#and begins to uncover many of his secrets

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Stephanie had hit the jackpot. She had been heading back to base to get cleaned up after a fight with Condiment King, grumbling all the while. She stopped on a rooftop after some mayo from her hair had fallen into her face.

Suddenly, there was no mayo. All of the condiments that she was covered with were now on the rooftop around her feet. She didn't even see this kid approach. "Huh?" She said without thinking

"Sorry." The kid, who looked like adoption bait smiled sheepishly as he used the hand that had density shifted the food off of her to rub the back of his neck. "I thought you would like that stuff off of you."

Somehow she convinced him to help her with the aftermath of fighting messy villains in exchange for snacks, but in a move of petty revenge she refused to tell the other bats how she managed to get clean so fast and not smell like mustard for a week after.

This, of course, leads to the whole bat clan attempting to stalk her to figure out her secret.

[dragonagepolls]

Via @vulpixelates: #these results aren't shocking bc everyone thinks of wynne as a grandma but like #when do y'all think she had time to learn how to bake cookies glfkdjdjda

Via @deedeemactir: #everyone not saying Sten is wrong #he fucking LOVES cookies #and he’s so emotionally constipated that his way of showing you that he cares would ABSOLUTELY be making you cookies

[mistywaves98]

So about that Hello Neighbour idea... Guys don't take this too seriously 😭😭

Neighbour! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

¡Hello Neighbour AU!

¡Warnings!: NSFW, Sub! Reader, Implied non/dub con, Some praise, Use of 'Good girl' once!

You were so close, having already pried off the boards with the crowbar. All that was left was to insert the keycard and your hand trembled with anticipation as you held it up, ready to insert. Finally, you'd find out what your creepy neighbour, Scaramouche, was hiding in his basement.

That is, until a hand clamped around your wrist so hard you dropped the keycard in pain. You're whirled around to face him, an irritated but amused look on his face as he yanked you close. "You really can't take a hint, can you? I've told you so many damn times to mind nosy for your own good." His tone is low and mocking, indigo eyes trained on your frightened expression as he brings his face inches away from yours.

"It's about time I teach you a real lesson..."

The room is filled with the sounds of his hips smacking against yours along with your whimpers, creating an erotic symphony that makes Scaramouche's face flush as I meets his ears. His hand is pushing the side of your face against the door of the basement, your cheek rubbing against the wood with each thrust, the action almost mocking your now-failed attempt to uncover your neighbour's secret.

But is this really such a bad outcome? After all, his cock is stretching you out from within so good, filling you to the brim every time he buries himself in your warm, wet heat. Every time his tip nudges that sweet spot inside of you, you swear you're seeing stars as your nails dig into the scratchy surface under your palms.

You can't help but moan out his name as you get closer to release, your walls gripping him like a vice as your eyes roll back. Scaramouche hears the slight pitch in your voice, smirking as he leans in to run his tongue along the shell of your ear,"You sound like a slut, calling out my name like that. If I didn't know better, I'd think this was your plan all along... You're lucky you're such a pretty little thing, I don't normally fuck trespassers on my property..."

You can only choke out pathetic little apologies between gasps and whines, occasionally rolling your hips back to meet his as his free hand holds your waist in a bruising grip. The knot in your stomach is so tight now, just a little more... Suddenly your breath hitches as you feel Scaramouche sink his teeth into your neck. Biting so hard that blood begins to bead against your skin, which he's quick to lap up.

The unexpected action has you arching your back as you come undone, crying out as you practically fall apart under him. He watches in satisfaction as your juices coat his stiff cock, the red tint on his cheeks growing darker. He doesn't slow his pace, helping you ride out your orgasm as he brings both hands to grab your hips, angling them up some more as he sandwiches you between him and the door.

"Good girl, you look so pretty when you cum. But your punishment isn't over, we've only just started..."

[suuuupernovaaa]

Relief ft Benjicot Blackwood

Benjicot is to be married off, and you don’t believe it is to you.

Tags: fluff, arranged marriage, lots of fluff, not proofread

The grease from the bird coats your fingers as you pick at your food, pushing it around the plate but not eating.

“Y/N!” your sister hisses, chiding you for the mess you’re making, and you cannot offer her anything in response but a childish eye roll.

“Stop that,” she whispers. “You blame me, but this is not my doing.”

Though she’s right, you fear you will hate your only sister until your final breath rattles in your chest.

It is you who has loved Benjicot Blackwood since you were practically babes.

You who has spent your years teasing him, learning him, meeting him in secret as - even though you still kept your maidenhead - the two of you spending time alone was improper.

It is you who knows every freckle on his face, has the brown of eyes his memorized so that you see it when you close yours, and can smell his scent in the wind on cold days.

Yet you know, by the end of this night, your sister will be betrothed to him. Not you.

Everyone whispers of it. A union between your great houses. A lord and lady to wed. Your sister is older and must marry first, and Benjicot is heir to the stewardship of these lands, and so it will be the two of them united.

Wiping your hands on a napkin, you rise and excuse yourself. Your parents sit even now with Ben’s parents, bartering the union, and soon it will be announced. You exit the hall and find yourself outside, the chill in the air raising bumps on your uncovered arms. The guards in the courtyard glance at you, and then away.

No one stops you as you cross the muddy courtyard and through the open gate under the quickly setting sun. Just ten minutes, you tell yourself. Ten minutes to gather your composure, and then you can return.

Ten grows to twenty, and thirty, and the chill is bone deep before you return to the fort. Unable to bring yourself back to the banquet all, no matter how you will be chastised for it later, you make way for the guest quarters, aiming to cry yourself to sleep.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice hollers as you begin to round the bend in the stairs. You stop, and turn to see Benjicot charging up after you, breathless. “I have been searching everywhere! Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out,” you reply.

“Out? You left in the middle of dinner.”

You shrug. “Why does it matter? I am sure no one else noticed.”

You try not to be touched by the fact that he did. After all, he won’t be yours much longer. The thought grips your chest, spreading like black ink out to your limbs, and you feel exhausted by it. You just want to lay down away from everyone and forget even your own name.

A smile spreads across Benjicot’s face, a familiar, cunning smile that sends chills down the spines of his enemies, and up yours.

“Everyone noticed you left. How can they announce my betrothal, if my betrothed is missing?”

The words don’t quite make sense in your mind when you first hear them. “Missing?”

You ask. “My father made to announce that we are to wed, and a panic ensued when you were found not present.”

“You and I, to be wed?”

He simply nods.

“But, my sister?”

“I spoke plainly with my father, and yours. Your sister has many prospects for her hand, and we will wait until she is married to proceed with our ceremony, but I would have none but you.”

Your heart, heavy almost moments ago, flutters in your chest.

“We are to wed?” you ask again, and Benjicot cannot help but laugh. Instead of answering, he wraps a strong hand around the back of your neck and pulls your mouth firmly to his.

“You are to be mine, as you always have been,” he whispers against your lips, and you fall into him, a sob of relief escaping you.

“Hush now,” he chides as he places kisses all over your face, still cold from the outside chill. “No tears in the face of good news, my beloved.”

You throw your arms around his waist, and he holds you tight to him, tucking you into his warm chest.

“They are happy tears,” you manage to say into his coat, and he laughs again, the sound more beautiful than any you’ve heard before.

“I am hurt that you thought I would let you go so easily, my dove. Come. Dry your face, and we will go show them all how happy we are.”

And indeed, you do. There are huge for everyone. Your father and mother, your sister with tears of relief in her eyes, and your future family as well.

Benjicot steals you away once the congratulations have ended, to join the dancing. You feel lighter than air as he spins you around and dips you down low, whispering kind words and dirty promises your ears all the whole.

When the night is ended and you must part, he kisses you again. “Sleep well, wife,” he whispers, and you blush.

Sleep does come, eventually, and your dreams are filled with your betrothed.

[wiz-writes]

In Out of the Yinshan, you play as a spy sent to infiltrate a well-known Manor in order to recover a legendary sword.

Yet the mission turns out to be more than you bargained for as you find yourself walking on thin ice and questioning your loyalties, all the while an invisible hand keeps pulling the strings from behind the scenes.

Genre: wuxia, romance, mystery

Rating: 15 for some dark themes

Last update: 9 May 2024

Play as a man or woman.

Customise your appearance and shape your new persona.

Train and improve your skills to reach new heights of power.

Build friendships or start a romance with one of four characters.

Navigate your new life as a guard of a noble, explore the Manor and uncover its secrets.

Be mindful of both your words and actions to avoid suspicion and keep your head a little longer.

Let yourself be swayed by a desire for freedom; or remain steadfast and loyal to those who made you.

You are one of the Yinshan Society - a tool sharpened to perfection to be then used by your Elders as they see fit.

Your life is not your own, that much you know. However, that changes nothing about where your loyalties lie. For you, Yinshan has always been a light in the darkness.

So when your new mission brings you to the famous Hua Manor in search of a legendary sword, you take on the challenge of becoming someone else - someone you never had the chance to be.

You quickly adapt to the Manor's ways, training and fulfilling your duties while keeping a low profile as you begin your investigation. But the mysterious incidents that follow your arrival have everyone, including you, on edge.

Your past has taught you not to trust anyone, yet the more time you spend in the Manor and get to know its residents, the more your conviction starts to waver.

Is Yinshan truly all that your life amounts to?

DEMO

COG Forum || KO-FI

THE PRODIGY

Su Feixia (F)

The only child of the Su family, Su Feixia is considered to be both smart and beautiful. She excels in literature and music, and she has more than proven to be capable of taking over her parents' business. Yet despite her privileged upbringing, she continues to be humble and kind.

You are her guard, accompanying the young lady to the Hua Manor.

THE GUARDIAN

Wei Qing (M)

One of the residents of the Manor, Wei Qing is a high-ranking guard that has lived there for a few years, steadily climbing the ranks through training and hard work. He puts his duty above all else, which has earned him respect, as well as a rather fearsome reputation.

He is your superior in the Manor, overseeing your training.

THE HEIRESS

Hua Lingyun (F)

The oldest of three children of the Hua family and their only daughter, Hua Lingyun spends most of her days training with weaponry and running from her responsibilities. She is to become the head of the family, which is something she's having trouble coming to terms with as she enjoys having her freedom.

She takes care of the Manor guests this year, in place of her sick father.

THE TEACHER

Xu Yuan (M)

A bit of an enigma for most of the people living in the Manor, Xu Yuan is a master swordsman of few words. Nobody seems to know much about him, except that he's been staying in the Manor for a while and that he appears to be a good friend of Master Hua. However, his cold and distant personality manages to keep his many admirers at arm's length.

He is in charge of your weapon training.

[radioactive-earthshine]

Orla's Non-Bat Comic Recs.

Hello folks, in light of the 'all published comics are BAD' wave that has been swept everywhere recently I would like to share a collection of comics that are good actually and are generally isolated (you don't need a spreadsheet to read them).

1.) Impulse (1995)

Why: This is about a neurodiverse coded teenage refugee from the future who cannot live with his blood family in the 20th century due to circumstances that are beyond his control. It is about learning to adapt to a world that doesn't make sense, and learning to love it too. As time goes on Bart learns how to love and he discovers who he is and what is important to him really. All the while some of the most chaotic things happen that you may ever see in a comic (Bart tricks the whole school into getting into a brawl and drives a car off a cliff). Primary themes: Found family (for real), loss, immigration coding, neurodiversity, foster homes, friendship, self discovery, school. Trigger warnings: child abuse, ableism, ptsd, gangs and gun violence (a shocking amount) mental illness. Available in Trade Paperback: Partially. Reckless Youth - collects Bart's first appearances from The Flash plus issues #1-#6 in Impulse. Flash/Impulse: Runs in the Family - collects Impulse #1-#12 plus supplementary issues from The Flash. Mercury Falling - Collects the entire Mercury Falling arc.

2.) Jack Kirby's New Gods (1971)

Why: This is the epic that started it all with Darkseid as he scours the earth in search of the Anti-Life Equation. It is about many deep layers of history involving the New Gods, the divide between New Genesis and Apokolips. In desperation to stop an endless war Darkseid and Highfather of New Genesis agree to a pact - to trade sons and in return a long period of truce and a ceasefire would pass between worlds. Highfather agreed, trading his son for Darkseid's whom he raised with love on New Genesis. Orion, years later, is a god of war and he fights for New Genesis and he fights for Earth, undogged he persists in vanquishing Darkseid's evil wherever it dwells. But Orion has a secret, and deep shame, for he experiences anger and wrath like no other on New Genesis but there is deep compassion and love that tempers it. As Orion fights for Earth he uncovers many secrets about himself, and at his side is his 'friend' Lightray who knows the darkness in him but never turns away. Primary themes: war, anger, ptsd, secrets, space opera, family, anti-war, malice, self discovery Trigger warnings: ptsd, this was written in the 70s but was pretty liberal for its time, still has some awkward moments that are slightly sexist and racist (mostly with names of black characters Vykin the Black and Black Racer which some people are uncomfortable with). Available in Trade Paperback: Complete. 1 book. Jack Kirby's New Gods - Collects all issues of Jack's 1971 series plus Even Gods Must Die and The Hunger Dogs. NOTE: Jack Kirby's entire Fourth World epic with Mr. Miracle and The Forever People is also highly recommended and is part of the New Gods tale. All 3 series has been complied into one massive trade called Jack Kirby's Fourth World, and all are available individually as well. Either way you might be able to find these at your library, or on Hooplah.

3.) Orion by Walter Simonson

Why: Decades after Jack Kirby wrote his final chapter for New Gods Orion finally gets his solo where he faces his father on Apokolips and steps up as its ruler. Now the leader of Apokolips Orion begins the arduous task of cleansing it of its malice and cruelty, a feat that is not easy and even more so when he does it without aid. With sinister deception at every turn Orion struggles and finds himself being tempted to use the very force that he was sworn to protect everyone from; the very anti-life equation itself. Primary themes; deceit, temptation, rebirth, life and death, redemption, mercy, compassion, love, forgiveness. Trigger warnings: torture, sexual assault implications. Available in Trade Paperback - Complete. 2 books.

4.) Barda by Ngozi Ukazu (NEW!!)

Why: This is a graphic novel and is a retelling of Barda as she comes to understand love and what she really wants from her life all while navigating the cruelty of Apokolips. Primary themes: love, cruelty, malice, torture, imprisonment, hope Trigger Warnings: torture, execution. Single complete graphic novel.

5.) Superman: The Harvests of Youth by Sina Grace

Why: This is a heartbreaking coming of age story about Clark Kent as a teenager in Smallville as he finds his place among his friends, family and himself as an alien during a time of death and hatred. It is a young Superman story that is incredibly relevant today in an age of internet toxicity and leaves you feeling hopeful. This blends some elements from Smallville (the show) but tweaks them to make this its own unique bubble world that feels believable and fresh. Primary Themes: toxic masculinity, incels, bullying, suicide, capitalism, teenage coming of age, teenage romance, high school Single complete graphic novel

6.) Superman Smashes The Klan by Gene Luen Yang

Why: In the 1940s the Superman Radio Show released the story "Clan of the Fiery Cross" that told a terrifying story about the KKK targeting a Chinese-American family that moved from Chinatown into Metropolis white-dominated suburbs following WWII. This is a graphic novel that is based on the same story. Primary Themes: racism, identity issues, internalized racism, police brutality. Single complete graphic novel, and also has 3 separate novels.

7.) Bad Dream: A Dreamer Story by Nicole Maines (New!!)

Why: This is Nia Nal's solo and origin story that has been confirmed to take place in the main verse for the current comics. Nia was born and raised in a small heavily isolated Sanctuary where aliens live safely. Even among dozens of alien species Nia is still seen as different as she is the only person who is trans. To complicate everything even more, Nia inherits her people's precognitive powers when her sister Maeve was raised her entire life to accept the powers into her. Terrified of her new powers and destroying her family by revealing them she inherited them instead of her sister, she flees from her hometown to Metropolis where she for the first time in her life meets other queer people. But there is a threat to her family on the horizon, and in order to protect them she must go back and face her fears. Primary Themes: transphobia, self discovery, xenophobia, acceptance, fearfulness, family, secrets, deceit. Trigger Warnings: see above, also internalized queerphobia. Single Complete Graphic Novel

8.) Static: Season One

Why: This is a modern retelling of Milestone Comic's Static as bullied nerd Virgil Hawkins comes into his powers at a protest when police discharge an experimental tear gas. The gas leaves many of his classmates dead, but some like him gain amazing powers - unfortunately some other people, like his bullies, also gain powers. Caught between law enforcement, capitalism, and the complexities of being a new teenage superhero Virgil works to uplift his community and stay strong within his nerdy friend group. This series is heavily based on the Static Shock TV show so fans of that show will be delighted with familiar faces, and names. And yes, Richie Foley is gay. Primary Themes: racism, police brutality, bullying, anger, frustration, dehumanization. Trigger Warnings: See above Available in Trade Paperback - Complete in Static: Season One which collects all six issues. Note: We also have its sequel Static: Shadows of Dakota out as well.

9.) Superman: American Alien

Why: This is a collection of short stories about Clark at varying stages of his life that range from funny to incredibly heartfelt. Primary Themes: finding ones self, self discovery, compassion Trigger warnings: I cannot think of one Available in Trade Paperback - Complete as Superman: American Alien which collects all 7 stories.

10.) Legion of Super-Heroes: Post-Zero Hour Reboot

Why: In the 30th century R.J. Brande Industries creates the Star Gate System, finally connecting the galaxy closer than it ever had before. Travel that once took months or years to complete now could only take hours and with it came the United Planets with Earth as its home headquarters. In an effort to promote the United Planets and unify the galaxy, the Legion of Super-Heroes was formed by Brande as a peacekeeping unit and an inspiration to cooperation. Sadly, it was co-opted by political parties and turned into a draft for talented teenagers to serve, or risk their planet's enrollment in the U.P. Over the course of over 200 issues teenage super heroes are given unfathomable responsibility and power while unifying to protect their galaxy and friendships while combating xenophobia and political corruption. This series is everything people wanted TTv3 to be but never got. Primary Themes: Dehumanization, loss of autonomy, death, life, space, technology, capitalism, political corruption, manipulation, deceit, hope, romance, found family Trigger Warnings: See above plus ableism and teenage pregnancy. Available in Trade Paperback: Partially. We have 2 volumes called Legionnaires which collect approximately 20 issues, plus extra content, of this run. We also have various other trade collections such as Legion Lost in its entirety.

11.) Ascender and Descender by Jeff Lemire and Dustin Nguyen

Why: Tired of superheroes? These are two separate series that follow the same story about a young companion robot named Tim who was assigned to be his human brother's best friend and companion. Unfortunately, during a mining accident his entire colony had to flee and leave him behind as they attempted to escape toxic gas. 10 years have gone by since then, and a lot has changed in the world since he was shut down. Mostly being 95% of all robots have been destroyed and are targeted for destruction after a mysterious robotic alien force attacked all sentient worlds and obliterated the populations down to catastrophic levels. All Tim wants to do is find his brother Andy, but what has become of Andy in 10 years, and what will happen to him in 10 more years after they reunite? This story takes place over 20 years as Tim and Andy both grow and change, as they face the challenges before them and unravel the mystery of the Artificial Intelligence that swore to destroy all organic life. Oh, and magic is also involved too. Primary themes: hatred, violence, abuse, xenophobia, forgiveness, found family, brothers, dehumanization, life, death, magic, balance, manipulation, deceit, mysteries, will probably remind you of Mass Effect. Trigger Warnings: see above Available in Trade Paperback: the entire series is available across multiple books.

That's all I have for now folks, I'm tired of writing.

[reality-detective]

This 👇 was on a Julian Assange channel I follow.

BOMBSHELL! Kamala Harris on the Run! White Hats Track Her Every Move as Trump’s Return Signals the Fall of Deep State Puppets – GITMO Awaits!

Kamala Harris, once the Deep State’s rising star, is now running for cover. After Trump’s 2024 victory, her world turned upside down. The tables have turned, and Kamala is the hunted.

The White Hats are closing in, determined to bring her to justice. Her role as a puppet for elite manipulation is over, and she’s on a one-way path to GITMO. Every hidden action, every deal she struck in secret, has now come to light. She’s no longer a vice president; she’s a fugitive running from the truth.

Kamala’s True Role Exposed

For years, Kamala’s rise was orchestrated to serve the Deep State’s agenda. Her carefully crafted image was nothing more than a mask for elite interests. Behind the public’s view, she was maintaining the Deep State’s grip. But the 2024 election changed everything. With Trump’s win, the patriots gained the power to bring truth to light.

Kamala’s allies and covert connections are now unraveling, and the White Hats are relentless, exposing her network. Her connections to the CIA, FBI, and other shadowy agencies have turned into her greatest liabilities.

