𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲,
౨ৎ 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧. Sukuna was a psychopath. You were psychotic. Since childhood, you have been inseparable. As you grew up and followed your dreams, your duo is the favorite topic of Twitter. The coquette famous actress who feels things too much and the unhinged mma fighter obsessed with violence. Only you were indifferent to his lack of empathy and guilt. You even found his empty dark gaze kind of sexy. Only he was unfazed by your hysterical sobs as you explained yet another megalomaniacal idea during a psychotic episode. He would keep you on his lap and nod his head to your plan to save the starving children of the world. However, he wasn’t your type. You wanted the perfect man who would be a family man. But when Sukuna's little brothers die suddenly, although he hides his grievance, he needs the woman he has always been in love with more than ever.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 13.3k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, coquette!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, yearning, dark romance, childhood friends to lovers, crybaby!reader, grief, mental health themes, family problems, bullying, hallucinations, delusions, schizoaffective disorder, lack of guilt & affective empathy, impulsivity, violence, animal cruelty, canon sukuna’s personality, ‘baby & bitch’ pet names, medical abuse, sukuna has black hair for specific reasons, yuji & choso are sukuna's little brothers, fully!tattooed!sukuna, smut, semi teenage first time, fingering, kisses, ass grabbing, cunnilingus, passionate sex, vaginal penetration, bathroom sex, dick piercing, unprotected sex, blood kink, sadism, unconventional relationship.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . don't ask anything. if you ever wonder if reader comes from experience : yes, she does, now let's move on………..
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but emptiness resides in Sukuna's gaze.
His black-dyed hair clung to his sweating forehead as his thrusts grew in power and speed. With one hand on the headboard, he stared at Yorozu with such intensity that she preferred looking at the numerous tattoos on his chest. She couldn't meet his gaze for fear of being speechless by the void within. Blood red, empty, piercing—they possessed a black aura despite their ruby luster.
“You like 'em?” Sukuna asked, his eyes following her delicate hands as they traced the ink across his skin. The depth of his voice, yet the lack of sexual excitation in it, made her swallow hard.
She knew he didn’t really care about her opinion on his tattoos. She knew Sukuna didn't care about anything beside you.
“I like everything about you. Especially this,” she whispered, her fingers dancing over the cute unicorn tattoo on his ribs, the one that stood out from the rest.
He slapped her. A red mark appeared on her cheek as she stared at him, stunned, her lips parted.
“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.
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