#feedback is appreciated!!

[theshadowrealmitself]

You chose "with your crew who's eating and talking"

(Read before answering the poll)

You decide to go to your crew that's trying to engage with the Vulcan crewmates while still eating, hoping to act as a social buffer. A couple of them see you approach and start to make room. Within moments you are sitting 5 members of your crew and 3 members of Captain Lek's crew. You look at them and mentally catalogue who's who.

Starting from your left you recognize Yosuke Bosque. A shorter, plump woman who's worked among the stars longer than you've even dreamed of them. Yosuke used to work in those big 'Fleet ships, but a family tragedy brought her to your crew, now more reserved than you heard she used to be but still full of life. She works down in engineering.

David Denzel is the young man on her left, another member of engineering, and also on the shorter side, but he's still a couple inches taller than you. Your ship is his first ship job, and he's proven himself a dedicated worker so far. Only problem you have with him is that he tends to play practical jokes during work hours. You know he'd been disowned, but that's all you or anyone knows, as everyone knows better than to pry.

Across from you is the intimidating figure of Ragnarr Marconi. Normally Ragnarr works on base, but with so many rush orders lately, they've taken up temporary shop on your ship as a much-needed delivery person. Ragnarr stands tall at 6 feet with a murderous looking face, but has the personality of a large dog that doesn't understand it can't fit on laps. You regret not knowing them better as every interaction you've had with them so far has been pleasant.

On Ragnarr's right is Sisay Dema Hathaway a nonbinary nurse with he/they pronouns that has the unfortunate habit of giving everyone their health information as dramatically as possible. Which you would not have guessed from his appearance as everything about him is as average as can be, however, everything and anything is a production with this one. Something you found out the first day you met them as, in the process of telling you your blood sugar was low, they had you convinced you were dying.

And finally, on Ragnar's left, is Lockie Devereaux. Newest permanent worker down in engineering as well, a thin tall person with she/he pronouns, and, you suspect, David's new partner in crime. You don't know Lockie's personality yet, but everywhere David is, there's Lockie.

Every member of your crew has some kind of trauma or backstory for why they've joined your crew, which is the only thing that would drive a person to join, is if they had nothing to go home to. The missions can be long and with little to no excitement to them, and whether you work on the ship or on base, it's years before you see Earth again. It's not the work you do if there's someone at home for you, eagerly awaiting your return. Everyone knows that, but no one pries. If they ever talk about why they're here, it's on their own terms. Hell, even you, their captain, haven't shared your reason with anyone except your First Officer.

You look over at the 3 Vulcan crewmates who you obviously don't know. They're all quietly eating and don't look as though they want to be engaged in conversation. You think you've heard before that on Vulcan it's customary to not converse while eating. If that's true, then they probably aren't appreciating your crew's attempts to be friendly.

Best you can do for them right now is get your crew talking to you so they aren't talking to them while they're still eating. You decide to start with Ragnarr, being that they're right across from you, and with their personality, you're sure the others will hop right in.

"So, Ragnarr..."

[turnabout-cats]

hello, i'd like to ask some pretty important questions!

so, i usually put IDs for all the klav cat posts in alt, but is there a difference between putting IDs within the alt section attached to the image and writing it in the post itself? which one is more accessible? would it be better to do both?

[shawtuzi]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw include: oral f receiving, multiple orgasms, praise ….oh and you have two bfs in this!!

“i-i can’t do it! s’too much i’m too sensitive,” you tugged at suguru’s bun, making it more disarrayed than it already was. your toes curled when you felt eren leave wet kisses on your neck, his tatted hands moving from your hips to your chest, now tweaking at your nipples.

eren licked from your jaw to the lobe of your ear, nibbling ever so softly on it. “maybe you should give her a break sugu, poor thing said she’s sensitive,” now eren wasn’t serious of course—the sadist in him wanted to see you ruined just as much as suguru. suguru hummed against your pussy, his tongue flicking at your clit one last time before coming up for air.

“you say that yet…. you’re holding her legs back even more. ‘oughta be ashamed of yourself…ain’t that right sweet thing,” suguru asked, kissing the fat of your thigh before biting the soft skin, making you jolt. sugu had pulled two orgasms out of you so far and normally you’d be able to handle at least three maybe even four! but unfortunately you spent the day with eren and that man is as insatiable as they come.

“y-you’re both fuckin’ terrible,” you sniffled, pussy clenching around nothing when you felt suguru nudge your swollen clit with his nose. eren pinched your nipples, grunting a soft ‘watch your mouth’. suguru was quick to latch onto your left nipple, the metal ball from his tongue piercing making you mewel.

between the two men surprisingly suguru the softest one for you. even when he had to punish you at times for being a brat he’d make up for it with sweet kisses to your trembling lips while three of his fingers stuffed your soaked pussy. eren on the other hand….lets just say you’ve never acted up in front of him since the first time he reprimanded you, but that’s a story for another time.

suguru trailed his tongue from your chest to your neck, nipping at the sweet smelling skin. “lemme make you cum one more time sweetness then i’ll be done, i promise,” he whispered the last part directly in your ear, reveling in the way your body shivered at his words. eren craned his neck to speak to you in your other ear, now whispering words of encouragement. “you can do it baby, i know how tired that lil pussy is from me wearing her out but you can give sugu another one right? he didn’t have you all to himself today the way i did”

“c’mon sweetness i know you got another one in you.”

“you’re such a good girl, i know you’ll say yes and make your boyfriends proud right?”

oh you were in a treacherously long night.

[emphistic]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 ♱

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. preacher’s daughter x atheist trope, historical AU - 1930s, conflict of religion, childhood friends to lovers, making out in the back of an empty church, forbidden love, eventual smut [MDNI], fem!Reader, lovesick!Sukuna, outdoor sêx, loss of vírginity, fíngering, overstímulatiön, örgasm denial, degrâdation kink, choking kink

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 15.4k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. hated every second of writing this. but, whatever, another historical au has been written ☑ anywho, here it is, and here you are, angel @antizenin // read on ao3, dividers by @/saradika

“She looked like a religious icon, like somebody you’d sacrifice yourself for.”

You remember the day you met him like yesterday—well, how could you not? He stood out like a sinner in a church full of preachers. 

The first time you saw him was at a funeral, but, don’t start feeling bad, the funeral was for some old lady living down the street whom you hardly knew. He sat in the farthest pew to the left in the front corner, and, with his height, you could’ve mistaken him for someone who had already reached puberty, but, nay, he was only a year your senior.

Even with the canorous singing of the choir in the background, and the words of your father droning on in the distance, the only thing you could seemingly focus on was the color pink. His hair, the boy’s hair—it was pink!

You had noticed the boy’s unnatural hair color while you were walking down the aisle for the Eucharist, and you happened to catch notice of him from your peripheral vision. Now, if you were just a little bit less behaved, you would’ve made a dash for it right then and there, and went over to inspect the boy’s hair, but no, your father had taught you better than most children your age, and you waited until the end of Service before you made an attempt at befriending the boy.

Mass had dragged on for what felt like longer than usual, and you hoped, with great enthusiasm, that if you waited outside the doors of the church for the boy to appear, you would only be subjected to waiting for five minutes. But boy, oh boy, were you wrong.

You were the first one to exit the church, and as attendees walked out after you, you had no choice but to stand awkwardly to the side, with your back leaning against the doors, and your hands interlocked behind your back, as you bid them all farewell. It was . . . unpleasant, and rather boring, if you did say so yourself, but it wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve spent nearly half an hour doing that afternoon. After all, you were sort of a celebrity in the small town of Bromwell.

Your mother was a well-known, and viable midwife, while, on the other hand, your father—he was. . . Your father was the preacher of the only church in Bromwell. The town was small in size, but not in population, no. Most of the populace consisted of devout Christians, but the religion had begun to lose followers when there weren’t any places of worship for a myriad of leagues. Your father took it upon himself to establish a church, and from then until now—well, you get the picture.

Of present time—in the year 1933 anno Domini, and of the small town you know as Bromwell, there wasn’t much diversity between your neighbors. Bromwell was bland, boring; everyone’s the same, everything’s the same. As a matter of fact, since birth, everyone, including you, was taught the one true principle; “Live by God, and by God, you shall live.” It was short, it was concise, and you knew, or, well, you believed it to be the truth of the world.

If Bromwell was bigger, and as populated as a city, there would, perhaps, be a billboard near the sheriff’s building, with the motto of the town written on it in a big, bold font.

Anyway, by now, you must certainly get the picture, right?

Bromwell, Alabama. Far from any life other than the ones living in it. Dusty roads, humid summers, and dry winters. Not a pleasant place to live in, especially in times such as the Dust Bowl. It made waiting outside of the church a great pain. For seemingly four hours you stood outside—so many people exited in the duration, that, you even got to see your father as he left, but when he invited you to come on home with him, you coughed up some lame excuse, and he, after tipping his hat, walked off with your mother by his side.

Sighing, and clearly exhausted from standing around for so long, you were just about to call after your father, and take him up on his invitation, when, as if by the mercy of God, you heard a voice behind you, and the sound of doors slamming shut right afterwards.

“What the hell is a girl like you still doing here? Service ended a while ago, or, do people here just not know how to tell the time?”

Okay, that . . . that is not how you expected the pink-haired boy to sound. As you turned around to meet his eyes, your heart dropped to your feet. What the?—He was even taller in person! But, fortunately, his hair was the same as when you first saw him. Pink and rosy and uncombed. His eyes were unnatural, too, a mix, or some other sort, of a reddish brown color.

He walked outside alone, no guardian or parent in sight, no older sibling or relative. He was dressed rather nicely—not like a wealthy gentleman, but, rather, like he was living well-off—but, either way, it was nothing like the usual apparel of most residents here in Bromwell. You concluded that he was, without a doubt, not from here (which would also explain why this was your first meeting with him, you noted).

“Why would you say that?” you whisper-shouted, after looking around your surroundings in case anyone heard.

“Say what?”

“The H word. We’re right outside of a church, dummy; aren’t you afraid of God smiting you where you stand?”

“We’re outside, not inside; God won’t persecute me.”

You rolled your eyes. “God won’t persecute you, but I sure will. My papa built this church for all of Bromwell, y’know.”

“You call this a church? Looks like a shack to me.”

“Hey! There’s not much to work with here in the country. He worked hard to gather supplies and planks and all of that.”

“Pfft—Yeah, right. All of that junk, you mean.”

“What—What the hell is your problem, you . . . you jerk?”

“I thought you said not to say that word, squirt.”

You bit your tongue. “Why don’t you just shut up.”

“‘m not the type to take orders from little girls like you,” he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest, “but okay.”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“Say something, dimwit,” you began, caving in. “You’re boring me.”

“I didn’t know I was your personal jester.”

You stuttered for words.

Questioning whether that was your first time hearing sarcasm, the boy laughed at your hesitance. It was almost sinister-sounding. “You’re kinda funny for a squirt, you know; I like that, you’re not like all the other wimps I’ve met so far. Hey, how about you be an upstanding citizen of Bromwell for once and ask me for my name or something? Do country folk not have manners?”

Still stuttering, you gave him your name, and offered a hand to shake, but it was declined.

“Don’t even think about it. I’m not touching that hand,” was the boy’s curt reply, after he introduced himself as Sukuna. “Not ever.”

“Why not?”

“Do I have to explain everything to you?” he scoffed, leaning down to your level, and getting all up in your face. “Your grimy little hand will give me cooties.”

The eight-year-old-you had never heard that word one day of your life, and a confused expression soon made its way onto your face.

Sukuna audibly facepalmed, and groaned into his hand. “C’mon, don’t tell me I have to explain what cooties are, too.”

That was it.

That was how you befriended Sukuna, though, he only accepted begrudgingly. It was more like an agreed companionship than friendship, honestly. Sukuna taught you more than any other mediocre teacher could have, and was, at least in the beginning, like the brother you had never had.

Sukuna was from the city, and, with his highly contrasting experiences and different walk of life, he had seen more and heard more than you (A/N: no offense to my country folk readers lmao). Sukuna explained slang—that was a big part of what he did as a sort of “mentor” to you. He also talked about the different types of weather he got, the views he saw from various points, the feeling of man-made pools and entertainment from television.

“TVs are for the rich,” Sukuna explained one time; “but my grandfather used to work under this nice man who occasionally let me sit in his living room and watch basically whatever I wanted, while he and my grandfather talked or something.”

“What did you watch?” you asked.

“. . .None of your business,” he said, blushing, “nothing that you should be watching, anyway.”

“‘Kuna, I don’t know if schooling is much different in the city than in the country, but we’re only a year apart.”

“A year is a big difference in knowledge.”

Sukuna wasn’t a particularly nice boy to you, but he was the closest you ever got to having a real friend, so you learned to take his jokes and banter with a grain of salt.

At school, you were a pretty sociable person, but your friends . . . well, weren’t really friends. They liked sitting with you during Service because it ensured them the best spots in the best pews, but that was it. They never ate lunch with you, never played with you during recess, and talked to you as if you were a mere stranger to them. They didn’t even think of you as a friend, honestly.

But Sukuna . . . Sukuna did.

While he may never have played silly games with you at lunch-recess, because he explained he was “too old to act like a silly, little child,” he still sat down on the innumerable blades of grass or dusty patches of dirt with you, and just . . . talked. You two talked a whole lot.

Sometimes, Sukuna would lie on his back, with shade from the tree above your figures granting him freedom, and he would toss an apple to and fro. The first time he did it, you were beyond confused, and brushed it off as “city-people behavior.” But, when he gave the apple to you after recess ended, and said, “Tossing it back and forth makes it taste sweeter,” that’s when you realized he was probably going to be your best friend for life.

Most people preferred to steer clear from you; they deemed you a goody two-shoes because of your father’s occupation as a preacher of faith, and didn’t bother listening to words that you actually said, but, rather, judged you merely on what was proclaimed by your father on Sundays. It was a common idea among your peers that you were some prim and proper “teacher’s pet,” or, well, in your case: “preacher’s pet.”

“What makes them think that?” asked Sukuna, one afternoon.

The two of you were outside at recess, squatting near a small pond; Sukuna was teaching you how to catch frogs—a hobby he had picked up the last summer he spent in the city, and also a hobby he hoped he could turn into a tradition with you.

“I . . . don’t know. I’ve spent almost half of my life with them as my classmates and neighbors, and I still don’t know,” you frowned, struggling to get a hold on a particularly slippery frog. “Do you . . . think I did something wrong?”

Sukuna chose not to respond, his eyebrows knitting together, creating an unreadable, conflicted expression on his face, as his grip around the neck of an innocent frog tightened to an extreme extent.

The silence dragged on for several minutes, only the croaking sounds of the frogs interrupting the calm, and your occasional grumbles of frustration at failure to capture said frogs.

Finally, shaking his head, as if escaping a trance, Sukuna didn’t say anything more as he finally released his unforgiving grip on the frog in his grasp, and threw it into your hands, to which you caught the amphibian with an elated squeal.

This marked the day everything changed.

During school, out on the playground, while walking on the dusty roads, even during Service—Sukuna had silently sworn to God that if anything or anyone were to hurt you ever again, he would be there. 

He didn’t like to say it, and you knew that, but you had gradually learned over time that Sukuna wasn’t used to people being there for him, but maybe, just maybe, thought Sukuna, if he were there for you, you wouldn’t end up going down the same path as him.

And when Sukuna had his mind on something, he wouldn’t yield for anyone. But, worry not, Sukuna couldn’t care less about the black eyes he got from beating up kids who talked down on you. He knew you would never let him do it if he told you his plans beforehand, and he wasn’t exactly keen on having you see him do that, either, so he never got into too much trouble when you were by.

Sukuna saw his reflection in your eyes that day you told him the other kids didn’t like you much, and he had never wanted anything more than to get rid of the Fifth Commandment.

There were, however, other alternatives to violence (A/N: shocking, right?), and Sukuna took up the habit of hanging out with you more often. Well, actually, “habit” doesn’t quite cut it; at first, it was like a hobby—a sort of pastime to get his mind off of homicidal activities, then it was like something built into his everyday schedule, and then . . . and then it was life.

Throughout his nine years of living, Sukuna had never enjoyed many sports, movies, or books, but everything seemed to change when you came into the picture. You—a rowdy, willful, and unexpectedly and unintentionally funny little girl, whose father was the town of Bromwell’s preacher. You wanted to be his friend? You wanted to sit next to him during school? No; no, that couldn’t be, thought Sukuna, every time he laid awake at night.

