, Sukuna. You lost your brothers.”

“Shut up, I didn’t even like them.”

Your tongues tangled in an intimate, passionate dance, punctuated by your gasps. He thrust his hips to hit the depths of your glistening pussy; the sound of wet friction made you feel shy. But not Sukuna; once you’d adjusted to his size, he set a brutal pace.

“Oh my god,” you moaned softly, clawing at the back of his neck and clinging to him, your fat thighs wrapped around his waist.

“Mmh, yeah,” he groaned, each roll of his hips sending tremors through your core. “The Unicorn God and whatever that schizophrenic shit of yours was.”

Mortified and embarrassed, you tried to push him away, but he shoved you violently against the mirror, which shattered on impact. That didn’t stop Sukuna; he pressed your back against the shards of glass, which dug into your skin. You cried out in pain, but his eyes gleamed just as they did when he was fighting—lit up at the sight of blood flowing from your wounds.

“Hell yeah.”

“You’re genuinely so scary…”

“You aren’t scared at all; you’re pulsing around me.” 

Your toes curled and uncurled frantically as he thrust into you. You struggled to remember what kind of building you were in, so completely did the way he was fucking you transform your world into intense, warm colors.

With his hands on your lower back and love handles, he shifted your position so your head and neck rested against the sink, holding your body firmly. You clung to the surrounding walls to keep from falling, moaning plaintively each time your back scraped against the edge of the basin. Sukuna’s cock grew harder at every sound of pain, his mouth watering at the thought of being the cause of your suffering.

The blend of blood, love, pain, and pleasure was the perfect metaphor for being with Sukuna. You couldn’t wait to get out of the psychiatric ward and let him fuck you in positions where you could hold him close and feel him right against you.

You had been heartbroken just minutes ago, but now you felt so alive.

It was no longer a question of belonging somewhere.

But of belonging to someone.

And you had your answer.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You stepped out of the psychologist’s office, wiping away your tears. Sukuna was waiting for you, leaning against his black car with anti-paparazzi tinted windows. His tie was undone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his hair tousled. You were a mess together.

“Should I kill your therapist? Why are you crying?” he asked; there was no worry in his voice, only anger that someone other than him had dared to hurt you. Your body, your tears, your whole soul belonged to him.

“We just talked a lot about my self-esteem issues; it was truly liberating. I feel better.” You snuggled up to him, seeking his warmth.

The drive home was silent.

Both you and Sukuna were suffering a great deal at the moment.

Sukuna was increasingly realizing that he would never see his younger brothers again, and he still struggled to take care of himself because of his suicidal ideation. Living with you was part of what made him feel alive. You would wake him up for his MMA training, cook his meals, and run his bath.

You hadn’t yet found the right mood-stabilizing medication, so you still experienced depressive and hypomanic episodes. Sukuna managed your finances and did his best not to frustrate you, while being careful not to enable your troubled behavior. He handled the unpleasant household chores, like cleaning. He would call to remind you to take your medication when you were away on a shoot.

From the outside looking in, you were struggling a lot.

But there was so much tenderness. You understood and supported each other, taking care of one another on the road to remission.

“Which one did Yuji prefer?” you asked softly, sitting between his legs as his arms wrapped around you.

“The first one.” After coming home, Sukuna felt exhausted from the MMA event with multiple fights in a single day so he went straight to bed. Wanting to comfort him, you decided to watch Cars, the movie that connected him to his brothers. You stroked his hands in silence, feeling his tears trickle down onto your neck.

Grief was complicated to process when you had a neurodivergent brain.

He kept saying he didn’t care about his brothers that he only missed them because they loved him yet he couldn't stop dyeing his hair black. He was desperate to feel a connection to Choso however he could.

Yorozu didn’t understand how Sukuna worked. She wanted to "fix" him with her love, failing to realize there was nothing to fix, only things to embrace and accept. She had tried to seduce him anyway, even after the two of you were officially together and Twitter had blown up over it. Sukuna punched her.

You weren't trying to change your boyfriend; you were trying to stop chasing an ideal.

You let yourself simply live, waiting for the butterfly to land on you. No chasing. Non-sedating medication, tailored therapy, care, and love—that was what you needed; no more running after something.

Sukuna laid you down on the bed when you dozed off before the movie ended, pressing his body against yours. He breathed in the scent of the cocoa butter cream on your skin, his cock hardening.

“Dollette, wake up. I need you.”

You chuckled sleepily and turned over, facing away from him.

“As if that’s going to stop me.”

He still made love to you that night.

And every other night.

Because it’s always been you.

“Come on man. Y'all know he ain’t budging when it comes to this school shit. We gone be late to the party.” Eren groans from behind them, his booted foot kicked up behind him balancing him out as he leans against the wall. He folds his over his chest, black hair greased and slicked back into a low ponytail. “Exactly.’ Ony quickly agrees, “Y'all just go. I’ll catch the next one.” He compromises. Another round of complaints and head shakes sound out. “Wait, isn't your girl supposed to be there tonight?” Reiner asks, that heavy country twang coming from the back of the crowd. Eyes shuffle from him back to Ony, patiently waiting for his response. To be honest, Ony wasn’t sure if you were going to be there or not. I mean he figured you would just because he knew you. That’s literally how you two met. 

Ony had been forced to go to at least one team outing by his friends and coaches (yeah, it was that bad.) After hours of reluctance he agreed to go only because he was offered (bribed with) a full study day of no interruptions and a light practice day which everyone knew he wouldn't take. His team had managed to get him out that night for the annual fair. The minute he got there he was ready to leave. It was overwhelming. The lights, the bodies, the people. He found himself standing in the line for the ferris wheel in hopes that the height from the rotating ride could offer him some sense of reprieve from the chaos swarming around him. His eyes fan the area, taking in his surroundings, teammates standing close by loud and boisterous. And then he saw you and instantly it seemed like the world melted away. Ony rarely gets awestruck but there was something about the way your brown skin shines under the moonlight, eyes twinkling like stars. Drawn like a moth to a flame he didn't even register that you had walked up to him until you were standing right under his nose. “Hey cutie. What’s your name?” Was the first thing you said to him that night. His eyes widened because there was no way you were talking to him, right? But you were. He stuttered his name to you and your response was one he would never forget. “Nice to meet you Ony. I’m Y/N. In a few minutes, I’m going to hold out my hand and you’re going to put your phone in it. I’ll be expecting a text from you with a time and a date. And if you can set it in the next 48 hours, you’ll definitely be getting a goodnight kiss that night.” He was so starstruck that he barely registered when your hand lifted in front of him. He fumbled his phone from his pocket and before you had walked off good he had sent you a text (Eren had to force him to do it because he was still confused about the entire encounter). A few dates later, he had finally asked you to be his girlfriend. It was a sweet, quiet gesture much like him. A promise ring stuffed in your favorite dessert at your favorite restaurant coupled with two dozen roses. You shared your second first kiss that night. 