Nowhere Left to Run

Kamala’s escape routes are gone, and her elite handlers can’t protect her. The White Hats track her every move. This isn’t just about an election—it’s a strategic takedown of one of the Deep State’s most embedded operatives. And the destination is set: GITMO. She isn’t just another official—she’s a symbol of betrayal, a puppet of globalist interests now facing real justice.

GITMO Awaits: The End of Kamala’s Reign

The facility at GITMO, a site for traitors to the nation, is ready. Kamala’s undermining of democracy and her ties to globalist operatives are being exposed. This isn’t just punishment; it’s about reclaiming America’s integrity. Patriots have uncovered her schemes, her role in destabilizing elections, and her betrayal of the people.

Trump’s Direct Orders

With Trump’s return, the military is acting with purpose. His orders to bring Kamala to justice are not about vengeance—they’re about dismantling every figurehead of the Deep State. Trump’s military allies are ready to see this mission through. Many who once protected her are now cooperating with the White Hats, understanding the stakes.

Kamala’s Fall Sends a Message

Her capture isn’t just personal; it’s a warning to every elite operative who thought they could manipulate the system. The White Hats won’t stop until every corrupt figure has faced justice. Kamala’s downfall is proof that Trump’s America won’t tolerate treason. Patriots everywhere are seeing the truth unfold.

Justice for the People

Kamala’s arrival at GITMO is more than symbolic—it’s the restoration of justice. She represented a corrupt system, but now patriots are reclaiming their nation. Her day of reckoning is near, and the people are watching. This is only the beginning; Trump and the White Hats are dismantling the Deep State piece by piece. In Trump’s America, betrayal will not go unpunished. 🤔

- Julian Assange

[animeredhead101]

Tim Drake/ Danny Fenton Masterlist

Completed

Mesmeric Revelation by DisillusionedDanny :

Danny couldn’t stop the future. That much was true. Despite not cheating on his CAT and doing every single thing by the book to make sure that this future was not a reality, it had happened anyway. The nasty burger had blown up. His parents, Jazz, Sam, Tucker, they were all in the building when it happened.With his friends and family dead, Danny goes to the only place he thinks is safe. The infinite realms.As Danny attempts to move on from the tragedy he manages to get summoned by cultists, build a new family for himself and even find love. Not all in that exact order.Tim Drake thought getting kidnapped by cultists was probably the most annoying thing to have ever happened to him. Little did he know it would also be the best thing to ever happen. Word Count: 71,980 Complete Its very heartwarming with a dark tone in the beginning. I enjoy reading this as a comfort fanfic.

Shovel Talk by SummersSixEcho :

When Tim decided to tag along on a road trip with Danny to meet his parents, he was kinda ready for the shovel talk with his friends and family. But bringing out the secrets buried in Amity Park? That’s another kind of shovel talk Danny hadn’t prepared him for. Word Count: 71,396 Complete

Bitter, had the Heart by CastrianAmore :

Tim is the only one consistently watching. Thus he’s the first and only one to notice one more body following the streets like the bats do. A kid with all black hair and white motifs and an attitude problem that reminds him a tad too much of Jason. It was a shame Jason was adamant that he “didn’t know anything”, what a liar right?But the streets of Gotham listened and the name on everyone’s lips playing like a discordant harmony was one word: Distortion. Not that Tim knew what it meant yet, but Danny would make sure he would. If Danny lived long enough for Tim to find out. Word Count: 182,548 Complete

Tim Jr. Coffee Machine Extraordinaire by PaperPuffin :

Dick worried his lip between his teeth as he looked Tim over. His little brother was standing, zombie-like, in front of the Cave’s coffee machine. Not that the act was unusual for Tim. Just… the thing was, Tim had been doing better. Word Count: 2,330 Complete

Wanted: Dead and Alive by Astereae :

“Hey, I do I... Do I know you?” Danny asks, a hand coming up to brush something off Tim’s cheek. “No,” Tim says. “We haven’t met.” “Oh, no, I do.” Danny says, and he smiles, teeth white and sharp. “You’re that guy who rearranged my guts!” Rearranged his- Tim glances at the knotted scars on the boy’s abdomen. He can see the shine and shadow of haphazard stitches that weren’t meant to hold forever, that tore and healed over. His- This- “WHAT!?” Nightwing shouts, equal parts confused and delighted. Tim’s fucked. OR Danny Fenton's been in GIW captivity for 4 months. Tim Drake gets kidnapped by the GIW one Tuesday evening in May. Considering how many of the Bats and the Birds have died and come back to life, it was only a matter of time for some people interested in the afterlife to come poking around. The detectives can't seem to uncover any information about the mysterious white vans, however. And they keep losing the mysterious boy who seems to be the one person in Gotham to know anything at all. Word Count: 121,281 Completed

On-going

Family introductions by Half-dead Ham(Grima101) :

Danny and Tim have been dating for about a year now, figuring out their relationship between Tim’s vigilante duties and Danny’s Ghost King responsibilities. Danny is taking a small (unauthorized) break from his paperwork to find his bf flat on his ass sick trying to go on patrol. The only way to stop him was to take his place, and Danny was lucky they're the same size.

Word Count: 14,070 On-going

An Interesting Family Tree by Scififan33 :

Danny's life in Amity Park wasn't perfect, but it beat his old life. The GIW and Fenton parents didn't make things easier but at least ghost attacks had lessened since he was named Prince, to be crowned upon his twenty first birthday.He'd run from the League almost a decade ago, risking getting their attention, and for a stranger? It was insane. And yet he still got on the plane to Europe to find and warn one Tim Drake that he was being targeted. Word Count: 68,348 On-going This is one of favorite fanfics, I love the interactions of Danny and Tim throughout the story. I also love how the author writes two story lines together. I love both Fandoms and to read a story were they work well together is always a treat!

Tim Drake's I.E.F (Invisible Eldritch Friend) by Half-dead Ham :

The last thing Tim expected while getting stalked was to get used to the unseen creature and how they started taking care of him. He expected even less for them to be the same age

Word Count: 72,042 On-going

I find it hilarious that the bat stalker gets stalked and they some how make it into a funny Rom-com.

Till Death and Beyond by Scififan33 :

Danny and Tim have known each other for a year, have been dating for months, and are very happy. Sure, Tim would prefer if his boyfriend let him help him at least get a nicer apartment, or even an internship at WE but Danny won't let him. Dating Tim is not keeping his head down but as far as everyone knows, Danny Fenton died with his parents and sister. Danny Nightingale has no links to him, thanks to Tucker and Technus' magic.But there are still those who would love nothing more than to get their hands on Phantom, despite his not having been seen in a long time.And why is there a vigilante bleeding out on his apartment floor? Word Count: 79,279 On-going I love the fic for the fact that we talk about how the bat-fam treats Tim. Like he is such a sweetheart and he is not treated they way he should be. Like don't get me wrong I love the fics were Damion and Tim get along and fix their relationship but the way they interact this would not have occurred and to see this in this fanfic and Tim recognizing that its not okay was amazing. I also love that Danny doesn't take any shit from the bat-fam, hes likes fuck with Tim and see what happens. Defiantly one of my top 5!

The Rebirth of Tim Drake by Bewitched_Forest :

Tim gets turned into a halfa after an incident with a newly spawned Lazarus Pit, electricity, and Ra's Al Ghul. When he awakens, he finds himself in the Ghost Zone. Taken to fellow Halfa, Danny Fenton, he travels to Amity Park where he learns with the help of Danny and his friends just what he has become. And how being a Halfa has made him one of the most hunted beings in the world.

Not Abandoned! Updating will just be whenever I feel like it cause I got burnout.

Word Count: 57,663 On-going

My Name is Not Wounder Boy! by CrepuscularCryptid :

Casper High's juniors go on a trip to Washington DC every year. This year it's Danny's class's turn. Absolutely nothing goes wrong. Nothing. Shut up, Tucker. ************* Wherein Danny meets Wonder Woman, fosters diplomacy between the Living and the Dead Realms, and eventually gets a new haunt. Word Count: 44,832 On-going

The Price Of Peace by JoyLess_Nightsk :

The Juistria League - the alliance of the major countries of the continent Juisitria - has long since stood for peace. Unfortunately there is one country that is a thorn in their side whenever they try to solidify that peace: The Infinite Lands, a country of barbarians to the north where the only reason they survive is the magic in the air. Where the magic is so strong that even children develop a talent, which they themselves call "the blessings of the dragons". The country that, last time the Juistria League had tried to negotiate, had waged a war more brutal then anything seen before on them, for over a decade - right until the moment a rebellion caged him. Not long ago, his murderer took the title. And now, that very same newly crowned High Chief demands negotiations of them. Bruce would rather die, would rather see Gotham and all of Juistria in flames than to allow that man to take one of his children. Tim, however, makes another decision before he could say that. Now, everyone has to hope Phantom will be happy with the boy… Meanwhile Danny is just too stunned that they actually agreed to that to do anything about the sudden engagement. Word Count: 50,397 On-going I usually am not a fan of fics like this but I kinda love this but just the fact that their are so many miscommunications between the Gotham and Infinite Lands. It definitely a great start and I cant wait ti read more!

Rated M

A Grave Affair by OnlyHereForTheSnacks :

Tim was used to life taking unexpected turns. It was just another part of being a vigilante. Sometimes life gives you lemons and sometimes an immortal assassin sells you into an arranged marriage to the Ghost King for a piece of jewelry. (Lots of plot. Smut in Ch.3. Mind the tags) Word Count: 14,744 Complete

Seeing Double by Wraiith(Jayyydez) :

"You remember that conversation we had about me being able to duplicate?" Tim's brow furrowed even more. Which conversation-? His mouth dried all at once, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. Oh. Oh, Ancients and Gods alike, help him. Danny was having this conversation with him. He was having it with him right now, and Tim felt more awake than he had in days. Word Count: 7,752 Complete

Skin of Your Teeth by halfgone(milkywxy) :

Tim can't bring himself to lie about his secret identity anymore. When he spills his secret to his boyfriend, Danny, many more secrets are soon to follow. Some with interesting results. Prompts: Tim Drake |Eldritch Danny| Teeth Word Count: 7,065 On-going

[elysiaheaven]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧-𝟑

Created by@𝓶𝓸𝓲𝓶𝓸𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓮

AN IM CRAYZ AHAHHAHAHAJANNANANANSNSNSN

WORDS:12341

TW:obssesive behaviour, unhealthy relationships/feelings,Clingy,Manipulation,Emotional manipulation,forcing of marriage...,mention of death,killing/Most TWS FOR YANDERE,suggestive!

The door closes behind Sunday, you exhale a sigh of relief, though the tension in your muscles persists. Every moment feels like a delicate balance between maintaining appearances and planning your next move toward freedom.

You sit down at the table where Sunday left the tray of food, but your appetite is gone. Instead, your mind races with thoughts of Robin, the birdcage, and the path to escape that lies hidden within the temple. You replay her instructions in your mind, reminding yourself of the need for caution and secrecy.

With a sense of urgency, you pull out your phone and review the photos you took in the temple and the ancient texts you managed to gather. They are your lifeline, your guide to understanding the symbols and rituals that might hold the key to your liberation.

As you immerse yourself in deciphering the ancient writings, a plan begins to take shape. You need more information, more clues that could aid your escape. The library in the palace holds many secrets, and perhaps there are more texts or maps that could reveal additional passages or hidden exits.

You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching, before slipping out of your quarters once more. The palace is quiet, its grand halls echoing with the weight of centuries-old secrets. You make your way to the library, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and fear of being caught.

Inside, you quickly scan the shelves, pulling out books and scrolls that catch your eye. Each one could hold a piece of the puzzle, a clue that might lead you closer to unlocking the secrets of the temple and your path to freedom.

Hours pass as you pour over the texts, deciphering ancient languages and piecing together fragments of history. You uncover references to hidden passages, symbols of protection, and rituals that speak of liberation from confinement.

Just as you're about to delve deeper into a particularly promising tome, you hear footsteps approaching. Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly hide the book beneath your cloak, pretending to browse casually as Sunday enters the library.

He smiles warmly at you, his presence both reassuring and unsettling. "I thought I might find you here," he says, his tone gentle. "Did you find something interesting?"

You nod, trying to appear composed despite the racing of your heart. "Just exploring the history of this place," you reply, your voice steady. "There's so much to learn."

Sunday steps closer, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that makes you uncomfortable. "You have a thirst for knowledge," he observes softly. "I admire that about you."

You force a smile, hiding the turmoil beneath the surface. "Thank you," you say, careful not to reveal too much.

He reaches out and gently touches your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I want to show you something," he says quietly, his eyes searching yours.

Your mind races with possibilities, unsure of what Sunday has in mind. But you know you must tread carefully, maintaining your facade while continuing to search for any opportunity to further your escape.

Sunday leads you through the library, your heart races with both apprehension and determination. You maintain a facade of calm curiosity, nodding politely as he speaks of the palace's history and its hidden treasures. However, when Sunday suddenly stops and turns to you with a piercing gaze, you feel a surge of unease.

"Do you know someone named Robin?" he asks, his voice gentle yet probing.

You pause, taken aback by the directness of his question. Fear grips your heart momentarily, but you quickly gather your composure. You know that admitting any knowledge of Robin could jeopardize your escape plans.

"No," you reply firmly, meeting Sunday's gaze with feigned innocence. "I don't know anyone named Robin."

Sunday studies you intently for a moment, his expression unreadable. You hold your breath, praying that he believes your lie.

After what feels like an eternity, Sunday nods slowly. "I see," he says quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment. "I must have been mistaken."

Relief washes over you, but you remain cautious. "Is everything alright?" you ask, trying to divert his attention.

Sunday sighs softly, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "I worry about you," he admits, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I want to protect you."

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. "I appreciate that," you reply, keeping your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

He reaches out and gently touches your shoulder, his touch lingering briefly. "I care about you," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours.

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to pull away. "I know," you say softly, masking your discomfort with practiced ease.

Sunday's eyes darken with a mix of frustration and determination. Before you can react, he pushes you against the wall, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly but not painfully. The suddenness of his action leaves you breathless, and the intensity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

"Are you sure you don't know anyone named Robin?" he asks again, his voice low and insistent.

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you force yourself to stay calm. You meet his gaze with as much steadiness as you can muster. "I already told you, I don't know anyone named Robin," you reply, your voice unwavering.

Sunday's eyes narrow, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You're lying," he whispers, his tone a mixture of accusation and curiosity. "I can see it in your eyes."

You swallow hard, trying to keep your fear from showing. "I'm not lying," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know her."

He studies you for what feels like an eternity, his gaze boring into yours as if searching for any crack in your facade. You can feel the tension in the air, the unspoken challenge between the two of you.

Finally, Sunday releases his grip on your shoulders and steps back, a resigned look on his face. "Fine," he says quietly. "If you say you don't know her, I'll let it go. But know this—if you are lying, and I find out, there will be consequences."

You nod, relief flooding through you as he steps away. "I understand," you say softly, hoping to appease him.

Sunday's expression softens slightly, and he reaches out to gently touch your cheek. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs. "But I need to know I can trust you."

You nod again, feeling a mixture of guilt and determination. "You can trust me," you say, hoping your words sound sincere.

He smiles faintly, though the tension between you remains. "Good," he says softly. "Then let's move on. There's still so much I want to show you."

You didn't know why you to joke.

"....How are you gonna show that you can trust me?"

Sunday's intense gaze holds you captive as he steps closer, his hands once again gripping your shoulders. This time, however, his movements are slower, more deliberate. He pushes you gently against the wall again, and you feel the solid surface cool against your back. His eyes never leave yours, a strange mix of desire and determination burning within them.

Before you can react, Sunday leans in and starts to kiss you. His lips brush against your neck, your collarbone, trailing down your shoulder with a feather-light touch. He avoids your face, focusing instead on the sensitive areas that make your heart race and your breath hitch. The sensation is overwhelming, and despite your best efforts to resist, you feel a small part of you responding to his touch, craving more.

Your mind battles against your body's reactions, the fear and anger you feel toward Sunday warring with the unexpected desire his touch elicits. Just as you begin to grapple with these conflicting emotions, your vision starts to blur. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and the room begins to spin.

"S-Sunday," you murmur weakly, trying to push him away, but your strength fails you. Your knees buckle, and you feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness.

The last thing you see before everything goes dark is Sunday's face, his expression a mixture of concern and satisfaction. You faint, your body going limp in his arms.

When you regain consciousness, you're no longer against the wall. Instead, you find yourself lying on a plush bed in a dimly lit room. Your head feels heavy, and you struggle to remember what happened. As you slowly sit up, you notice Sunday sitting in a chair nearby, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You're awake," he says softly, his voice gentle but carrying an undercurrent of something more.

You nod, still feeling disoriented. "What... what happened?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You fainted," Sunday replies, standing up and walking over to you. "I was worried about you."

You look at him, trying to read his intentions. "Why did you do that?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

Sunday sits on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to gently stroke your hair. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says softly. "I just... I wanted to show you how much I care about you. How much I need you to trust me."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you pull back slightly, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. You know you need to be careful, to play along until you can find a way out of this twisted situation.

"I... I understand," you say slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "But you need to give me time. This is all so overwhelming."

Sunday nods, his eyes softening. "Of course," he says gently. "Take all the time you need. Just know that I'm here for you, and I will always protect you."

You force a smile, trying to appear grateful even as your mind works furiously to formulate a plan. You can't let Sunday know about Robin or your intentions to escape. You need to find a way to gather more information, to uncover the secrets of the temple, and to finally break free from his control.

As Sunday leaves the room to give you some space, you take a deep breath and just..sleep?

The next morning, you awaken to find a beautifully wrapped box at the foot of your bed. Its ornate ribbon and delicate paper signal that it's something special. As you sit up, the door creaks open, and Sunday enters, his face alight with a mix of anticipation and joy.

"I have a surprise for you," he says, walking over to the box and gently lifting the lid. Inside is a stunning wedding gown, intricately designed with delicate lace and shimmering embroidery. He holds it up for you to see, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You'll be marrying me. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Your heart skips a beat, and a cold chill runs down your spine. The weight of his words crashes over you, and you feel a surge of fear and panic. But you know you must maintain your facade, to keep him from suspecting anything.

You force a smile, though your hands tremble slightly as you reach out to touch the gown. "It's beautiful," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Sunday. I'm... happy."

Sunday's smile widens, and he steps closer, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "I'm glad you like it," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "I want our wedding to be perfect. You deserve nothing less."

You nod, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and the urgency of finding a way out before it's too late. "Of course," you reply, trying to sound genuine. "I appreciate everything you're doing for me."

He leans in and kisses your forehead, his touch both tender and possessive. "Tomorrow, we'll be together forever," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "I'll make sure you're happy."

You manage a small nod, your heart pounding in your chest. As Sunday leaves the room to prepare for the day, you clutch the gown to your chest, feeling the weight of your predicament pressing down on you. The fear and uncertainty are almost overwhelming, but you know you can't give up now.

With trembling hands, you place the gown back in its box and take a deep breath. You need to find a way to escape, and you need to do it soon. The temple of Ena might hold the answers you seek, and you must find a way to visit it without arousing Sunday's suspicions.

As you get dressed, your mind races with plans and possibilities. You know that time is running out, and you must act quickly if you want to reclaim your freedom.

Determined, you leave your room and make your way through the palace, careful to avoid drawing attention to yourself. You head toward the library, hoping to find more information that might aid your escape. The library is vast and filled with ancient texts, and you know that somewhere within its shelves lies the knowledge you need.

As you search through the books, you come across an old map of the palace and its surrounding grounds. Your eyes widen as you spot a hidden passage leading from the palace to the temple of Ena. This could be your way out.

You carefully copy the map onto a piece of parchment, your hands shaking with a mix of fear and hope. You know that the risk is great, but you have no other choice. You must escape before the wedding, before it's too late.

As you slip the map into your pocket, you hear footsteps approaching. You quickly hide the book and turn to see Sunday entering the library, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his eyes searching yours.

You force a smile, nodding. "Yes, I'm fine," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just doing some reading."

Sunday steps closer, his expression softening. "I just wanted to make sure," he says gently. "Remember, you can always talk to me."

You nod, feeling a pang of guilt for the lies you're telling. But you know it's necessary. "Thank you," you say softly. "I appreciate it."

He leans in and kisses your cheek, his touch lingering. "I'll see you soon," he murmurs, before turning to leave.

Sunday leaves the library, you exhale a sigh of relief, clutching the copied map tightly. The plan is forming in your mind, but the weight of the upcoming wedding still looms over you. You know you must act quickly, but you need a way to incapacitate Sunday without raising suspicion.