But, with beginning friendships, always comes the “getting to know each other” stage, and that was perhaps the most enjoyable two weeks Sukuna had ever spent with someone other than just himself or with his grandfather.

“Do you have a favorite color?” you asked, one day. 

The two of you were walking home from school together (another tradition you two created), and Sukuna would’ve answered, had you not cut him off immediately before he had any opportunity to.

“Wait, no, let me guess.” You paused your walking, put a hand on your hip, and rubbed your chin in thought. “Hmm, I would guess pink, but it’s literally the color you see every time you look in the mirror, and, if I were you, I would grow sick and tired of it.”

Sukuna shook his head in laughter, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You read into things too much.”

“Psychological tactic to get me farther from the right answer? Yeah, I think so.”

“Proved my point exactly, squirt.” Sukuna looked at you with a gaze neither you nor even Sukuna could comprehend as eight and nine year olds. There was a weird beating in his chest when he realized you were already looking at him, and he laughed again to mask his fragility.

You disregarded his words, and continued on. “Red? No. . . Blue—actually, purple? Wait, is it. . . Green! Yes, it has to be. It’s green, isn’t it?”

With all the hope you had in your body, you had greatly hoped that you were correct, but by the time you had guessed the color purple, Sukuna had already forgotten what his favorite color was, and what he said next was not his proudest moment now that he looked back at it as a man.

“Do you . . . like green?” he asked, redirecting the question to you. His eyes darted from corner to corner, avoiding eye contact as he tried to give off a nonchalant demeanor.

“Why wouldn’t I? I like all colors, y’know—maybe it’s just me, but I feel like if I liked one color too much, the others would get sad, and that’s why . . . that’s why. . .” You faltered, before beginning anew. “Anyway, yeah, I like green, but only when pickles aren’t a part of the equation. And, they’re not a part of the equation, . . right? You can promise me that much.”

Oh, but Sukuna could promise you much more. So much more.

“Sure. Yeah, no pickles.”

You looked at Sukuna with a reassured look after his declaration, and then, before you began walking again, you looked at him with a different look. A weird look—as if his presence disturbed you.

“Are you going to answer my question?” you asked, raising a brow.

“I just did.”

“No, silly, the other one. Is it green? Is your favorite color green?”

“I like green, yeah.”

That was how it went with Sukuna. No straight answers. Never, nada.

Even while you two ate lunch together side by side, while you two reenacted and geeked out over your favorite book scenes and movie scenes, while you two played a game of taking turns to crawl into a tire and have the other push them down the dusty, dusty roads—It was a racing game, (only occasionally, actually,) where you two would compete on who would make it to the designated end of the track first. You and Sukuna had neither the time, nor the care, honestly, to make authentic prizes, so the winner usually just had bragging rights for the rest of the day (or until the winner’s streak was broken).

You laugh about it now that you’re older, but you vaguely remember how, one time, you had rolled your ankle while going down a hill in a tire, and Sukuna had looked at you with an expression so full of sympathy and guilt that you actually couldn’t recognize him at first. It was nothing like Sukuna, and he even offered to let you punch him in the face as a strange form of compensation. But you laughed, simply choosing to walk it off.

Of course, like the stubborn mule he was, Sukuna didn’t let it end there, and he wouldn’t stop harassing you and forcing you to punch him until you finally put a hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the eye, saying, with as much humor as an eight year old could muster, “If you are so sorry, you can go and confess the sin you committed today: hurting a girl.”

With this, you hadn’t originally intended for Sukuna to go to Confession; you were merely joking, using sarcasm, as Sukuna had called it before, or so you remembered. But Sukuna, having not realized this, looked at you with great surprise, and almost reeled backwards, tripping over his untied shoelaces.

“You want me to . . . confess?” Although Sukuna tried to appear composed as he repeated your suggestion, you could clearly tell he was either horrified or extremely uneasy. His eyebrows knitted together, and he stared at you as if you were asking him to throw himself off a bridge.

“Well, yeah,” you answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world; you wanted to keep the joke going as long as possible, for you thought Sukuna would be somewhat proud of you for finally having tricked him at something, and you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized he had been bested. “Confess—I want you to confess.”

“Is that . . . absolutely, totally, really necessary?”

You grinned. “It’s absolutely, totally, really necessary for me to find out what ridiculous act of penance my dad will give you.”

When Sukuna realized you were joking the entire time, he audibly let out a breath of relief, and tried to casually laugh it off afterwards in order to cover up his clearly worried expression from before. But, Sukuna didn’t high-five you for succeeding in playing him, he didn’t laugh at your cleverness and how long you lasted character, he didn’t acknowledge anything regarding your prank, for that matter, at all.

Maybe you didn’t notice it at first due to how young you were at that time. But nowadays, you don’t joke about anything like that. Though, you did have many opportunities soon after that incident.

It wasn’t the last time Sukuna behaved strangely under the topic of a church-related subject, and it wasn’t the last time you mentioned a church-related subject either.

Children, the age of eight years, are usually at the stage of receiving their First Communion, or, at least, that was the way it went here in Bromwell. You had received the Eucharist a few weeks before you met Sukuna, so there was no need for you both to converse about it. Sukuna, on the other hand, was a twelvemonth older than you, and was expected to have already received his First Communion before moving to Bromwell.

He said it was the truth, you heard it was the truth, but you had never seen this supposed “truth.”

It wasn’t like you watched and observed your friends as they went up for the body of Christ, and made note of who was sat the whole time, but . . . you and Sukuna weren’t just friends—you two were best friends, and you thought, or, at least, you heard from Sukuna, that it was normal for best friends to be able to notice when their best friends were ill, or feeling down, or acting unlike themselves.

So, was it really strange for you to realize that Sukuna never actually received the body of Christ? 

In some instances, he was stuck in the bathroom during the time, sometimes he was tying his shoelaces (but it would be an awfully long time spent tying one’s shoelaces), and sometimes, he was just nowhere to be found—even if you nearly cracked your neck turning around the whole church to find him. It was almost like he was a ghost, who disappeared and vanished.

A malevolent phantom, even.

But, the Eucharist wasn’t the only thing. Sukuna rarely said prayers aloud. He mumbled them, actually, and most of the time, you couldn’t even tell if he was mumbling or not. Sukuna always had his head down, and his eyes casted to the floor during prayer. There were rare occasions, though, where he would be looking up, but that was only if he was standing outside. Never inside, no.

In all honesty, this was quite the strange observation to make. Noticing your friend rarely prays aloud? Realizing his absence when others go to receive the Body and Blood?

At first, you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, didn’t want to bring it up, even, but . . . at eight years old, you were so new to the world, and the world was so new to you. And, you just couldn’t help but let your curiosity get the best of you on one Wednesday afternoon.

School was out, you and Sukuna were outside and drawing in the dirt with sticks in his front lawn, and the sun was shining on your face, drying and hardening the bits of mud on your cheeks, hands, and elbows. There was a warmness about you, and a radiant gleam in your eyes—it scared the living daylights out of Sukuna, and he rarely held eye contact for longer than needed. The boy had been much more cautious around you lately, and you didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, to further get his attention as you simultaneously poked at him with a nearby stick. “Sukuna.”

He grunted, as if to give a sign that he heard you. (Or, maybe, he just wanted you to stop poking him.)

“Sukuna, I think you’re really weird.”

“. . .”

“Okay,” you paused, raising your hands in defense, “I’m sure that’s not surprising, since, like, everyone thinks you’re weird,” you laughed; “but I just wanted to point it out, because I noticed . . . something.”

“Okay. . ?” Sukuna raised a brow, never once pausing in his artwork—he was drawing a peacock, an animal you had never seen while living in Bromwell, and an animal he had apparently seen on television once, in the city. He briefly mentioned it earlier, and, due to your pestering and questioning regarding the animal, also wanted to show you what it looked like.

You took in a deep breath, and spat out what you supposedly noticed, and needed to say. “You never come up for Communion.”

Sukuna stopped like a deer caught in headlights (a phrase that Sukuna taught you; at school, it was labeled a figurative expression: a simile), and looked—not at you—but at his hands. He looked at his dirty, scarred hands, wiith an emotion on his face that you could not recognize.

“. . .”

You took his silence as a sign to continue, or, well, you interpreted it as one, but it might’ve just been your talkative nature speaking. 

“Why is that? Have you not received your First Communion? I won’t tell anyone, swear.” You held out your pinky in the possibility that he would make you solemnly swear. “Won’t even make fun of you.”

But Sukuna didn’t take your pinky, didn’t even glance at it. He only spoke after a long moment’s pause, when he realized there was no escape. “It’s . . . not that. I received it—my First Communion. Got it when I was your age, actually. But, ah, you probably guessed that already.”

“So, why don’t you receive Communion anymore?”

“Geez, squirt, you sure ask a lot.” Sukuna laughed, and scratched the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding a stick.

You grinned, the heaviness in your chest seeming to alleviate. “I can’t help it, I’m a curious person, you know—”

Sukuna cut you off as he moved closer to the spot where you currently sat on the dirt. He began to work, scratching and scraping at a new drawing. Only this time, it wasn’t a male peafowl. Wasn’t even a bird or an animal. It was a woman. Sukuna responded to your still unanswered question by drawing a woman.

Now, you knew Sukuna was an artist, but this was just. . .

“Sukuna, she’s. . . She’s beautiful. But, who is she?” you asked. “Is she someone you know? An old crush from the city?”

Sukuna almost laughed. “That would . . . be incestuous.”

You scrunched your nose, your face wrinkling in the process. “What does that word mean?”

“Just . . . shut up, okay? For a few minutes at least.”

You nodded, with some reluctance.

“My mother—this is my mother,” Sukuna began, when he was done with the drawing. “When I was just around your age, fresh out of the first grade, and living a pretty . . . decent childhood in the city, my mother. . . She was,” he hesitated, “diagnosed with a cancer I don’t even want to waste my breath naming. It doesn’t deserve to be recognized for mortality.” He scoffed, continuing.

“My father was never present in my life, and I had neither a brother nor a sister. My mother worked a total of three jobs to feed us both and take care of my grandfather. Do you know what that’s like? No; no, you don’t. But that’s of no importance, really.

“I don’t know much about my father. My mother never liked speaking about him, and Grandpa only ever mentioned his name if he wanted to berate my mother for choosing such a man. Nevertheless, I still wished he would’ve been there when my mother fell ill. I tried calling him—multiple times, actually, but it only ever went to voicemail, and I never had the courage to speak into the void. I was afraid. Shy. I didn’t think there was anyone who would listen.”

You noticed his sudden pause, the dimness of his eyes, and you wanted to at least lighten the subject. “But, there was someone—who could’ve listened.”

Sukuna finally looked at you. “God? Is that who you’re referring to? You mean to tell me God could’ve listened? You are just,” he sucked in a breath, “so hilarious. God could’ve listened? Well, guess what, kid, he didn’t. Could’ve, but didn’t.

“I prayed three times a day, and more times than I could count on both hands in the evening, in the night, while I laid in bed, while I dreamed up a fantasy where stupid, stupid illnesses didn’t exist. I prayed like a madman. Do you hear that? A madman. Probably made it to God’s list of ‘Most Devout Followers,’ too, with the amount of Amens I muttered each week.

“So many prayers. So many prayers. But did that stop cancer? Did that prevent her passing? Did that aid in her recovery? God—fucking—damnit, do you realize? it didn’t. She’s gone. Six feet under. Flowers bloom from her grave, and yet no one’s there to water them.”

You didn’t have the resolve to point out a nine year old just cursed in front of you. You didn’t notice, anyway. “Sukuna—”

“Are you going to tell me it was God’s will? Are you going to tell me God loves me all the same? Even though He took my mother away? The woman who gave me life? Breath? No. Maybe God loves me, but He doesn’t know how to love me. Doesn’t know how I want to be loved. Loves me in a way I don’t understand. . . God loves me, so I’ve been told; but I want Him to stop.”

Sukuna doesn’t know how much you cried that night.

The both of you parted soon after he told you about his life before Bromwell; the silence became overwhelming, no more drawings were engraved onto the dirt, and the sticks were left scattered on the ground. There, really, was no other choice.

You went home that evening, and asked your father about God. About religion. About death. You wondered why people were left to die, why there was suffering and oppression in the world. Was it truly all in God’s will? If He created everyone in His image, did He create everyone to die, too? Why were we to perish? to finish? to end? You thought He loved you—wanted the best for you.

And, from what you understood, Sukuna thought that, too. Or, well, he used to. Sukuna used to be just like you. Prayed every day and every night, went to Service on Sundays, and came up for Communion like any other devotee. But, that was when he believed, that was when he had faith; that was when he had reason to have faith. That was then, and now is now. Sukuna gave up on his religion, and his religion abandoned him. His move from the city to the country was based on convenience, but what is convenience in a world based on faith? Belief in the invisible?

Your father didn’t have much to say, and to answer you with. He honestly wasn’t expecting to have this conversation with you so soon, and at such a young age. But, what did he have to say, made you even more lost. Just as lost, as someone you believed you knew.

The proclamation of Genesis 3:19: “By the sweat of your face you will eat bread, till you return to the ground, because from it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Death was an interesting topic for you, from that moment until now. Since your birth you had been taught the one true principle: “Live by God, and by God, you shall live.” But, after Sukuna opened your eyes a little further, and introduced death in a way you hadn’t acknowledged before, you didn’t know if there was one true principle at all. How were you to live by the words of a god you could neither see nor hear nor feel, and how was that very god going to grant you the will to live, if you were to perish in the end?

You had never once doubted the existence of God. You had been born into your religion, and you didn’t question whether you would have your funeral in a church or not. But . . . as you look at your rosary while you kneel at the side of your bed before you sleep, hanging your head in prayer and whispering words of invocation, you cannot help but remember his face. His face while he talked about his mother. His face while he talked about his father. His face while he talked about his grandfather.

Did you look like that when you spoke to God? Did you carry a burden so heavy, so you could lift it up to your Creator—in the end? The one who would rid you of your sorrows, your griefs, your troubles? But, how was that to be done? When the Creator gave you those in the beginning?

You knew how.

Death.

But, was that really the end?

There was always Heaven, as well. The place where you shall reside once you meet your finish. The place where you shall live with your god, in eternal life. But, could it be, that you would see—see others that had gone and passed, just like you. . ? Would you see his mother? Would you see him? Would you see those eyes? Those eyes that held such emotion one could not possibly comprehend?

Children don’t understand much, Sukuna was right. A year was a large difference in knowledge. But, you could only hope that Sukuna didn’t know how much you cried that night. For him, for his mother, for his grief, for everyone who had lost a life—whether it was theirs and their own, or it was a loved one’s.

You didn’t have a conclusion or a thesis; you didn’t have a hypothesis in the first place. But, from this night on to the next, you soon began to think, that when the stars eventually burned, when the world flipped on its side, when the seas came out dry, maybe then—maybe then you would know, instead of believe, maybe then you would know, that there really was a god out there . . . a god who hated you.

For, you remember his face from that evening like it was yesterday, and you feared you would never forget—more or less, you feared the eventual day that face would soon be your own.

***

You didn’t utter a single question regarding any aspects or traditions or customs of religion for the next decade. You didn’t mention Christmas, didn’t talk about prayer, didn’t bring up the Gospel. And you rarely, if ever, spoke about your father to Sukuna. This was, however, all within your will; you chose to respect Sukuna’s wellbeing, and you decided to remain as neutral as ever when you two were together.

The first time you saw Sukuna, after the week where he confessed his past to you, was awkward. The room you two were in was stuffy, and humid, and you felt as if you couldn’t speak. Words didn’t leave your throat, and Sukuna’s eyes never met yours. He sat as far away from you as possible, and you wondered if he hated you, but then you wondered how that could ever be. You never spoke ill of Sukuna, especially not to his face, and you never did anything he was uncomfortable with or detested.

The only thing Sukuna held against you was your father, a preacher. A preacher of the very religion Sukuna swore he could never take up again.

It wasn’t your fault he converted, so why was he avoiding you? Why was he punishing you?

When you were eight years old, you feared no one but God. And that showed, because, when you stalked up to Sukuna—wearing old, scruffed overalls and muddy boots—you didn’t cower before him, didn’t get on your knees and ask him to be your friend again. Instead, you did what no one else ever did or dreamed of: you slapped him.

“What is your problem?” you asked, watching as Sukuna barely flinched from the assault.

“My problem?” he laughed. “You’re the one who slapped me.”