You and Ony are alike and different at the same time. Both academic scholars with big aspirations. But where he is quiet, you are the life of the party. Never shying away from a function, a member of every black student organization on campus from student council to dance team, and more. If there is a gathering, you are there. Everyone who ius anybody and even the nobodies know who you are. And Ony loves it about you. Although he is much more on the shy side, his favorite thing is seeing you get the praise and accolades you are much deserved. That being said, there aren’t many parties that you miss so Ony assumes that you would be in attendance tonight as well. “She may be and that’s perfectly fine. But I’ll be here in my room. Now if y'all excuse me, I have to get started. I’m already behind schedule.” He pushes them, in between their complaints, away from the door and closes it, locking both locks. A heavy sigh and soft finally escapes his lips. The clock hits 8:41 and Ony groans in agitation. He was supposed to start at 8:30 on the dot so he can take his breaks on time. “Guess I’ll just have to move things around.” He mumbles aloud as he sits down at his desk to get started. 

10:03 pm

His floor is quiet, everyone else having went to celebrate their big win. Pages spread neatly across his desk paired with uncapped highlighters and scribbled on sticky notes. His eyes scan the PowerPoint on his laptop as he double checks the answers on his practice test. He exhales softly through his nose, squinting as he pushes his glasses back closer to his pupils. He had already taken his first break and he was due for another one at 10:30. Focus. Only a few more minutes and you can give your eyes a rest. He blinks a few more times and continues to read. “When comparing the velocity of…” he reads aloud. 

His phone rings. 

The loud sound shocks him from his thoughts causing his brows to furrow together. His eyes dart over quickly as he reaches out to silence it. He didn’t realize he hadn’t turned his ringer off which is strange for him to say the least. Ony always remembers to turn his ringer off when he is studying. Distraction aside he shakes his head and collects his thoughts. Ignoring the call, he picks up where he left off. “Comparing veloci…”

The phone rings again. 

What is happening tonight? He thinks. He lets out a small huff of annoyance flipping the phone up to see who is calling. There are very few people that can bypass his silencer on his phone and his parents know he studies late nights. His heart jumps when he sees your name and picture on his screen, that familiar warmth seeping under his skin. His eyes check the clock. 10:23. 7 minutes. He isn't supposed to answer his phone for another 7 minutes. The FaceTime call continues to ring, device vibrating in his hand. Ony bites down into his lip as he contemplates. He doesn’t normally break his schedule but he knows your deep brown eyes are starting at the phone right now with your brows slightly pulled together, waiting patiently for him to answer. The call would be ending soon and this is the second time you called him. One time won’t hurt. He swipes the phone icon right just as it was about to end, setting his phone up on the shelf so that you could see him and turns his eyes back to his computer screen. 

The call connects. 

Your face fills the screen, brown skin glistening under the soft led lights in your room. You notice his attention is elsewhere and you smile bright. He is studying obviously. “Hi baby.” You say softly. “You not going to the party?” Ony swallows heavily but keeps his attention on the laptop. Your sweet voice sending tingles down his spine. This may have been a bad idea He thinks to himself, shaking his head before responding, “No. I have an exam this week. I’m trying to make sure I’m prepared.” His eyes continue to scan over the text on the screen. You give his a soft hum. “What about you? Are you planning on going?” He asks. “Thinking bout it. I was going to see if you wanted to help me pick an outfit but you seem busy.” You say softly, shuffling on your bed. “If you can give me a few minutes, I just have to get through this.” he responds jotting down a few notes on yellow sticky. He rips it off and adds it to the others on his wall. “You work so hard. I'm so proud of you baby.” you encourage and it makes his body run warm. He mumbles a shy thank you. Ony’s eyes glance over to you for a quick moment and he regrets it the exact moment he does. His eyes widen at your current position. One leg bent close to you, the other stretched out, slightly dangling off the side of your bed. Your back arched ever so slightly and Ony feels his chest tighten. 

You were effortlessly beautiful and a major distraction right now. Still, he doesn’t dismiss you or end the call. Instead he swallows the heavy pit in his throat and forces himself to turn back to his computer, ignoring the blood rushing down his body. “So,” you say, lifting your arm up and leaning your head against your hand. “What you studying?” You ask him, eyes watching the side of his face. You admire the way the screen reflects against his features. Ony was effortlessly sexy. Chiseled jaw and smooth skin with the longest and fullest lashes you’d ever seen. You watch his full lips move as he reads the text to himself softly. “Uh, I was looking over the power points for my kinematics exam and…don’t do that.”

It came out deep, gravelly and sent a tingle down your spine. 

You blink a few times, caught off guard at his statement. “Do what baby?” You ask in confusion. Ony holds in his groan refusing to look your way again. He runs his hands down his face “That thing you do.” Your mouth parts in an “O”. You take the time to look at your man and the strain on his face. You have seen Ony in many phases over the past few months. You’ve seen his intensity during games when he tunnels visions on one goal, carrying his team as quarterback. You’ve seen him shy, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in social settings. You’ve seen him nervous, his lips grazing yours gently, never pushing you too far. You’ve even seen him worried, from his grades to that one time you fell and sprained your ankle and he doted on you for weeks. But this Ony is definitely someone you hadn’t seen before. His jaw is clenched, chest rising and falling at a more rapid pace that you are accustomed to seeing from him. His shoulders are squared, tense and pulled to his ears. Deep brown eyes blinking quickly as he stares at his screen like the words would disappear if he didn't. “Ony, baby what are you talking about? What did I do?” He turns to you and the looks in his eyes nearly pulls a gasp from your chest. “You are being distracting.” he growls. “Ony?” you whisper his name and his eyes roll closed. He takes a few breaths to steady himself before opening them again. “Sorry.” he mumbles before turning back to his computer. 

You sit up in your bed, leaning your top half on your folded arms. Shock still coating your features. “Onyankopon Nyamekye. Look at me.” you command, trying to figure out what in the hell just possessed your boyfriend. “I can’t.” he whines, pushing his glasses up once more. You let out a broken laugh. Ony has never acted like this before. “I was…” he starts then sighs. “I was doing so good.” he whispers softly. “And what is that supposed to mean?” Ony leans back from his computer and turns to look at you, really look at you. You sit up on your bed, shorts hiked up slightly from all the rustling around and your top cut just low enough for Ony to see the curves of your breasts peeking from the top of your shirt. The sight of your nipples pressing against the thin fabric makes his mouth water. “Now can you explain why I tried to call my man to check in because I miss him and he’s asking like he can’t give me 5 minutes of attention.” He couldn’t tell you the real reason. You wouldn’t look at him the same. So instead he settles for, “I just need to get this done. I’m a bit behind.” You let out a pouty huff, crossing your arms tighter which in turn pushes your chest out more. Ony shuffles in his seat but you’re too upset to notice. “Fine, I can just let you go. I need to start getting ready anyway.” You murmur slipping off the bed. Your phone falls down in the process, causing the camera to point up to the ceiling. It gives him a moment to breathe but not much. Because after the lust simmers he finally realizes how upset he made you. It makes his stomach knot up. 