Just then, a familiar presence fills your thoughts. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, calm and guiding. "Make him a tea with the moonflower," she instructs. "It will make him sleep. Use this time wisely."

You nod to yourself, determination solidifying your resolve. The moonflower is rare, but you remember seeing it in the palace's garden, blooming under the cover of night. You just need to get it and prepare the tea without Sunday noticing.

With a renewed sense of purpose, you make your way to the garden, keeping to the shadows to avoid drawing attention. The moonflowers glow softly in the moonlight, their petals delicate and fragrant. You carefully pick a few, tucking them into your cloak before heading back inside.

In your room, you quickly prepare the tea, the scent of the moonflowers filling the air. As you work, you glance at the wedding gown, feeling a mix of fear and determination. This gown represents the cage Sunday wants to trap you in, but you won't let it hold you.

Dressed in the gown, you step out of your room, the fabric rustling softly with each step. You make your way to Sunday's chambers, the tray with the moonflower tea balanced carefully in your hands. You knock softly on the door, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Come in," Sunday calls from inside.

You enter, finding him adjusting his clothes in front of a mirror. He looks undeniably handsome, his attire immaculate and his demeanor confident. He turns to you, his eyes lighting up as he sees you in the gown.

"You look stunning," he says, stepping closer and taking your hand. "Tomorrow will be perfect."

You force a smile, feeling the weight of your deception. "I thought you might like some tea," you say, offering the tray.

Sunday's smile widens, and he takes the cup, inhaling the fragrant steam. "How thoughtful of you," he murmurs, raising the cup to his lips. "To us."

You watch as he takes a sip, your heart racing with anticipation. He drinks deeply, the warmth of the tea spreading through him. Within moments, his eyes begin to droop, and he sways slightly.

"Are you alright?" you ask, feigning concern as you step closer.

Sunday blinks, trying to stay awake, but the moonflower's effects are too strong. "I... I feel..." he mutters, before his eyes close and he collapses onto the bed.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, quickly moving to ensure he's deeply asleep. His breathing steadies, and you know you have precious little time.

With Sunday incapacitated, you rush to gather your things, grabbing the map and any other essentials. You slip out of the room, your heart pounding as you navigate the palace halls, heading toward the hidden passage leading to the temple of Ena.

As you move through the corridors, Robin's voice echoes in your mind once more. "Stay strong," she encourages. "Freedom is within your grasp."

You reach the hidden entrance, pushing open the concealed door and slipping inside. The passage is dark and musty, but you push forward, guided by the dim light of your torch and the hope of escape.

Finally, you emerge into the temple, the air heavy with the weight of ancient secrets. You move quickly, searching for any clues or tools that could aid your escape. The temple is vast and filled with relics, each one a piece of the puzzle that could lead to your freedom.

you delve deeper into the temple, you feel a surge of determination. The path to freedom is fraught with danger, but you won't let fear hold you back. You are stronger than the cage Sunday tried to trap you in, and you will find your way out, no matter the cost.

You began to navigate the temple, your mind races with thoughts of escape and the dangers that lie ahead. You pause briefly to steady yourself, your hand gripping the ancient map you had copied earlier. You know you must return to the palace before Sunday awakens, but the urgency of the situation weighs heavily on you.

Returning to the palace, you carefully retrace your steps to avoid suspicion. You slip back into your room, the gown still pristine, and quickly hide the map in a safe place. Your heart pounds as you consider your next move.

Sunday stirs as you enter his chambers again, his eyes fluttering open. He smiles groggily, clearly still affected by the moonflower tea but beginning to regain his senses.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs, reaching out to touch the delicate lace of your gown. "Is everything ready for tomorrow?"

You nod, trying to maintain your composure. "Almost. Can you help me tighten the lace at the back? It doesn't feel quite right."

Sunday stands, still a bit unsteady, but he moves behind you and begins to adjust the lace. His fingers work methodically, and you can feel the fabric tightening around your waist. The intimacy of the moment sends a shiver down your spine, and you fight to keep your emotions in check.

As he finishes, his hands linger on your shoulders, and he leans in close. "Perfect," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

You turn slightly, looking at your reflection in the mirror. The gown fits perfectly now, the intricate lace accentuating your figure. But the sight only serves to remind you of the cage you're trapped in.

Suddenly, Sunday pushes you gently against the mirror, his eyes darkening with desire. "You look so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips trailing along your neck and collarbone. "I can't wait for tomorrow."

His hands roam over your body, and you feel a mix of fear and unexpected desire. He kisses you deeply, his lips exploring every inch of your skin except for your face. The mirror's cold surface against your back contrasts sharply with the heat of his touch.

You gasp, trying to maintain control, but the intensity of the moment overwhelms you. Sunday pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. "Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice filled with longing.

You hesitate, knowing that you need to play along to buy yourself more time. "I... I do," you say softly, your voice trembling.

Sunday's smile widens, and he kisses you again, more fervently this time. Your mind races, trying to find a way out even as your body betrays you. You know you need to escape before he fully regains his strength.

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push against him gently. "We should wait until tomorrow," you say, trying to sound convincing. "It will be more special then."

Sunday hesitates, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he nods, a satisfied smile on his face. "You're right," he agrees, stepping back. "Tomorrow will be perfect."

Relief washes over you, but you know the clock is ticking. You need to finalize your escape plan before the wedding. As Sunday settles back into bed, you quietly slip out of the room, your heart pounding with determination.

You head back to your room, the weight of the gown reminding you of the urgency of your situation. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, urging you to stay strong. You know that freedom is within your grasp, and you won't let anything stand in your way.

As you sit down, you take a deep breath and begin to strategize. The temple holds the key to your escape, and you must return there when the opportunity arises. With each passing moment, you grow more determined to break free from Sunday's grasp and reclaim your life.

As the plan continues to take shape in your mind, you know you need to act fast. The next step is to ensure Sunday remains unconscious long enough for you to finalize your escape. You head back to the kitchen, gathering the necessary ingredients to prepare another batch of the moonflower tea.

Once the tea is ready, you carefully carry it back to Sunday's chambers. The door creaks softly as you enter, and Sunday looks up, a smile spreading across his face as he sees you.

"More tea?" he asks, his voice still groggy from the earlier dose.

You nod, offering the cup. "I thought it might help you relax," you say, forcing a smile. "You need your rest for tomorrow."

Sunday takes the cup from your hands, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "You're so thoughtful," he murmurs, taking a sip. "I don't deserve you."

You watch as he drinks, the effects of the moonflower beginning to take hold. He finishes the tea and sets the cup aside, his eyelids growing heavy. He reaches out, taking your hand in his, and kisses it gently.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispers, his voice fading as he drifts into sleep.

You wait until you're sure he's deeply asleep, then carefully extricate your hand from his grasp. Your heart pounds as you stand up, making sure he remains undisturbed. You have no time to lose.

You quickly made sure if your wedding gown wasn't a problem..You gather your essentials, including the map, and take a deep breath. The palace is quiet, the only sound being your own footsteps as you make your way toward the hidden passage.

You navigate the dark corridors, the weight of your situation pressing down on you. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, urging you to stay strong and focused. You reach the hidden door, pushing it open and slipping inside.

The passage is as dark and musty as before, but you push forward, your resolve unwavering. The temple looms ahead, its ancient walls holding the secrets you need to uncover. You move quickly, determined to find the information that will lead to your freedom.

As you enter the temple, you feel a strange sense of calm. The air is heavy with the weight of history, and you know that this place holds the key to your escape. You move through the corridors, searching for anything that might help you.

Finally, you come across a small, hidden chamber. Inside, you find an old book, its pages filled with detailed instructions and ancient spells. You carefully read through it, your heart racing as you realize the power it holds.

You take the book and slip it into your bag, knowing that it could be your ticket to freedom. You head back toward the passage, your mind racing with thoughts of the future.

As you make your way back to the palace, you feel a renewed sense of determination. You know that the path ahead is fraught with danger, but you are ready to face it. You will escape from Sunday's grasp, no matter what it takes.

Because somewhere beyond these walls lies the life you deserve, and you won't stop until you've claimed it for yourself. The journey ahead may be perilous, but you are ready to face it head-on, no matter the cost.

Returning to the hidden passage, you move with a sense of urgency, your determination growing with each step. The weight of the ancient book in your bag reassures you that you have the means to escape. As you navigate the dark corridors, you feel a strange pull guiding you deeper into the temple.

You soon find yourself back at the small birdcage you had seen earlier, the one that held Robin. The small bird chirps softly as you approach, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and curiosity.

You carefully unlatch the cage, gently lifting Robin out. She flutters her wings, stretching them for the first time in what seems like ages. "Thank you," she chirps, her voice filled with gratitude. "But what were you doing here?"

You take a deep breath, explaining quickly. "I'm trying to escape. I found an old book with spells and instructions. I need to get away from Sunday before the wedding."

Robin tilts her head, understanding dawning in her eyes. "The moonflower tea worked, then? He's asleep?"

You nod. "For now. But I don't have much time. Do you know any safe routes out of here?"

Robin flutters closer, her small form hovering in front of you. "There's a hidden exit in the temple that leads to the forest. Follow me."

You follow Robin through the winding passages of the temple, her small form darting ahead and guiding you through the dark corridors. You move quickly, the urgency of your situation driving you forward. The air grows cooler as you descend, the walls closing in around you.

Finally, Robin stops at a seemingly solid wall. "Here," she chirps, pressing a small, hidden stone. The wall shifts, revealing a narrow passage leading to the outside. The fresh scent of the forest filters in, a stark contrast to the musty air of the temple.

You step through the passage, the forest opening up before you. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting a silvery glow over everything. Robin lands on your shoulder, her presence a comforting weight.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude. "I wouldn't have made it without you."

Robin chirps softly. "We're not out of danger yet. We need to move quickly. Sunday will realize you're gone soon."

You nod, determination hardening your resolve. "Let's go."

You move through the forest, the ancient book clutched tightly in your hands. The journey is far from over, but for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope. You will find a way to break free from Sunday's grasp and reclaim your life.

As you navigate the forest, Robin's guidance leads you through hidden paths and away from any potential dangers. The night is filled with the sounds of the forest, but you move with a purpose, each step bringing you closer to freedom.

Hours pass, and the first light of dawn begins to filter through the trees. You find a small clearing and decide to rest for a moment, catching your breath and gathering your thoughts. Robin perches nearby, her eyes watchful and alert.

"There's one more thing you should know," Robin says, her voice tinged with regret. "If you get caught, take a wine bottle and the white roses. It's important."

You furrow your brow, confused. "Why? What do the wine bottle and white roses do?"

"...If we get caught..I.."

"We won't! Robin!"

You clutch the bag tightly, knowing that within it lies your chance at freedom.

Hours pass, and the sun rises higher in the sky. You find another clearing and decide to rest for a moment, catching your breath and checking your surroundings.

"We're getting closer," Robin says softly. "We can find shelter and plan our next move."

You nod, exhaustion beginning to set in. "Thank you, Robin. I don't know what I would've done without you."

Robin perches on your shoulder, her small form radiating warmth and comfort. "We're in this together," she says. "We'll find a way to keep you safe."

"!!!!!" Robin was suddenly uneasy.

"We need to find a safe place to hide," Robin whispers urgently, her wings fluttering with agitation.

You nod in agreement, scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. Just as you're about to move towards a promising alleyway, a sudden dizziness overwhelms you. The ground tilts beneath your feet, and you stumble forward, clutching your head in pain.

"Robin," you manage to gasp, before darkness consumes your vision.

When you awaken, the world around you is dim and unfamiliar. You find yourself lying on a cold stone floor, the air heavy with the scent of ancient dust and incense. As your senses gradually sharpen, you realize you're inside a dimly lit chamber adorned with intricate runes and flickering torches.

"Robin?" you call out weakly, your voice echoing in the eerie silence.

There's no response. Panic grips you as you struggle to your feet, the memories of your journey and the urgency of your mission flooding back. You stagger towards a nearby ornate mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of your surroundings and perhaps find a clue to your whereabouts.

Before you can reach the mirror, a voice cuts through the silence from the shadows.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The voice is smooth yet chilling, sending a shiver down your spine. Emerging from the darkness steps a figure cloaked in midnight black, his eyes glinting with malevolent amusement.

"S-Sunday," you stammer, recognizing him despite the years that have passed since you last saw his face. His presence fills the chamber with an oppressive aura, his every movement calculated and unnerving.

"You've come far, my dear," Sunday murmurs, his voice dripping with honeyed menace. "But not far enough."

Robin's absence weighs heavily on your mind as you struggle to maintain composure in the face of Sunday's eerie confidence. His smile is as cold as the stone around you, a stark reminder of the danger that has followed you relentlessly.

"What have you done with Robin?" you demand, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

Sunday's laughter rings out, echoing off the ancient walls. "Oh, Robin is quite safe," he replies cryptically. "But you, my dear, are exactly where I want you."

As Sunday closes the distance between you with unsettling grace, you realize with sinking dread that escaping his grasp will require more than just cunning and bravery. With Robin's fate hanging in the balance and the ancient book's protection spell seemingly undone, you steel yourself for the confrontation ahead.

The game of cat and mouse has reached its climax.

Sunday approached, his presence looms over you like a specter of doom. You stand your ground, despite the tremors of fear threatening to overtake you. His eyes gleam with a mixture of amusement and malice, his every step echoing in the quiet chamber.

You glance around, taking in the unsettling scene. The chamber, dimly lit by flickering torches, is indeed filled with white roses arranged meticulously as though for a solemn ceremony. Their fragrance mingles with the heavy incense, creating an atmosphere both intoxicating and suffocating.

In your hand, you clutch the bouquet of white roses tightly, their delicate petals a stark contrast to the dire situation unfolding before you. Beside you, almost forgotten in the rush of events, is the wine bottle Robin mentioned—a potent sleeping potion that could provide a desperate escape if the need arose.

Sunday's gaze flickers briefly to the bouquet in your hand, a glimmer of recognition crossing his features. "Ah, the white roses," he muses, his voice smooth yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. "A symbol of purity and peace, but in this place, they serve a different purpose."

You swallow hard, uncertainty clawing at your resolve. "What do you want from me, Sunday?" you manage to ask, trying to buy time to formulate a plan.

He smiles knowingly, his demeanor shifting from amusement to something more insidious. "You've always had a knack for escaping, my dear," he murmurs, circling you like a predator to its prey. "But this time, you won't slip through my fingers."

With a sudden, swift movement, Sunday reaches out, his hand brushing against your arm. Fear surges through you as you instinctively step back, clutching the bouquet tighter. His touch sends a chill down your spine, a reminder of his power and your vulnerability in this strange and treacherous place.

"Where is Robin?" you demand again, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed.

Sunday's smile widens, his eyes alight with a cruel glint. "Patience, my dear," he replies silkily. "All in good time."

As he continues to circle you, his movements fluid and unsettlingly calm, you weigh your options. The protective spell from the ancient book lies dormant, its potency diminished or perhaps manipulated by Sunday's dark magic. The white roses in your hand could potentially buy you time or sway Sunday's intentions, if only you could discern his motives.

Before you can decide on a course of action, a distant sound breaks the oppressive silence—a faint rustling, like the fluttering of wings. You glance towards the source, a sliver of hope igniting within you.

Robin appears, her small form darting through the shadows towards you. Relief floods your senses as she lands gracefully on your shoulder, her presence a beacon of solidarity in the face of Sunday's malevolence.

"Robin," you whisper gratefully, feeling a surge of courage bolstered by her unwavering loyalty.

Robin's declaration hangs heavy in the air, her voice resonating with both defiance and a hint of sorrow. "Brother," she says, her wings quivering with emotion, "please, don't do this."

Sunday's expression softens momentarily, a flicker of conflict crossing his features. "Robin," he replies, his voice betraying a trace of hesitation, "you know the rules."

Before Robin can protest further, Sunday gestures with a swift motion of his hand. Dark tendrils of magic coil around Robin, ensnaring her in an invisible cage. She struggles against the magical bonds, her cries echoing in the chamber, but the more she fights, the tighter the grip becomes.

"No!" you cry out, a surge of desperation propelling you forward. You reach out towards Robin, but a barrier of dark energy repels your touch, leaving you helpless to intervene.

Sunday watches impassively as Robin's struggles subside, her wings drooping with defeat. "I'm sorry, sister," he murmurs, his voice laced with regret, though his eyes betray no hint of remorse.

Robin meets his gaze, tears glistening in her eyes. "Why?" she whispers, her voice filled with anguish. "Who even are you?"

Sunday's expression hardens once more, the mask of indifference settling back into place. "It's our destiny," he replies cryptically. "You know the price of defiance"

With a final glance towards you, a mix of warning and challenge in his eyes, Sunday turns away, leaving you alone with Robin trapped in her magical prison. The chamber grows colder, the torches flickering ominously as though mourning the loss of hope that once burned brightly within its walls.

You grasp the bouquet of white roses tightly, the soft petals a stark contrast to the harsh reality closing in around you. The wine bottle remains in your other hand, its weight a reminder of the potential escape it offers—a fleeting hope in the face of overwhelming darkness.

Without breaking eye contact, you carefully uncork the wine bottle, pouring its contents over the delicate petals of the white roses. The rich scent of the potion mingles with the sweet fragrance of the flowers, creating a potent aroma that hangs heavy in the chamber.

Sunday's lips curl into a cruel smile as he watches you complete the ritual. "You are resourceful," he comments, his voice carrying a tone of begrudging admiration. With a flick of his finger, the dark magic surrounding Robin's cage dissipates, releasing her from her magical prison.

Robin emerges cautiously, her wings trembling with exhaustion and relief. She lands softly beside you, her gaze flickering between you and Sunday with wary apprehension. "Thank you," she whispers to you, her voice filled with gratitude despite the dire circumstances.

Sunday's smile widens as he approaches, his gaze fixed upon you with unnerving intensity. "Now that we have settled that," he says smoothly, his voice laced with dark amusement, "let's discuss the terms of our arrangement."

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach as Sunday's words hang in the air, heavy with implication. His proposal hangs in the balance, a dangerous game of negotiation and survival unfolding before you. Robin's presence beside you is a silent reminder of the stakes—her safety and your own freedom precariously balanced on the edge of Sunday's whims.

"You want to save Robin," Sunday continues, his eyes boring into yours with a chilling clarity. "And I can ensure her safety, but only if you agree to one condition."

Helplessness washes over you like a wave crashing upon the shore. You glance at Robin, her expression a mixture of concern and silent encouragement. Despite Sunday's dark nature, Robin's kindness and unwavering support throughout your journey resonate within you, a stark contrast to the cruelty and manipulation personified by her brother.

Nodding slowly, you swallow your pride and resign yourself to the bitter truth of your situation. "What do you want?" you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunday's smile twists into a smirk of triumph. "Marry me," he declares, his voice echoing through the chamber with finality. "If you want to ensure Robin's safety, you will become my wife."

The weight of his words settles upon you like a heavy cloak. You meet Sunday's gaze with a mix of defiance and resignation, knowing that this twisted bargain is the only path forward—a sacrifice to protect the one beacon of light in this dark and treacherous world.

"Fine," you concede, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "I'll marry you."

With a flick of his hand, he gestures for Robin to be escorted away by shadowy figures that materialize from the dim recesses of the chamber. Robin casts a pleading glance over her shoulder, her wings fluttering nervously, but she obeys silently, knowing her defiance could only lead to further harm.

As Robin disappears into the shadows, your heart sinks with the weight of her departure. You're left alone with Sunday, his gaze fixed upon you like a predator closing in on its prey. Instinctively, you back away, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

But Sunday moves swiftly, closing the distance between you with unnerving grace. He reaches out, his touch firm yet strangely gentle as he pulls you closer to him. His presence overwhelms you—his scent, a mix of darkness and intrigue, envelops you as he leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"All white, with a slight touch of red," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. His words send a shiver down your spine, a mixture of revulsion and resignation washing over you.

You hold the bouquet of white roses tightly, its delicate petals a stark contrast to the dark intentions swirling around you. Sunday's grip tightens around your arm, his other hand caressing the flowers in your hand with an unsettling familiarity.

"You will learn to appreciate the elegance of contrasts," he continues, his voice low and possessive. "Just as you will learn to appreciate the intricacies of our arrangement."

His words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You feel trapped, ensnared in a web of obligation and coercion. Despite the facade of civility, you sense the underlying threat beneath Sunday's smooth demeanor—a reminder of the power he wields over your fate and the fragility of your newfound alliance.

With a final, chilling smile, Sunday releases you, stepping back to survey you with a calculated gaze. "Prepare yourself.."