Honestly, Sukuna would have never spoken to you again after his confession, had you not approached him first. He didn’t know whether you befriended him solely for him, or for any sayings from the Bible. But, it was nice: knowing that you were his friend despite conflict of religion. He had been avoiding you lest you bring up the topic of “Atheism, Sukuna, and God” up to your father. For, well, Sukuna wasn’t exactly keen on that man knowing any of his business, and obtaining the knowledge from his daughter, no less, who asked everything from an innocent heart.

On the other hand, needless to say, you were glad Sukuna wasn’t the least bit affected by the happenings of last week. Maybe he frowned and sighed when speaking about his deceased mother, but that didn’t last, or, well, it didn’t seem like it. Sukuna—the Sukuna you knew—was back. And he was as cunning, witty, and snarky, as ever. Perhaps his confession brought the two of you closer.

Sukuna was never afraid of bringing up anything to you again (not like he ever was, he just didn’t feel the need), and you—the same. But, if there ever was a case, you two had mutually and unanimously created a tradition of engraving your confessions in the dirt: drawing with sticks what you could never even dare to whisper. Your bond was stronger than ever, and, as the years passed by, the two of you soon grew inseparable.

So inseparable, in fact, that . . . by the age of thirteen, you had even developed a little, silly crush on the pink-haired boy. Well, actually, back then, he was a boy, but that was then, and now is now. Sukuna wasn’t a little boy anymore, and you weren’t just a little girl anymore. The two of you were a little grown, a bit older: teenagers—thirteen and fourteen. You didn’t know exactly when it first began, but, when you started laughing at jokes that Sukuna said (even when they weren’t funny) just because he said them, and when you started to toss around all your apples as if it were a reflex, and when you started to become a little less independent, that’s when you knew.

You were the eldest daughter to the town’s preacher. Your parents weren’t often home, and you learned, in the process, to fend for yourself most of the time. You were cheeky, said jokes that sometimes cut too deep, and were used to doing things yourself. But, when Sukuna came into the story, most things changed. You were both the eldest childs, and you were both the only childs. What’s worse, was how stubborn you both were—Little Miss “I Can Do It Myself” and Mister “Sit Down.”

Sukuna taught you to relax, while also simultaneously kicking things up a notch. Yeah, he was clearly a bad example, but he was also a great best friend. He let you rely on him more than you relied on anyone during the whole span of your life, and you two were often named as partners in crime. Devious, mischievous, and troublesome. You kept Sukuna on his toes, and didn’t leave him up to too much bad, while he, on the other hand, let you experience letting go of expectations and rules.

From the second grade all the way to the ninth, you and Sukuna developed countless inside jokes, party tricks, stories, and so much more.

Sukuna climbed through your window when you weren’t allowed to leave the house, and stayed and talked with you until you were. He looked at you like you hung the moon and stars, he laughed with you like you changed the course of speed and time, and he talked about you to his grandfather like you were the love of his life—and you were! A year was a big difference in knowledge, but, funny enough, neither of you knew how much hanging out with each other would change things.

The fifth grade was when the two of you first held hands. 

Sukuna had told you a story about how he supposedly heard a coyote in the middle of the night, and when you called him a chicken for not going outside to check, he forced the both of you to sneak out, late at night, to face the alleged coyotes. You two were both young, and the atmosphere was already eerie enough that, when you heard even the faintest sound of wind snapping and a rocking chair rocking, you subconsciously took Sukuna by the hand and made a dash for it.

(Neither of you speak about that night—and whether that’s out of embarrassment for being scared of a coyote, or embarrassment of holding hands, no one knows.)

The eighth grade was when the two of you had your first date. 

And, yes, I know, thirteen year olds are a bit young for that thing, but your and Sukuna’s date wasn’t exactly planned, per se. You were trying to make an excuse in order to get out of watching your mother help one of her patients give birth (which is a very gruesome sight, according to Sukuna), and Sukuna, who was standing beside you whilst you argued with your mother, decided to silently interrupt you and take his leave. But you, perhaps out of spite, grabbed him by the collar, yanked him back in the house, and told your mother that you two were both just leaving, and that watching a birthing process was not part of the schedule.

The two of you awkwardly, and with a significant amount of tension in the air, took each other by the arm and walked to . . . absolutely nowhere. You two walked out of the house sweating, because your mother was watching you like a hawk from the window, and you just followed wherever Sukuna walked, but then, you realized that, Sukuna was just following wherever you were walking. So the two of you walked in circles for approximately half of an hour, before you both decided to take a detour towards a nearby river, and splash around.

(You came home with soaking wet clothes that day, and your mother immediately exclaimed, with the assumption that you and Sukuna were not just swimming, “I knew I should have shown you the horrors of pregnancy,” which left you scarred—for life, possibly, because you never got a chance to explain yourself.)

The eleventh grade was when the two of you kissed for the first time.

The calendar marked the day of Christmas, and the town of Bromwell was as festive as it could get. Your neighbors hung up tinsel and other various drapings on their porches, the smell of gingerbread and candy cane wafted through the air, and the excessive number of candles in the church were all lit up. Service had just ended, and you were walking down the empty streets—everyone and their mother was probably already inside, enjoying the Christmas spirit. But, if you had to be honest, you were beginning to get a bit worried; you hadn’t seen Sukuna all day, and, well, you knew Christmas was always a delicate subject for him, but he usually showed up every once in a while on the sacred holiday.

You remembered the year before this one; you and Sukuna had hung out at your house, while your parents did whatever it was that they did at other friends’ and families’ houses. You insisted, begged, actually, for your parents to let the two of you spend the holiday together. And, as they knew you to be quite the responsible daughter, they complied with your request. 

You and Sukuna spent the day decorating gingerbread houses, sipping eggnog, and baking several various treats. Until the evening, where you two spent the rest of your time huddled up together on the sofa, sleepily murmuring stories and giggling to yourselves, before snores began to erupt, and your parents found you and Sukuna cuddled up together in the morning.

All in all, Sukuna didn’t care for the birth of Bromwell’s savior, but he enjoyed the winter season and what it had to bring. Although he never showed up for mass on this day, he still frequented your house, or his own house, where you two spent the evening enveloped in holiday cheer. But, today was different.

Sukuna hadn’t shown up at all: didn’t knock on your window early in the morning to wake you up, didn’t surprise you with baked goods (courtesy of his grandfather’s knack for baking), didn’t even throw snowballs at you when you were most vulnerable (taking out the trash). You felt a sense of loneliness; Bromwell was quiet without him, and, apparently, so was his own house. The Itadori residence was completely empty, save for the Grandfather, so, wherever Sukuna was, it wasn’t anywhere here.

Coming up fruitless after your search, you were about to head home—maybe spend some time with your own family, when, by your surprise, you passed by the church, which was still open, and still lit up. This was . . . a surprise, to say the least; your father usually packed everything up and locked the building when everyone finished heading out, but, maybe, even for just this night, that wasn’t so.

Each step you took upon entering the church echoed. The dimmed candle-lighting, paired with the quiet atmosphere and empty setting, created an eerie feeling, almost opposite of what Christmas embodied. You didn’t like it, hated it, actually; the stillness of the night never failed to give you the heebie-jeebies, and you felt that intensely on this very night.

You shrugged your shoulders, shifted your scarf around your neck, and attempted to tell yourself that your father probably just forgot to turn off the lights, and that you were going to do the honors in his stead before sprinting back home, but you changed your mind as soon as your eyes made their way to the back of the church, and you drank in the appearance of none other than Sukuna himself, as he sat in the very last row of pews.

“Sukuna? What—What are you doing here?” You could feel a smile etch onto your face, as you began to make your way through the church, weaving through rows and rows of pews before you found yourself taking a seat right beside Sukuna. His arm wrapped around the back of the bench, and pulled you closer to him.

“Not excited to see me? What, don’t tell me you’ve turned your back on me, as well.” Sukuna appeared composed and cool, but his body radiated warmth, which you dreadfully lacked. “Most of Bromwell’s figured me out already, started whispering my name right next to Satan’s—calling me a son of a bitch, an atheist, a scoundrel. Is the preacher’s lovely little daughter doing that, too?”

“Hey, don’t joke around like that, especially not on Christmas. Where’s your holiday cheer?” You used your thumb to stretch out the corner of Sukuna’s mouth, revealing his canines as you forced him to muster a lame excuse for a smile. “You are such a Scrooge, you know, always wearing this same exact scowl. Your face is just so mad all the time.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, dragging your face closer to his. “You don’t like this face? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Maybe. Why? Gonna do something about that?” Your eyes peered into his, and his into yours; and you swore he could see through your soul right then and there. Maybe he really was Satan, after all, you joked.

Sukuna laughed, before saying, with a mocking tone, “Maybe. But it depends, you might not like what I’ll do.”

“There really isn’t much worse you could do besides meet me in the back of an empty church.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’s not like you would know, anyway. You don’t follow any of the Commandments; you don’t know what’s bad or good for me, at all.”

“Are you implying I don’t know what anything means?”

“Mm, yeah.” You leaned closer to Sukuna, your noses nearly touching.

“That’s kind of harsh coming from the preacher’s daughter,” Sukuna joked; “but, hey, I don’t have to be religious to know what this means.”

Sukuna pulled out a mistletoe from God knows where, and dangled it above your head like a child taunting its opponent. Bits of snow dusted off the branches, landing on the tops of your heads, but neither of you cared much, at least not in the moment; the most Sukuna did was push a strand of loose hair out of your face, but he did nothing more except meet your gaze.

Your heart was pounding, but you had had a few cups of apple cider earlier, and your stomach felt warm while the tip of your nose glowed; you felt as if ready to even take on Mount Everest, so, if you haven’t gotten the picture yet: you weren’t nervous for anything. Well, maybe save for the possibility that your father or literally anyone else could walk in on the two of you.

“I . . . change my mind,” you whispered, speaking languidly as you leaned in ever so slightly; “there is worse we could do besides meet in the back of an empty church after hours.”

“And, that is?”

“We could . . .” Your eyes roamed Sukuna’s face as you spoke, and you admired the occasional freckle you discovered in your way. “We could kiss in the back of an empty church after hours.”

“‘Kiss?’” Sukuna repeated, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge you. “That’s all you’ve got?”

When you woke up this morning, you didn’t expect to end the Christmas day making out with your childhood best friend, Sukuna, in the back of an empty church, but, fate doesn’t wait for just anyone’s opinions, and you couldn’t help yourself when Sukuna looked at you the way he did. You couldn’t help yourself when you tangled your hands in his hair, and met his lips with yours—the sweet taste of eggnog on your tongue following soon after.

Mistakes weren’t made that night, but you went to your monthly Confession the next morning anyway.

You and Sukuna didn’t start dating until . . . well, actually, you two never actually started dating—in a sense, at least. There was never a candle-lit dinner, where it was just the two of you, speaking in low voices over a furnished table in the dark. There was no question such as Will you be my girlfriend? or, even, Will you be my boyfriend? but, that was okay. It was clear enough how you two felt about each other, and, even if it wasn’t, the amount of kisses Sukuna gave you whether you two were alone or surrounded, and the amount of nights you two spent laying on stacks of hay in his grandfather’s barn, whispering sweet-nothings to each other, ought to have said enough about your relationship.

Sukuna didn’t have a way with words, and you were always too embarrassed to bring up the fact your relationship wasn’t official, like, at all. But, most of your neighbors knew that their preacher’s daughter was dating the county’s atheist by the time you got into the twelfth grade, and that there was nothing they could do about that except for subtly look down upon you both, and convince themselves your relationship wasn’t serious enough to make it to marriage.

Your father never spoke ill about Sukuna; and, as far as you knew, he always saw the pink-haired delinquent (an affectionate nickname) as a bright boy: a respectful young man, who looked at his daughter like a goddess incarnate, despite whatever religion he partook in. As for how your mother felt about your boyfriend: she thought that as long as she wasn’t going to have to deliver your baby any time soon, she couldn’t have cared less.

But, it’s not like you actually cared about how anyone felt about Sukuna. What mattered most was how you felt about him—I mean, he was your boyfriend, after all. And, how you felt about Sukuna was . . . beyond definable. He was Sukuna, you were you, and that’s all you knew. Well, that’s all you knew in this moment, as you sat under the light of the moon—cascading through windows of Sukuna’s barn—as the two of you huddled up together, sharing kisses and purposely interrupting each other as you spoke with a volume just above a whisper.

The horses were asleep, (you and Sukuna had gone riding earlier in the day), but you were neither tired nor cold, even in this winter weather. You often found yourself feeling warm, your heart racing in your chest, whenever you were with Sukuna, and the heat which always rose to your cheeks did a good job at showing it.

“You make me hate myself,” Sukuna whispered, leaning his back against the sleeping friesian behind him, while his arm slithered around your waist, subtly pulling you closer to him every once in a while.

You laughed, wondering if he was just sleep-talking at this point. His voice was rough, and cold, but his skin was warm, and he didn’t wait for an answer from you before continuing.

“Do you know how stupid you make me feel? God, it’s like. . . You’re like an angel that has descended upon this wretched earth, and guess what, I’m the fool who’s fallen in love with you. This whole town’s praying for my downfall, you know that, angel?—for Satan to finally drag my ass back down to the depths of Hell, but. . .”

“Would you go?”

“. . .Where?”

“Would you go with him?”

“No.” Sukuna shook his head, laughing like a drunkard. “No, not even God could pull me away from you.”

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t let Him.”

“How do you know you’ll succeed?”

“Because I don’t believe in anything besides the fact that you are the closest I’ll ever get to Heaven. You are an angel that has been bestowed upon my black heart, you are every dark thought—every demonic idea—that has ever plagued my mind. You may taste like paradise, but even God knows you are a religion for only the lowest lovesick fools to have ever roamed this godforsaken planet.”

You turned around in Sukuna’s hold, looping your arms around his neck, and pulling him closer to you. “Would that make you religious, then? A devout follower?”

“For you? Always.”

That conversation was a fortnight ago. You’ve officially entered your twenties now, and everyone knows a new decade means a new chapter, especially for first-time lovers like you. It doesn’t feel any different, though; you’re older, but nothing’s changed. At least, you didn’t think so. Turning twenty meant you had been dating Sukuna for three years, and, well, in Bromwell, there was only one thing to be expected. Marriage; a topic that’s being brought up more frequently at your dinner table, whether you liked it or not.

You were an adult now. You’ve been an adult, actually, but eighteen and nineteen year olds were never as relevant as twenty year olds.

In full honesty, and full confidence, you didn’t care much for seeing yourself in a white gown and white veil. Being married is a title, it’s an expectation, it’s a milestone. It’s not . . . it’s not kismet. Being married meant you had a ring on your finger. But, when you compared it to simply being boyfriend-girlfriend, you didn’t see much of a difference. Now, you don’t mean to be ‘woke’ or prejudiced, you just didn’t feel much significance in the holy sacrament of matrimony. 

Not that you would ever say that aloud, though. . . Especially when you’re eating dinner with your very old fashioned parents who have very old fashioned ideals.

“How is—How is Sukuna, by the way?” began your father, as he cut into a smoked pork shoulder.

“He’s how he’s always been, sir.” You offered a small smile, placing your cutlery back down. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I am simply a curious man,” he laughed. “But, I must say, I feel quite sympathetic towards him.”

“. . .May I remind you that his mother died years ago, father—”

“My child, I am not talking about that.” His tone cut cold, and deep, like an icicle, and you suddenly noticed the strangeness of the air which surrounded the dinner table; this was no simple conversation.

Your eyes wandered your father’s face from across the table for any hint to what on earth he was going on about, but he evaded all eye contact. Your mother, on the other hand, remained silent, excluded from the conversation whether it was by her own will or not; she sat beside your father like a statue—beautiful, but with no exact purpose.

“Pardon?”

Your father cleared his throat. “Sukuna does know what is to come, correct?”

“Father, even I do not know what you are talking about; never mind him.”

“You are my only daughter, you hear? You are my eldest child, my only child. I founded the one, single church of Bromwell, and you take after me. How will this county react when they hear you are to be wed off to an atheist?”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“You are twenty years old. You are going to be married. Tomorrow, next week, next year. It will happen. My point isn’t that I’m going to rush you, that is hardly my job.”

You blinked. “Then, . . what is your job?”

Your father laughed. “You do not mean you are going to marry Sukuna, are you?”

“How is that relevant?”