“Baby.” He calls out to you but you don’t respond, already in your mood. Instead you focus on pulling your clothes out and getting your makeup out of your vanity. Ony feels bad. He knows you weren’t actually doing anything but there was no way he was going to tell you that your thighs and titties were making him so hard that he couldn’t read through his notes. So he settled with the study card as always. Using the moment of quiet, he turns back to his notes. You disregard the phone, now focused on getting yourself together. You take time doing your hair and makeup. You fix your hair to perfectly accent your features. Smoky eyes set with dramatic liner and a deep red lip deepens your sex appeal as you work on piecing together your outfit. 

It was fairly warm out and you knew your liquor jacket would do you just right so you choose a jean belted mini skirt and crop option for your fit. It paired perfectly with your boots and the overall look. You smile to yourself., looking at your body in the mirror. “Okay. Purse, ID, keys…where is my phone?” you mumble to yourself as you grab everything you need to get ready and leave.  You hadn’t registered Ony was still on the phone up until that moment. “Ok, I’m about to leave.” You say flatly. He startles a bit at your voice. Ony had been attempting to study again but his eyes dart from the screen to his phone in hopes that you would come back. “You that mad at me? You won’t even show me your outfit.” He says trying to lighten the mood. He knows you’re upset with him but he isn’t too keen on letting you go out without seeing you. “You’re studying. Not tryin’ to distract you.” You quip. Yeah, you were pissed. “I'm on a break now.” he lies. His break was 20 minutes ago but schedule be damned. There is no way he is letting you leave without at least looking at you. “Come on baby. I want to see you.” He pleads. You release a small huff from your nose already relenting (because how can you tell him no when he asks so nicely), setting the phone up on your desk so he can see your full outfit. The minute you step back from the screen, Ony’s mouth drops open. His eyes devour you. The way the crop shows off that perfect amount of your belly. The skirt cutting into the meat of your thighs. His mind raced with how good that deep shade of red would look wrapped around his dick. He responds before his mind registers it. 

“Fuck.”

Your eyes widen, your mouth dropping open to match his. Ony doesn’t cuss. “Did you just-…” “Do a spin for me mamas.” His voice came out low and gravely, eyes slanted. The same way it is when he has just woken up and you love it. Your thighs press together gently but you obey, giving him a slow 360. “You’re so pretty baby.” He compliments you. “Thank you Onya.” You whisper back. A text chimes on your end breaking you from the trance that is your man. “Shoot, that’s Sasha. I got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow baby. Bye.” You say before disconnecting and rushing out the door. Ony released a deep breath and turns back to his studies. 

11:47 pm

Ony struggled through the last 15 minutes of his study session. Every time he tries to read, his mind keeps conjuring up pictures of you in that outfit. His leg shakes underneath his desk in anxiousness. Come on Ony. Focus. He tries to give himself a pep talk but he is failing. He’s never had this problem before. Before he could sit and study for hours without stopping. But being with you, he could barely go 30 minutes before he wanted to see your face or hear your voice. And for the most part he’s been doing good. Until recently.

Recently his desire for you has caused his focus to fall short. 

You and Ony hadn’t been intimate…yet. You wanted him to be sure and he didn’t want to rush you. You’d only been dating 8 months. But one night you came over to check on him while he was studying and things started heating up. It was the way his glasses were sitting against his face that had just did something to you. Before you knew it, you’d climbed onto his lap while he was sitting at his desk, pressing your lips all over his neck, sucking softly. His thick hands gripped your sides, hips involuntarily pressing up into you causing you to whimper against his skin. The minute your lips met his, his hands held you down moving your hips up and down his print. “Baby.” You whined and it made him want to push his dick deep inside of you and fuck the noises from your throat. But before either of you could get further, his ringer exploded into the room interrupting the moment. Breathing heavy he checked the caller id and groaned aloud. It was his mother. His head dropped against your chest. Perfect timing mom. The ringer continued to fill the air. “You should take that.” You said to him, removing yourself from his grasp. By the time he had answered and his mom’s rambling filled his ears, you were already shuffling out the door, mouthing a quick we will talk tomorrow. Ony was so worried that he had pushed you too far that he didn’t bring it up again. But you couldn’t stop thinking about that day. Especially how tight his hands held you down as he growled into your mouth. You wanted more of that Ony. But your sweetheart of a boyfriend refused to be that with you.

“I think you should just tell him.” Sasha mentions in the middle of the party. How the conversation circled around to your sex life, the world will never know. “Yall know I can’t. Ony is just…he’s too gentle for that.” You shrug, downing another shot. “Come on. Every man has some level of aggression just pent up inside. You just have to get him to understand that you want to see that part of him.” Annie chimes in. “Yeah, just tell him. Hey big daddy, I want you to fuck me into the mattress until I can’t walk for a week.” Sasha says dramatically waving her hands in the air and pressing her tongue to her teeth. You all burst into laughter. “Not my Ony. He’s a gentle giant so I doubt that will be true. And I’m okay with that really.” You say to your friends. “Alright enough boyfriend talk. Let’s shake some ASSSSS, HOE!” Mikasa yells aloud causing you all to erupt into cheers. Getting lost in the music you waste no time standing on the furniture and showing out with your girls. Unbeknownst to you, Sasha had taken your phone to record you, posting you wilding out to your main story. She eyes Annie and Mikasa as they giggle, well aware of what she was doing. She types quickly, tagging Ony in the story and locking your phone before you realizes what’s happening. 

Ony’s phone chimes at exactly 12:23 am. It only takes him a minute to pick it up, brows furrowing in confusion at the notification. The video was only 12 seconds long. It took 7 of those for Ony to get up and throw his jacket and shoes on, snatching his keys off the door hanger and starts walking to his car. Ony wasn’t mad per say. Actually he didn't really care at all. He knew he bagged a baddie when he got with you and unlike most small minded men, he knew what that came with. The video didn’t make him upset, it made him fucking feral. Seeing the way your ass jiggled in that skirt, fabric pressing gently against your pussy coupled with built up pressure from before…yeah he wasn’t making it through the rest of the night without fucking you. 