The air in the chamber grows colder as dawn approaches, casting long shadows that dance eerily across the stone walls. Sunday stands before you, his presence commanding and unsettling in the pale moonlight filtering through the chamber's high windows. His eyes gleam with a mixture of triumph and anticipation as he prepares to bind you to him in a marriage of his own making.

"We will not waste time with unnecessary formalities," Sunday declares, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. He steps closer, holding out a ring—a simple band of dark metal adorned with intricate runes that shimmer faintly in the moonlight. "This ring," he continues, his tone authoritative, "will signify your allegiance to me."

You hesitate, torn between defiance and resignation. The weight of Robin's safety presses upon you, urging you to comply despite the dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you extend your hand, allowing Sunday to slide the ring onto your finger. As the metal touches your skin, a chill seeps into your bones, a physical reminder of the bond you've just accepted.

"And these," Sunday adds, producing a pair of ornate handcuffs from the folds of his cloak, "will ensure your compliance."

The handcuffs gleam dully in the moonlight, their intricate designs hinting at their arcane purpose. Without another word, Sunday secures them around your wrists, the cold metal biting into your flesh. They tighten with a faint click, locking you in place, both physically and metaphorically, as his prisoner.

"You will accompany me willingly," Sunday states firmly, his eyes boring into yours with a

The journey through Sunday's realm is fraught with tension and uncertainty, each step echoing with the weight of the vows you've reluctantly accepted. As you follow him through winding corridors and shadowed passageways, Sunday's presence looms over you like a specter, a constant reminder of the bargain that binds you to him.

Finally, you arrive at a grand temple bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight filtering through stained glass windows. The air is heavy with the scent of ancient incense, and the stillness of the sacred space adds to the solemnity of the moment.

Sunday gestures towards an altar adorned with symbols of his arcane power—a place where rituals of both light and dark have been performed for centuries. "Place the ring here," he commands, his voice echoing through the chamber with a chilling finality.

With trembling hands, you comply, placing the ring upon the stone altar. Its dark metal gleams faintly in the moonlight, a stark contrast against the ancient stones worn smooth by the passage of time. As you step back, a sense of resignation settles over you, knowing that this act solidifies your entanglement in Sunday's web of influence.

"The husband may now kiss the bride," Sunday declares, his tone carrying a mocking edge as he approaches you.

You feel a knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of dread and helplessness welling up within you. Sunday's lips meet yours with a cold intensity, his kiss a stark reminder of the power he wields over you. Tears well up in your eyes, silent witnesses to the turmoil raging within your soul—the betrayal of your freedom, the sacrifice for Robin's safety, and the bitter taste of submission to a fate not of your choosing.

As Sunday pulls away, a faint smile plays upon his lips, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Welcome to your new life," he murmurs, his voice laced with a cruel tenderness that sends a shiver down your spine.

You stand there, trembling in the aftermath of his touch, the weight of your decisions settling heavily upon your shoulders. The temple around you remains silent, its ancient walls bearing witness to the unholy union forged in moonlight—a marriage bound by obligation rather than love, and a journey into darkness where every breath taken is a reminder of the choices made and the sacrifices endured.

Sunday stands before you in the moonlit temple, his eyes flicker with a mixture of amusement and something darker. His grip on your wrist remains firm, a silent reminder of your newfound captivity under his command. The air is thick with tension as he leans closer, his lips dangerously close to yours.

"You're a cute liar," he murmurs, his voice a low whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. "Pretending not to enjoy this."

Before you can protest, Sunday's lips capture yours in a kiss that ignites a conflicted storm within you. His touch is possessive, demanding, and despite your inner turmoil, a strange sensation stirs—a desire that feels alien yet undeniable, as if someone else within you is compelling you to respond.

You find yourself responding to his kiss, your body betraying your mind's resistance. It's as though a force beyond your control is pushing you forward, urging you to surrender to the allure of Sunday's power and the twisted dance of dominance and submission that now defines your existence.

The kiss deepens, the moonlight casting shadows upon the temple floor as you lose yourself in the sensation. For a brief moment, you forget the fear and regret that gnaw at your conscience. Instead, a dangerous thrill courses through you—an intoxicating blend of fear and forbidden desire that clouds your judgment and muddles your thoughts.

As Sunday pulls away, a self-satisfied smirk plays upon his lips. "You see?" he says softly, his voice dripping with triumph. "You belong to me now, body and soul."

A chill runs down your spine, a realization settling in that you are no longer merely a captive of circumstance but a willing participant in a game where every move brings you deeper into Sunday's web of control. The tears you shed earlier seem distant now, lost in the haze of conflicting emotions that swirl around you like the shadows in the temple.

You stand before him, breathless and uncertain, caught between the repulsion you feel towards him and the inexplicable pull he exerts over you. The moonlight continues to bathe the temple in its silvery glow.

Sunday's demeanor shifts once more. His gaze hardens, the cruel smile fading from his lips as he assesses you with a calculating stare. Without a word, he gestures towards a corner of the chamber where a small, ornate cage sits nestled amidst shadows.

"You've proven to be quite the challenge," he remarks coolly, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "But challenges only make victory sweeter."

A sense of dread washes over you as realization dawns—the fleeting moment of compliance and the kiss shared under the moonlight were merely tools in Sunday's arsenal, designed to reaffirm his dominance and your submission. You step back instinctively, but Sunday's grip on your wrist tightens once more, preventing any escape.

Before you can protest or resist, dark tendrils of magic coil around you, wrapping you in an invisible vice that pulls you towards the waiting cage. The cold metal bites into your skin as you're forced inside, the door swinging shut with a resounding clang that reverberates through the chamber.

Inside the cage, the air is stale and suffocating, a stark contrast to the moonlit expanse beyond its confines. You grasp the bars, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger. How could you have been so foolish to let your guard down, to momentarily forget the darkness that lurks within Sunday's heart?

Sunday watches impassively as you struggle against the magical bonds that hold you prisoner. "This is where you belong," he declares coldly, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Until you learn your place."

You glare at him through the bars, defiance burning brightly despite the helplessness of your situation. "You can't keep me here forever," you retort, your voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Robin won't rest until she finds a way to free me."

Sunday's smile returns, a mocking twist of his lips. "Oh, I have plans for dear Robin," he muses, his tone laced with malice. "But for now, you will remain here, a reminder of the consequences of defiance."

As you plead with Sunday from within the confines of the cage, desperation colors your voice. The darkness around you seems to press closer, amplifying the hopelessness of your situation. You know the dreams he speaks of—twisted illusions meant to erode your will, to bend your mind to his desires. Fear clenches your heart as you contemplate the horror of reliving those nightmares.

"Please," you implore, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. "Don't do this. There must be another way."

Sunday regards you with a cold detachment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considers your plea. The flickering torchlight casts shadows across his face, accentuating the hardness of his features. His silence stretches, the weight of his judgment hanging heavily in the air.

Finally, he speaks, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Prove to me that you are ready to submit," he commands, his tone brooking no argument. "Prove to me that you are willing to forget yourself, to embrace what I offer."

You feel a surge of indignation and dread rise within you. How could you prove such a thing, when every fiber of your being rebels against the thought of surrendering to Sunday's dark influence? Yet, the alternative—facing the nightmares that haunt your sleep—is a terror you cannot bear to contemplate.

Desperation drives you to search for a response, for some shred of hope or strategy that might sway him. "I... I can show you," you stammer, grasping for words. "I can... I can act as though... as though I accept your terms. I can... comply."

Sunday's gaze sharpens, a calculating gleam entering his eyes. "Actions speak louder than words," he observes, his voice a whisper of challenge. "If you can convince me, perhaps I will reconsider."

Sunday left.

...SOME TIME LATER.....

As Sunday returns to the cage, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor, a chill settles in the air around you. The torchlight casts shifting shadows that dance across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features and the darkness that lurks behind his eyes. You shrink back instinctively, the cold bars of the cage pressing against your trembling form.

He stops just outside the cage, his gaze fixed upon you with an unsettling intensity. "You misunderstand me," he says calmly, his voice smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of menace. "I have been nothing but kind to you, given you every opportunity to accept your fate gracefully."

You shake your head, defiance warring with fear as you stare back at him. "Your kindness is a lie," you retort, your voice wavering but defiant. "You manipulate and control, using whatever means necessary to bend others to your will."

Sunday's laughter fills the chamber, a hollow sound that reverberates off the stone walls. "Ah, my dear," he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Kindness, manipulation—what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? In the end, power is all that matters."

With a sudden movement, Sunday reaches through the bars of the cage, his hand brushing against your cheek with a deceptive gentleness. You flinch at his touch, unable to suppress a shiver of revulsion despite the warmth of his hand against your skin.

"You cannot escape me," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "Not now, not ever."

You pull away from his touch, the bars of the cage a barrier between you and the darkness that threatens to consume you. Fear and anger churn within you, a potent mix that fuels your resolve to resist, to find a way out of this nightmarish captivity.

"You underestimate me," you whisper defiantly, your voice barely audible above the crackling torches. "I will find a way to break free from you, to undo the web of deceit and cruelty you've spun around me."

Sunday's smile fades, replaced by a glimmer of something darker in his eyes. "We shall see," he replies cryptically, withdrawing his hand from the cage. "For now, enjoy your solitude. It may be the last peace you experience for a long time."

As the echoes of Sunday's departure fade into the stillness of the chamber, a heavy weariness settles upon you. The torchlight flickers dimly, casting a soft, wavering glow that dances across the stone walls of your cage. Despite your best efforts to stay alert and defiant, the events of the day weigh heavily upon your mind and body.

A creeping drowsiness begins to cloud your thoughts, your eyelids growing heavy with each passing moment. The cage, once a symbol of confinement and defiance, now feels like a sanctuary—a small haven where you can surrender momentarily to the relentless exhaustion that grips you.

Before long, Sunday returns, his footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. He stands before the cage, watching you with a calculating gaze that betrays no hint of the darkness that resides within him. Without a word, he unlocks the cage door and enters cautiously, his movements careful yet purposeful.

Gently, almost tenderly, he gathers you into his arms and carries you to the makeshift bed within the cage—a small cot draped with blankets woven from shadows and moonlight. The torchlight flickers overhead, casting a warm glow that softens the harsh edges of Sunday's features as he lays you down with surprising gentleness.

Suddenly you felt..weird

The creeping drowsiness overwhelms you, and as the weight of exhaustion pulls you under, you faint, your body going limp within the confines of the cage. The darkness engulfs you, a soft, quiet void where time seems to stretch and compress all at once.

Suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted, the sensation of strong arms cradling you as Sunday carefully opens the cage door. His touch is unexpectedly gentle as he carries you, his voice a soft murmur against the silence of the temple.

"My angel," he whispers, his words a haunting lullaby. "Won't you be mine again?"

Through the haze of near-unconsciousness, you struggle to respond, the words slipping from your lips in a barely audible whisper. "Yes," you breathe, your voice fragile and faint. The acceptance, borne of weariness and a desperate desire to end the torment, slips out before you can grasp its full meaning.

Sunday's gaze softens, a strange blend of triumph and tenderness in his eyes as he gazes down at you. "Good," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Rest now, my angel. We have much to do."

With that, the darkness claims you fully, your mind descending into the depths of unconsciousness. The world around you fades, replaced by a void where only the echoes of Sunday's voice and the weight of your reluctant consent linger.

As you sleep, the temple remains silent, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ancient stone floor. The night stretches on, filled with dreams and nightmares that blur the line between reality and illusion. Somewhere in the depths of your slumber, a part of you clings to hope, to the faint glimmer of light that persists even in the darkest corners of Sunday's domain.

You awaken sometime later, the memories of your fainting spell and Sunday's words swirling in your mind. The soft, dim light of dawn filters into the temple, casting a pale glow over your surroundings. The cage door stands open, a reminder of the choice you made in a moment of vulnerability.

You wake up with a jolt, your body aching and your mind foggy. The memory of fainting and Sunday's words linger at the edge of your consciousness. As you shift to sit up, a sharp pain shoots through you, radiating from behind your ears. Groaning, you reach up to touch the source of the discomfort.

Your fingers brush against something soft and feathery. Panic surges through you as you explore further, discovering that wings—delicate and painful—are now attached behind your ears. Your heart races, and a scream tears from your throat, echoing through the temple.

The sound of your own voice startles you, and you scramble to your feet, rushing to a reflective surface. The sight that greets you is both horrifying and surreal: wings stitched onto your skin, the wounds fresh and raw. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you try to comprehend the impossible.

As you stand there, trembling, a familiar glow catches your eye. A halo, faint at first, gradually brightens above your head. The sight of it fills you with dread and confusion. How can this be? You gave up your halo long ago, choosing to become mortal for the sake of your daughter.

The realization hits you like a thunderclap: somehow, Sunday has not only manipulated your body but also tampered with the very essence of your being.

"No," you whisper, tears streaming down your face. "This can't be happening."

The sound of footsteps draws your attention, and you turn to see Sunday standing at the entrance of the chamber, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Welcome back, my angel," he says softly, his voice filled with a chilling warmth. "I told you, you belong to me now."

"How could you do this?" you demand, your voice breaking with a mix of pain and anger. "I gave up my wings, my halo—everything! For a new purpose! How can you bring them back?"

Sunday's smile widens, a dark glint in his eyes. "Power, my dear," he replies. "The kind of power that transcends mortal limitations. I have given you back what you forsook, and now, you are bound to me more intimately than ever before."

You clutch at the halo, feeling its weight and warmth, a physical manifestation of the chains that now bind you to Sunday's will. Desperation claws at your mind as you struggle to find a way out, to reclaim the freedom that feels more distant than ever.

"Why?" you whisper, the question slipping out in a moment of raw vulnerability. "Why do this to me?"

Sunday steps closer, his expression softening as he reaches out to gently touch your face. "Because, my angel," he says, his voice almost tender, "I want you by my side. Forever."

As his words sink in, the reality of your situation presses down upon you with crushing force. The temple, once a place of ancient secrets and eerie beauty, now feels like a prison—a cage where your own power and identity have been twisted to serve Sunday's dark desires.

With a deep breath, you steel yourself, determination flickering to life within your heart. You may be trapped, your wings and halo restored against your will, but you are not defeated. Somewhere within the labyrinth of Sunday's realm lies the key to your freedom, and you will find it, no matter the cost.

Sunday's grip tightens around your arm as he pulls you close, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and dark determination. With a swift motion, he pushes you down onto the bed, his weight pinning you beneath him. The feathers of your new wings rustle against the sheets, the pain of the stitches a constant reminder of your altered state.

"You are the delusional one," Sunday snarls, his voice low and menacing. "You gave up everything that made you special, everything that made you mine. I simply restored what you foolishly cast aside."

His words cut deep, the weight of his accusation pressing heavily upon you. But as you lie there, staring up at him, a sudden clarity pierces through the haze of fear and confusion. Memories, long buried and painful, surge to the surface, and you remember why you hate him—why you could never truly be his.

He was the one who killed your father.

The realization hits you with the force of a tidal wave, the raw emotion nearly overwhelming. The image of your father's lifeless body, the cruelty of Sunday's betrayal, floods your mind, igniting a fierce and unyielding rage within you.

"You!" you scream, the accusation tearing from your throat. "You killed my father! How could you do that? How could you take him from me?"

Sunday's expression shifts, a flicker of something almost like regret passing over his features before it is replaced by cold indifference. "Your father was a threat to my plans," he says dismissively. "He had to be eliminated for the greater good. For our future."

His words only fuel the fire of your anger, your hands balling into fists as you struggle beneath him. "There is no 'our future,' Sunday! You stole everything from me, and I will never forgive you for that."

A dark smile curls at the corners of his lips as he leans closer, his breath hot against your skin. "You can hate me all you want, but it won't change anything. You are mine now, my angel. Forever."

Sunday's grip remains firm as he leans in, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that is both possessive and demanding. You try to resist, but the power that emanates from him, the dark enchantment he wields, begins to cloud your mind. The rage and clarity you felt moments ago start to blur, memories of your father slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers.

Tears well up in your eyes as you fight to hold on, to remember why you must resist. But Sunday's kiss deepens, and the enchantment intensifies, erasing the edges of your thoughts. Your anger turns to confusion, the reasons behind your hatred dissolving into a foggy haze.

You cry out, the sound a raw expression of pain and helplessness, but the reason for your tears becomes increasingly elusive. Why are you crying? What is it that you are mourning? The answers elude you, hidden behind the fog that clouds your mind.

Sunday pulls back, his eyes searching yours with a twisted satisfaction. "Shh," he whispers, brushing away your tears with a gentle touch that contrasts sharply with the darkness of his intentions. "There is no need for tears, my angel. Everything will be alright."

You look up at him, the confusion in your gaze clear as you struggle to grasp the fragments of your lost memories. "Why... why am I crying?" you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Sunday smiles, a cruel yet comforting expression. "You are simply overwhelmed," he says softly. "The past is behind us now. What matters is our future together."

His words seep into your mind, and the more you try to remember the reasons for your sorrow, the further they slip away. The image of your father, once so vivid, becomes a distant shadow, and the burning rage that fueled your defiance dissipates into a hollow ache.

You feel a deep sense of loss, but you cannot pinpoint its source. The tears continue to fall, and you clutch at the remnants of your memories, desperate to hold onto something, anything, that can anchor you to your former self.

Sunday's hands are gentle as he cradles your face, his touch paradoxically comforting and oppressive. "You are mine," he murmurs, his voice weaving a spell of compliance and acceptance around you. "And I will take care of you, always."

Sunday's fingers trace gently along your tear-streaked cheek, his touch deceptively tender. His eyes, however, gleam with a predatory hunger that sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he speaks.

"Will you let me take you, my angel?" he whispers, his voice a silken promise of possession. "Will you become one with me, body and soul?"

The question hangs in the air, thick with the weight of his dark intentions. Your mind is still foggy, the memories of your father and the reasons for your defiance slipping away like a distant dream. Yet, somewhere deep within you, a small, stubborn spark of resistance flickers, refusing to be extinguished.

You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper as you respond. "What do you mean, Sunday? What do you want from me?"

Sunday's smile widens, a chillingly serene expression that belies the sinister nature of his desires. "I want your complete submission," he replies, his tone both commanding and coaxing. "I want you to surrender yourself to me entirely, to let me envelop you in my embrace and become part of my very being."

Your heart races, fear and confusion warring within you. The enchantment that clouds your mind makes it difficult to think clearly, to remember why you must resist. But the small spark of defiance refuses to be snuffed out, and you cling to it desperately.

"Why?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling. "Why do you want this?"

Sunday's expression softens, his gaze almost tender as he strokes your hair. "Because you are mine, and I am yours," he murmurs. "Together, we can be powerful, unstoppable. But you must trust me, my angel. You must let go of the past and embrace our future."

As he speaks, a strange warmth begins to spread through your body, dulling the edges of your fear and uncertainty. The enchantment wraps around you like a comforting blanket, urging you to surrender, to accept his touch and his words as truth.

But deep down, the spark of defiance burns brighter, reminding you of the person you once were and the promises you made. With every ounce of willpower you can muster, you cling to that spark, refusing to let it go.

"I... I need time," you whisper, hoping to buy yourself a moment of clarity. "I need to understand."

Sunday's smile tightens, but he nods, his eyes still locked onto yours. "Very well," he says softly. "But remember, my angel, time is a luxury you do not have in abundance."

You gather your strength, your voice wavering as you speak. "My mom never came to save me," you say, the words heavy with sorrow and confusion. "Why didn't she come for me?"

Sunday's expression shifts, a dark satisfaction flickering in his eyes. He takes a step closer, his presence looming over you as he reveals the bitter truth. "Your stepmother never intended to save you, my angel. She gave you away to me in exchange for Penacony's land."

The revelation strikes you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat. The woman who was supposed to care for you, to protect you, had sold you off for her own gain. The fear that had been a constant companion now deepens into a gnawing dread, the realization of your betrayal settling heavily upon you.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head in disbelief. "She wouldn't... she couldn't..."

The weight of the revelation crushes you, leaving you feeling shattered and hollow. Your legs feel weak, but you force yourself to stand, each step a struggle against the pain and despair that threaten to overwhelm you. You walk slowly, almost mechanically, towards the window, seeking some semblance of solace in the world outside.

As you reach the window, the cold moonlight spills through the bars, casting long, ethereal shadows across the floor. You gaze out, the beauty of the night contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you. The moon, full and luminous, bathes the landscape in a silver glow, a silent witness to your suffering.

You press your hand against the cool glass, the stark reality of your situation pressing in on you from all sides. The betrayal by your stepmother, the dark enchantment that binds you, and Sunday's possessive control—all these things conspire to break you. The moonlight, once a symbol of hope and guidance, now feels like a cruel reminder of your captivity and isolation.