“I let you talk with Sukuna, I let you hang around that fellow, I let you eat with that man in my own house. Several times, actually. But, regardless, that was all when you were young. I remember my first relationships, you know; they weren’t as serious as I would’ve liked to hope. But, you do know . . . I am not letting you anywhere near that man if he has a ring in his pocket.”

“Father, blessings from the in-laws before asking a woman’s hand in marriage are hardly relevant nowadays.”

“You think this is a joke?”

“I’m . . . sorry?”

“I always assumed you were in love with him because you were young, and everything was so new to you. But, don’t tell me you intend to stay with him for longer than you need to. Sukuna Ryomen Itadori is . . . an atheist. He’s turned his back on our religion. He’s abandoned our god. His eyes skip over our scripture.”

“. . .Why is that, sir? Why does he keep quiet when others are in prayer? Why does he close his eyes when we, instead, look above to the heavens? Because he has no reason to, don’t you see? Would you consider him a sinner even if he had never, once in his life, ever heard God’s name? You wouldn’t, because you would proclaim the Word of the Lord to him, anyway.”

“You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Do I, now?” you asked. “I may believe in what I call my God, and Sukuna may believe in what he knows to be his truth. We all come from different walks of life, father; and you can’t change that. There is nothing wrong with what Sukuna’s chosen for himself, and your fragility and selfishness won’t ever change that. I can marry whomever I please. I can give my hand to anyone who I deem worthy of it. You are my father; you gave me life, but you do not choose my outcomes.”

“I do not choose your outcomes, you say? Well, you make me laugh quite a bit, don’t you, because I already have.”

“. . .You have?”

“That’s what I just said. I’ve chosen your outcome, your future, your fate. He has a name, too, would you like to hear it?”

You stood up from the table so quickly your chair nearly fell over, scraping against the floor with a rather harsh sound. “I am not marrying someone I hardly know.”

“Even if it is God’s will?” your father asked, mocking you. “You are young, you’ll understand sooner or later.”

“Who do you take me for? I am entirely confident when I say I could never love a man I’ve neither seen nor heard.”

“My child, you ought to learn before you speak; joining in matrimony is not always done out of love.”

Your eyes flickered to your mother, who was as still as she was before, and you almost dropped down on your knees to beg forgiveness for any wrong you had ever done towards her. But you didn’t, you didn’t kneel, didn’t fall. Instead, you took a step towards the door.

“You are a child of God. And may I remind you, that no daughter of mine shall marry a nonbeliever. You walk out of that door right now, and you best believe you can call yourself an estranged child.”

When you moved to take another step, you turned around just in time to miss staying in line of aim of the empty beer bottle your father threw. It crashed behind you—shattering, falling to the floor—and left just the tiniest dent on the wall it hit. So tiny, in fact, that you wouldn’t have noticed it had it not been of impact in the very spot your head just was, milliseconds before.

You did not wait another moment to leave that house, and ran out as fast as you could, while your father, enraged, sat and mulled in his anger.

As you crushed leaves and twigs beneath your feet in your distress and hurry, you muttered prayers to God like a madman, wiped your tears with your sleeves every few seconds, and asked for your mother’s forgiveness as if you had just disgraced her lineage. But, you didn’t; instead, you ended a line of sorrow, misery, humiliation; you left because you wanted something anew, you wanted. . . You wanted Sukuna.

You don’t know how long you ran for, or in what direction you ran, even, but your legs ached, and you soon found yourself at a river bank, in the middle of nowhere—you couldn’t spot any houses or signs of life for leagues. The water was muddy, dirty, brown, and you could hardly see your reflection in it; still, you could just barely make out your disheveled state: your messy hair, tear-stained cheeks, trembling lips. You looked like a mess, and you were one. Metaphorically and literally. You looked nothing like a preacher’s daughter, but, it didn’t matter, you weren’t a preacher’s daughter anymore; you weren’t anyone’s daughter, in fact . . . only God’s.

When Sukuna told you about his family, about the death in his family, you questioned God and His ways. But you eventually went back to how you were before—a devout follower. Now that you’re older, you understand the picture more clearly. It’s not God you question and doubt, it’s His people. Men choose gods so that they have someone to blame, to use as reasoning, to make themselves feel less alone in this vast universe. It’s been done for years. Religion is man-made; immortal beings do not bleed; and belief is truly, utterly voluntary. You could believe in God, while hating His people, and the scripture would all be the same.

Nevertheless, you hated it. All of it. Why was your father like this? Why was everyone like this? Why did no one understand? What was so hard to comprehend?

You did not hesitate when you ripped off one of the several necklaces you wore around your neck, dropping it into the river bed, and watching as it traveled elsewhere. Anywhere—but here, you prayed, as you sat down on the dead grass to do nothing but sob.

You were wrong. So wrong. Your father didn’t want anything to do with Sukuna; what’s worse, he took you as the person to date someone for fun. Your father assumed you were mindlessly dating Sukuna. Was that all he thought of you? Did he even consider you his daughter?—His daughter, who he forbade from dating outside of religion?

All your life, you had been nothing but who you were supposed to be. Charitable, smart, generous, charming. Now, you couldn’t even recognize yourself anymore.

Maybe you were hallucinating, too, because hours had passed since you ran out of your house, and now, as you sat on the river bank and stared at your reflection, you could make out another faint reflection besides yours. A figure, walking from a distance. Then, a face. A reflection of a man. A reflection of . . . Sukuna.

He looked like he had been walking all around town for you, and there was sweat on his forehead to show for that. Sukuna called your name as he approached, seemingly unbeknownst of the fact you were practically bawling your eyes out, and began to ask you something stupid, but then he stopped as soon as he was close enough to sit down beside you, switched the subject, and asked, with earnest, “Your necklace. Your necklace, where is it?”

“I’m . . . wearing a necklace right now, Sukuna.” You wiped the remaining tears flowing from your eyes on your sleeves, which blew and billowed in the wind. Thankfully, you were always skilled at masking emotion, and Sukuna didn’t seem to have noticed your weeping prior to his arrival.

Sukuna looked at the pearls you had strung around your neck with not so much as even a full glance. “No, not that one. Where’s your . . . where’s the other one?” Sukuna turned his head in all four directions, and looked as if he were searching for something rather important.

“What other one?”

Sukuna licked his lips, using searching as an excuse for avoiding your eyes. “The . . . cross. Or, if it is called the crucifix instead, I am not sure.”

Your mouth opened, lips parted ever so slightly, but you couldn’t breathe. “. . .No; no, you’re right. It’s a cross. A crucifix has the image of Jesus on it.”

Sukuna looked at you now that your eyes were casted downward, and scanned your face with wonder. You were so angelic even when you were miles from home, shivering in the cold, crying your eyes out (yes, Sukuna could tell you were crying earlier; he was an attentive man, after all). Sukuna never felt confident enough to do half of the things he wanted to do whenever you were looking at him. Your eyes scared him, deeply—reminded him of too many people he would rather leave in the dust.

And, if that wasn’t enough, Sukuna didn’t have a way with words, and most definitely did not know how to comfort anyone (especially when he had no context). But, at least, he didn’t care much for any of that “What happened?” bullshit. What happened was your business, not his, but how you felt, on the other hand, . . was a different story.

Anyway, Sukuna didn’t say anything until he was sure you were okay; it was a whisper—of the words: “I love you.”

It was quiet, so subtle; you wondered if Sukuna even meant for you to hear it, but, nevertheless, you met his eyes with glassy ones—red, dimmed, distant—and asked, with the little strength you had left, “Why are you telling me that?”

“Just in case . . . you hadn’t heard those words in a long time.”

Your lips trembled, and you could feel the waterworks beginning again as you moved to sit on Sukuna’s lap, burying your face into his neck as his arms enveloped you at the drop of a hat with warmth, stability, and, you couldn’t quite put your finger on the last one, which was . . . peace. Come to think of it, you had never felt peace in such a long time. But it wasn’t the usual tranquility you felt, it wasn’t any of that, at all. It was just, simply, Sukuna. You were feeling Sukuna.

Which was, actually, quite ironic, if you did say yourself. All these years spent together, Sukuna always called you his angel, his blessing, his God-given miracle. He said you changed him for the better, you turned his life around, showed him a brightness and happiness he had never seen once in his whole life. But, maybe it was really the opposite. Maybe Sukuna was the one who saved you. The only man who could ever truly understand you: Sukuna—your first, and your last love.

“You make me feel so stupid,” you murmured, between sniffles, once you began to run out of tears.

“With my high intellect?” Sukuna joked. “Yeah, don’t worry, lots of people feel the same way.”

You sat upright, giving a playful shove at Sukuna’s chest. “You are such a bastard.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called.”

You laughed, because you struggled to do anything else. “I can’t believe you’ve seen me cry now. This is incredible blackmail,” you grumbled.

“. . .I know.”

“Let’s just . . . forget this ever happened, okay? I’m fine now. I—I’m okay. You’re here, and . . . you’re here.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to say anything else?” you began, mindlessly playing with the fabric of Sukuna’s collar. “You’ve been saying the same thing over and over again like some giant oaf.”

“I know.”

“Hey! You . . . Sukuna!”

Sukuna threw his head back, laughing like a child, and you tackled him to the ground (with little to no malicious intent), which ended up with you straddling his hips.

“I’m . . .” You hesitated, brushing stray hairs out of Sukuna’s eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that—all of that, actually.”

“You’re sorry?”

“. . .”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, and sat upright, pulling you closer to him in the process. “You don’t ever need to tell me why you were crying for me to know you were clearly the victim in whatever the hell ever happens, you know. I’ve . . . been with you long enough to know that. The people of Bromwell suck, and your father’s a piece of shit; the reason you had to wait so long for me the first time we met, was because I was stuck in Confession with him, by the way. Such a nosy little—”

“Okay, okay, that’s . . . I get it.” As much as you appreciated the sentiment, you weren’t one to be ‘fond’ of hearing your father be slandered, or anyone, for that matter. “Thank you, really. I . . . don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re with me right now, angel. What are you gonna do with that? What are you going to do with me?”

You grinned. “I don’t know off the top of my head.”

Sukuna looked at you with longing, his eyes piercing through your soul—watching your every move—as you placed one hand at the side of his neck, and one on his cheek, drawing both of your faces closer and closer, till you couldn’t differentiate where his breath ended and where yours started.

“Any suggestions?” you asked, smiling.

“Many.”

Without missing a beat, Sukuna closed the space between the both of you, placing a soft kiss against your lips and pulling back, as if to test the waters, before knocking the wind out of your throat and smashing his lips back against yours. The two of you moved in sync, your bodies molding against each other as if two pieces of a puzzle, and, at that very moment, you abandoned any sense of control, chastity, and purity. Sukuna overtook all of your senses and virtues; but, honestly, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Sukuna’s hands moved to your hips, kneading the flesh there and keeping a grip so tight you were sure it would end up purple and blue the next morning.

“Does this suggestion suit your royal highness?” Sukuna teased, between kisses.

“Mm, it will do . . . for now, I suppose.”

With Sukuna, you had never gone past kissing. Never ventured, never planned, but . . . you couldn’t say you never thought about making it to third base. And, with the way Sukuna’s hands wandered and subtly slipped just under your skirt, you could guess he thought something relatively similar.

Sukuna’s hands roamed your thighs from beneath your skirt, his fingers lighting a path of electricity, which shocked you in their way; and you found your breath getting caught in your throat. He touched you as if he were a madman, feeling Heaven for the last and first time—like you could disappear at any given moment, and he was savoring every second spent with you.

“You’re . . . impatient, today.”

Sukuna laughed. “Scared? Don’t worry, I always dip my hands in Holy Water before I even think about touching you.”

You placed a kiss on the side of Sukuna’s mouth, rolling your eyes. “Oh, shut up, you make it sound as if you’re . . . worshipping me or something.”

“I am.”

“You . . . what?”

Sukuna looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, whilst his hands never paused for a second while trailing up your legs, near your core, up your spine, and back down to where they originally started. His touch was soft, gentle, as if cautious of destroying you, erasing any trace of the angel God had given him. His fingers—usually rough, and cold—were instead warm, and lit a fire somewhere inside of you. 

From your position above Sukuna, you sucked in a breath. You had to give it to him; for a man so frequently called Satan incarnate, his eyes were so temptingly full of yearning. But his voice was mocking, full of tease and banter, and you could no longer decide if this was truly your reality.

“Your throat is so raw from praying to a God who does not listen.”

“Is this your attempt at seducing me to apostasy?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “Let me be the one to hear your prayers, instead. Your wants, your needs, your desires; allow me, my darling angel, to satiate you better than any man or deity can.”

You did not know what had become of you, when you pulled Sukuna by the collar, and met his lips with yours. A wave of bliss overwhelmed you, and your head soon became full of nothing but the name of the man whose tongue explored every interstice and crevice of your mouth, your neck, your clavicle. His hands roamed your skin, his mouth crashed against yours, and your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer than you thought possible.

Your hips rocked forwards and backwards, as the sound of moans and mewls made their way past your lips. You had never entertained the idea of giving yourself to anyone prior to marriage, but maybe—maybe you could make an exception for someone like Sukuna.

There was no banter, no talk, no mumbling or murmuring for any longer. Only frantic, desperate movements as Sukuna clumsily unbuckled his belt, and shoved your panties to the side; for, neither of you could wait a second more. With your mouths still pressed against one another’s, Sukuna’s fingers made their way to the wetness between your legs, and slipped past your entrance, curling and twisting, applying pressure to where you needed him most.

It was so unbearable. And so, utterly, hot. Since when was the evening ever this hot? You two were in the middle of nowhere, outside past ten o’clock; the sky was painted a dark shade of indigo, crickets and birds sounded in their domain, and you and Sukuna? You two were whispering to each other, running your hands over each other’s bodies; you writhed and wriggled as Sukuna’s fingers never paused in their assault, and you couldn’t help the pornographic cries which left your throat.

It was unbearable.

You had never felt pleasure so intense like this. Your head spun, you clawed at Sukuna’s back, your body arched, and you whimpered and moaned like your life depended on it. You could not draw a line between pleasure and pain, and, you wondered . . . was this what sinning felt like? So good, but, at the same time, so bad?

You didn’t come undone on Sukuna’s fingers until what seemed like hours had passed by—hours of him toying with your clit: drawing you to the edge and back over again, never once allowing your release, entering depths deep within with just his fingers alone. It drove you to madness, and when you finally came, you came hard. Heavy breathing, panting, whimpering. You were a mess—an angel caught in the grasps of a devil.

“Regretful?” Sukuna teased, petting your hair as you rested your figure against his shoulder.

Breathless, you replied, saying, “Should I be?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Sukuna didn’t let you go until the sun came up. And, even then, he wasn’t truly satisfied; but you were exhausted by then, your legs barely held you up, and you had probably also forgotten your own name, so Sukuna took pity on you. The two of you had gone at it like rabbits; Sukuna showed you what it really meant to be locked out of Heaven for years, and how it felt to experience it for the first time since.

What’s funny, was that you and Sukuna had the same amount of experience, and yet, you felt as if Sukuna touched you like you weren’t even close to being his first. He trailed searing hot kisses down your shoulder blades, groped at your chest and ass with carnal desire, and after easing you with his fingers, fucked you with his cock like he had every intention to get you with child.

Your throat was raw, dry, scratchy, from all the sounds that Sukuna elicited from you. His thrusts were hard, and reached so deep within you, that you could’ve been convinced he was hitting your womb.

With your back flush against his chest, Sukuna wrapped a hand around your throat while you leaned your head back against his shoulder as Sukuna fucked his cock into you. He was merciless; thick and long. And you couldn’t count how many times your eyes rolled back into your head even if you tried. You were overwhelmed by how utterly full you felt, combined with Sukuna’s breath fanning your ear every once in a while, as he leaned down to whisper filthy language in your ear.

It was nothing like you had ever felt before, but it was everything you ever dreamed of. It was dirty—what the two of you were doing. But it felt so, so good.

God may have made you in His image: to look, to sound, to taste like Heaven—so others may be tempted to seek paradise, as well, but as He looks down upon his creation, under the dark sky, hidden beneath the clouds, He knows you are nothing but sin. And, if that wasn’t enough, so did Sukuna.

***

Sukuna was no more afraid of shotguns than he was of God.

You learned that the week you decided to come home after living with Sukuna for some time away from your father. You were moved by the deeply troubling feeling of missing the sound of your mother’s voice, and you had almost even forgotten the feeling of her hands touching your hair. A mother’s love was . . . you couldn’t quite define it, but you knew: to have none, was to be none.