Sweet, never breaking the rules, always on time shy Ony broke so many traffic laws speeding to where you were. His body hot with fever. This is so out of character for him but he doesn’t care. Not with that video playing in his mind. He needs you. So gentle giant Ony hit 97 in a 45, burning rubber as he slides into the parking lot of the club. He barely put the car in park, cutting the engine and speed walking into the building. You’re having the time of your life completely unaware of the scheme that your friends have devised so imagine your surprise when you hear “Aye Ony you made it!” from Connie’s loud ass in the corner. You damn near snap your neck at how fast you turn around to see him. “Ony? Wha…” 

“Let's go.” 

You blink in shock, his tone throwing you for a loop. “Baby huh?” You couldn’t have heard him correctly. Your eyes scan the shocked faces around you. Your friends lips press together to hold back laughter. “You heard me. We leaving. Get yo shit.” He grunts. Your brows furrow together, a pout forming on your lips. “I’m not ready to go. Why you acting like this?” You cross your arms. His eyes trail your chest and then back up. “You either gone go willingly or I’m gone make you. And you only have 3 seconds to decide so you better choose wisely.” You were in complete and utter shock. Who the hell was this standing in front of you and where did your man go? More importantly why the fuck did it have your pussy leaking in your panties. “Ony, I said I’m not leaving.” was the dumbest thing you could’ve said in that moment. 

It was like a scene from a movie. He walked up to you pupils dilated and smiles, tongue running across his lips. Next thing you know, you were upside down. “Tell your friends bye baby.” He says hoisting you up on his shoulder in the middle of the club. A round of cuss words and exclamations sounded in the room blending in with the music. No one had ever seen Ony act like this before. But he didn’t give a damn. “Ony!” You yell out but you’re only met with his hand smacking your ass. He carried you out the door and to his car. “Ony what has gotten into you?” your chest rises and fall rapidly as you sway against his shoulder. His only response is another hand on your ass. The sting is short lived as he rubs the spot he just hit, his hand slipping towards your pussy. You let out a soft moan as his fingers coast across your wetness. Ony climbs into the driver seat of his truck, you still sitting in his arms. “Ony, this is dangerous.” you whisper but you couldn’t lie and say it didn't excite you. “Spread your legs baby.” Ony commands. “Ony, I can’t…” “Spread your legs so I can see my pretty pussy baby.” Now that gets your attention. Ony isn’t vulgar in any form.

Well, he wasn’t.

This was something new for you both. But he didn't give a damn about anything else other than the pure lust rushing through his veins. “Ony.” You whimper. “Come on mamas. Be a good girl for me, okay?” His deep voice rumbles low in his chest. Your breath is ragged, your body trembling as you lean back slowly in the front of the bench seat of his Chevy. You tilt your hips forward spreading your legs slowly. One leg resting on the top of the seat and the other bent slightly resting against the center console. You spread your legs slowly, heat singing your skin from his gaze. “Keep it just like that babygirl.” he starts the car, engine revving as he skirts off down the road, his non driving hand inching underneath your panties. He plunges two fingers inside you with ease and your body convulses at how full you feel. Ony’s hands are big, matching the rest of his massive frame. “Fuck.” You whine as your hips chase his fingers. “Damn baby, you dripping all over the fucking seat. Look at my pretty pussy just gushing for me.” Ony’s deep voice rings in your ears, dragging chills down your spine. Your confusion clashes with your euphoria because the only thing running through your head is what the fuck happened to the sweet man I’m dating. This was a different person completely. You can tell in the way his eyes devour you, the way his fingers caress your walls, the way his tongue drags across his lips and he smirks down at you. You try to call his name but only a moan falls from your lips as he hits that spot just right with the tip of his middle finger. “Ony please.” You whine, your back arching further from the seat. “You begging now just wait until we get in this room.” He growls plunging his fingers deeper, knuckles slipping past your opening. Your manicured hands grip the fabric of the seat as you feel your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach. Eight months, that’s how long it had been. I mean sure you have toys and you and Ony may or may not have sent some photos back and forth but nothing too explicit. So this was overwhelming you in the best of ways.

Eight fucking months and it took a 12 second video to make Ony snap.

He looks over at you sprawled out on the seat, eyes pinched shut as you ride his fingers. Your chest rising and falling. He can feel how close you are by the way your pussy had a death grip on his fingers. He pulls into a parking lot and cuts the engine turning towards you. He leans over, one hand pressing in the seat by your head and his fingers fuck you faster and harder. “Come on mamas. Release for me. Show me how fucking good I make you feel.” He encourages in your ear.  “Onya, I’m cumming.” You scream out, pussy squirting all over his hand. “There she is. Ride that shit out for me baby.” He slows his pace but doesn’t move away until he can feel your body start to come down from your high. Your eyes open slowly as he pulls his hand away from you bringing it up to his mouth. The moan he lets out when he tastes your pussy burns itself into your auditory memory and makes your body quiver. “You taste good, angel.” His voice does it again. It shifts in a way you can’t fully explain. “Ony, baby what’s going on? I don’t understand.” You stammer out, still catching your breath. “Come on.” He ignores your question. Your eyes widen. “Ony, are you listening to me.” His eyes narrow. “I’m trying to be patient with you baby. I really am. But if you not out of this car and walking up those steps by the time I finish talking, I will fuck you on the hood of this fucking truck. And I know you don’t want campus police called because your moans are echoing across campus now do you?” He says as he gets out of the car. Your mind registers it quickly and you are rushing out of the truck and following him to his dorm room. 

Ony had the pleasure of being a student athlete so his “dorm” was more apartment than dorm. It’s own living area and private bedroom, it was plenty spacious. And Ony was going to make sure you touched every inch of it the minute you both stepped inside. There was no time for words. Your back was against the door, legs wrapped around his waist. You don’t get to question him because your words get caught in your throat. Ony’s undoing his pants and the only thing you could focus on was how pretty his dick is. Long, thick, and veiny. It was like something out of a porn video. “Ony..’ your sentence is cut short as one quick movement has his dick kissing your cervical wall. The scream you let out, you are sure it reverberates through the halls. 9 long raw inches fuck you into the mahogany door. You can only ride through it, nails digging into his back. “Fuck baby, wait please.” You grovel as he takes everything you can give him and then some. Shock blends with the perfect amount of ecstasy, your body practically melting in his arms. “Ony what the fuck has gotten into you.” The sentence is broken into pieces, scattered between heavy pants and moans of pleasure. It does nothing to deter him, if anything he drives his dick further inside your walls, forcing your back against the wood door. You are at his mercy in every sense of the word. “You doing all that begging and shit now. This what you wanted right?” His voice pulls a visceral reaction from you, back arching into a C. “That’s exactly what the fuck you asked for. You been feigning for this dick anyway so you might as well take it.” His words stir something up deep inside you as he quite literally stirs your insides. Ony revels in the way your melodic cries fill his ears. Nights he dreamed about finally coming to life. Your pussy squeezing every inch of his dick and it drives him crazy. 