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as you stand there, bathed in the cold light. The wings stitched to your skin ache with each breath, and the halo feels like a mockery of your lost freedom. The moonlight reflects off the tears on your cheeks, making them glisten like fragile shards of broken dreams.

You feel utterly alone, the vast expanse of the night sky beyond the window a stark contrast to the confines of your cage. The sense of being trapped, both physically and emotionally, presses down on you with unbearable weight. The moonlight illuminates your sorrow, highlighting the depth of your despair.

you stand by the window, lost in your despair, you feel a pair of arms encircle you from behind. Sunday's embrace is both tender and suffocating, his presence overwhelming. His touch, though deceptively gentle, feels like a cage tightening around you.

Tears stream down your face, and a sob escapes your lips. "Just kill me, Sunday," you plead, your voice breaking. "I can't take this anymore. I can't be broken any more than I already am."

Sunday tightens his hold, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck as he speaks, his voice soft but firm. "I won't kill you, my angel. I care about you too much for that. Why should you waste your tears on people who never cared for you? Your mother, Your friends—they left you. But I am here. I care about you."

You shake your head, the pain and confusion swirling within you like a storm. "They were my family," you whisper, the words a raw confession of your grief and loss. "I loved them."

Sunday's grip remains steady, his tone soothing yet insistent. "They betrayed you, abandoned you. I am the one who has always been here for you, who will always be here. Don't cry for those who never truly cared. Be with someone who does."

His words are a twisted comfort, a dark promise of belonging that tugs at the edges of your broken heart. The enchantment he wields seeps into your mind, urging you to accept his version of reality, to find solace in his embrace.

You close your eyes, the tears continuing to fall. "I don't know what to do," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. The weight of your sorrow and the relentless pressure of Sunday's influence make it hard to think, to hold onto the small spark of defiance within you.

Sunday turns you around gently, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that is both captivating and terrifying. "Let me take care of you," he murmurs, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "Let me show you that you are not alone. You don't have to fight this battle by yourself."

The darkness in his gaze is tempered by a genuine longing, a desire to possess and protect you in equal measure. You feel your resolve weakening, the fight draining out of you as his words weave their insidious magic.

But even as you stand there, teetering on the edge of surrender, a tiny voice within you cries out for freedom, for the life you once knew. It is faint, almost drowned out by the storm of emotions and enchantments, but it is there, refusing to be silenced.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I need time," you repeat, your voice firmer this time. "Time to think, to understand."

Sunday's expression softens, a rare moment of patience and understanding crossing his features. "Of course, my angel," he says, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "Take all the time you need. I will be here, waiting for you, whenever you're ready."

He releases you slowly, his hands lingering on your arms as if reluctant to let go. You step back, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation. The path ahead is uncertain, but you cling to the hope that somewhere within you lies the strength to break free.

As you look up at Sunday, you see a softness in his eyes that makes you pause. His expression is so loving, so tender, that it stirs something deep within you. For a moment, the pain and confusion recede, replaced by a fragile sense of safety. His affection feels genuine, and despite everything, you find yourself longing for that warmth, that assurance of care.

You realize that you are tired of fighting, tired of the constant struggle and heartbreak. Sunday has always asked for your consent, has always framed his actions as being for your own good. In this moment of vulnerability, you begin to question your resistance. Perhaps he truly does care for you. Perhaps it is okay to let yourself be loved, even if that love comes with dark strings attached.

Slowly, you allow yourself to be manipulated by these comforting thoughts. You lean into the idea that being with someone who loves you is what you need, what you deserve. After all, isn't that what everyone wants? To be loved, to be cherished?

You look back at Sunday, your resolve softening. "Maybe... maybe you're right," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Maybe I should just... let go."

Sunday's eyes light up with a mix of triumph and genuine affection. He steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face. "That's it, my angel," he murmurs, his voice soothing and persuasive. "Just let go. Let me take care of you. You deserve to be loved, to be cherished."

You nod slowly, the last remnants of your resistance crumbling. "Yes," you say, your voice steadying. "I want to be with someone who loves me."

Sunday's smile is radiant, his joy almost palpable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world. "You've made the right choice," he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. "I will take care of you, always."

In his embrace, you feel a strange mixture of peace and surrender. The battles you fought, the resistance you held onto, all seem distant and unnecessary now. You let yourself relax, let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his affection.

For now, you are content to be held, to be loved. It is a relief to let go of the constant struggle, to give in to the comfort of his arms. And as Sunday holds you close, you tell yourself that it is okay. It is okay to be loved, to be cherished, even if it comes at a cost.

The moonlight continues to shine through the window, casting a serene glow over the two of you. In this moment, you allow yourself to believe that you have found what you were searching for: a place where you are wanted, a place where you are loved.

And for now, that is enough.

"Y/n..I'll wait for you to accept me..So don't worry..We won't have to do anything..uncomfortable to you..Tho, Kissing is quite normal to us nowdays.."

"....Thank you.."

[sarah-yyy]

what is war of faith about? is it worth a watch apart from just wang yibo(being gay?)? and where should i watch it?

you were all expecting me to do this so okay let's see how many others i can drag down this shenlai (i think this is the ship name we've settled on?? i have seen many 沈来之笔 tags on ao3 so i'm assuming that's what the chinese fandom has settled on) hole.

what: republican era communist spy drama (finance bros edition) // completed // 38 eps, roughly 40 mins each where: iqiyi (standard disclaimer that i don’t watch with subs so i don’t speak to the quality of eng subs) why: *chanting* yibo yibo yibo yibo yib- wang yang?? xiansheng???? i'll preface by saying i don't watch many republican era shows - it's really just not my thing, like even zhu yilong couldn't make me watch one and that's saying a lot, but i did finish and quite enjoy this one!! extremely strong cast on this show, and the story moved fast enough and had enough action in it that it kept my attention.

meet my boy wei ruolai:

ruolai is from a v humble family, worked hard to put himself through night school but is having trouble stepping foot into the finance world because he has no money, no connections, no diploma (the school is holding off on issuing him one because he's from a communist-stronghold province ��). he's working several jobs to make ends meet in shanghai when he decides to interview for a job at the central bank.

he aces his entrance test! ofc he does! ruolai is a bit of a whiz with numbers, and is very very very determined to get the job - the place could be on goddamn fire for all he cares, he'll finish his goddamn test and get this goddamn job even if it kills him.

his performance gains him the attention of shen tunan:

xiansheng!! 😍💖💕

chief of the central bank, The Guy™ of the finance and banking industry in shanghai. extremely attractive in a suit. 100% dilf certified.

xiansheng takes a shine on ruolai, but ends up not being able to hire ruolai despite his excellence because, again, ruolai is from a communist-stronghold province, and they don't want to take any chances with him possibly having communist ties.

does that set ruolai back?? no. my boy sneaks into a party that shen tunan is holding at his mansion, and convinces shen tunan to hire him by essentially picking apart shen tunan's ~secret strategies~ that he's uncovered just by following the finance news and making smart deductions 🥺💚

shen tunan caves and personally hires ruolai as his PA, and begins mentoring him and teaching him the ways of the banking industry.

the show is mostly about ruolai's growth in the central bank and the shift of his political beliefs, centred around the kmt and communist party's conflict in that era. the premise of the show is fairly simple - most republican era dramas move in the same direction. this one was well-written, had a solid cast, and beautifully shot.

the development of stn and wrl's relationship in this show was good! it's v shippable, if that's something that is important to you. ngl, i did stay through till the end because these two were so interesting.

we have proud teacher shen tunan who is so so proud of his boy and takes ruolai suit-shopping and tells him how special he is :

starry-eyed disciple wei ruolai who would literally do anything for shen tunan:

he really does mean it when he says that. he gets tortured and thrown in goddamn jail for shen tunan, and he just bears it all and doesn't let himself react in any manner that could harm shen tunan.

i started this strictly for yibo, and had no expectations that i would enjoy it, but guys...........wang yang is 🥵🔥 in this as shen tunan, and this ship just.......sails itself. what else was i supposed to do except go three hundred different levels of ahhhhhhhhh over them.

ANYWAY. strong rec. like at least 8.5/10. even if you're just in it for yibo (who is EXCELLENT in this, the whump scenes are incredible), or if you just want to ship shenlai, the payoff is strong in this.

[fallen-angel-with-broken-halo]

As a self-proclaimed fan of Epic: The Musical. Here's a breakdown of my thoughts on the newest saga! Spoilers for the Thunder Saga, obviously.

Love the melody on "Suffering." Especially the beginning. A lot about the song shows that something is off. The way the siren is trying to convince him to get in the water, to let her take away his suffering. In the meantime, Odysseus is manipulating her back, telling lies and letting her eat them up. Making her tell him how to avoid Poseidon is so obvious to the listener, but the siren was so oblivious. The almost playful banter is peak. (Her little "of course" and "oh no" kill me every time. It's so cute~)

"Different Beast" is INTENSE. The way Odysseus talks/sings shows how much his personality and behaviour changed in "Monster." The "we" changing to "he" in the chorus makes this all the more obvious. The sirens pleading for being spared, Odysseus showing no mercy because he was already hurt as a result of it before. He couldn't allow himself to make the same mistake. Ordering to kill them all while surrounded by screams... "He is the man-made monster." Love this double-entendre.

"Scylla" is gorgeous. And again, it's very telling about Odysseus and his mental state. First, we have Scylla coaxing Eurylochus to reveal his secret to further the roots of distrust within the crew and adding another reason for the later on betrayals. I find Odysseus saying that there's not much to say quite interesting but also again, showing how he truly felt. He was done. He just wanted to go home. Then there's her speaking to Odysseus. He knew that he wouldn't get out of there with everyone alive. And she knew that he knew. "Deep down, we only care for ourselves." That was a huge callout to Odysseus. He always acts like everything he does is for his son and wife, but in fact, that's very selfish when constantly facing foes with his crew. He prioritizes himself going home over others, allowing them to die. "Deep down, we're lonely demons from hell." That line has so many implications, not only calling back to Odysseus just recently leaving the Underworld, but also him becoming the monster. The lonely part has only gradually increased since the death of Polites, with everyone starting to turn on each other, which would culminate soon after this encounter. The final monologue of Scylla tells more about Odysseus than her, honestly. He had to both shed and be witness to the shedding of blood. He also had to give up his ideals so he could go home. They are the same. They both have hands bathed in blood, which reminds me of Odysseus singing in "Monster" about his foes and how they did not regret doing what they felt was right.

"Mutiny." Eurylochus had had enough of Odysseus prioritizing himself going home. He was not the only one who had something to say about it, however. The rest of the crew were also mad at Odysseus' willingness to trade their lives for his family. Odysseus didn't want to fight. He wanted to deescalate the conflict, but it was futile. Eurylochus was tired of suffering, people around him dying, awful living conditions, starvation. That essentially became the crews doom. The callbacks to "Just A Man" and "Luck Runs Out" in this one are painful. Also, the musical motif from "Survive" when Odysseus woke up and Eurylochus monologued! I don't know if there's an official name for it, but I adore it. Also, Eurylochus and Odysseus have pretty much switched roles in this one. Except in both cases, "Keep Your Friends Close" and "Mutiny," it was actually Eurylochus angering the gods. Another reason for what would happen in the next song.

"Thunder Bringer" is probably my favourite from the saga at the moment. The melody, Zeus' voice, the LYRICS! Personifying pride and constantly referring it to Odysseus, trying to uncover Odysseus' true nature by giving him the choice between his own life and his crew. Considering everything we know about his choices so far, we can easily agree with Zeus when he thinks Odysseus would choose himself. Every callback to the chorus of "Just A Man" hurts, and this one is no different, almost fighting against Penelope's voice. While the soldiers remind him that he's become the monster, his wife offers relief from the suffering. His choice is obvious. The countless betrayals, his tiredness from all the years of war and travel... All he wants is to be welcomed home with open arms (reference intended). But wow, the final exchange between Odysseus and Eurylochus- Odysseus sounds so damn desperate and scared, and Eurylochus resigned to his fate. The truth is revealed. "Deep down, I would trade the world to see my son and wife. I'm just a man."

[polydeuces]

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚎: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑���𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯 ; Dexter Morgan x Fem! Reader (Cult Leader)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ; You linger in Dexter Morgan’s shadows, close enough to feel the darkness he hides so well. You know his secrets, his rituals, the thrill he keeps hidden from the world. Silently, you wait for that perfect moment to step into his path—so he can finally see that he’s been hunted all along.

𝔠𝔴 / 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 ; (688words) mentions of cults, stalking, potential violence, intrusive thoughts, and elements of psychological tension.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

He was supposed to be the predator.

You’d watched him for a year now, the man who walked through the world with an all too familiar blend of invisibility and quiet command. Dexter Morgan, a blood–spatter analyst by day and something far more dangerous by night. But those were his surface-level disguises. You’d begun to peel back the layers, unraveling the nuances of a man who navigated life in the shadows, just as you have for so many years now.

It started innocently enough—fleeting moments when you’d caught sight of him on the crowded Miami streets, merging into the sea of faces like he belonged there. But you knew better. You knew what it was to wear masks, to walk amoung people undetected, unseen and unnoticed. There was something about him, the way he looked at the world, made him all the more intriguing.

So you watched. Carefully, hidden, with a patience you’d honed over years of practice, you observed him as he slipped out of his office at night, slightly tense in his gaze, focused, distant, as if he were listening to something only he could hear. Often times, you’d follow him to the places he frequented; his home, abandoned warehouses, places where the thin line between light and darkness blurred. You learned his routines, the way he’d pull his signature black gloves onto his hands, the way his eyes would sweep across the streets with a meticulous attention to detail before stepping into his own hidden rituals.

It fascinated you.. his dance, this performance between worlds. His life was a careful balance of precision and secrecy. And then there were his victims. You’d seen him work, watched from the edges as he sized up those he deemed worthy enough. You hadn’t intervened— after all, it wasn’t about them. It was about him. You needed to understand his purpose, what drove him and what rulebook or code tethered him to this life.

You began to study his life beyond the night as well, picking up pieces of Dexter Morgan, the man, the father, the blood-spatter analyst, the widower, the mask. You’d slip into his world unnoticed, lingering at places he went during the day; you listened to his colleagues, his sister and the casual comments that painted a picture of someone, friendly, yet distant, the “nice guy” who kept to himself.

You learned his patterns, his preferences, even the small, old habits he indulged in when he thought no one was watching. You uncovered the Dexter he showed to the world, the façade that kept his true nature hidden.

But you could see it—the subtle tension in his jaw, the guarded look in his eyes that surfaced when someone got too close, the small tells of a hidden life. The knowledge inside you—the kind of intimacy that was both exhilarating and forbidden—you knew him in a way no one else did, knew him not by the lies he told, but by the silence he kept.

So, you kept waiting, biding your time. You wanted him to know that he been seen, that he wasn’t as invisible as he thought. You wanted him to understand that he was no longer the only one who lived by a code of shadows. You watched him for countless nights—slipping in and out of his world like a phantom, leaving a sense of unease that you knew would begin to gnaw at him.

Until finally, one night, you decided it was time.

do not repost/duplicate on other sites. © polydeuces 2024.

note; i have a taglist open for updates on this story—just let me know if you’d like your name added !

important; please keep in mind that the dexter character is not my own original creation; it’s inspired by the work of the creators behind the tv show.

[nothomegal]

“The little owl family” (Part 6)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond.Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: a very light reference to suicidal thoughts at the beginning.

Word Count: 4k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

It's been a day or two after that late meeting between (S/N) and Michael. And... Things went oddly well from then! The little girl became more relaxed in his presence, and would often send him small waves when (Y/N) wasn't looking, and Michael would often answer with the same little wave. It became a little secret game of theirs, it was simple yet fun. The numerous close calls of getting caught or suspected by the older sibling would always awake the childish mischief inside of the man, the possibility to fool around a bit made him feel oddly comfortable and at ease, like momentarily experiencing the childhood he never had.

He also noticed that (Y/N) themselves began to act more on ease around him. There weren't as many death glares sent at his direction, mostly just some cassual glances as if to check what he's up to or where he is. He won't lie, he kinda missed the attention he used to recieve, but this calmer and passive (Y/N) wasn't too bad neither, it kinda made him feel more normal and welcomed actually.

But soon he began to notice that maybe this sudden passivity didn't start out of nowhere, and the reason would be uncovered pretty soon...

. . .

A light groan escaped through (Y/N)'s lips as they make their way towards the kitchen after putting their little sister to sleep. While walking, they've been holding their bandaged hand close to their chest, an instinctive attempt to soothe the throbbing pain that only increased over the days. They're pretty sure their awful sleeping also played a huge part of why the pain is so unbearable. The countless nights they've spent guarding the door of (S/N)'s room and staying on high alert durning most of the day over the past week really drained them, both phisically and mentally. Leaving just enough energy to breathe and maintain a positive actitude around their sister.

They let a sight of relief once they stopped in front of a counter that had all the medicines in. The older sibling reaches for the container of painkillers only for it to be suddenly snatched away right under their nose.

Already knowing who did that, they slowly turn towards the responsible of it, tiredly glaring at that stupid emotionless masked face they hated with burning passion.

The two of them remained still, observing each other in silence. Michael didn't even tilt his head, meaning that he wasn't wondering or asking, no... He wanted to know what they're doing and he wanted to know it now.

—"...What?"— you eventually blurt out.

No answer or movement.

—"I'm not going to kill myself, I just need some medicine because my wrist hurts..."— you elaborate tiredly. —"Can you give in back, please?"—

Still nothing.

The container was actually at a reachable distance. If (Y/N) really wanted they could probably snatch it back. But of course they're not stupid to attempt that, Michael is a very deceiving specimen and things are never as simple as they look when it comes to him and his shenanigans, (Y/N) learned that the hard way.

—"Look. I'm. In. Pain. I need this because I no longer can handle it. Please, give me back the container."—

Nothing.

They grit their teeth out of anger and frustration. Is this bastard mocking them now? Silently enjoying their suffering? Or he's genuinely oblivious of their clearly not okay state?

—"You did this to me, remember?"— you snap as you lift your bandaged hand to show it. —"You broke my wrist, it's been hurting for days and right now it's freaking unbearable. So please, just give me the painki-"—

Their heart nearly stopped when their injured wrist was suddenly grabbed by the masked man. All (Y/N) could do now is stay frozen and helplessly stare at the black eye sockets of the rubber mask, which were staring right back at their shocked expression. They didn't even notice their hands became shaky, anxiety slowly flooding their mind as they suddenly remember who is the man in front of them.

Michael Myers, the man who escaped Smith's Grove by killing with his bare hands anyone who stayed on his way, the man who scarred his own little sister for life by kidnapping her and killing everyone dear to her just because, the man that somehow escaped death and kept his reign of terror for an entire year without anyone being able to do anything... This man, this monster did horrible things, things that he can do to them whever he wants, and he may do it right now as punishment for their boldness and lack of self preservation.

(Y/N) doesn't even know what face they're making, their emotions are too unstable. The stress, frustration and exhaustion are way too much to handle right now. They can't even use the energy to mantain a stone face, not when they're trying to keep themselves from breaking down on the floor and scream out of the frustration.

They just want it to stop. They want him to go away and leave them and their sister alone. They want to stop feeling worry every second of their existence, to stop these anxiety spikes whenever the blade of his knife runs through their body as he teases them, to stop feeling fear whenever his dark gaze moves away from them and is casted on their little sister, to stop feeling guilt that creeps through them whenever they see sadness appear on the little girl's face when she catches them being upset, they wish they could make her smile again, please, make her real smile return...

They... They just want to stop feeling in danger... Feeling hopeless... Feeling like they failed...

Please...

Please... Make it all stop.

Whatever look they had, it was enough to make Michael suddenly let go of their arm. However, instead of walking away or stand still, he steps forward and closer to them, body langage unreadable as always.

(Y/N) doesn't move, they don't even look at him at this point. They simply let their arms fall limply on their sides and lower their gaze, not even noticing the hot tears sliding down their face.

They're so tired, they're done.

Their breath hitched when their body made contact with Michael's larger and warmer one, following comes the sensation of something equally solid and warm wrapping around their form in a firm grip.

The embrace was tight, maybe even tighter that the one from the night he broke in. It was hard to breathe, though (Y/N) is unsure if it's due Michael's strength or their own choked sobs they could no longer hold back. This gesture, though simple, broke them completely...

The more they quietly cried, the tighter the embrace got, as if the man was really trying to force them to spit all the angst out, and maybe he was. It's no secret that Michael has no knowlege about comfort, it's something he lacked most of his life after all. But now, right after seeing their gaze change, everything inside of him is yelling to grab (Y/N) and never let go. Their gaze... Oh, he knows that look.