When you knocked on the door of your home, you did not regret, for even a second, the declined opportunity of bringing Sukuna along with you. You told him you would be alright going by yourself, and if you weren’t, how were you to face God on the day of judgement?—You started alone, you could end alone. On the third knock, the birch door opened, and you did not see your mother’s face; in lieu, you saw his face.

He was not happy to see you.

Without a moment’s waste, and with your fist still raised mid-air to give another knock, you were taken by the arm, and into the house.

“Do you not listen?”

“. . .Do you speak of my returning? Father, I am your daughter, and no matter how much you resent me, I will still be made of half your DNA.”

“I believe I made myself crystal clear when I told you no daughter of mine will dally with an atheist.”

“But—”

Your father’s grip tightened around your wrist. “You are twenty years of age. Twenty! And this is what you do?”

“Come again?”

“You think I have no idea what you have been up to? I am your father, young lady. I would be a damn fool if I did not know that my own daughter was living with Sukuna Ryomen. Under his roof, eating his food, sleeping in his bed?”

“I had no choice—”

“No choice? Marrying a much better man is definitely still a choice you can make.”

Your father dragged you to the entrance of your bedroom; his strength outmatched yours, even as you tugged your wrist back, and grounded the balls of your feet to keep from moving.

“Father, what are you—! You’re hurting me . . . stop! Don’t—”

“I expected so much from you, and you have done nothing but disappoint me.” Your father finally let go of your wrist, releasing you once you entered your room with a thud as you hit the floor, after losing balance. “You gave yourself to that devil, and now, not even God can look you in the eye anymore.”

The door was slammed shut, locks you did not remember installing were put into place, and you were alone. Inside your bedroom, with nothing but yourself and your prayers. The window had been boarded up prior to your return, which gave you the impression your father had been waiting and planning in order to lock you up, or, in other words, keep you from sinning any more.

You did not hear from anyone for days, and neither your father nor your mother brought any rations or bits of food. It was so, so cold in there. Barely any light seeped through the wood boards nailed on your window, and you couldn’t even hear the singing of the birds. It was as if . . . everyone had, simply, left you.

You slept most of the time, because you had no source of entertainment. You rested your head against the wall while sitting on the floor, and tried to pray for any change of mind from your father, (because God knows where your mother was during this whole ordeal), but it only made you feel more ashamed of yourself—seeing as you did not have a rosary in your hands, or a crucifix, or a cross. You had thrown yours into the river, remember?

Maybe God frowned upon you for losing your virginity with such haste, and before joining in matrimony, no less, but, surely, you did not deserve this punishment, right? Staying with a man who did not believe in your God . . . didn’t harm anyone. Your father had no right to persecute for something such as this; this should’ve been left up to the will of God for any judgement.

In truth, you did not know how you managed to survive so long in such isolation. You slept, but you did not dream. And you could not eat, for you had no food. No sunlight, no water, no air. You felt as if you were suffocating, as if the walls of your bedroom were closing in on you day by day. But, maybe that was just a trick of your eyes—decievement; produced by having not been outside for so long.

On the third day, you heard it.

The sound of a shotgun. The cries of birds as they scattered through the air. The screams of distressed neighbors and residents of Bromwell as they gathered together.

It was dark outside; you could tell, for no sunlight seeped through cracks of the boards and panels on your window. You were sitting just beneath the sill, and when you heard the crisp, almost deafening, sound of a shotgun being fired, you scrambled from your spot on the ground, and cursed to yourself when you realized you could see nothing outside but darkness.

The gun was fired near the front of your house, and you almost wondered who the shooter was, but when you figured this could soon be your end, you thought nothing could be worse than being locked up in your own bedroom for a false truth.

Was it your father?—Who fired? Or was he who was fired at? you wondered.

You did not wonder for long, however, because only a second later, your door was kicked open, and lo and behold: Sukuna. Holding a shotgun over his shoulder, panting—as if he had just run a lap, or several—and beckoning for you to follow him. He took you by the hand and hurriedly led you out of your bedroom and out of your godforsaken house using the back entrance. You asked a plethora of questions as you went, but Sukuna didn’t answer any of them until you two were crouched behind and under a large tree a few miles away from your house.

Sukuna told you to be quiet, to steady your breathing, and to remain out of sight; but that just freaked you out more.

“Are you going to tell me what on earth is going on here? How did you even know where I was? And what—what is the shotgun for?”

Sukuna let out a dry laugh. “You haven’t changed at all; still ask a shit ton of questions, huh.”

“Explain, or I’ll strangle you.” You repeated yourself.

“The preacher’s daughter is so kinky, who knew?” Sukuna teased. “But, alright, I’ll bite.

“I realized something was the matter when you didn’t return home that night you left. I was hoping you just really missed your mother, so I gave it the benefit of the doubt. But, now, I kind of regret that.

“Days passed, but I didn’t bother walking up to the door and asking your father where the hell you were, because I knew he would just give me some bullshit to keep me away, so I instead went over to the side of your house, like, you know, how I always do when I sneak in through your window and whatnot?

“When I went to the side of the house, your window was boarded up. And that’s when I knew something was clearly wrong. Obviously couldn’t ask you about it, and also didn’t want to get within three feet of your father, so I took matters into my own hands—”

You cut Sukuna off, asking, “What about the shotgun?”

“I fired it—at the sky. (No one was hurt, if you’re wondering, but I wish someone was.) Anyway: figured it was dark enough for no one to notice me in the act, so I fired it, and then my plan was in action. All your nosy neighbors went to the front of your house to see what was going on, and so did your father. He went outside, too. I took that as an opportunity to run to the back of your house before anyone could spot me, and break in through the backdoor, and then, y’know. We’re here now.”

“You broke into my house to rescue me? Chivalry may not be dead, after all.” You laughed.

Sukuna rolled his eyes; this clearly was not a joking matter. “Your turn. Explain. Why were you locked in your bedroom like Rapunzel or some shit? And why were the windows boarded up?”

You scooted over to sit closer to Sukuna, and sucked in a breath before explaining—explaining everything. Your father and his deranged behavior and actions, your isolation, your lack of food and drink, your loneliness, your longing for your mother and . . . and Sukuna. You whispered that last bit, in hopes that Sukuna wouldn’t hear how ‘pathetic’ you were, but he did, and he didn’t even joke or tease you about it. He . . . missed you, too.

“You know, if there really is a god out there, He’ll have to beg for my forgiveness before I even think of thanking him, but . . . fuck.” Sukuna avoided your eyes. “Do you know how desperate I was?—That I went and prayed to a god I don’t even believe in?”

“What do you mean? Why did you—?”

“I hadn’t seen you in three days. Three days too long. Why would I not worry? Why would I not resolve to begging God?”

“You were worried?” You giggled. “Awh, Sukuna, baby, you’re adorable.” You cupped Sukuna’s face in your hands, and watched as that familiar scowl of his appeared. You missed that grumpy face.

“. . .I don’t know why you missed me those three days, angel. Thought you were smarter than that.”

You frowned. “What do you mean? How could I not—?”

“How could you not? No. How could you? How could you love a man like me? I’m. . .” Sukuna turned away from you, your hands dropped from his face. “I’m nothing like you. You shouldn’t. . . I’m not a good influence on someone as pure-hearted as you. Hell, you make me wonder if the heavens above are really real, or, if Paradise is just . . . just you.”

“Sukuna, what are you going on about? We’ve been together for ages: as classmates, as friends, as a couple, as—as. . .” You paused. “Why are you—?”

“Do you not get it? These hands—these hands that cradle your face and tilt it upwards to lay kisses upon your skin are—”

You forced Sukuna to look at you. “But they cradled me, yes?”

Sukuna did not answer you, instead: he narrowed his eyes. “They are soaked in unfathomable amounts of wrongdoing, push away the Word of your God, and avoid nearing the Body of your savior.”

“But you have not killed, you have not murdered, you have not stolen, you have not. . . I do not see any blood stains visible.”

“You cannot see sin.”

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “The dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t. Guilt will not purify anyone.”

“. . .Who is it you speak for?” Sukuna asked, his voice just above a whisper.

“Who is it I do not?”

Sukuna looked at you with intent, then he looked behind you—at your house, and then met your eyes once more, before tangling his hands in your hair and bringing you to meet him in a kiss full of yearning, longing, and want. You two had not embraced, not even touched in days. It went without saying that your body ached for Sukuna, your heart beat for Sukuna, and your soul rejoiced for Sukuna.

Sukuna was a bastard. A cold-blooded bastard. He was not kind, he was not generous, he was not truthful. He did not care for the Bible, did not read the Gospel, and couldn’t give a shit about the Holy Trinity. But, he loved you. Loved you like a dog who had never known anyone else. Loved you like he would die for you, lay his head at your feet for you, and bend his knees before you. Loved you like he would be a martyr for you. Loved you like you were his beacon of light, his goddess, his . . . Saving Grace.

He did not believe in the Lord, he did not believe in the invisible, but he believed in the way you ripped out his heart, kissed it in his name, and dyed your lips red with his blood. A kiss may be the beginning of cannibalism, but Sukuna knew it was you who was for him since the beginning of Time.

When you two pulled back to catch your breaths, Sukuna held you close to him as he leaned back against the trunk of a tree, and whispered in your ear—his voice languid, and gradual, “I do not believe in any god or any goddess. I do not care for any mythical creature or any other of that sort. The only faith I have is in us. The only force I believe in is you and me. And that’s what all my prayers will ever be about.”

Sukuna was a bastard, but you couldn’t have wanted anyone more.

[marsarchy]

I am practicing. Can't let gang know I don't know what I'm doing

[whimstories]

I colored it! 🥹🥳 I'm learning color! 😭🥳

[acrosstobear]

i don’t care if these bitches don’t like me

LANDO NORRIS — Nov 13, 1999 —

[Insp.]

[moonyswoony]

Lost and found

Pairing: Five hargreeves x reader

Summary: You an Five discover more than just plants and strawberries in the greenhouse

Warning(s): kissing, fluff, nothing really

“What the hell is this place?” Five muttered, his voice tinged with suspicion.

“Beats me,” you replied, stepping further inside. “But it’s not like we’ve stumbled upon a better place than this one so far.”

The two of you had been on the run for what felt like an eternity. Your attempt to figure out the subway had gone sideways—again—and now you were stuck in this strange, green timeline with no clear path back.

Five stayed close as you ventured deeper into the greenhouse, his sharp eyes scanning every inch. “This doesn’t make sense. None of this should be here.”

You brushed your fingers against a nearby vine, feeling the life pulsing through it. “Maybe this is just a small piece of the world that refused to die.”

Five huffed, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “That, or we’ve stumbled into some kind of twisted fairytale.”

“Great. Does that make you the grumpy old troll under the bridge?” you teased.

“If I’m the troll, that makes you the annoying adventurer who won’t stop asking questions,” he shot back, though his tone was more fond than bitter.

As you explored, you found yourself drawn to a patch of strawberries growing along the far wall. They were perfectly ripe, a vibrant red that stood out against the greens and browns around them. Without thinking, you plucked one and popped it into your mouth, savoring the sweetness.

Five watched with raised eyebrows. “You sure that’s safe?”

“If it’s not, at least I’ll go out with a decent meal,” you replied, plucking another and offering it to him.

He hesitated, then took it, biting into the fruit with a thoughtful expression. “Not bad.”

“High praise from you,” you quipped.

There was a brief, comfortable silence as you both absorbed the strange beauty of this place. The tension that had been winding tighter and tighter over the past few days—or even years—slowly began to ease, the peacefulness of this place working its way into your entire being.

As you wandered deeper, you came across a patch of wildflowers bathed in golden sunlight. You knelt to touch them, their delicate petals soft under your fingers. “This feels like a dream,” you murmured.

“Or a trap,” Five countered, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

You looked up at him, catching an unguarded expression in his eyes,something softer, more vulnerable than you were used to seeing. “Five?”

He stepped closer, the sunlight casting a warm glow across his features. “You’ve always been fearless,” he chuckled,though his voice was quieter than usual.

You blinked in surprise. “What are you talking about? I’m not fearless, I’m—”

“You are,” he insisted. “And I should have told you sooner.”

“Five…”

“I’ve spent so much time trying to fix everything, trying to keep us all alive, that I forgot there are things I want, too,” he said, his gaze pined on you.

His words hit you like a punch to the gut as you realised what he was implying—not in a painful way, but in a way that left you breathless. You had always known there was something between you, a connection that went deeper than partnership or friendship, but his words still had that affect on you.

Without giving yourself time to overthink it, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic, but slow and deliberate, a promise in every brush of your lips against his. Five responded in kind, one hand slipping around your waist while the other cupped the back of your neck, holding you close.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing your lower lip before slipping into your mouth. You felt your knees weaken as a wave of heat washed over you, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt as if to support yourself. His hand slid down your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew more intense, more desperate.

It was a kiss that spoke of everything you had both been holding back,years of unspoken feelings, of missed opportunities, all coming to the surface in this one, perfect moment.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath.

“I love you,” he said, his voice rough but certain.

You smiled, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “I love you too.”

For a moment, you both stood there in silence, the reality of what you had just confessed settling over you like a warm blanket. The world around you didn’t feel as interesting anymore, not when he was in front of you.

Five glanced around at the greenery, his expression contemplative. “You know, we don’t have to leave right away.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want to stay?”

“Just for a little while,” he admitted, surprising you with the softness in his voice. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a moment of peace. We could use the rest and some proper food.”

You looked around at the lush greenery, the golden sunlight filtering through the broken skylight, and felt a sense of calm settle over you. “Yeah,” you agreed, smiling up at him. “Let’s stay.”

With that decision made, the tension that had been a constant companion began to melt away. You found a spot to sit, leaning against a wall covered in ivy, and Five joined you, his hand finding yours and holding it tightly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself relax. No missions, no timelines, no disasters—just the two of you, in a place that felt almost unreal.

Five squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “if we’re staying here, we might as well make the most of it.”

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring every second. “I couldn’t agree more.”

[angelpuns]

Kid Leo Au: Reunion

Part 12

I am geniunely really frustrated with how...anticlimactic this part feels to me. I wish I had drawn it better and had been more careful when doing my finishing steps :/ I didn't spend as much time on lining/coloring this part this week as I would have liked, so I'm really sorry it kinda falls flat ;-; I hope you all enjoy it regardless <33

NEXT TIME ON KID LEO...OH...

Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First | Next

[gundawifey-inactive]

𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖! 𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕓𝕖𝕥 ℙ𝕪𝕣𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕

Pyramid Head x Gn! Reader !18+! !MDNI! Syn. Yandere Pyramid Head Headcanons. Tags. !dark content! yandere, non-con, dub-con, violence, kidnapping/captivity, size-difference, monsterfucking, rough sex, blood-mentions, death/murder, (sfw & smut) Inspired by these templates. click & clack

✧ Affection How do they show affection, how intense would it get?

Physical affection, extremely physical. Since he doesn't communicate verbally and also is a monster rather than a man there isn't any intellectual thought that goes behind his way of displaying affection. He just grabs you, holding you against him when he's docile. And when he's horny moves you into whatever position he wants and just goes at it. Either way, man handles you with no thought, he just has an extreme and intense need to have you felt against him.

✧ Blood How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Oh he's so messy... Pyramid Head exists as one of the many demons of Silent Hill whose sole reason exists to punish, to cause tarnish and thus Pyramid Head gets very bloody. On his own his existence is to torture and cause bloodshed, it's wired into him. But when it comes to you? Think everything Pyramid Head has and can do, but tenfold. He'll have every inch of Silent Hill covered in the guts and blood of whichever unfortunate soul tried to come between you and him.

✧ Cruelty How cruel would they treat their darling once abducted?

He's unknowingly cruel. See, Pyramid Head knows nothing but cruelty, he causes dismay and bloodshed to anyone who enters Silent Hill that finds themselves near him. Which reflects on the way he treats you when he has you in his grasp.   But his infatuation and need for you are also very real, the cruelty is unintentional in a way. When you try and run, he'll throw you back where he left you. He'll cradle you to hug you and feel you close, but might end up snapping something due to his lack of conscience mind of your bones. Same goes for sex, he doesn't want to cause you pain, but he's huge and rough, it'll hurt.

✧ Delusion How delusional are they?

Everything in Silent Hill is a delusion, Pyramid Head himself, is partly a delusion. He doesn't have to be delusional, sane, or logical when it comes to you. He wants you, and you're stuck here in this town whether you like it or not, you're his. That much isn't a delusion. Once you're in his grasp you belong to him, and that's as simple as it is.