“Ony baby please. I can’t…” you whine. “What I tell you about quitting? We don’t quit do we mamas?” he encourages through strained grunts. Tip pressing deeper until it grazes your cervical wall. “You my superstar ain’t you baby. You not gone quit on daddy, right?” Ony pushes you past your breaking point. You can’t do anything but nod frantically. “Nah, I want to hear you baby. Say you’re my superstar.” Only presses his hips into yours, holding his dick deep inside of you. You tremor, “I’m your superstar.” you whine, tears welling up in your eyes from the pressure. You carve deep crescents in his back but he doesn’t give a fuck. Instead, he tilts your hips just slightly angling his dick to where it hits your g spot. Ony slows his pace and deepens his strokes. Was it wrong for him to enjoy seeing you broken and fucked out underneath him? Maybe but that wouldn't stop the way he fucked you. “

“Fuck, you take daddy’s dick so well. My perfect fucking princess. I'm so proud of you.” He praises as he work you to another orgasm. Your legs tremble as your muscles contract around his dick. The way he slips into you seems effortless, like he is perfectly crafted to fit you. He adjusts his hip height and slowly rolls his pelvis forward, finding that gummy spot deep inside her. “Ony,” you whine “Yeah, I know baby I know. Just give me this last one, ok?” He asks you. All you can do is nod as you feel yourself flood him. “There she is. I love that shit baby.” he says as you feel your eyes fluttering closed. “You can tell your friends thank you for posting that little video.” is all you hear before you fade out of consciousness.

Just when you thought, there was nothing more to ask for he moved you into a new neighborhood, a nice and gated neighborhood. It was beautiful and surrounded by nature, full of children and activities, and it was safe. At least he thought so.

He should've assumed what would happen when that morning while he was dropping his kids off, he was questioned by a mom.

“Are you their nanny? Never seen a male nanny.” The woman said, her judging eyes following Kento as he said goodbye to his kids.

“They're mine, my children.” He simply replied, confused by the woman’s words.

“Adopted or step-children?” She led the conversation on, asking for more than she should've.

“They're mine, ma’am. As I said before, they are my children.” He stood his ground and ended the conversation before he had to get rude with the woman.

You taught him about microaggression and judgment, he should've been familiar but he wanted to give the neighborhood and its people a shot. So, he ignored the woman, leaving himself with “maybe she was just curious or concerned” and moved on with the day.

Kento pulled into the pick line at the school, looking around for his twins on the bench. The sounds of kids screaming and giggling were so loud you could hear them a mile away, it was a hot day which meant Kento was wearing a plain white short-sleeved shirt with his favorite jeans and his ‘cool dad’ glasses.

The twins spotted their dad and immediately ran towards the car but not in excitement, in a rush. Like they were hurrying to get to the car or running away from something. The normal joy in their face had diminished, their heads were dropped and their faces were full of dismay.

“Hey, kiddos, how was school?” He looked at his twins through the mirror, waiting for a smile or talking full of excitement, but instead he got,

“Can we just go home, Daddy?” Zion, his young boy spoke up. Zion was a cheerful kid, social and full of energy, the sudden shift in his behavior made Kento's brows furrow in confusion.

“You don't want ice cream, I promised I’d get you some.” He thought his words would gain some excitement but they didn't, the twins' heads were still down, their eyes were distant, it was like his babies were zoned out in a memory that was hurting them.

“Let's just go home, I wanna see mommy,” Zara told her father, they weren't requesting and wanted nothing more than to go home.

“Well, Teddy, Mama isn't gonna be home until the evening but Daddy is here.” He pulled forward and drove away from the school, eyes glancing behind the road and them sitting in the back seat.

Zara's head was against the window, her adorable face gloomy even as she drove past the things that would bring a smile to her face. Zion was lying on his sister's shoulder, face nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

His babies were always full of bliss and light, to see them gloomy made his heart ache.

He couldn't help but wonder—who hurt them?

—

“Alright, kiddos, let's see what you ate.” He grabbed their lunchboxes and attempted to pump them up with excitement, which was failing.

The kids sat at the counter, pouty faces and staring away from their father. He blinked in concern— the first day of school was never easy, it wasn't going to be, maybe things didn't go how they believed they would. That was okay—he’d make everything better, he was the best father after all.

“Zara, you ate all of your lunch?” Kento's head tilted—she never ate all of her lunch, she’d always say, “My tummy is too tiny for all that food.” It was out of character but so was their behavior, maybe something changed.

“No.” Zara vaguely replied.

“Who ate it?” He questioned further.

“The kids at school.” That was odd, why would she let them do that? She knew better.

“Teddy, you know, you're not supposed to give them your food.” He gently replied, going to open Zion’s lunch.

“I didn't let them have it, they took it.” Zara looked up at her father, who had paused in his actions and stared at the cabinet in confusion.

“Yeah, mine too. Said people like us don't deserve lunch.”

He didn’t want it to be that, it didn’t have to be that, why did it have to be that? He wanted to have hope in the new neighborhood and the people there—he couldn’t.

“People like you?” Kento repeated his son's words. Did he hear correctly? Maybe it was a slip-up and he said something else.

“Yeah, people who look like us.”

“People with our weird hair and ugly skin,” Zara added to her brother’s words. The teary-eyed twins stared at their father in despair, questioning in their precious eyes as if they no longer believed they were beautiful.

Kento made his way out of the kitchen and sat on the living room couch and the children followed suit.

“Who told you your hair was weird?” Kento began a conversation he knew would hurt.

“The kids put sticks and dirt in our hair then said it was a bird's nest.” Zara’s lip quivered and a small sniffle followed. If he could take all the pain inflicted on his babies that day he would but he couldn’t, so he did the only thing he knew how to do.

“And told you that your skin was ugly, they told you that?”

“Yeah, they called us names and told us we’re hideous.” Zion walked between his father's legs, squeezing his knee, desperate for his father’s comfort. Kento picked him up and sat his body on his leg, Zion’s afro full of dirt rubbed against his face and Kento's eyes shifted between his kids and slowly he realized— he had no power here.

He didn't know what it was like to be discrimination because of his hair or skin. He was acceptable in society, hell he was blond for God's sake.

Remembering the tears on his wife's face as she sobbed because of the racism in her workplace and now, his babies, sniffing with tears racing down their puffy cheeks because of racism in school— a place that was supposed to keep them safe.