That look on their eyes... It wasn't fear, it wasn't anger, it wasn't even hate. It was something dull, dull and lifeless, almost pleading for him to...

He presses his masked face against them. The only thought of having their blood on him makes him feel weird. Seeing (Y/N), who's usually composed, strong willed and straight up wild when it comes to the safety of their sister, so weak and broken in his arms, made the man feel very odd, a nasty and unpleasant type of odd.

—"...You."—

They grumble through gritted teeth as they press their forhead against his shoulder, as if really trying to hide their face.

—"I hate you..."—

He can feel (Y/N)'s fist collide with his back. Though the impact wasn't weak at all, it wasn't enough to make Michael let go, all the opposite, he only brought them closer.

—"I hate you."—

They repeat a bit lounder, tone cold yet broken.

—"Why do you still tormenting me? Why?... Why don't you just... J-Just..."—

Their voice breaks at the end of the sentence and is replaced by more cries. The punches soon ceased too, their hand slowly sliding off Michael's back. Soon their sobs began to quiet down and turn into ragged uneven breaths. They are mad, at themselves, at this man, at the world, at fucking everything!... But what pisses them off the most is that this bastard, the main responsible of their mysery, the devil everyone knows for the atrocities he commited, he's... He's somehow comforting them... Genuinely comforting them...

—"Why are you doing this?..."—

Silence.

—"Why are you making it look like you care?..."—

Because he does.

—"Why?... Why?"—

They kept repeating the same question over and over despite knowing that they will never get an answer. And to be fair, even if Michael could answer, he wouldn't. He doesn't know himself what he's doing or where this attachment came from or leads to, all he knows is that he desires to have (Y/N) close, hold into them like a predator into it's pray and never ever let go. But even with this unholy obsession, he can't deny the strange sense of comfort and completion (Y/N) brings him just by being around. Ever since (S/N) questioned him about his intentions and the strange attachment with the older sibling, he couldn't unsee or deny the way they make him feel. And even when they say they hate him, glare at him, try to hurt him... Even after all these unwelcoming actions, he just can't stop himself from wanting them around, from wanting them...

The two remain like this for a long time, even after (Y/N) stopped talking and crying they didn't move.

(Y/N) was a mess, both emotionally and mentally, yet they couldn't deny the fact of feeling a tiny bit better after letting it all out. Michael's grip on them remained tight, strong like steel, impossible to escape. It was like a cage... But a very needed cage.

No matter how much they try to deny it, deep down (Y/N) knows that they needed this, they needed someone to hold them tight as they spit all their concerns, pain and frustrations out. But that means nothing, that doesn't change the way they view Michael. Though his gesture is laudable, how do they know it's genuine? How do they know he's not taking advantage of them? Could this be his attempt to deceive them? Make them emotionaly dependent? And for what?... For what?!

What does he want from them for fuck's sake?!

They take one last deep breath, shuting down the swarm of thoughts and questions and finally calming down enough to speak properly.

—"Alright... I'm better, a bit better."—

But Michael made no movements, his grip remained strong.

They sigh again, a bit more annoyed.

—"Michael, really. I'm okay now. I-"—

They tried to lift their hands up to push themselves away, but a sudden yelp came out when they moved their injured wrist too harshly, making them recoil and Michael to finally let go.

—"Okay-... I'm not okay."— you grumble as you hold your bandaged wrist closely, trying to soothe the throbing pain.

When the ache somehow stabilized and (Y/N) looked up at Michael again, they were surprised to see him holding their car keys right in front of their face. They stare at the item a bit dumbfounded, questioning where the hell he wants them to go, until it eventually clicks.

They know what he wants them to do, and this is a golden oportunity to recieve propper help to their injury. But the anxiety and guilt of leaving their little sister alone, again, at night and with this man, is already eating them alive.

A couple of seconds of inactivity pass, and though (Y/N) was taking quite some time to decide, Michael remained stoic as a statue, patiently waiting for them to decide.

—"I..."— you sigh again, but with more determination. —"Nevermind. You're right, I need to go."—

They dry off the remaining tears on their face with a single rough wipe with their forearm. They have to quit crying, they embarassed themselves enough by having a meltdown in front of this bastart, which apparently was so bad and pity that he had to comfort them. Beside, they must stay strong, not just for their own sake but also for (S/N).

They reach for the key, but don't take it right away.

—"The terms are the same i suppose. I stay quiet about you and you don't disturb my sister, yes?"—

There is no movements from the man. Despite not seeing his eyes, (Y/N) had a gut feeling that he understood and accepted the deal. They mutter a quiet 'okay' before eventually taking the keys, without any issue suprisingly. Once all was settled, the older sibling steps aside but doesn't go towards the front door right away, instead they walk towards the stairs.

—"I'll make a quick check on (S/N) before I go, okay?"— you quickly explain before going up, not bothering to see if he did anything in response or not.

Suprisingly, Michael doesn't follow them, not this time. He remained at the bottom with his head turned towards the staircase.

To some the attention and worry (Y/N) shows for their little sister may seem overwhelming, but for Michael it is something to admire. They always place the little one in front of their own needs and safety, always checking on her and making sure she's safe and happy. Even after he came into their life, he saw the ammount of effort (Y/N) had always put into mantaining (S/N) away from him, to keep her hopes strong and always mantain that happy smile despite knowing it will dissappear as soon as he comes near...

(Y/N) is a good sibling, a very good and caring sibling. Is that how Judith could've been with him if given a chance? Would she ever made the same effort to treat him the way (Y/N) treats their little one? Would he be able to be as good to Angel? Was it too much to ask for her to remember him, to know who he is, to know her big brother was back home and be together as family ones again? Was it really so much to ask?...

"I wanna help you..."

"...But I don't know how..."

"...I wanna help you... But I don't know how..."

"...I wanna help you, but I don't..."

"YOU MOTHER FUCKER!"

Something inside of his chest squeezed uncomfortably, painfuly almost. He still remember these words and the way 'boo' screamed at him and the hate in her voice. It hurts, it hurts so much every time he remembers... He doesn't like the pain, it upsets him. Just why couldn't she recognize him?... What should he have done for that night to turn out different?...

The sound of footsteps softly going down the stair broke his train of thoughts.

—"Good news, (S/N) is still asleep. Doubt she will wake up until sunrise but I wouldn't go upstairs anyways, that girl sure wakes up from the randomest noises."— you comment quite casually.

However, they suddenly stop in their tracks when they reached the bottom and noticed that Michael wasn't following them with his gaze. A tiny detail that threw them off quite a lot.

—"...Are you alright?"—

The question made the tall man pause and realize that his hands were tightly clutched into fists. He slowly relaxes them, though an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth and the general tension in his body remained.

Despite not having a clear answer, (Y/N) gives him a somehow knowledgeable look.

—"Remembered something bad?"—

He stays unresponsive for a moment, until he moves his head, giving a slow and barely noticible nod.

(Y/N) of course got a tag surprised, since it's the very first time Michael actually does something to answer them instead of staring blankly and let them figure out the message on their own. They don't focus on the sudden gesture though, instead they let out a small hum as they nod as well.

—"It happens... I too remember things I don't want to, a pretty nasty feeling gotta say."—

No answer.

(Y/N) seemed like they wanted to say more things, they decided against it and instead resumed their walk towards the front door. They stop to put some shoes and jacket, not minding too much the fact of them wearing pijamas. But before exiting, they look back at Michael's tall figure staring at them from the darkness, his pale masked face being the only visible feature.

—"I'll do my best to return before dawn, but no promisses."—

No reaction from the man, as expected.

They turn around and open the front door and pause again.

—"...Thank you, Michael."—

And after these words, they finaly step outside and softly close the door.

The masked man only tilted his head at this last sentence. Though these were three very simple words, he couldn't ignore how they affected him.

And the tension and ache from his memories were now completely gone, as if these bad feelings never came in the first place...

. . .

After a long wait and a ton of scolding from the doctors for neglecting their sleep and health, (Y/N) was finally driving back home. Luckly their wrist is healing fine, the sourse of the pain were the bad placement of the bandages and the overuse of their injured hand. Though they don't remember all the details, it seems like they'll be okay.

It was already dawn and the sun was slowly raising. However, they weren't too concerned, it was still early and there is no way (S/N) is awake, that girl sure enjoys lazy mornings after all.

And even after arriving home everything seemed in order, no weird vibes coming out the building and no funny feelings in their gut.

But the second they enter and close the front door...

—"(Y/N)!"—

A happy joyful voice exclaimed their name before something small launched at them into a hug with enough force to knock out some oxygen out of them. Nevertheless, the older sibling miraculously manages to mantain the footing and catch the little girl in a hug.

—"(S/N)?! How long you've been awake?!"— you ask in surprise and concern.

—"Oh... Uh..."— she thinks while poking her cheek with her finger. —"I think the little arrow on the clock was pointing at the number 5."— she innocently replies.

—"You've been awake since 5 of the morning?!"—you almost exclaim as you kneel down and take her hands. —"Are you okay? Were you scared? Did you know I was at the hospital? Did Michael do anything to you?"—

As an answer to their waterfall of question, the little girl childishly giggles.

—"It was all okay! But... I did get a tiny bit scared when I woke up and you weren't in the house, I though my nightmate of you dissappearing became true!... But then I saw Michael, and he explained that you went to see a doctor!"—

—"Michael... Explained?"— you arch your brow.

As soon as that question left their mouth, the tall man appeared at the entrance of the living room with a small toy ambulance in his hand.

—"Oh..."— you blink as you stare at the small item. —"I... I guess that makes sense how he did it."— you momentarily relax, but suddenly tense up again as you redirect your gaze to your sister. —"But seriously are you okay? Were you out your room this whole time?"—

The little girl shrinks in her place a bit flustered and embarrassed.

—"Well... I know you said last time not to exit my room when I had to stay with Michael, I swear I tried to follow your request! But..."— she bites her lip as she shrinks more. —"Please don't be mad, but I was just too scared to stay up there. You never left at night before! And... And when mom and dad left it was night too and-... And-..."— she starts hiccuping a bit by the end.

The little girl is interrupted when her sibling suddenly hugs her, holding her in a tight, secure and loving embrace.

—"Oh songbird, no... I'm so sorry if I came harsh on you, there is no way I can be mad at you for feeling scared for me."— you say as you place your head over hers. —"The first time I left, I was scared too... I was scared that when I come back you wouldn't be here..."—

A small gasp escaped the little girl and she quickly leans back to face her sibling.

—"You have nightmares of me disappearing too?!"— she asks quite surprised.

—"Yeah, I do."— you reply softly. —"Ever since I managed to convince the old ugly people to let me keep you, I sometimes have nightmares where they take you away."—

(S/N) frowns a bit, her childish mind not expecting that her usually super brave and calm sibling had such fears and concerns.

—"So please, don't feel bad, okay? Let's just be happy and celebrate that I made it home safely and you didn't disappear, yes?"—

—"Yeah... Yeah you're right!"— she exclaims, her happy-go-lucky tone returning. —"And Michael actually wasn't that bad! Though I wasn't in my room we still did our own things! Like, I presented him my toy dinosaurs while he stayed in thaaaaat corner over there and listened."—

—"Uh-huh..."— you mutter quietly as you glance at the tall man, who only tilted his head.

Man, if what the little girl is saying is true, then (Y/N) definetely owes Myers a medal for handling their sister's speech. Don't get them wrong, they love (S/N) to death and absolutely adore when she shares her interests and stories she invented about her toys or for their 'owl siblings' series! But sometimes she may get a bit too engaged with it.

Wait... Could that mean that Michael is being genuine with-.

—"And so... (Y/N)."—

(S/N) voice calling them snapped the older sibling back to reality.

—"About the 'celebrate' thingy..."— she says, suddenly shy.

—"You want me to make a cake, aren't you?"— you throw her an unimpressed look.

—"Yes!"— she giggles as she plays with her fingers. —"The cherry one, pretty please?"—

(Y/N) only rolls their eyes with a smile as they stand up and start taking off their jacket and shoes.

—"I guess I could make us a cake, remember the ingredients we need?"—

The little girl practically ignites in joy.

—"Yes! Yes I remember! Let me see if we have the all!"— she hurriedly says the last part before running into the kitchen.

The older sibling only chuckled as they finish undressing. They start going towards the kitchen but stopped right at the entrance, eyes already placed on the tall man.

—"Have you ever tried a cherry chip cake?"— you suddenly ask after a short pause.

The man slowly tilts his head to the other side.

—"I'll take it as a no. I'll make enough for you to have some too."— you pause. —"Don't get me wrong, it doesn't mean I trust you or enjoy having you around, but... I definetely owe it to you, for keeping an eye on (S/N) and such, and... And for what you did tonight."— you throw him a tiny smile before walking into the kitchen.

Michael didn't follow, not yet. His mind kept repeating that last image of (Y/N) over and over, from their suprisingly calm voice to the soft look in their eyes. But what would make his breath shake was the smile. It wasn't fake, it wasn't nervous, it wasn't out of politeness... It was a genuine, small yet sencere, dedicated to him and him only smile.

He lowers his gaze and places his hand on his chest, gripping the fabric of his coverals tightly.

It's hard to describe what exactly this set of emotions is, it all feels new. All he knows is that he suddenly feels warmth, a very soft and pleasant type of warmth...

It feels very familiar... Yet so distant and forgoten... As if he haven't experience these emotions for a long, long time...

...

...Happy.

He feels happy.

[izzidane]

Hellsing by Kouta Hirano [JPN 1998 - 2009 | ENG 2003 - 2010]

Dark Fantasy , Horror | 10 Volumes: 89 Chapters

Seinen

For centuries, many secret organizations have taken part in exterminating various types of dangerous monsters. One of them is the England-based Hellsing, run by its cunning leader, Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. Her greatest hunter, and trump card, is Alucard, an unbeatable vampire genetically modified by her father. Despite him being one of “them,” he swore to be her protector and servant.

A new crisis begins and with the help of Seras Victoria, his recently turned vampire partner, Alucard has to uncover the truth behind the mysterious vampire attacks. Not every human is bound to be his ally in this battle, and he will not hesitate to kill anyone who stands in his way.

My overall rating: 9/10

[thekiltongrammarwriter]

Told you not to worry, but maybe that’s a a lie. 18+MDI

Summary: In the quaint, seemingly peaceful town of Whitfoshire, Pippa Fitz-Amobi leads a double life. By day, she’s the diligent and charming girlfriend, but by night, she transforms into a relentless vigilante, righting the wrongs that the law overlooks. You remain blissfully unaware of Pippa’s nocturnal activities, until the eerie atmosphere of Halloween begins to unravel the truth. As the town prepares for its annual Halloween festival, Pippa’s behavior grows increasingly strange. She becomes distant, her eyes shadowed with secrets, and her once comforting presence now sends chills down your spine. Determined to uncover the cause of Pippa’s odd demeanor, you follow her one fateful night, only to stumble upon a scene that shatters your world.

Warnings: UNHINGED PIPPA FITZ AMOBI, vigilante pippa fitz Amobi, suspecting reader, agad pip making a turn for the worse. 18+ descriptions of sexual acts and of course with the subject of crime and violence. Pippa fitz Amobi being unsettling. Description of crime. Blood, gore, knife play. Toxic relationships. Halloween vibes. Pip does it for justice…what agad pip could be. Emotional turmoil. Aggressive behavior. Pip giving off stalker vibes. But we love our agad pip…pip covered in blood…reader fancing it…pip being toxic and forcing reader sleeping pills. Fluff and angst with no comfort.

Pippa fitz amobi x fem reader

A/n: Went very dark with this one. Wanted to give my agad pip a oneshot to shine. I wrote pip in this one shot a very specific way, I wanted her to feel so unlike pip in the first book. Unsettling at first. This is all my own imagination and therefore she might be Characterized in a different fashion. Had to read AGAD multiple times to get her just right. And even then I feel I could have wrote pip better.

Words: 6.244k NOT EDITED. If any of my readers would like to be tagged in my works just let me know.

@caitlynskitten hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I want all the thoughts you can muster. 🫶

You remember so many things now that make proper sense. They all flit together like a puzzle, the pieces perfectly interlocking in such a manner that makes your head spin. The day DI Hawkins had knocked on your flat door, his Polar eyes as he asked for pip. The way Pip had halted her fingers on the chopping board, you could still see the slight stiffness in her form, the way her eyes had flitted up. you knew her well enough to know something was off. She had known what it was about. But you had just mistaken it for her utter disdain for DI Hawkins after refusing to listen to her claims. And you had thought nothing of it.

Pip had quickly put the knife down, the muscles in her cheeks clenching. Her blue irises darkened as she neared the doorstep, fingers immediately seeking your waist and pulling you farther from the door. Farther from DI Hawkins.

“May I help you?” She had gritted out, venom laced on her tongue, her fingers causing the edge of the wood on the door to creak. You still remember DI Hawkin’s feeble attempt to smile, rather by force or by his own guilt of not listening to the clever girl. His fingers had halted over his long coat, his boots glistening on the cobblestones that adorned your flat steps. It had been raining, a ghastly day. Something uncomfortable and ugly flashed across the man’s face and he gulped.

“Jason Bell was found dead at his place of work. Green scene in Knotty Green. Bashed with a heavy object it seemed like, whoever did this had it in for him. Awful bloody mess it was-“

You remember the intake of breath Pip had let out, remember her icy eyes flashing wide with what you thought was shock, but now you realize it was guilt. Perceived and acted perfectly upon that even DI Hawkins had been fooled.

You too. You immediately moved to hug her from behind, slotting your head against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her heart was rattling against her chest. Her fingers interlocked with yours over her shoulders, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“At the moment we are treating this death as suspicious-“Hawkins's voice was a lull in your head. You had been too preoccupied trying to keep Pip calm. You knew the disdain she had held for the man. Knew the anger and the pain he had caused his two girls. Becca still wouldn’t speak of him, but you knew well enough that the man brought chaos.

“We’d like you to come in-“

You had watched as a pip stood in the mirror, face a pale colour of grey, the edges of her eyes dark from lack of sleep, her eyes, a usual calm blue was the shade of a frosty cold day. She moved almost robotically, dusting of her trainers and tying them with a strong enough knot to break the circulation of her fingers.

“Can I do anything for you?” You had asked, moving to it on the bed, afraid to touch her, to set her off. She had been so on edge lately, with the Billy Karras case. Her run ins with aunt Lowe, the fall out of Lauren and Charlie green and Stanley-. It all seemed like too much and you wished you had the power to take it away.

Pip had flinched at your touch, and you had apologized, you mistook her hand trembles as anger, as her deep white hot heat that lurked beaneath her small body. Looking back at it now, how Pip had took your hand from her shoulder, had whispered a small, “come here…let me get a look at you” in her gruff drawl. Had positioned yourself in front of her, her sitting on the edge of the bed, you on your knees in front of her. At the time you had thought it sweet. How soft and utterly romantic Pip was being. Forehead leaning against yours, her deep dark hollow eyes peering into your soul. How her breathing had been shaky.

“I’ll fix this. I won’t let this break us—I cannot. Will not. You don’t worry one toss, alright my sweet?”.

The declaration was said through gritted teeth, and soon Pip had peppered kisses onto your forehead. “I should call Becca whilst I’m on my way to Amersham station-she probably hasn’t been told. I think the news would best be heard from me-“ Pip rambled, moving to grab her mobile, dialing the number.

“Why would DI Hawkins want to speak with you? You told me you haven’t seen Jason round in months since the memorial and Jamie?” You spoke, voice shaky. You knew Pip would never lie to you, and never on purpose.

The way Pip had halted her movements, her eyes moving to you, the soft tone in her voice as she neared, her fingers curling under your chin with the softness of a child, “It’s just to say they talked to me. To say that my troublesome self got the message. To ask-they’ll probably ring you and ask you some questions too. About me-but you’ll say the right thing won’t you?”.

You swallowed, what was the right thing? You hadn’t exactly been with Pip that day. Going about town and having done some errands you needed to finish— the thought alone had made you recoil, what were you thinking? This was your girlfriend. Your pip…the girl who would cuddle you at night and never let you open the car door till she had opened it for you. Your love was a love for the novels. With her adoring eyes and keen eager lips.

“I just tell him you were with Cara and Naomi?”

The edges of Pip’s lips lifted, her finger dancing along your lips. Like she got some sort of high seeing you uncertain and rather unknowing of her real true schemes. “That’s right…such a clever girl. My smart resourceful girl”.