✧ Exposed How vulnerable are they with their darling?

In a sense, Pyramid Head is extremely exposed to you. He's a beast, primal in nature. He simply does, and so whatever he wants or feels you will see the entirety of it with no bars. This goes not just from his bloodlust but to the more sensitive needs.   Of course, he technically doesn't need anything like assurance or care. He isn't mortal. But similarly, he doesn't understand the concept of bottling emotions up or feelings. You know when he's down, and he never shies from showing it, even in less-than-savoury ways.

✧ Fight How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Fighting back doesn't bother Pyramid Head in the slightest, like at all. You can bite, scratch, punch, kick, none of it bothers him. He exists to cause that kind of reaction, to punish and push people into frantic fight or flight. Not like you can hurt him anyway, it's impossible to physically hurt him. And unlike any other poor soul trapped in Silent Hill whom he feels complete indifference to and only kills, he likes you, no loves you, wants you. So try and hurt him, beat him till your fists turn blue, he doesn't react nor care.

✧ Guilt Do they have a conscience, would they feel guilty for the things they do?

Nope. He feels nothing, no guilt at all. Pyramid Head's purpose is to slaughter, why would he feel guilt?   The same goes for your injuries or the damage he causes you. It's unintentional and ultimately he doesn't want you dead, but also he sees guts and torture on a daily so it doesn't hurt his mutated heart to see you suffer at his hands either.

✧ Hell What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Every day spent in Silent Hill is hell. Silent Hill itself is hell in a way, malevolent to anyone who enters. The fact you've caught Pyramid Head's desire doesn't thwart the misery you suffer stuck in there.  The worst of every equally hellish day though would be the day Pyramid Head found you. Stranded, horrified having barely survived the horrors of the other demons, then came one of the worst ones wielding a blade. Perhaps you had hoped to survive, to find an escape before. But after finding yourself in his clutches, all hope was lost, thus the day your spirit died.

✧ Ideals What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Pyramid Head doesn't have a mind. He's a creature, truly the only desire he has for you is to have you by his side, till Silent Hill perishes. But it never will, it'll always be an endless limbo, you are his and that'll never change.  He'll have the instinct that is similar to a predator, to take its prey. The other goers of Silent Hill whom he hunts and kills. All except you, another victim no difference, but you will be forced to stay trapped forever with him. 

✧ Jealousy Do they get jealous, how does their jealousy look like?

Pyramid Head doesn't get jealous, per se. He does get possessive though, because you are ultimately his possession. He is a being malevolent and high in power and you belong to him. As such, if something or someone, more specifically, gets in between you and him, he lashes out. Makes sure to make their death extra visceral and makes sure you watch the whole thing, to remind you that you are his. 

✧ Kinks What kind of kinks do they have, do they make their darling participate?

Not kinky at all, because he just wouldn't understand it. For Pyramid Head, he's a creature, when he fucks you it's instinctive. Always has you glued to his side either way so he fucks you wherever however as long as he's inside of you, he doesn't care. Now, he doesn't have any kinks specifically he indulges or desires. But he does a preferred way to fuck, and it's rough. He sticks it in ruthlessly and will cum over and over filling you up to the brim with relentless thrusts, he goes animalistic rearranging your guts. And you just have to lay there and take it, there is no control in him when he's rutting in you.

✧ Love letters How would they go about courting their darling?

Courting is non-existent. Pyramid Head takes, and you are left with little to no voice in it. He desires you, unfortunately, and thus you must accept that. He won't approach, he will not gingerly win you over, he nabs you and you're his. This doesn't mean he doesn't care for your affection either. It's just the fact that affection for Pyramid Head is physical in nature, and he can force you into that, just hold you flush against him 24/7 or fuck you silly whenever. That's how he shows love, whether you return it or not isn't important.

✧ Manipulate How manipulative are they and how do they do it?

He lacks the intelligence to make any genuine forms of manipulation, however, this isn't to say he doesn't attempt to coax you into acceptance. Though it's clumsy and mostly futile. Whilst he doesn't care at the end of the day if you accept him or not since he holds all power over you regardless, he still has an insatiable obsession for you. When he holds you and drags you around with him and keeps you pressed to him it's in hope you grow to reciprocate it. Generally though, not manipulative at all. 

✧ Naughty How would they punish their darling?

You'd never be the one getting punished, because there is no way you can attempt anything worth punishment. Pyramid Head has already deemed you free of his punishment and thus you will not be slaughtered.   This isn't to say he doesn't hurt you, he does. Again not intentionally but often, if he's been aggravated will squeeze you too hard or rampage, but it's never to punish you, it's just a visceral thing. In truth, you are the only thing Pyramid Head does not punish an exception to it. 

✧ Oppression How many rights would they take away from their darling?

The second you've entered the grasp of Pyramid Head, you've lost any will of your own. There is no such thing as having a right to anything under him. You exist solely as his, that is all you are meant for to Pyramid Head. The choice or right of freedom is gone. Pyramid Head will hold you as his captive same as Silent Hill holds you captive. When he tears your clothes off to ravish you, he doesn't care if you wish to cover again, if he wants to drag you with him as he roams, you have no choice but to cling to him as he holds you close.

✧ Patience How patient are they with their darling?

How patient Pyramid Head is entirely depends on what his patience is for. If it's patience for any kind of intellectual love or affection he can go centuries awaiting you to show any responsive form of it, that doesn't matter at all to him. But his patience for you to be there, with him, for him, physically? None. From the first encounter you'll have with Pyramid Head to every single following one under him he has no time to care for your reluctance to follow along. You're sat on his cock the minute he wants to put it in you and cuddled against him the second he finds you.

✧ Quit what happens if their darling dies or successfully escapes?

The only way to escape Pyramid Head successfully would include escaping the wrath of Silent Hill. And Pyramid Head is tethered to Silent Hill, for the fog to release you and you find a way out would mean Pyramid Head follows in your release. It isn't an escape because, like Silent Hill, Pyramid Head will simply accept it and accept your triumph. If you died in his clutches though? That's a whole other story, carnage doesn't even begin to cover the way Pyramid Head mourns. It's instinctive, he roars and destroys like a wolf whose mate has been taken. You were his, and now he'll never have what he carnally desired most ever again. Rage will seep into all his executions following your death.

✧ Risks How compliant are they with their darling?

No compliance, at all. There's also absolutely no risk in his treatment of you or any attempts you may use to utilize to escape. There's truly no winning with Pyramid Head if you want something that doesn't align with his needs. Now, it's a completely separate story if the compliance or risk you ask of him doesn't go outside of his desires for you. If you, for instance, beg him to let go of another victim, he will, there are other monsters who can implement their punishment. If you wish to see a specific area in Silent Hill, with him taking and holding you the whole time, he will without hesitation.

✧ Stigma What childhood event brought about this side of theirs?

(He didn't have a childhood there's nothing to add here sorry)

✧ Tears How does seeing their darling cry make them feel?

It bothers him. Whilst your feeble attempts to fight back or of defiance do nothing to him since ultimately you cannot hurt him, it's another thing to see you experience mental anguish as his. He desires you in a form of love, not in a form of punishment that he inflicts on others. When you cry out, he's seen it all too many times with his victims, but those were people he was sent to make suffer. You are his, not to suffer but to be his. And when you weep, it makes him flare uncomfortably, he'll hug you and hope it soothes you to understand his desires.

✧ Unique Do they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Everything, because Pyramid Head's form of yandere is also very different from the classic concept. For Pyramid Head, he isn't human, or sentient in a way, so his obsessive love for you is primal in nature. The feelings he has for you, are in the most basic way have no actual thoughts behind them. Pyramid Head doesn't dream about you or desire you as a lover to chat with or marry. You are literally like a mate to him, a thing he's found infatuation with and that he needs on him constantly.

✧ Vice What weakness can their darling exploit to escape?

The fact that Pyramid Head only exists within Silent Hill, for Silent Hill as an entity. He is tied to Silent Hill, so if you can break your way out of Silent Hill, through whatever means, you've also broken yourself free of Pyramid Head.  Though his fixation of you is entirely his own, his loyalty still lies in the fog that created him. If you've deemed yourself worthy by Silent Hill, able to escape the demons there, Pyramid Head won't follow you. And will simply hold you as a memory once you've left. 

✧ Wild card Random headcanon of the character.

He has an extremely high libido, it's endless also. He doesn't have a refractory period because his whole structure is impenetrable, he doesn't weaken and neither does his dick. So with you? It's absolutely rabid. Once you're in the picture he gets it ignited from you. You're the object of his every single urge, all of which he fucks out into you. Sometimes just takes you while roaming about, other mortals trapped in Silent Hill may see, but he doesn't care.

✧ Xoanon Would they worship their darling?

Absolutely, but you wouldn't understand it, neither does he really. There's nothing outright to showcase his sheer devotion to you, but it's there and with Pyramid Head it's heavy. With the many occultish things and benevolently malevolent spirits of Silent Hill, Pyramid Head is spiritual by nature.  And you, a soul he's found obsession to, truly you are god-like to him. You are the closest Pyramid Head can come to the feeling of salvation. A thing he leans on without realizing because he absolutely needs you with him at all costs. To cling to and worship by touch.

✧ Yearn How long do they pine for their darling before they snap?

He doesn't yearn for anything. The second he sees you and has been overtaken with the feelings he harbours for your existence, he'll take you. Brutally of course. As previously stated, how you feel or react to it doesn't matter the first time he takes you, and that's your first meeting with him as well, because Pyramid Head responds to his baser instincts. He sees, he likes, he wants? He's getting. And what he's getting is you.

✧ Zenith Would they ever break their darling?

Pyramid Head does not intend to break you. He's gotten you to be his and the specifics don't matter outside of that. However, you will break, regardless. Be it your bones or heart or mind. Pyramid Head will love you whole till you've accepted the fate you have, to be his. Melded with him at all times, left to live as his for eternity because Silent Hill is an eternity. There is no other choice truly, but to accept your life as Pyramid Head's darling, his possession. Forever deep in the Silent Hills, his...

[abyssalzones]

is that a sense of impending doom, or just the summer pollen? probably just the pollen.

anyway, i don't plan on posting full chapters like this too often but take this as a reminder to go check out Ad Astra Per Aspera on its neocities page, where it updates every Friday! In case you’re into comics about things that already exist.

[littlecrittereli]

Wanted to doodle some comfort bros to balance out the angst of my recent posts lol

Hey pookies! Just wanted to say I really appreciate all the love and support I've been receiving lately for Decoded! I always love your comments/asks/fanart/memes, it genuinely has been bringing me so much joy and I'm so grateful for it <3

I know I said I had a lot of art to post (and then proceeded to post none of it LOL) I'm just a little overwhelmed rn with some life stuff so sorry for the wait! I also have a lot asks that I haven't gotten to and I apologize for that as well!

Trying my best to keep up, but I haven't had a lot of time recently. Art's gonna be a little delayed, but don't worry Chapter 8 is still gonna come out this Saturday as scheduled!

[wtfmau]

Halloween???🤮NAH 🎃HALLOREN🎃 🤩YAH

[luvrhyune]

happy 100 notes !

hi!! can i ask for ot8 hcs dating idol!reader if you are comfortable with it, if not feel free to ignore this, have a nice day<33

-; ✧˖*°࿐ IDOL PARTNER HCS . SKZ .

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ SUMMARY ; you as an idol with your skz bf hcs !!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ PAIRING ; hyung line x gn! reader

— warnings ; established relationships, LONG ASS HEAD CANONS, mentions of eating, minho’s & changbin’s hcs implies that ur in a gg.

— notes ; this is SO BAD because i literally know nothing abt idol life,, sorry if you hate this nonnie </3

— notes ; i’m sorry that these are so long😭

— notes ; i only did this as eldest three (3) simply because of how LONG they are, and the more i write for it the more i’m losing inspiration for it!

masterlist.

— CHAN !!

chan most definitely knew your leader and thats how you two met.

you and your group were getting yourself ready for a comeback stage and chan came to congratulate you guys on your comeback.

the both of you hit it off instantly, and exchanged numbers.

because of how close you and chan had gotten there we’re definitely a few dating rumours, that set both stay and your fandom off.

he most definitely plays your groups songs on his v-lives and he is ALWAYS singing your parts like he knows them off by heart

if you ever do a solo album you go to chan (3racha) to help you out because you trust his judgment.

when you and chan eventually start dating, it’s hard for him to not mention it at all.

this man is almost blurting out the fact he has a partner to his live.

“stay, i have someone, i haven’t seen them in a while because we’ve both been busy. but i love them so much, and i hope you understand… stay, i’m in a relationship with.. the sea!” and he starts laughing but it’s nervous laughter.

you and chan spend a lot of time in his studio, you’ve 100% picked up a few of his music production tips.

late nights in the studio with chan most definitely.

i can see you & him making a few covers of songs, like ‘i’m yours’, ‘iris’ and a few others, the both of you just jamming out, harmonising effortlessly just enjoying each other’s presence.

i think since the both of you know what it’s like to over work yourselves , you both make it your mission to make sure the other is taking the right amount of breaks, eating and sleeping properly.

he LOVES watching you onstage in your element. he’s just so proud of you, especially if you were nervous before hand.

theres just clips of him watching your groups performance, bopping his head with the biggest love sick smile on his face.

— MINHO !!

you met minho when you were filling in as an mc for your group member since she had something important to attend to.

he stormed into the dressing room to have some of his daily banter with your group member, only to find you in her place.

so theres just you sat there in the chair looking over your shoulder at him, startled. and him in the doorway blinking with a confused look on his face before he immediately apologises.

the both of you thought it was going to be awkward for the rest of the day, but you actually found it wasn’t. you and minho talking easily and making jokes.

he’s almost upset that you won’t be there to mc the next episode with him.

he next meets you when you’re both mcing for a different show and there’s constantly laughing and banter between the two of you thats theres dating rumours and shipping going on between the two of you.

we all know minho is a gg choreo lover, so there is no doubt there are fancams of him dancing to the choreography of your title song.

during your premonitions on instagram, tiktok, etc minho is always your partner for it and vice versa.

once your minho’s official partner, he’s always subtly telling stay’s he has a partner.

nobody ever gets the hint, because it’s minho, and the both of you find it hilarious.

minho will always go over your dances with you if you’re feeling like you can do better. he’ll watch over what you’re doing and direct your moves to help out.

when watching you preform on stage he’s literally copying every move in tiny.

— CHANGBIN !!

wow, surprisingly you guys met in the gym.

changbin goes to the gym daily so it’s not really a surprise that he was there.

but you were there because you needed to work on your upper body strength for a special stage you were doing (as well as your mv)

quick note from me,, i’m using solar from mamamoo as a reference for this hc (her pole dancing)

your first time there, you were only going there to scope out the gym.

and changbin noticed how timid you were so he came up to you with a soft smile and asked if you wanted any help.

you just stared at him in amazement because he was so ??? nice??? and even if you found him a little intimidating, you still felt safe.

you explained to him that you were just checking out the gym and he showed you around telling you what all the different equipment was for (if you didn’t already know).

when it’s time for you to leave, he gives you his number and tells you to contact him if you ever need any help.

that’s how the two of you end up as work out buddies (ft 3racha & sometimes minho).

though sometimes when he vlogs his workouts, you can’t workout with him that day because you don’t want any dating rumours because last time you had some you had a lot of bad backlash.

the two of you exchanged contact info because you had told him you’d be going to the gym less as your schedule was getting busier.

the two of you start going on frequent dates, you go to the gym together (when you can) and then go for food afterwards and he’ll drive around while you both talk about whats going on in your schedules/practices/comebacks/promotions, etc.

AND THEN YOU DO THE SPECIAL STAGE AND BACK STAGE CHANGBINNIE ASKS YOU OUR RIGHT THEN AND THERE

so as your bf, changbin is so smiley and giggly, and i guess while thats normal for him stay’s can’t help but question why he’s more smiley and giggly than usual.

“it’s all because of stay” is what he says, but then he’ll look away from the camera with his classic little grin and nose twitch.

he’s also a gg choreo lover, so 100% is he dancing to half of your groups songs

i can 100% confirm that he would write songs about you. whether or not they get published is a different story, but changbin will write so many songs about you.

the songs will vary from your smile to how much he loves you it hurts.

all rights reserved © property of @luvrhyune . please do not repost, claim or translate my work on this and / or any other platforms. thank you.