He didn't understand it, he couldn't give advice or tell a meaningful story for this problem—he was helpless. His babies were hurting and he didn't know how to fix it.

That is what broke him.

“Listen to me when I say this, ‘kay? Your hair is beautiful and so is your skin. You see mommy’s beautiful hair and skin?”

They nodded.

“It's gorgeous and so is yours. Those kids are influenced by evil and jealousy, don't let them hurt you. Your skin, your hair, it's precious and tells a story of resilience that those kids don’t have. I never want you two doubting yourselves like that again.” The kids listened to their father's words and broke down, sobbed, and sniffled while they embraced the warmth of their father's presence and arms—his safety.

“Daddy?” Zion's voice perked up when everything began to calm.

“Yes, bud?”

“The kids also said, that you couldn't be our father because your skin doesn't look like ours.”

“Are you really our daddy?”

Doubt, all in their eyes. Doubtful if he was their father and if they were his children, if he wasn't already broken— he was now.

“What did I tell you, mh?”

The kids thought for a second before thinking about their father's words.

“Blood doesn't define family.” Zion smiled when he said the words, a sense of serenity washed over him.

“Exactly, we may not look like each other or share the same blood but I am your father and you are my children. There is no question about that.”

They smiled and wrapped their small arms tight around their father.

“We love you, daddy,” Zara whispered in his ear a small peck following behind it.

“I love you more.” He kissed both of their cheeks and embraced their affection.

“Alright, go get cleaned up. Remember what I said, okay?”

“Okay!” They exclaimed, running upstairs for showers before TV and playtime. A few words and they were smiling once more, it should've been reassuring.

But, he was still hurting.

—

“Baby?!” You called out for your husband, walking in the house with the takeout he requested.

Usually, the house was filled with Kento's and the kids' laughter. Kento would be roaring pretending to be a monster, the kids squealing and running away so they won't get tickled.

It was unusually quiet, just the sound of the TV in the kids ' playroom, the hum of the AC, and the soft breeze outside.

“Hi, my love.” You stepped into the kitchen and set the food on the counter, where you were met with Kento sitting at the counter, a drink in hand.

He didn't drink, he wasn't a drinker. The kids hated it because of all the things they heard about alcohol so he didn't do it.

Something was wrong.

“Baby, what's wrong?”

“The kids came home from school day and uhm…You remember how excited they were this morning?” He started, voice shaky and broken.

‘Yeah, but Kento, what’s wrong?”

“You also remember teaching me about micro-agressions, right?”

Was that what this was about? He should’ve been familiar with them after everything he knew. No, it had to be deeper than that, something else happened.

“Hell, they weren’t even micro-aggressions, it was blatant racism. They came home from school today, saying the kids told them their skin was ugly and hair was weird. Ate their lunches because people like them didn’t deserve it, called them names, and put dirt in their hair. They were broken, adorable faces full of doubt and pain. Then Zara asked if I am really their father and,” His voice was getting weaker by each word but he gave out at the last sentence sobs erupted while he broke down.

You rushed over to your husband, whose head was dropped down as he cried—it broke you. You gently grabbed hold of his face and brushed away his tears, fighting to hold back yours, witnessing your husband’s breakdown.

“I-I just realized I couldn’t help them,” His arms wrapped tight around you for closure and his sobs grew louder, “I don’t get it, what you go through everyday, what they’ll go through. I don’t understand it, I-I couldn’t help them.” His words made your heart twitch, every break and crack in his voice pained you further.

He wasn’t wrong. He would never understand it, he couldn’t relate, there was no possible way he ever would. He could try his best and give his encouragement but he couldn’t relate or understand it to it’s full capacity. Kento was set on being the perfect father, so set on it he forgot about that strong difference between him and his children—culture and race. He couldn’t help them with that because when he walks into a building, he’s respected and not a threat, for his wife and children it was the opposite. It pained him, it broke him to sit with it but he wasn’t helpful in that situation.

“It’s okay, my love. I’m sure you did your best but…This isn’t your situation to handle, m’kay?”

—

Hi, mommy’s babies. Can we pause the TV for a moment?” The kids paused their show and put their toys down, walking towards you after.

“What happened mommy?” Zara asked, sitting down in front of you.

“Yeah, why was daddy crying?” Zion’s voice followed.

“I think daddy was crying because of mommy.”

“What’d you do?” They exclaimed in sync.

“Daddy tried to take on a responsibility that wasn’t his to take on and mommy should’ve took on this responsibility a long time ago. I’ve been so worried about your innocence that I forgot how painful this world is and how quick it’ll snatch your purity.” You didn’t want to. No parent does, the conversation was heavy and hurtful but unfortunately they were at the point where you couldn’t keep holding back.

Slowly, you started, “I know when you're little, you want to believe everyone is your friend and everyone is kind. They’re not.” 

Their faces dimmed. It was like popping the biggest and prettiest bubble- kids' view on the world was beautiful. You had to love it, how they imagined everything and the beauty and happiness they saw in a world haunted with cruelty, if only you could keep the vision forever. But you’d be wrong to let them imagine the world to be something it’s not, you already had for far too long.

“Not everyone, especially the people who looked like the kids at your school like you. A lot of them are cursed with hatred and jealousy and will hurt you purposely,” the hard part, “because of your skin. It pains me to say it but our people-black people and other brown people face discrimination from people like them everyday.”

“All because of skin?” They both asked, eyes full of disappointment.

“All because of skin. Not all of them but a lot of them don’t like us, they hurt us all the time. When they see you,” you looked at Zion, ‘they see a danger, a threat, a theif, even though you would never hurt a fly. When they look at you,” you looked at Zara, “they see an angry, bitter, un-professional, distracting, black woman even though you’re the sweetest thing in the world. Those are what you stereotypes and unfortunately we will have to face them almost everyday.”

They sat in silence for a moment, just staring as they processed your words. You remembered you had to have this talk, it hurts because when you're little you want to believe in dreams and happiness but the reality for children of color was far from that and much darker. You held off telling them for so long because you wanted them to have the childhood you didn’t have but that was only hurting them further.

“Have you been hurt because of your skin mommy?” Zara asked.

You sighed, “Almost everyday, baby. I hate it, it’s wrong and I wish the world was sweeter but it’s just how it is here.”

“Even though other people don’t like my skin, I like it. Daddy said it’s beautiful and tells a story of resilience, that’s so freaking cool!” Zion exclaimed, he was a big ball of positivity. 

“Yeah, daddy told us we’re beautiful.” Zara smiled. Hearing what Kento told your children made warmth flow through you, sometimes you asked yourself how’d you end up with someone so perfect. He tried his best and that was enough- enough to bring confidence and happiness back into your children, even after the conversation they still smiled brightly.