True to her word DI Hawkins had reached out to you in the days following. You had been out, walking the little kilton streets and had been about to pay for a coffee at the kilton cafe when a large hand had shot up and payed the 6 measly pounds for you. You had thanked him, with nothing but a cordial smile. You weren’t fond of the man by any means. He had treated your girlfriend like muck on the bottom of his trainers more than once. Disregarded her during the Andie Bell case and Jamie.

You were thankful Pip hadn’t been there. You were sure if she had been she would have swooped in with her hands over your waist, that deep inner slight Possesive gaze, put her body over yours, and say in that calm ‘I should put you in the ground too’ cadence, “There’s no need. I can pay for my girlfriend’s coffee just fine”.

But it was Hawkins who had smiled and seemed to find you sweet, asking if you wouldn’t mind answering some mere measly questions.

Pip had prepared you well for events like these. Being her girlfriend meant many things. Especially in Kilton. There were many places where Pip was not welcomed. She had personally thrown the tiny town in a whirlwind. The Daily Mail had called her a ‘sleuth with no regard for the town’s inhabitants’ the Telegraph had vetoed her as ‘the adolescent crime chaser’ and that didn’t even count BBC’s own trademark of her. At best an insult of its own.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with details of my girlfriend’s whereabouts on the day poor Jason Bell was murdered. I was out shopping for most of the day, well off into the evening. But I can tell you my girlfriend accompanied Cara Ward and Naomi Ward on a small trip. Would you like time stamps?” You had questioned as soon as Hawkins had sat down, his curious eyes seeming to analyze you with a look of utter surprise.

The edges of his lips lifted a mere small smile. “Your girlfriend taught you well. Very clever girls you are.” But then his smile vanished, eyes moving to peer out of the cafe Windows. It had been a ghastly day again, England’s answer to droughts it seemed. “There’s been a development on the Jason Bell case. We believe the suspect involved in his murder is still out there. We’ve received reports from nearby towns of multiple stabbings.” Hawkins reached into his coat, pulling out a few photos. You would have gone sick all over the floor if you hadn’t looked away.

Blood, metallic tasting you could just feel it. Bodies ripped and broken. You could never understand how Pip could eye these type of photos and not bat an eye.

You held a hand to your mouth, feeling your stomach twist. Who could do such a thing?

Hawkins seemed sympathetic to you. Moving to put the photos back into the file. “This killer has a tell. For one thing, the killer after a kill writes these letters.” He produced another photo. This time the image was grainy and far too clear. But you could just about make the letters.

DGW

“I-I don’t understand what does that mean?”

Hawkins shook his head. “We-we haven’t a clue. And my constables don’t exactly give a toss. We-“Hawkins's voice halted, his eyes swirling from you to the letters on the photograph. His face contorted in an uncomfortable fashion, his lips pinching. Almost as if the words hurt to say. “We were hoping Pip would be available to lend us some of her—thoughts”.

You had actually chuckled. Feeling the rise of disbelief at his tone. Hawkins had done nothing valuable to Pip’s cases, nothing valuable except give your girlfriend a very healthy case of disdain for the police, for the justice system. And he hadn’t exactly been kind after Pip had reported her stalker. Which conveniently had disappeared into the space of the earth.

Hawkins had thought he could stroll in and buy your way in. Well…he had thought wrong. Because now you were angry.

“If you would like to have a sit down with my girlfriend you can ask her Detective. But I’d wager and say you won’t even get pass the threshold of our door”.

Hawkins’s cheeks clenched, the muscles pinching in his jaw, “don’t you think I know that? That’s why I’ve come to you. Pip can be stubborn. At least bring it up to her. This is a case she won’t want to pass up”.

You did bring the topic up.

Pip had been studying, cramming in as much as she could before her final exams. You had sat across from her reading one of your romance books. The type that Pip would giggle at and often recite sentences for you till you were both hot in the face and enveloped in cotton sheets and hot mouths.

You watched her, eying the way she held the pen in her hand, her blue eyes which were roving over the maths book. Her jumper was on, big and rather soft. Her hair was pulled down. Chestnut waves and pale skin.

“That romance book not interest you anymore little one?”.

You had rolled your eyes at that, tossing the book at her playfully. “No…I’ve just got a lot on my mind. It’s too distracting to read”.

Pip hummed, eyes still on the maths equation, eyebrows raised, “Fancy a talk?”

You smiled and immediately moved into your girlfriend’s lap. Feeling her arms wrap around you, her lips already kissing the crown of your head. Fingers swirling over your hair. You softly moved to pick a strand of hair, twirling it in your fingers. You knew now was the best time to air what DI Hawkins had said.

“I had a run in with Hawkins today on my errands out”.

As soon as the words were uttered from your lips Pip had stiffened, arms slighty tighter round your middle. Her eyebrows pinched in that pippa fitz Amobi way that you knew meant she was processing.

“What did that pathetic old excuse of a detective want?”

You licked your lips, moving to comfortably sit on her lap. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, making sure her eyes met yours.

“He wanted me to pass on a message. Although he did ask about your whereabouts on the day Jason was killed. As you said. I was the perfect actress if I do say so myself-“ you playfully spoke.

Pip cracked a minuscule smile, her fingers ghosting against the dip of your back, softly and sensually tracing the muscles underneath. “No doubt of course. High marks all round.”

But soon the playful pip was gone, the edges of her lips smoothed out, and she looked almost nervous.

“What is the message exactly?”.

You sighed, playing with Pip’s dungarees that had fallen, “Oh, apparently there is a new case popping up in towns quite near here. Stabbing victims apparently. Hawkins showed me a picture of the crime scene…ghastly ugly affair. I couldn’t stomach one photo”.

You had been too busy tracing the edges of her dungarees to notice the way Pip’s eyes had stilled. Her breathing halted for a fraction of the moment. Eyes dark.

“He let you see pictures of the crime scene?” Her voice had been brittle. Cold, alarmed. But you hadn’t noticed.

“Yes. Apparently, there’s been multiple stabbings. All done by the same person. DGW is written on almost all the crime scenes like some act of pride. His team is having trouble working out what those words mean. He wanted to have you have a look.”

You had moved to eye pip, and perhaps you had been to star struck by her blue eyes and sharp jaw to notice the now nervous almost stone-cold look in her eyes.

“I’ll have to have a chat with him about that. I’ve got so much on my mind I don’t think I could handle this case”.

You had shrugged. Thought it done with. As Autumn approached and the England air turned even more brittle and cold you had started to notice things. Small disturbances in Pip’s mood. She was never cross or angry with you. Her night terrors had gotten worse. Waking up in full body sweats with a heart-racing over the normal 100 beats per minute. She spent more time walking at night. You had offered multiple times to go with her.

But pip would kiss your head and tell you to stay. That she needed to clear her mind. A quick jog in the night's cold air would do the trick. So you let her.

You would watch her as she walked out of the flat, her jumper on as she would begin her jog. Her breath no more than wisps of condensation as she would run off into the pale night.

You wouldn’t sleep. You’d lie awake and wait. She usually wasn’t more than two hours. And after she would come in with steady breaths and a face so clear of troubles you were hardly certain she had even had a panic attack.

She talked about Stanley less. Saw him less in her dreams and in her daily thoughts. Or so she reported to you and both her therapist. She was sleeping better. Eating better.

She was the picture perfect of your girlfriend pre Andie Bell case. With her normal natural quips and Pippa fitz Amobi air. She was keen on you, touching you and kissing you anytime she could. She was an avid passionate pleaser when it came to you. Often nights you spent pressed up against her bed frame with your knees lifted up to your chest as she thrusted into you with the stamina of a young man. Her kisses were hot and heavy and her moans were loud and steady as she would take you over and over again. Pull you apart with eager fingers.

Often two times a week.

Her fingers were a lesson in beauty. It was absurd how all she had to do to get you riled up and a whimpering pathetic shell of your former self was a heady make-out session and a few minutes of eager tongue sucks and laps at your hardened embarrassingly pink nipples.

Her fingers would descend upon your soiled panties and pull them down with her teeth, her eyes a dilated blue as she would push them down all the way to your heels. From there on she would proceed to press soft kisses against your skin, till she would keep the apex of your thighs, where then she would gently let your legs open. Her eyes taking in your gleaming wet aching folds. Pip would close her eyes, breathing in before opening. Then with curious fingers, she would slowly ghost her fingertips over your enlarged clit, playing with it between her fingers and prying it open just the way you liked. Till she could feel it jump at her touch.

Then she would allow her fingers to play with your folds, puffy and wet. She spent her nights between your legs, and her mornings eagerly thrusting into you with her strap. And you welcomed it. Needing it. Wanting it. Aching for it. She took care of you with every breath she had. She would tell you she loved you whilst you ate her out or she ate you out, clawing at you like a woman mad. Fingers sensually interlocking with yours as she thrusted in and out, sweaty forehead a mess, and grunts a toss between gasps and moans. “I love you….. I love you I love you I love you-“.

You had no reason to doubt her. Why should you? Pip had spent a whole portion of her life dedicated to Andie bell, to Jamie Reynolds, to Sal Singh. You knew her intrinsically. Had tried to be as understanding of her moods and mental health since Stanley’s death and the fire.

The first inkling that something wasn’t right hadn’t been some massive sign. It had been something as simple as picking up her trainers and noticing some small minuscule dots of crimson. It was too dark to catch a perfect glimpse, the red bled onto the patch of the converse.

Your heart had done summer salts. Because the blood was across the sole, falling away like a drip from a knife. Even the thought alone had made you wonder. Surely there was some logical explanation for this. Pip must have cut her hand on a walk or jog. Or maybe Cara had done or even Ravi.

You had asked Pip about it. She had given you a calm smile, “Oh Ravi was helping me take the bins out the other day and sliced his hand on a tin of beans. I told Josh to put those farther down the bin but he didn’t listen. Got a healthy dose of blood on my trainer. I should wash it out with some cleaners so it doesn’t stain”.

You believed her. Had even asked Ravi how his hand was. He had replied with a slight nod like he was trying to get it over with. The answering. You hadn’t made it easy, assessing him like a trained detective yourself.

Your mind started playing tricks on you. What if your girlfriend is up to something? What if Pip is in danger? What if she’s taking more pills from Luke Eaton?

What shook you to your core was coming back to the flat and catching Pip standing in the middle of the kitchen sink. Trainers in hand as she dabbed some cleaner on the crimson flood. Your heart had nearly bugged out of your chest. The way her eyes had darkened, her mood seeming to be far away. Her eyes focused on the shoe almost automaton-like. She’s still focused on her task, scrubbing at her trainers with a fervor. The sound of water rushing from the faucet drowns out the sound of your footsteps as you back away. She doesn’t seem to notice you, still stuck in her own world.

You feel like a nutter. A crazy person. Your world was spinning. You want to tell yourself to stop. That pip is still the same girl you met before the cases. That she stands for justice and truth. That she would never hurt a fly. But then you remember her dark eyes and the way she had looked at Stanley’s funeral. The fury as she had chased after the crowd. Throwing the boards and all.

And maybe…just maybe a part of you had known then. But love was a powerful tool. And so you remained naive.

Till one autumn cold night as you, pip, Cara, and Connor strolled through Little Kilton’s excuse of a Halloween funfair. The lights loud and obnoxious. Children running in eager little legs as they run past you. Everything seems normal. Pip clings to you, hands on your waist, and a few kisses lingering here and there. Cara teases Pip, teases you till you're red in the face. Pip drags you to a camera booth. Pulling you inside and putting you on her lap, the first pic is a rather Pippa picture. Pip’s clever face contorted into a silly face. Her laugh is beautiful and makes your heart race, reminding you of Pip before the cases. Of the fun clever girl you fell in love with.

Halfway through the second pic pip snatches your chin, pulling you against her, lips eagerly meeting yours in a Frenzy passionate kiss. One where her tongue reaches the seam of your mouth and you can’t do anything but grip onto her, hoping she’ll go even deeper and twirl her tongue over your teeth.

Cara teases you about those pictures too. Saying pip can’t go a single minute without violating your space. Pip giggles and agrees. You rate your weight in candy floss. Fish and chips. Connor and you have a candy floss contest and he is half way, moaning over his upset stomach. Cara and Pip ride the merry-go-round like eager children while you sit and Pat a stomach-grumbling Connor. You can’t help but the rush of emotions as you watch Pip come into view, her giggles and large smile wide as she waves at you from the horse she’s on. Blowing you kisses. It’s a sight that makes your heart flutter. You know that before the nights are over you’ll be begging her to take you. To ravage you.

Once the ride is over and Cara and Connor have had their fill you three make your way to the entrance. You’re just about to call it a night when Cara states she has to go to the loo. Connor quickly follows. Pip agrees, spinning you around back to the loos that line the fair.

Cara and Connor scramble inside, racing each other like children till they both disappear behind the swinging loo doors. Your eyes are heavy and your limbs tired. Stomach tired from all the foods you’ve eaten. You lay against pip’s solid body, feeling her comforting touch. Soaking in her warmth. Her arm which is protectively around you. Her kisses are warm as she misses the crown of your head.

“Did you have fun tonight? It was nice of Cara to invite us.” You whisper, eyes closed.

Pip hums, “Cara’s treat. I had a rather nice with you tonight. Felt lighthearted. Just what I need. And now all I require is a night with just my girl naked and whimpering and writhing under me-“ she playfully smiles.

You’re too embarrassed, hiding your face in her jumper that you don’t notice the way Pip’s smile drops. Her blue eyes caught sight of someone in the crowd. The way her hands tighten on your hips. The way her eyes trail after the person. She licks her lips, eyes moving to the bathroom. She’s logical. Thinking of a way to discreetly get you away from her.

“Pumpkin, why don’t you go join Cara in the loo? You drank an awful lot of water after your candy floss contest. Don’t want you getting a stomach ache”. She’s saying into your hair. You sigh, moving to eye her. All sharp jaw and unfocused blue eyes. But you’re too tired to notice. Your body is not on high alert.

“You know me so well. I’ll just be a minute” you say, kissing her cheek eagerly.

You move into the girl's bathroom, it’s rather packed and Cara waits for you outside the stalls. She’s eager to rehash the night, going on and on about the fair and Connor’s upset stomach. Talking about her girlfriend Stephanie and how much she’d like the fair.

You end your taking longer than you want. You wash your hands and walk out with Cara, arm in arm. Connor meets your gaze. An inquiring look on his features as she catches you with Cara. You both seem to have the same question without even communicating. It’s Cara who voices it

“Where’s Pip gone? I figured she was out here waiting”.

An uneasy edge fills your veins. The thought waking your once tired and flimsy Brain up. “S-she’s not out here with you Connor?”. You don’t like the way your voice shakes, the uneasy edge to it.

Connor shakes his head.

“When I came out she was gone. I assumed she was with you. She never leaves your side. Especially in places this crowded.”

Cara doesn’t seem to notice the way your heart is rattling against your chest. “I’ll just phone her. Come on let’s go to the car. She probably got tired of waiting on us lazy hens.”

You feel the way your stomach spikes and suddenly you let go of Cara’s hand. “I think I see her. Just over there” you lie. “We’ll catch up”. It’s a lie, you don’t see her. But you want them to leave, for some unknown reason. For a reason, you hope you won’t find.

Cara’s eyes flit to yours, sensing something. She’s good at that now. Has been ever since her father. But she must sense your determination because she nods, “Come on con. We’ll wait by the car”.

Soon they become distant figures. You can feel your hands shaking from nerves. But you take a big breath. Eyes open before you make your way into the festival. Body moving just on account of your logical mind. You press your phone to your ear, dialing Pip’s contact, it’s a picture of Pip blowing a kiss, and it only serves to make you even more nervous.

The shrill of the ring in your ear is loud and seems to mess with your mind. You walk the fairgrounds, pass shrieking children, and pass the carousel Pip and Cara had rode in. You eye every face that passes, and each face makes your stomach drop. She’s not here. You make it to the edge of the fairgrounds, where the hill dips into the moors. The sound of the small lake meeting your ears. It’s dark and off the edge of the grounds. The lights from the grounds are far away.

You stare into the unknown moors, the dark playing tricks on you. Nothing but the sounds of a few badgers and lazy frogs in your ear. The sound of giggling shrieking children behind you. You’re just about to turn back, telling yourself this is all your brains way of coping with the stressful situation. You turn on your heels dialing pip’s number again hoping it’s Cara telling you Pip made it back to the car park when you hear it.

It stops you dead in your tracks. Makes your body freeze with adrenaline. Pip’s mobile. A distinct rustle of Vivaldi’s four seasons behind you in the dark of the moors. Where the small lake lies. Or just bellow. It’s too dark to see.

You feel sick. Think you will be sick. But still, you follow the sound. It’s dark as you move farther away from the fair, nothing but endless darkness. It isn’t till after a few minutes of walking you meet the calm English cliffside. Where the sea meets the beach. Nothing but the rocky beach and the moon light your path.

There are no people on the beach, and you can see the fairgrounds up on the hill, getting smaller as you walk. The ringtone has gone silent now. But as you near you hear it again. In the opposite direction, you were heading. Cara keeps calling, but you press it to voicemail.

As you move to silence another call you hear it. A muffled vibrating sound. Coming from the small secluded cove near the beach.

Your feet don’t move. You stay still for a moment. Your heart racing in your ears, ‘please god don’t let me find what I think I’ll find” you voice in your head.

But as soon as you near you spot it, wedged on the rocky ground. Pip’s mobile. Lighting up with a dozen messages. All in a span of ten minutes. First your messages, then Cara’s. A few miscalled from Pip’s parents. You pick it up, cleaning some rocks from it. The tiny pebbles fall of the screen. It’s been discarded here. On the rocks like someone just threw it without care.

You know Pip is strong enough to care for herself. She’s got fight in her. This has been proven time and time again.

And then you hear it. A squelching sound. A sound you know too well from your girlfriend’s line of work. Well, obsession. You freeze. It sounds like gurgling, and then you hear a loud scream. It’s male-like and makes the back of your hair stand up, your heart races and immediately you take a step back. Your whole body thrumming. You’re about to run off back to the fair when you realize. Pip’s phone is out here. She’s out here.

And immediately without a second thought, you move into the dark cave. Your phone lights off. The cave is dark and musty, water drips from its edges.

You’re tired and just want to find Pip. You’re hoping with all your might she’s in here. Playing some sort of sick twisted game. Find the detective. A game to sharpen your skills.

You hear a voice, now. Clearer. A male voice. It’s high and loud and—terrified. And then another scream. It makes your heart shatter and your body shakes, but you continue on. Mustering the last ounce of your courage.

It’s then you meet the dip in the cave, and you catch sight of two shadows. There’s a shadow on the floor, a man by the looks of it. It’s too dark to tell but you can easily spit the dark indents of blood on the floor. He’s whining and gasping. The type of gasps you hope you never have to hear again. Like he can’t breathe. It’s a desperate type of gasp, one that makes you want to cry.

But then you catch the second shadow. And your whole world stops. Your chest stops breathing. Your heart stops beating. Your mind stops moving.

You know those curls anywhere.

And then you watch as Pip moves the glinting knife into the man’s backside. Over and over again.

Squelch. Squelch squelch.

Scream. Scream. Scream..

Your breath hitches and suddenly you feel sick. You’re dizzy. Images of Pip as she kissed you before going on her jog. In the dead of night. The stabbings Hawkins had been investigating.

And suddenly you remember Hawkins words.

“Jason Bell was found dead at his place of work. Green scene in Knotty green. Bashed with a heavy object it seemed like, whoever did this had it in for him. Awful bloody mess it was-“

You remember Hawkins hadn’t disclosed the details. But pip had known. You had been to tired and naked and whimpering and used that night to recall pip’s words.

“It’s a shame he got pummeled six times in the head. Must have been a heavy hammer”.

Six times.

Hawkins hadn’t disclosed that.

And then you could hear pip, her voice taking on a dark cadence.

“You shouldn’t have ran. You shouldn’t have come here. You stupid pathetic little fuck—thinking you could come here and eye those girls in line…I knew what you were doing to their drinks. And this is what you get-“.

And then you watched as your girlfriend of six years, six wonderful dazzling albeit crazy years stabbed the man clean through. Blood soaking her cheeks and falling down her knife.

The man was silent. And you were too.

And then you were slipping on a rock. The panic in your chest seizing. You feel for sure you’re about to have a heart attack. Everything you know is a lie—

And then you hear it. The metallic sound of a knife falling to the floor. And you try to see past your tear-stained eyes.

Pip’s seen you now. It’s evident by the way her eyes widen and it’s like she’s a deer trapped in headlights. The blood on her cheeks is slowly caked into her face.

She lifts her hands in a calm motion, her blue eyes wide and so pip like you want nothing more than to sink into those arms. Those sweet, protective arms. Your arms.

But one look at the bleeding man on the floor and you feel panic rise in you.