[starlitmeadows]

today i offer you slugcats but sea slugs

sea scugs

bg-less version

[myeagleexpert]

The Perfect Boyfriend (PT 3)

𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕴 𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖜𝖆𝖑𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖊𝖝𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝕴'𝖒 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖋 𝕴 𝖘𝖆𝖙 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖘𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚, 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖑, 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉𝖓'𝖙 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖛𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖉𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊 𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖟𝖞 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝕴'𝖛𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖙 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖜𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖑𝖊𝖊𝖕

Doppleganger/Skinwalker!Yandere x YN (AFAB)Summary: Your relationship with Kain has never been one of the best, but recently it's like you've been thrown off an abyss over and over again. Oh, and there's a dog too, but he's not important. Anyway… with a storm of emotions in your mind, you end up leaving a gap that a certain creature will take advantage of. Warnings: (Toxic relationships, obsessed relationships, mental manipulation, the smell of rot, description of death, description of fear and panic, a little sentimental smut, The thing loves you - too much.) Uncertain motives. Lots of couple fights and domestic violence, but YN defends herself and fights harder, this story takes place before chapter 1, you will now see what the original Kain was like.The term 'YN' and 'you' is used several times in the fanfic for better grammatical use, my first time writing something like this, so please be gentle. <3

𝕭𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 < < 𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍, 𝕶𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖊𝖆𝖙 > >

You think you saw something under the window.

It's something - you're sure.

But it's not important enough for you to give it your full attention. Not when you're fighting with Kain right now, it's probably about some nonsense, the two of you have been fighting for so long that you don't even remember what you're fighting about and Kain is getting more and more aggressive.

"I can't believe we're fighting about this, Kain! Your mother must have thrown the baby away and created the placenta instead, because there's no way you only understand what suits you!" you say louder, running your hands over your face in an irritated way.

Today was supposed to be the perfect date. It was your and Kain's anniversary and after missing the date 4 times, he finally agreed to go today. Of course, you got ready in a happy and relieved way, who knows if it was a sign of his change? You did a great job with your makeup, your hair looked like a celebrity blowout but the most beautiful thing is your beautiful black dress. This one accentuates each of your curves in an attractive and elegant way, with shiny details in some part and The high heels, a black sitelleto perfectly match the occasion, the black and transparent tights give a stylish air to the look. A wine-colored velvet bow is in your hair, giving an air of significant femininity.

And given the special occasion, you are finally wearing a beautiful set of accessories that you ordered online! You waited so long to receive it and today you will wear it for the first time! The necklace is a beautiful ruby ​​choker with encrusted diamonds, combined exclusively with the button earrings of the same style.

Now, you can't leave the house without your black bag, huh? You chose this model yourself, padded and medium-sized, perfect for work and to use when going out. The black bag is a universal symbol of female independence, and of distrust of men. After all, a good partner should pay the bill and leave the girl at ease, right? That's what people are saying on the internet and Kain is your partner but… he's a delicate case.

You think twice before putting your wallet with cards and money in it, Kain paid the last few times but what if….... no. Don't think about it. He'll change. He promised.

Before leaving you listen to the voice in your head and put your wallet, lip gloss and documents in it.

Just in case.

And oh boy, thank God you listened.

*knock knock*

You hear him knock on your door, and as you walk down the halls, you check yourself in the mirror from head to toe and smile dreamily, happily, lightly, mentally praising yourself.

You look really beautiful today, YN

He appears at your door, smoking a cigarette while talking on his cell phone. He didn't give you a kiss. Just a look to confirm that you were in front of him and he threw the helmet in your hands, unceremoniously returning to the motorcycle.

The bike was beautiful, but dirty and Kain already smelled of cigarettes, his old jacket was stained with alcohol he had been drinking, you surreptitiously held your breath so as not to breathe in that terrible odor. Carefully, you slowly climbed on it so as not to get your dress dirty and abruptly, he started driving to what was supposed to be the romantic dinner he had promised at her favorite restaurant. Imagine the disappointment when a route was changed to a darker part of the city, but it was a small diner, a hot dog cart with a few tables around it. A slight embarrassment of being overdressed rose on your face, but you disguised it with a crooked smile as you cleaned the chair dirty with ketchup from the last person who had used the table.

“Heya, YN, you look pretty good.” he complimented you, sitting in the chair opposite yours.

“Thanks, I–”

“You don’t mind if I call a few more friends, do you? They’re nearby and I invited them to come eat with us.”

He interrupts you and confirms the call before you can say anything.

YN doesn't want to be immature, petty, or a boring little princess who doesn't want to have fun like he already said, so you just nod and mentally prepare yourself for the vision that arrives.

In less than 10 minutes, at least 6 more boys arrive… drugged… drunk… dirty with dirt and stained with oil. The group of brutes TAKES MORE CHAIRS AND TABLES around so they can all be together, the smell of sour and loud voices, words tangled with each other and insults are exchanged as a form of greeting.

Even the cook at the stall looks at this group of troublemakers with disdain, and when he realizes that you are there in the middle, he turns his head, confused, as if asking what you are doing there. And to be honest, at that moment you don't know either. The waiter quickly brings the menu to your table, which is already starting to attract the attention of other people.

"Good evening, what would you like?" the waiter says in a harsh tone, this group had caused problems before.

"Francis, old man, I'm surprised you're still here!" Kain exclaims with disdain. Last week, they unfairly involved the waiter in one of their scams, causing him to almost be fired.

"Thanks to my boss, I am, if it were up to you I would be out on the street like you good-for-nothings." he huffs irritably, grabbing his notebook

The group just laughs, as if nothing mattered, and orders drinks and hot dogs. Kain doesn't remember you, it's the waiter who stops by your side and asks in a softer voice.

"Would you like to order something now?"

"A juice with the number 2, please." You asked for the quickest thing to get out of there as quickly as possible, preferably something already prepared that they only had to heat up and you could leave.

"Of course, yours will be ready in a minute." The waiter quickly takes your order and leaves before the disgusting horde can get him in trouble again.

"Omg, YN, what a surprise you're here!" one of them exclaims, isn't that the one who hit his own mother?

"She wanted to go out today so I thought I could bring her with us." Kain doesn't let you answer, distorting the truth while laughing disgustingly with his friend next to him, the one who got out of prison last week.

Ouch.

You feel so small and dirty now, like a stunned cockroach on the floor, like a puppy that its owner conveniently takes for a walk. You don't know how, but somehow, some girls approach your table, flirting with the boys and with Kain himself. You ignore the feeling of neglect, disgust, and revolt and smile tightly, a thin line made entirely to disguise the tremendous discomfort you feel.

Sweet you, struggling to stay calm and hide your true feelings, try desperately to control your body and facial expression. Your hands remain static, despite being elegantly in your lap, and your breathing is controlled so as not to appear agitated, occasionally distracting yourself on your cell phone while you wait.

As you observe the scene in front of you, your face remains impassive, without any trace of apparent emotion. Inside, however, the storm of feelings continues to stir uncontrollably.

You want so much to leave there and cry, how could you have been so naive to believe that he would change? That today would be a special day? As if the universe was reaching out to you, the waiter soon delivered your orders, gently placing his hand on your shoulder and speaking softly in your ear.

“If you need anything else, we are at your disposal, miss”, the staff was empathetic to your situation, your discomfort visible from miles away, you were there like a pearl among swine, a little princess in a horde of stinking goblins.

Kain interpreted it as if the waiter was flirting with you, in front of him, in front of his friends and the fight went on and on, he made advances on the waiter, the boys stole some things, security was called… and finally… being the only one with documents when security arrived, you paid the bill for the boys’ losses and were forced to pay the bill for the snack as well, you angrily took your wallet out of your black bag. At that moment, you dropped your politeness and your princess pose and fought with Kain in front of everyone, calling a nearby motorcycle taxi to take you home.

You don't want to see Kain's face now.

You might break up today.

That's it.

That's it.

You're fed up.

You furiously take the bow out of your hair and throw it somewhere in the house as soon as you get home, your expensive high heels being thrown to some corner of the couch while you control your breathing, tears of frustration threatening to roll down your face but for all the self-respect you have left, you won't cry for him today. Your boyfriend, Kain, arrives a few minutes later, banging on the door incessantly as if he wanted to break it down.

And on the one hand, you were already pissed at him, but on the other… if he came all the way here… it means he cares, right? You open the door with expectation, only for them to be destroyed once again.

"Are you stupid or what?" he shouts, entering the house with all his steps stomping loudly in his muddy sneakers as if he were the owner of the house, and takes a big swig from his cheap beer can.

"What…?" You feel confused, is this son of a bitch blaming you?

“I know.”

He throws the beer can on the floor when it's finished and marches towards you with arguments and points, blaming you for hitting on the waiter, for embarrassing him in front of his friends, for calling the security guard and for a million other facts that he created in his head.

It's never Kain's fault. It's the waiter's fault, the friend's fault, the police officer's fault, YOUR fault, but never his.

It seems like a joke.

A cruel joke in a circus that you didn't pay to enter.

But you paid, YN, you entered the circus and kissed the clown, now who's being made fun of?

"Kain, that's not how it happened." You confront him firmly on your position.

"Oh no? And that other time when you—”

And whenever he’s losing an argument, he brings up memories from the past to justify the nonsense of the present, like how he loves you so much that he picked you up from the hospital, how your father cheated on your mother, how his father is working a lot, that he helped you move….. it has nothing to do with today’s event, with today’s argument, but he wants to win this argument no matter what.

The argument doesn’t make sense, but it escalates quickly, it’s like airing dirty laundry, and you decide that if you’re going to throw shit in the fan, you’re going to throw it. Tonight’s already terrible, let’s end it on a high note.

The best cure for a crazy person is someone crazier than him. My mother used to say that…. let’s see for real?

Fuck this thing.

“Kain, do you practice at home to talk so much shit, or is everything that comes out of your mouth improvised?” you gesture sarcastically, the words cutting more than a knife, like an acid that bubbles with the amount of anger inside you.

Snowball, the female cat you adopted a few weeks ago silently approaches the room where you are, crawling elegantly and meowing in retaliation to your boyfriend. The more upset your boyfriend gets, the more annoyed Snowball seems.

The cat, despite being a cute kitten, didn't win Kain's favor. He complains about the white fur getting on his clothes, about all the unnecessary expenses you're spending on a stinky kitten, and mainly, how now that this cat has arrived, you only have attention for her. Which is obviously a lie, he just wants something to fight about and blame you for. The kitten is affectionate with you, always being close and purring in your hands, maybe that's why she's a little… protective of you? Sweet YN, so kind to her. Snowball is at the door now, her tail slowly wagging from side to side in a clear sign of agitation, her meows becoming louder as if she wanted to defend you.

The couple's shouting, with the TV playing loudly in the background, and the incessant meowing of a cat is chaos, an irritation that grows more and more. At some point, Kain gets really angry and approaches YN aggressively, stomping his feet hard and raising his hands. It is exactly at this moment that Snowball uses her incredible feline speed and scratches his feet, the kitten's soft white fur standing up while her pupils turn into two little holes.

There is something under your window, and the thing wipes its bloody mouth and does its best to stay still, observing the situation.

And most importantly… the thing sees you.

"See? Even a cat understands that you're overstepping your bounds! Enough, Kain, there's no way you're that upset!" You huff loudly as you walk away from the man, you don't know what's worse, the yelling or the teasing of the kitten.

Kain turns around, now focusing his attention on Bola de Neve. He scoffs at the kitten and scowls at you.

"Oh, shut that thing up. If you can't keep it quiet, you shouldn't have gotten it. You know cats annoy the hell outta me."

Oh, this is the final straw for you. Not only did he ruin a perfect date, but now he wants to rule your house as if it were his? Oh no. All the women inside you roar in unison, ordering in your heart that you should not stay silent and lower your head.

"Oh? Excuse me? This is MY HOUSE! If you're bothered, go to YOUR HOUSE! Because in mine, MY kitten can even sing if she wants to," you proclaim louder than him, disgusted with the situation while gesturing to the house.

Kain turns to you, his face red and his expression darkening even more.

"I'm your boyfriend, I have every right to be here!" he snaps back, getting even closer to you. Snowball doesn't like this at all, approaching you and climbing onto the nearest couch, meowing and hissing again louder than before.

You swallow your fear and apprehension and head towards the door, crossing the room while maintaining eye contact with the man. "You have the fucking right to be here, the door is open for you to go vomit and talk your nonsense outside. In my house, I'm the boss, big head."

Kain turns to yell at the cat again, annoyed and frustrated, he imitates the meow more loudly and in a childish way. He's clearly losing his temper.

"Will you shut that thing up! It's making my damn head hurt, I'll throw it outside myself if I have to! What an annoying noise! ​​I'm leaving if you keep this up!"

Oh, does the asshole want a formal invitation?

"Oh, do you want me to do the honors?" In a sarcastic tone you answered him, taking Snowball in your arms and protecting her as if she were your own kitten, placing her in her cat tower, a safe haven for now. There's a high chance that Kain will get really angry and go after the cat, but even so you hold the cat tighter against your chest and stomp on the floor.

Big man, head of a childish boy.

Enough of bowing my head to him hoping that everything will be better the next day.

Kain glares at you, furious and frustrated. He's not expecting you to actually kick him out, especially considering his current state, the idiot was already drinking before your date, the smell of cheap alcohol on him is unbearable.

"Are you serious right now?! You'd really kick me out over a cat?!" he yells, standing up and walking towards you, getting in your face.

"You're the one who's bothered by the cat, and you know the saying: those who are bothered should leave!" You cross your arms and continue even more determined "Either you leave and save the rest of your dignity or you spend the night here in silence."

Kain looks like a mad man with rage now, are you choosing the cat and not him? Do you dare to turn against him? Your boyfriend?

He approaches you again with strong and threatening steps, crossing the room again until he's close to you, next to a beautiful decorated bookcase. As a reflex of revolt, you tie your hair in a bun and approach him with the same intensity. A sign that the fight is far from over.

“You’re being too-!”

“Listen here, you-!” you gesture with your hands as you speak

The creature thinks that you look terribly big now, taking up more and more space as if, like any animal, you were showing your dominance in the territory. With increasingly larger and more offensive gestures, your voice increasingly loud and cold, arguments mixing with emotions, the situation is escalating very quickly. And the most interesting thing….

There is not a single drop of fear in you.

Creatures of his kind can feed on people’s fear and anguish too, but he doesn’t smell that in you… he smells that in your scoundrel boyfriend, who tries to disguise his weak points when he raises a threatening hand at you, shouting in a deep voice that imposes dominance.

“Shut your mouth!”

You glare at him defiantly and grab the first thing closest to you: a sharp sculpture, a decorative gift from your mother that you've never found useful, well, until now.

"Shut you up!" You hold the sculpture at the same height as his raised hand, raising your voice so it echoes through the house.

He looks at you, his face red with anger and his breathing fast. Kain never thought you'd threaten him back, defend yourself, but knowing you, he knows that the likelihood of you attacking him is as high as him attacking you now. Given this, and his weak state, Kain curses in a low tone and slowly lowers his hands.

You take a deep breath and pray that your own voice doesn't shake and slowly lower the sharp sculpture, but holding it tightly in your hands in case he changes his mind.

"Respect me. And if you really have feelings for me, you'll get out of my house right now and leave me alone!" You growl in an authoritative tone, leaving no room for suggestion as you slowly walk towards him, circling him like a predator while pointing the sculpture directly at him.

Your eyes are like flames of fire, with hatred and anger escaping from them as you focus exclusively on the man in front of you.

Today was perhaps the moment of greatest mental clarity of your life, and Kain hates every minute of his girlfriend's insubordination, as if he had seen the size of the iceberg for the first time, and not the small cubes or ice shavings that subtly melted with the heat of kisses or weak threats.

This little thing thinks she can threaten me? Shout back?

"YN, you're overreacting!! You're going to regret this!" The cornered man slowly makes his way to the door, frustrated and with a bruised ego. Kain keeps his eyes wide as he watches your domineering figure, but out of pride he still wants to have the last word to tell his friends.

"Enough!" You hold up a hand signaling him to shut up, and he does so immediately. "Don't make me repeat myself. Get out. Now!" You open the door abruptly, knocking over a portrait that was behind it as you breathe heavily through your nostrils, like a bull preparing for combat.

Kain glares at you, his anger fading slightly as he realizes he's not gonna win this one. He knows you're being serious, and doesn't have a choice. He sighs loudly and turns around to grab his stuff.

"Fine then! I'm leaving! But don't come begging for me to come back when you decide to ditch the damn cat…" He grabs his things and still grumbling curses. He gets to the front door and looks back at you one last time. He's still grumpy and annoyed, but defeated.