“I think if people don’t like other people because of their skin, they’re just mean. So, anybody like that is meanie who need to be nice to people.” Zara nodded proudly after her words.

“And speaking of your father, he’s not just your father because that’s the man I love or because he takes care of you. It’s because he claimed you two, you are his children and he has nothing but pride for you both. That’s what makes him your father.” They nodded happily and ran into your arms making you fall back onto the mat.

“I love you mommy and I love daddy even if he has white skin.” Zara said, squeezing you tightly.

“Yeah!” Zion squealed.

You simply giggled, pressing kisses all over their faces. Oh, how you loved your perfect and precious little family. It was chaotic, or painful, or full of bliss but you loved it and all of the phase you had to go through to grow as a family.

-

Later that night, you had just climbed in bed and wrapped yourself in your smooth sheets and blanket when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“I married an amazing woman,” you smiled, feeling his warm breath and soft lips brushing your ear lope, “ an amazing wife, mother, and most importantly an amazing person.”

Before you could cut in, he continued his praise. 

“A strong, sweet, intelligent, stunning black woman and I couldn’t be more proud of…myself for having amazing taste in women.” You giggled and playfully hit his arm, gaining a chuckle from him.

“I married a flattering and incredible husband. Y’know the kids told me what you said, that you told them their hair and skin tells a story of resilience.”

“Mhm,” He murmured , expecting you to continue.

“You told them more than enough, Ken. That was a beautiful thing to say, stop doubting yourself.” You kissed his cheek and made a soft blush grow on his cheeks from your sweet words and actions.

“I guess I wanted to be the perfect father so bad, that wasn’t enough. Y’know I normally can give them a sweet story and example because usually I can relate but when they said that, I just broke and I didn’t know what to do.” He whispered, nuzzling his nose in your neck.

“You did more than enough Kento and I love you and all the effort you put in to take care of me and our children.”

“I love you.” You turned off the lamp, ready to go to bed when you felt his hands creep under your shirt then suddenly- “Kento, stop!” You exclaimed while your husband tickled, laughing as you tried to escape his grip.

The world is cruel and heartless, colored men and women go through countless things because of racism. It’s wrong and shouldn’t have to be this way but it is, you had to sit with it and grow bigger than it. You had to find your peace, your safe space, your beauty in the cruel world.

And just like any other night, there he sits on the couch, laptop resting on his lap. Hunched over with his eyebrows furrowed, his fingers click away on the keys, a box of half-eaten Chinese food sitting on the table.

He mumbled to himself about the paper, he's been talking about this paper for a while and he wanted it to be perfect. This was going to be his 5th big paper and he wanted it front page on The Daily Planet.

You check the time and it's 11:45pm. He has to wake up early in the morning tomorrow for work. "Baby, maybe you should get some rest, the paper will be there tomorrow morning."

Clark nods, but still typing."I know hun, I'm almost done."

You look at him, and you can't even begin to imagine how many night's you've heard those exact words— how many nights you've gone to bed alone, only to wake up to a note on the fridge and flowers in one of your favorite vases. how many nights you've heard that and went to bed alone and woke up to a letter on the fridge and fresh flowers, because he woke up early to get to work.

You scoot over next to him and your hand finds the back of his neck, caressing it and running your fingers through his hair. That motion always brought him peace, causing him to let out an audible sigh. The kind of sigh that sounds like he is finally letting go of the weight of the world. His broad shoulders visibly drop as he leans back into the cushions, sinking into the space next to you.

"You've been working so hard, Clark," you whisper, shifting closer so your shoulder brushes against his. "But look at what you've already put together tonight. It's incredible."

Clark closes his eyes briefly, letting his head rest back against the couch, soaking in the comfort of the room. "I just need this to be perfect," he admits softly. "The people deserve to know the truth about this story."

"They will, cause' you're the one telling it," you say, your fingers moving to the back of his neck to knead out a knot. "I mean it. I am so incredibly proud of you. Not just for the big headlines, but for how much heart and time you put into this, don't even get me started. You care so much about helping people, Clark. It shines in literally everything you do. And that's not even going into you being the best boyfriend ever or you being Superman."

The sharp frantic clicking of the keyboard hasn't returned as Clark's laptop was on the coffee table

A soft, warm smile spreads across Clark's face, the stressed-out reporter who just sat beside you slowly easing away . You lean into his warm palm.

You begin to lean in close and pepper light, gentle kisses all over his face. You press a soft,sweet kiss on his temple whispering to him,"Such a smart man," As you press another kiss to his cheek,"So handsome and kind."Finally, you press another kiss to his forehead where the stress lines usually gather.

Clark lets out a low, rumbling laugh, his eyes closed with a smile plastered on his face. With every soft press of your lips, you see the tension in his shoulders soften a bit.

You kiss him softly, smiling as you pepper his face with kisses until he tries to pull away. "Hun, I still have more to—"

You cut him off gently, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, silencing him successfully.

When you pull back just an inch to see him, his eyes are a bit tired behind his glasses, the detailed reporter energy now completely derailed. He blinks, as if he had something on his mind but forgot, but you can't help but smile at him, staring into his brown eyes,as your hand runs through his hair.

"Guess what? The work you are doing now will also be there tomorrow and the day after that, baby," you say softly, you say softly with your voice leaving no room for argument. "The deadline isn't even for a couple of days, and look at this—you're already almost done anyway."

Clark opens his mouth to protest again, but you place a hand over his mouth, giving him a knowing look.

"I believe you deserve a break," you insist, leaning in to press another soft kiss to his cheek, slowly moving down his jawline. You move your hand away from his mouth.

"You've been so busy, baby," you kiss under his chin, shaking your head to yourself. You don't think he understands how perfect he is.

Your lips slowly press onto his, moving like a slow dance with his, lips sucking one an other. He groans into the kiss, your hands find his face as you nuzzle your face into his neck, leaving soft kisses and love bites along his neck and jaw and begin to leave kisses and love bites on his neck.

Clark's glasses begin to slide down slightly and over your shoulder he sees the computer the document he has been working on for hours, the one he is honestly nervous to publish and give to Perry. You feel his throat bob as he swallows.

You pull away from his neck, to get a good look at his face. You can see the tension and him shifting in his seat, which was sign he was getting hard. Now you don't know if it is from your kisses or your praises but whatever it is, it is working, causing you to smile.

"Baby, if you could just let me finish—," he tries to argue.

But your lips and hands are faster, your hand covers his mouth, and you leave a sweet kiss on his nose. "You are still thinking about work, and you still don't see how much you've accomplished, don't you see the problem with that, baby?"

Clark shrugs lightly, causing you to look at him.