"I'll call you when I get home."

“Sure.” You say with a forced smile, the words coming out between clenched teeth.

The thing remembers that most species show their teeth as a sign of aggression, and it wonders if one more step in the wrong direction and you would open your jaw and furiously bite your boyfriend’s throat until it bled?

No.

When Kaim approaches, you allow him to kiss you on the mouth, albeit angrily, and say goodbye. He gets on the motorcycle and then exits the house, without looking back while you stand at the door, waiting for him to leave. Acting silently as a sentinel of your own house, your straight posture and raised chin indicate that you remain firm in your position. The sound of a motorcycle starts up and then fades away in the distance. It's finally quiet again.

The creature thinks humans are complicated.

If a miserable dog dared to even attack its owner, the owner would hand it over to a kennel or the streets, returning the hatred a thousand times over.

But if a human attacks another….

A human will be a thousand times more merciful with their own kind, they will apologize and make amends for the aggression, they will blame the drink, the drugs, the stressful day but they will never blame the other, they will never admit their own mistake.

Through a hidden bush the creature sees you enter the house and close the door and before you can walk with strong steps to the other side of the house… Snowball, the kitten, meows sweetly at you. It is as if the big and strong independent woman melts at the sight of a worried kitten, disarming herself of the armor she used in the argument earlier. You pick her up in your arms and take her to the sofa in the living room, where you put on a romantic movie to watch, something that internally you wished to live, something to distract from this moment.

Snowball purrs against your chest, raising her head subtly to lick the tears that roll down YN's face, staining the makeup she had done so excellently in doing. Stubborn, frustrated, angry, tears roll down her face insistently while YN holds herself back from crying, but poor thing, her lip trembles slightly as the kitten does what she can to bring some comfort to her owner.

*crash*

At that moment a loud noise is heard, the dramatic scene is interrupted by the trash can falling and YN remembers that she had actually heard something. YN quickly gets up and goes to check what it could be. Some raccoons were rummaging through the house's trash can looking for food, accidentally causing the can to fall on the creature's tail, scaring and hurting it, quickly pulling its tail off and attacking its attackers.

What YN sees, however, is a large black dog going after the raccoons that were rummaging through her trash can. Maybe out of hunger, maybe for something else, but before YN can grab a broom and chase the raccoons away, the large dog does so, and then their eyes meet.

YN looks at the dog, he is a great mass of black fur with long legs and sharp teeth. He is bigger than any dog ​​she has ever seen, his bark is too loud, his fur makes it easy for him to stay in the shadows but his eyes…..two crimson balls reflecting the light from the window in a bright red. The poor thing immediately shut up when he noticed YIN's presence, and sweet YN, thought he was fighting over food with the raccoons.

YN saw him.

Even after such a stormy night, she gently closes the window as if nothing had happened and goes to the kitchen, calling Snowball to come with her.

For a dog that size, he must eat a lot……

YN grabs some leftovers from her lunch, along with some dog food that she had saved for when she would go for a walk in the park and feed some stray dogs, she grabs some eggs, and a few other things that might please the canine palate and puts them in a bowl, filling a small bowl with water to give to the unknown beast as well.

The girl turns on the light in front of the house, and holds her breath in case the dog gets aggressive, keeping the door closed and Snowball inside the house.

“Hey, I can see you,” she says in a sweet tone to call the big dog from hiding in the bushes. She wasn't supposed to see him.Why can she see him?

“Come here boy, I have something for you.” She makes a sound to call the canine, placing the portions of food and water near the window and the bush.

“Come here boy,” she calls again.

The dogs she feeds at the park usually wag their tails when they see YN approaching, let her run her hand through their fur and come quickly when they are called.

But not this one.

The creature wasn't expecting this tonight, having quickly put on his dog skin before leaving, but it's undeniable: He's hungry. And you're offering him a feast. It would be stupid to refuse. So, slowly, he starts to emerge from the bush, his head and snout coming out first and his body reluctantly following. He's incredibly suspicious of YN, not taking his eyes off the human for a minute, which makes her back away too, in her head, giving the creature space to feel comfortable.

“Very well, now I’m going, okay?” Before she can turn around, the dog changes course and begins to walk slowly towards YN, ears and tail pricked, his gaze fixed on the human.

In the blink of an eye he's in front of her, in an alert position. YN has been in this situation before, so like any other dog, she gently extends her hand so he can sniff and get to know her.

"Oh...hello boy."

The skinwalker sniffs YN's hand, her scent enveloping his senses and immediately making him relax, it was a unique scent, he had never felt this sensation before and hesitantly he licks the back of YN's hand…

Mmm… delicious.

YN takes it as a sign that he is friendly and runs her hand over his head, petting him and showing him where the food is.

"Very good buddy, there's your food, see. See you later."

The creature's fur is dry and hard, like that of a stuffed animal and YN doesn't look into the animal's eyes, not wanting to cause more problems for the stranger. Oh, if she had looked into its eyes she would know that what she had touched was not just any animal, she should never have fed it, she should never have given it a break.

After all,

If you feed a dog, it will come back.

And it wasn't just any dog.

The following days are marked by a strange sensation in YN, a feeling of alertness and unease. Every time she leaves the house for work, she feels a strong sense that something is wrong, and there really is something very wrong around her. A shadow. The shadow lingers, faint and cold, a veil across the surface, untold. Whispers soft, a chilling breeze, Upon the wall, an enigma it weaves.

At dawn, the girl finds peace, a calm knowing that the great Sun would bring her a slight feeling of security and warmth and finally, the feeling of seeing things the way they are. The danger is returning alone at night, YN. What lies beneath, concealed by the veil, A wind that blows but will never fail. A heartbeat, a gentle sigh, A secret that will never die.

She quickens her pace, taking longer and faster steps as she looks anxiously around corners, praying hard that the Sun will be merciful enough to allow her to get home in time to lock all the doors and windows and finally relax, ignoring the persistent shadows she sees in the corner of her eye and the sound of howls in the middle of the night. But unfortunately, today is one of the days when the Sun has been generous with the Moon, allowing it to shine earlier than it did for all of humanity, but the poor human is very anxious, hearing things and seeing things that according to her are just products of her imagination. It's well known, the shadow does reside, but only revealed when looking inside. A ghost that hides and persists. A mystery that the soul can't resist.

After days of feeling followed and watched, YN finally accepts the ride her boss offers her, making her arrive home early and and decided to extend a helping hand to the young woman in the city that YN didn't know. The experienced woman had noticed that YN was in a constant state of anxiety to return home and that something was not right.

Home is everyone's safe place, why wouldn't YN want to go back?

“Hey Snowball, did you miss me?” YN pets the cat as soon as she arrives home, the kitten purring as she leans in with her affections.

“Did you catch any mice today?” The girl does not expect answers from a cat, and quickly checks the house for any body or evidence.

It can't be just ONE mouse.

A few days ago, YN saw some mice in the house. There had never been any mice there before, but the girl assumes that things like this happen in the new house. The mice are fast, too fast for YN to hit them with the broom and too fast for Snowball to catch them. They are like shadows, being recognized only by the rotten smell and the noise they make when they move from one place to another, a heavy noise for something so small. But strangely, they never go after food. YN checks the food, the bathroom, the fridge, the yard every day… but there is no proof that they have been there.

But it is better to have rats than Kain, isn't it? It was Kain's habit to disappear for a while and then appear as if nothing had happened, never remorseful, never guilty. He wasn't always this infinite well of idiocy, he was kind and loving in the beginning but as the relationship progressed things went downhill. Like a tick that starts innocently grabbing an animal's fur, and it doesn't hurt at first, but as time goes by the tick digs its claws and teeth into the host's skin, sucking the soul and blood, weakening the host and leaving the host at its mercy.

As much as the tick hurts, it will be even more painful to remove, like a stubborn person who would rather keep the knife embedded in the wound than remove it and risk losing blood. The boy didn't say much these days, just a few lame excuses while YN cut the conversation short and ignored him. It's better this way. She is still writing the script for how she will end the relationship. Even though he is a stupid asshole, what guarantees that he won't come and demand satisfaction later? That he will send one of his idiot friends to take care of you?

Hmm… better memorize the police number here… get the neighbor's number… better be prepared in case something happens…

“…hey.”

A voice calls her from the other side of the house, in the backyard.

But YN is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't recognize the tone of the voice, lost in the loud music from her headphones. But she still goes to the backyard to open the door, not realizing that Snowball's fur is bristling and scared, but when she opens the door she finds only…

“Oh, hey boy. Its you!” You find the black dog from a few days ago sitting elegantly on the grass, attentively awaiting your presence.

“You're early today, huh?” The sun is still setting today, illuminating some children in orange tones while they are still playing outside.

Maybe one of them called out to a friend and you heard, thinking you were being called.

“I’ll get your food and I’ll be right back, okay?”

The big dark ball has been fed every now and then in the last few days, always after the young woman gets home from work. The dog seemed to guess and emerge from the shadows when he noticed YN’s presence in the house. YN and her huge heart already set aside something for him, buying more food and treats for him at the market. She has enough to feed him and bring him water, but not enough to open the door and adopt him. It’s as if Yn had wisely created a wall between the two of them, establishing a limit that she felt was necessary.

In the kitchen, the music is still playing loudly in her ears, a lively rhythm to chase away bad thoughts while the young woman prepares an old bowl for the dog’s dinner and another for his water. She quickly pauses the wireless headphones, poking her finger a few more times when the sound doesn't pause.

At these times, YN likes to be on alert to attend to the dogs, even when feeding other stray dogs, there's something particular about this one that makes her feel… agitated, as if she were playing with the flames of a candle and seeing how far it really gets burned. Or in this case, bitten.

“Hey buddy, here's dinner.” Yn announces the entrance while the dog is sitting exactly in the same place, with a confused look but accustomed to this routine of the last few days the girl puts the bowls under the window in a clean area.

“Come. You can eat now.” and so he does, walking over to the place and eating from the bowl, his big tail wagging slightly as he savors each bite, his tense muscles relaxing as the feast is served.

He must have been domesticated and when he got too big they pushed him out onto the street, because how is he so… obedient?

This is usually where the story ends.

She feeds him and goes back home.

But this time, the creature notices when YN is about to walk away and growls slightly, making her become confused and stop.

What? What did I do?

The black dog approaches and imitates the behavior he has seen other dogs doing, wagging his tail while staring at YN with pleading eyes and lowered ears, relaxing some muscles in his face so that he appears more friendly.

“Oh, you want some affection, is that it?” YN hesitantly brings her hand gently to the dog’s head, preparing to immediately pull it away in case the canine decides to bite at the last minute.

But the bite never comes.

He would never in his right mind hurt you.

He closes his eyes as he welcomes the touch, his hand noticing how much softer and longer his black fur is now, his tail wagging much faster now showing how good he is feeling, sweeping some autumn leaves away as YN pets him more willingly and freely, more comfortable with the idea that he won't bite her hand.

"So you're not aggressive, huh? Do you like it?" she continues to caress the creature tenderly, two hands to stroke his fur all over as he lets out small grunts of joy.

He feels more playful now, his tail wagging as he sinks deeper and deeper into the girl's touch, closing his eyes contentedly. But when he opens his eyes to observe her more closely, to delight in her beautiful and majestic face, to take the chance to study a face so beautiful that it would make the most miserable of men a king, and the richest of men a mere pauper in search of attention, imagine his surprise when he sees that the girl was also studying him. YN takes the chance to see the vulnerable canine and looks for wounds and scars, or indicators of what kind of dog it is, some collar or ship that identifies it, but is surprised by what she finds: beautiful blue eyes.

What beautiful blue eyes, did they turn red because of the light at night? This happens with the reflection sometimes, I saw photos about it.

But Yn avoids looking directly into his eyes for too long, she feels something strange… they look with such precision and intelligence that YN has never seen a dog have, eyes almost human, almost emotional, almost… something. Almost as if she asked him something, he would answer.

But that's not important now, not when he precisely closes his eyes again as he moves closer to her body, wanting more of the warmth and affection that only the girl can give him.

It's a beautiful and tender moment, which makes YN forget the enigmatic problems that are on the other side of the door. But she is remembered when the sun sets completely, leaving her alone in the darkness. Little by little, in affectionate but anxious acts, she moves away from the dog.

"I have to go now, go eat, boy. Good night." In a sweet voice, she reluctantly says goodbye to her canine friend, it was good that he showed this more affectionate side of him.

"Boy" because he is not something dear to her yet.

"Boy" because to YN he was just a street dog.

"Boy" because he is not allowed to enter the house.

Understanding that she wanted to enter the house, he slowly moves away, allowing the girl freedom to walk to the door while he remains standing in the same place. The darkness of the night quickly becomes present and more terrifying because when she left the sun was shining outside, but now in the house and in the yard, there are no lights on. As she is about to reach for the doorknob, she hears something that makes her freeze.

“…thank you.”

It was a voice so impossibly clear and deep that it could not have been from her headphones, since they were turned off. It was a voice that spoke inside her head, making each letter reverberate with intensity in every nerve and muscle. A spectral and disturbing voice. Her heart immediately froze and a deep fear took hold of her, words of gratitude that were supposed to make her feel good, now it was as if something primordial had awakened. From the corner of her eye, she slowly notices that the dog is in the same place, looking at her with his head tilted, almost cute, if it weren't for his eyes shining with a light that shouldn't be there.

YN comes out of her trance dizzily and quickly and enters the house, closing and locking the door safely while turning on the doors of the house, all of them while recovering the strength in her legs and breathing unevenly.

Perhaps, if she had looked back one more time, she would have seen the creature moving away and merging with the shadows of the yard in a surreal way, like a shadow merging with the darkness of the night.

Oh, what a terrifying soul to have around….

Oh, what a tormented and dangerous creature….

No one taught him to be this creature, he has never seen another of his kind either, but perhaps he has not always been this way. He does not remember exactly what he was, what he once was in existence. He does have a conscience, portraits of memories and abstract concepts, but for the most part he is "an almost animal thing".

He was once human, an original form that he has not used for decades and perhaps he has even forgotten what he once was, after so many masks and disguises it is difficult to know what is true, merging with more animalistic perceptions over time.

Repeating a primitive cycle, eating, sleeping and hunting when he is hungry, exchanging the rotting skin for another.

But for the first time, he did not want to be a "thing", he wanted to be "someone".

Because he is "someone" who can be by her side.

He envied humans in a way, for being able to gather around a campfire and have a normal life. Every animal returns to its den at dusk, or leaves it to hunt, but this creature has no place to call a "den" or "home" as humans call it. He hides in caves or any available corner to spend the night, avoiding sunlight so that people do not see the flaws in his disguise.

For the first time in the creature's entire life, he felt that the path from his "den" led to you.

You are his home.

And if he could be a dog at your feet, this would be it. You yourself could choose a collar and chain especially for him.

Chain him up.

Put a collar with his name on it, identify him as something of yours.

Put your name and number on the collar, so that everyone knows he belongs to you.

It's already decided. It's you he wants. No one else.

Now he understands the story of Kain and Abel, he too would kill to receive such a divine blessing.

As he crawls through the darkness he thinks of strategic plans to get into your house. Maybe he has to get rid of that white cat, he wouldn't share your precious attention with him. Maybe he has to create more rats and kill them in front of you, performing a play in which he comes out as the hero and you are so grateful that you let him into the house. Or maybe…

Maybe he has to get rid of your disgusting scoundrel of a boyfriend, steal his skin and throw him into the darkness. Because who else would YN forgive for acting strange? The creature doesn't know how to be a functional human… he can still make some mistakes while living with you, learn from other humans and from movies, who knows?

A creature of his kind needs to kill to steal a skin, eat to take the place of another. A macabre laugh echoes from the dog's mouth, malicious satisfaction as he makes the plan in his head, steps idealized in his evil mind.

In a single night, he will visit the scoundrel Kain and a powerful shaman, the night is young and his plans are ambitious, a lot to plan and plan. Oh, how good it is to have the malicious mind of humans, capable of planning things as simple as a hunt or something as grand as a coup.

Now tell me, sweet YN, did you lock your bedroom door?

Are you sure?

So what is that behind you?

Tags: @buniwtch @spookynotkid @aminekun009 @twinklingbeautifulstars @heizouislife @cheesecakeyuri @hewhehe @sumeyyeecrin

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Every like, repost and comment is very welcome and appreciated. ♥

If you want to be tagged in future posts, comment here! ( ^^ )