"You have no idea how proud I am of you," you whisper, kissing his cheek once more. "You are so worked up, Mr. Kent, I have a question, hun who got employee of the month three times in a row, hm?"You ask as you begin to unbutton his white shirt that began to wrinkle the longer he sat there.

He shrugs off his shirt, placing it on the ottoman, revealing his toned chest and abdomen, just sitting before you perfectly.

Clark let out a shaky breath. You leaned towards the laptop, saving his file and powering it off. You heard a sigh leave Clark, as if he wanted to go back and continue writing. But you couldn't let him get sucked back into the loophole he so easily got lost in. You needed him to know that he had been working hard and that he, and the story he was writing for the Planet would be perfect—just as he was.

His eyes were on you fully as he adjusted his glasses which had began to slide slowly.

You face him and your lips crash once again, but this time with more force and passion behind the kiss. Clark groans as he leans in, and his hands find your hips, resting there like he knows where home is.

"You ain't answered my question, baby? Who got Employee of the Month three times in a row?" you repeat, this time holding his jaw so he has to look at you.

Clark shivers, causing his hips to shift just a little bit. And now you know why. You feel it between your legs, the tent straining against his pants, aching to be released.

"Me, I-I got Employee of the Month," Clark mumbled.

"And you don't even know how hard you work, or you think no one sees that, but I see that. I see you, baby," you whispered.

You tilted your head down, looking at the brown belt buckle that tightened his pants. And you began to undo his belt. Clark's hands circled around your wrist, pausing your movements as his breath hitched.

"My love, I-I- are you sure? Y-you don't have to if you don't—."

You smiled lightly at him and his cute gesture. It’s funny that he thinks you don't want to do it, yet so sweet that he is checking on you.

"I want to," is all you said.

You unbuckled his belt, feeling his dick already twitching against his briefs.

You slid your hand into his boxers, feeling him pulse around your fingers as you held him from the base of his shaft.

You couldn't help but smile, he was just so handsome and sensitive when he got like this.

"Relax, baby. I got you. You always working so hard for the paper, for us, and as Superman. I think you deserve some release."

You kiss his cheek, as your hand strokes him lightly, feeling the heft of his dick. You run your thumb over his tip, collecting just a bit of pre-cum on your thumb and licking your finger.

He watches you letting out a moan as he watches you just lick his pre-cum off of your finger, he can't help but let choke out a moan.

"Baby, you can't do that-ya can't just, i- gah i need you to to touch me" He whispers as he spreads his legs even more, giving you more room to work .

"I will," you reassure him softly.

You begin to stroke him and shower him with praise.

Your heart can't help but spike as you feel him growing harder and throbbing for you. His hips begin to move, even if your hands haven't, he is chasing the feeling he yearns for. He is chasing his release.

"Princess, please move your hand," he practically begs as one of his hands clench the couch pillows.

You watch him closely. You watch the way he is looking at you with complete need, almost a distraught, desperate look on his face.

You like hearing his moans, you like the way he sounds and looks in this moment.

So, you tighten your grip and stroke him, watching him closely, what causes his breath to hitch and him to whimper and moan.

When you twist your hand slightly at the base of his dick and rub your thumb on his mushroom tip, it causes him to moan and sink further into the couch as his hips begin to meet your movement.

You loved this, seeing him completely give everything to you. Watching him get off was pleasure to you; this is what you wanted in this moment.

Your hands repeat the movement now in a rhythm and flow, up and down, as you rub his tip. His hips buck to meet his release, a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead as his glasses start to hang low on his nose.

You kiss his cheek, as you put your face cheek to cheek with his and just watch your hand move around his thick dick. It felt heavy in your hands, throbbing in your hands.

"You are so handsome, baby, so smart too, gosh my smart journalist boyfriend who is so stressed about things that he’s gonna ace? Ain’t that right Clark?"

He whimpers "Gah, g-gah,".

"You're so good for me, baby, you just really need to cum by the way you are moving your hips, just so handsome" you whisper as you lick the shell of his ear and kiss it.

"I wish you could see how you look, so perfect, your stomach tensing every time I stroke you, it's like you are waiting permission to cum, is that what you are doing honey are you waiting?"

Clark moans , his cheeks completely flushed as cum slowly begins to seep from his tip sliding down to your hand, he can't help but let out breathless moans and his mouth agape.

He nods feverishly.

“Fuckkk honey, you’re so perfect for me, ugh everything to do is just-ughh fuck I needed this, I-I thank you" he says desperately as his hand comes up to your jaw holding your face. His hand slides to the back of your head and pulls you closer to him, and he kisses you fervently, moaning into the kiss and slipping his tongue inside.

His hips never stop jerking, he pulls away from the kiss, moaning "Can I cum? I swear to God I’ll be good for you just let me cum, let me finish,"

He whimpers your name.

His thrusts into your hands grow sloppy and convulsive.

You pepper a kiss on his neck and whisper in his ear, "Cum for me, honey. You deserve it, baby. You’re so hot for me, you're so hard for me. So prove it, show me how bad you need this."

"Fffuuuuckkkk, I’m cumming, ah. Y/N,baby. I’m gonna make a mess, princess. I-“ Clark's body jerks as his dick twitches, and finally, he cums, hips sloppily thrusting.

"That's it , Clark. Let go for me."

His mouth agape, panting, and head thrown back with pleasure, causing you to kiss his soft lips.

You stroke him slowly as his cum splashes onto his laptop and notebook, hitting some of the coffee table. He's panting and moaning .

You watch him, panties soaked and thighs clenched, as you feel the wetness between your thighs as you watch your boyfriend cum to the thought of you, cumming right into your hands.

Clark catches his breath, swallowing slowly as he turns his head towards you with a lopsided smile.

You lick your hand, and he groans, chuckling a bit. "You are unbelievable. You know that?"

You smile as you taste him. He tastes sweet and strong at the same time.

"Feel better?"

He nods and smiles as he fixes his glasses.

“See, you did finish, honey." You smile as you plant a sweet kiss to his cheek with the most mischievous smile playing onto your face as Clark sits, catching his breath, legs still spread as his breathing begins to return to normal.

"You finished, just not your paper." You smile as you lick the cum off your hands.

"Like I said, unbelievable." Clark shakes his head with a tired smile on his face.

"Thank you, hun." As he kisses your lips once more.

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— mika’s notes: thank you for reading lovelies, please reblog, comment and let me know what you think!! 💋💋 i’ve miss you all, also thank you to @heav3nlyglory @jellywrites1218 @mtcloudsworld for listening to me yap about this fic <𝟑 .ᐟ

۶ৎ if you’d like to continue to become a regular at my bakery, join my taglist to place your order! 🍮🥄 ˚₊‧

╰┈➤ ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Here is the other baked goods you might want to taste. Check out my masterlist!

╰┈➤ 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