Pip senses the way your eyes are flirting to the man.

She perceives the way your breathing, heavy breathes and wide tear stained eyes.

“It’s alright…you’re ok…look at me—look at me. Look at me y/n…” she speaks, she takes an eager step towards you.

You step back. A sob falls off your lips. Your chest aches. Your heart aches.

“I’m sorry you had to see that my love I thought you were with Cara-“.

She eyes your trembling chin, your sobs that wreck your body and her eyes are suddenly more beautiful and pip like than ever before. You see flashes of protectiveness in her gaze, you can see the way her body immediately moves but halts.

“Don’t cry….please don’t cry my love. You don’t need to afraid…it’s just me”.

Her voice is calming. The tone and Candace she uses when she hums you to sleep, and you feel revolted. Like you just might throw up all over the floor. And you think you will.

“Don’t-don’t get near me. You’re sick…I knew this all whole time and I didn’t-“ you choke, feeling your heart burst. You eye pip with blood on her cheeks and a knife in her hands. She’s shaking, eyes wide and looking guilty. Not if the crime itself. But if you.

“I knew it was you!! From the very first time Hawkins ever mentioned it! Why?? I don’t know! But god pip-you-you fucking—“ you yell. Your voice sharp.

“You’re sick—I can’t-I can’t do this anymore. I have-I have to get away I can’t-I can’t breathe” you gasp.

That gets pip’s attention. Gone are her adoring eyes, immediately she’s dropping the bloodied knife and scooping you up, you feel panic rise in your chest, and soon your kicking to get her off, but pip knows you well and immediately pushes you the ground.

She’s crying. Hot tears slide down her eyes, her cheeks need your neck even as you whine and yell and beg for her to let you go.

“Get off me!! Let me go!! I never want to see you again! You lied to me you’re a liar! You’re a liar and I hate myself for loving you—!” You sob.

Because even now with a bled out man and couple feet away and pip covered in blood and grime and the metallic smell of iron you still love her. Undoubtedly so. Devotedly so. Pip allows you to kick and thrash. To scream and cry.

She cries with you.

Murmurs of “I’m sorry” and “i would never hurt you pretty girl” pass through her lips. She can sense the panic in you, it’s wild and untamed and soon you’re throwing her off all unbalanced limbs as you struggle against her. You have no logic left. All your brain can perceive and know is she’s dangerous. No matter how hard your heart wants to forget. To keel over and have her arms around you. Make her forget these last three years. Three years of blood and cases and police and missing people and trauma…

Pip lets out a pained cry as you step on her foot, hard. She yelps and let you go, fingers moving to her foot.

It’s a juvenile act you know this. But it gets you out of her arms. And soon you’re running out of the cave. Your legs fast and wild as you run on the beach rocks. You don’t look back.

Tears spill down your eyes and you’re only half way when a body tackles you. Pip’s fingers are kind as she pins you to the beach floor. Your hair gets dust and grime on the edges. You cry out, begging pip to let you go.

But pip’s a mess too. She’s all pained blue eyes and tear stricken tears. She brings you to her chest, she can feel your heart and your limbs. Trembling beneath her.

You won’t be rational. Not for a while.

So pip fumbles with a packet in her pocket, tiny pill like substance in her fingers. With a look of utter hurt and guilt she immediately waits for you let out a gasp and when you do, your lips forming a perfect opening she slips the pill inside. Her palm covering over your mouth.

Instantly your eyes widen. Fear.

She shushes you, holds you as you fight against her hand. Trying to pull with your eager hands.

“Stop….stop my love. It’s just a sleeping pill. Stop fighting it…I-Ineed to think. I need to think and I can’t have you distracting me”. She utters into your hair. Her lips ghosting over your skin. Gentle like given the circumstances.

Her voice is a beautiful melodic orchestra of pain and agony.

Her eyes are downcast and tears escape her eyes as you struggle.

“Swallow it” she chimes, fingers ghosting over your mouth. It’s a command. Her fingers tighten on your mouth, your neck.

You know she would never hurt you. Or maybe she would? That thought makes you physically weak. And you cry harder. Fresh tears racing down your cheeks into her palm.

At that pip’s eyes soften, she brings her forehead against yours. Breathing in your quiet sobs.

“I would never hurt you. I would never—I love you. I love you my precious girl. This is why-this why I do it. Now you need to swallow that pill. And when you wake up-“ her fingers ghost your cheek. Over your trembling cheeks.

“When you wake up everything will be right in the world again. And this-this will all be a dream.” Her words are toxic and chill you to the bone.

But maybe you want that. Maybe you can live with that. Forgetting. So in an act of utter desperation you allow the dry pill to fly down your throat.

“That’s my girl….such a good girl. Even when you’re scared.” She observes.

Pip kisses you, over your cheeks over your hair, over your neck. Her neck and lips smell of blood. Eventually you feel the soft lull of her bloodied fingers, and see the blue of her eyes in the darkness. You’re to terrified to move. You feel the way your body is heavy. The toll of screaming and crying. The toll of the pill.

And yet…you can’t ever imagine a life without her. It’s horrific….the way you know you’d carry this secret to the grave. Look Hawkins in the eye and lie. Stand in front of a jury and lie. But it’s for her…you would.

A familiar quote comes to your bleary mind. Pip kisses you as she watches you exhaust yourself, rubbing calm circles on your back, still atop you.

“I’ll fix this….I promise….everything will go back to normal-just-just you sleep. Just sleep” she repeats between breathes.

Your body is tired and fatigued, your throat sore, and soon your eyes close. You hear once last word before you drift off, “I love you” and you hate yourself for echoing it. The last word you see as your eyes close is the blood bouncing off the cave walls.

DGW. Dead Girl Walking.

When is a monster, not a monster? Oh…when you love it.

[lightlycareless]

Okay but.. what if Satoru is her ex and now she is with Naoya because she was cheated on👉👈

IS THIS FOR THE HIGHSCHOOL AU? CAUSE IF IT IS I LOVE YOU AND THANK YOU FOR FEEDING MY ADDICTION.

Anyways, this add a whole new layer of complexity to Y/N and Naoya's relationship. I was toying with the idea of Y/N already having a boyfriend, or more like a crush, but tHIS omg....

So I rewrote this like 3-4 times, and at first I was like I don’t want to be angsty, but then I thought well, if Y/N was cheated on then it can’t be anything but angsty, because it’s a huge breach of trust, you know?

And thus, everything else occurred. I think I might've gotten carried away and I'm not sure if this is what you wanted.... but hey, it's what came to me :') I hope you like it nonetheless!

warnings: mentions of cheating, people being jerks, insecurities, that kind of stuff. it's sad at first, but I like to think it gets sweet at the end.

Let’s set up the bases: the one that would take the first step in terms of seeking a relationship with the other would be Naoya—since cheating was involved, Satoru is/must’ve been a jerk (well, he is known for being insufferable, but still)

Once that’s set…

The first time you stepped into Naoya’s life would be through the sprouting rumors of Satoru’s “love life.”

Nothing that he’d be able to keep a secret due to his popularity, if anything many thought it was surprising this hadn’t come out far earlier, but now that it was out, many of his “admirers” could do nothing but gossip about it. Amongst them, Naoya.

Naoya wasn’t necessarily the same type of admirer as the others—not… that infatuated. But he still wanted to be around him, since he considered Satoru to be on the same level as him, the same… social circle, per say. And because he thought himself to be somewhat remotely similar, he also needed to keep up with whatever he did.

So, when he heard that he used to a have a girlfriend, it was… well, shocking to say the least. And not because anyone thought he couldn’t get a partner, of course not, but rather, because he actually settled down for once.

And because that meant Satoru had gotten a girlfriend first before him, and that was… upsetting, to say the least.

But pushing that aside, he quickly became determined in finding out who was the “lucky” girl that managed to capture Satoru’s attention, enough for him to consider her for a formal relationship, and of course, why it ended.

Because of Satoru’s reputation, and the fact that he was single yet again, many began to assume that the reason why they broke up was because she didn’t “satisfy” him adequately.

That she was probably “boring” or couldn’t comply with his “extravagant” lifestyle. The girls sure were having the time of their life imagining how they’d be better suited for him, essentially allowing him a life of debauchery, while the boys were more inclined into meeting the one that managed to “catch” him.

Thus, Naoya’s search for Satoru’s ex-girlfriend begins.

He has a notion, something to begin with: for sure pretty, because let’s be real, Naoya doesn’t know anyone that would date someone they didn’t consider absolutely stunning. She just must be.

From there, someone that matches his prestige, meaning, rich; unless he decided to go a completely different route and choose someone a bit more… humble, but he doesn’t think so. Naoya knows how the game goes, old money must be preserved, and others outside of that social circle tended to not blend in, so he doesn’t believe Satoru would’ve bothered.

But anyways, Naoya would find soon enough; all that he needed to do is ask around, maybe even nag Satoru a bit so he’d tell himself… to confirm the horrible image she had thanks to the sour opinions’ others began to have of his ex-girlfriend, Naoya intending to do the same once uncovering her identity…

Until he finally saw her.

She’d been right under his nose all this time, a somewhat quiet yet giddy girl from another class, one year younger than him, who’d occasionally be teased by his seniors for the sole reason of being “overprotected” by her siblings, also students at the school, or were anyway, one of them already graduated.

A girl named Y/N, whom upon getting a better look at her… found her to be incredibly cute.

And the vivid contrast of what he believed.

He couldn’t believe it.

Naoya truly couldn’t believe his eyes. He always thought that if Satoru had broken up with her was because she… well, because she was a bit mundane, right? That had to be. There was no synergy, no good reason for him to stick around…

But the reality had been so much different. You—you were someone that he could only consider captivating given the way he couldn’t get his eyes off you. And because he always considered himself to be somewhat in Satoru’s level, meaning that they’d have similar tastes and what not… 

Naoya couldn’t fathom why he’d ever leave you.

For what little he’d seen of you, Naoya could easily disclose you were someone alluring.

So, Naoya decides to go forward with his plan, in the sense of approaching you to get to know you better. However, with a small change: not to divulge on you negatively, but rather, because he genuinely wants to do so…

And the surprise he receives is far bigger than he could’ve ever imagined; he hoped to find (yet again) something that would make you unlikeable, something to justify Satoru’s decision, maybe an annoying mannerism, a nasty habit, or just— anything, really.

But all that he finds… is things that pull him further and further into you. And soon, not only did he find you likeable, but also, wishing for something more… intimate between the two.

Starting by wanting to spend most, if not all, of his time with you. Getting to hear your voice talking about no particular topic—and it didn’t matter how, either. It could be a phone call, or in person—he just wanted to be the focus of your attention.

Or getting to see your face too. To see so first thing in the morning, or last thing at night, sounds amazing to him. Seek you out at soon as his classes are done, eat lunch together, (maybe even let you feed him? No, at least not in public) or do homework together. Since he’s already taken your classes, he’s more than happy to help you out, if it meant you’d praise him as sweetly as you’ve always done.

The thought is enough to make him blush—and with this, it’s clear that Naoya wants you to be his, and solely his.

Even if his skepticism about Satoru and his decision to dump you went on, it didn’t matter.

You were incredible, you are incredible. The girl of his dreams…. And if Satoru couldn’t see that, then he was a fool!

It was set then, he’d make you his girlfriend, treat you like no other has, and the two will be happy together, hopefully forever!

Or so… that’s what he wished would happen. Because his plans would only come to a screeching halt when you’d reject his sentiments, with a saddened face that more than portraying sorrow, displayed disappointment, gently shaking your head as you murmur.

“I’m sorry, but… I can’t”

And so, that’s how Naoya’s dreams would come to cease, with an abrupt rejection that left him hollow, voice of a heart, as he saw you further and further walking away from him, until you were no longer there, absent for the coming days.

But even when he was given more than enough reason to no longer seek you, Naoya couldn’t keep his mind off you. And every second of the day, whether at school or at home, all that he kept wondering was why you’d rejected him.

Why had you taken such a decision, and without even looking like you were considering it?

Had it been something he’d done? Did someone tell you something unsavory about him? If that’s the case, he can fix that. He can easily explain whatever it was, deal with whoever had done such a thing, so you’d talk to him again!

But… more than devastated by your rejection, he was deeply, incredibly infuriated.

Because rejection wasn’t something that Naoya took easily. For someone as egocentric as him, this was not something he could ever overcome as an unfortunate but common occurrence and just move on.

And with the previous notions he had of you through Satoru’s “friends” … those sentiments just grew bigger and bigger.

Thus, it wouldn’t take long before he approached you once more, but this time, with intentions of demanding to know why you had rejected him in the first place—all with a look on his face that made you flinch, never thinking him capable of such… harsh reaction.

But even after being suitably spooked, and consistently insisted on by Naoya, you eventually respond, at least with what you could muster so as to not appear any more vulnerable with him.

“Because I don’t want to.” You murmur, looking down to the floor. Naoya frowns.

“There must be a reason. There must be an actual reason as to why you don’t want to—it can’t be just because of that.”

“It is.” You reiterate. “That’s all.”

“I don’t believe it.” He insists. “You always have something to say! Now you’re telling me you don’t?”

You frown, if his actions weren’t hurtful enough, his words now offended you.

“If you’re going to keep making fun of me, you can leave”

“Keep?” he asks. “What do you mean keep? If anything, you’d be the one making fun of me!”

“Don’t act like you don’t know… it’s the whole reason why you’re here, isn’t?” you say, now looking up to him and revealing the now sorrowful look of your reddening, watery eyes. Naoya is slightly taken aback by the sight, his heart slightly twinging with pain. “To make a fool of me again, right?”

“Where did you even get that ide—"

“Just answer one question—just one” You interrupt, voice trembling before swallowing, as if to ease the nerves growing inside you. “Are you friends with Satoru?”

He blinks, taken aback by your query, but he does not answer.

“Answer me, Naoya!” You challenged “Do you get along with him, yes or no?!”

…

…

…

“Yes.”

“I fucking knew it.” You breathe, clenching your hands. “I knew it—I knew it.”

“What are you—”

“Drop the act, Naoya! I’ve seen right through you!”

“What act? What are you—what are you even talking about, Y/N?”

“What all his friends do!” you gasp. “What they’ve been doing the moment they found out I used to date Satoru!”

“What do they… do…?” Naoya murmurs slowly. “What does that even have to do with my feelings for—”

“It has to do everything.” You gasp. “It has to do with everything!”

You thought you’d be able to get away from the horrible experience your rupture with Satoru had brought you; those nasty, dark sentiments that completely engulfed your heart, leaving you nothing but a shell of the person you were, if not worse.

All because Satoru had committed the worst transgression he could’ve done at that moment, something so horrible and painful for someone as young and naïve as you:

He cheated on you.

When it happened, it felt as if your heart was being pierced with a thousand needles, twisted and pulled apart, before breaking up in a thousand pieces, settling in your chest to constantly inundate your mind, before drowning your voice with nothing but cries and tears.

And no matter how much you tried to move past this painful incident, think about anything else, your mind always brought you back to the horrible sight of Satoru being in the arms of someone else—and each time it just hurt worse.

Because after all was said and done, you truly cared for him. Far than just care for him, genuinely thought him to be your… other half, the love of your life. The man you’d end up marrying in the future!

Could you be blamed? He was your first serious relationship, and he had been the one to make a move at first… believing it was the start of your own love story, just as you’ve seen repeated over and over in the world around you.

But it wasn’t, and now, you’re here, left behind, in solitude, to pick up the pieces of your broken heart.

Your family would try to comfort you by telling you that this was just a one-time incident, that it was not your fault as you began to believe, that this was his decision, his fault, and that there was nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all.

Reaffirming that love still exists, even though it seemed almost impossible to think of at that moment, because after all, you had your mom and dad as an example—and most importantly, that pain will pass, you just have to give it time.

And perhaps because they insisted so much, or because you were always the hopeless romantic, you ended up trying your best to move on to a new day, think that the future had something better planned for you, that this was only a small stumble on the way, nothing more…

So, you began. One day at a time, surrounding yourself with your friends and family, people that had your wellbeing in mind; And it seemed to work, you began to feel a bit better, start expecting a better outcome for the coming days…

Until you met someone that began to show interest in you, far more than just a friend that is, and seemed to demonstrate so with his actions. He was charming, to say the least, funny, got along with everyone else, but was also very attentive to you, always making you feel special.

You didn’t want to think much of it at first, the scars in your heart reminding you to do so… but your poor heart began to think that maybe your parents were right in saying that “someone better always comes along.” That first comes the storm, and then… peace.

At last, it was finally your turn. It was finally the moment to meet the love of your life, the one that would make the rest of your days whole, and stop feeling lonely, as you’ve always felt.

Only to be proved wrong when you went on searching through his phone by accident after hearing it ring and ring, and he was away.

You thought it an emergency, the only reason why you’d ever do such thing… but the moment you did, you damned ever considering it such, for why he was being pestered over the phone wasn’t because his family needed him, or maybe some overdue project his teammates desperately needed to finish—it’s because he was disclosing all that he was doing with you with someone else, with a group… and making fun of it.

No—not making fun of the things he was doing.

Making fun of you.

Of the apparently silly ways you’d react, the stupid things you liked—but most importantly, wondering why Satoru ever considered you to be his girlfriend, when it was obvious with this past evidence, that you were nothing of the like. If anything, you got cheated on because you deserved it.

Because a boring girl like you probably deserved it.

And this shattered whatever was left of your poor heart, further secluding yourself from those outside of your social circle, quick to interject anyone that you’d sense had other intentions with you, hoping to save yourself from the pain—

Until Naoya came along.

There was something about him that immediately caught your attention, something you’ve never felt before, not even those jerks that attempted to befriend you—maybe it was his unusual hair color, the cool piercings on his ear, or simply because you found him handsome—that you couldn’t keep your eyes off him for too long. A fascination that worsened when you began to know him.

At first you thought he approached you because he noticed you staring at him, which caused you to be very, very tense when he began walking over to you; but thankfully, it didn’t seem to be nothing of the like, instead, he apparently just wanted you to help him move something from the nearby classroom onto another, and any other things that might pop up on the way.

It was slow, the way Naoya would interact with you when doing so, almost as if hesitant; but it wouldn’t take long before he became a bit more assertive with his actions, to the point where you decided to ignore your warnings and begin to open up to him, sharing the things you liked, and finding out that the two harbored many similarities than what you initially perceived… certainly far bigger than what you had with those that had come before.

With Naoya, he didn’t seem to judge you—didn’t look at you as if you’d grown a second head or was simply following your lead to pursue dubious intentions. No. He was listening to you and was sharing his own with an interest you couldn’t consider anything less than genuine.

You didn’t want to admit it easily, didn’t want to betray your hard-set motivation in keeping away… but there was something about Naoya that made it impossible, and while debating whether to pursue this feeling or not, you decided to rely on your friends for advice—albeit deep inside, you were looking for their blessing.

But instead of receiving the words you wanted to hear, those pushing you to follow your heart, you got a crude, cold reality check that quickly reminded you that your heartache had yet to end, and if anything, Satoru’s friends had just gotten more creative.

Satoru had no direct correlation with what was happening to you, for during your time is when you came to realize that someone with his status and power was bound attract lots of attention, and certainly… followers, whom ready to dissect every little aspect of his life—you included.

But was it really that hard to tell them to stop? To leave you alone? That even when you were the one that ended things, he was the one that wronged you, thus, you’ve already gone through enough?

Of course, that was something that fate wouldn’t grant you so easily, if ever. To be constantly reminded of a mistake you did in your youth, for now, in the shape of the young man standing before you.

“I know the game; I’ve been a player for far too long.” You say. “And I don’t want to keep going at it if all I’m going to be is a loser.”

There’s a sadness in your voice that immediately deepens the growing pain in Naoya’s heart, and soon, all the anger and disappointment he had towards you is quickly discarded, replaced by worry.

Just… what happened between the two?

“What happened Y/N?” he begins. “What happened with you and Satoru?”

“Don’t act like you don’t—” you begin to snap.

“I don’t” Naoya interjects, shaking his head. “I really, genuinely don’t know.”

And whether by the look of his eye, or the softness in his voice, you take it as him being honest. Maybe your personal life wasn’t as divulged as you thought it was.

Well, he ought to know now or later, so why not cut the chase?

This might as well be your moment to set the record straight, if it even mattered at that point.

“Satoru cheated on me” you begin, having to say so out loud still makes your heart clench, especially since the last time you ever uttered those words when was the wound was still fresh. “I… found him with someone else one day, when he was supposed to be doing something else…

I broke up with him soon after that and kept my distance, for my sake. But then, someone started to spread rumors about what happened, twisting the story to their liking, but always portraying me as the bad one. The one that deserved to be cheated on, because the “great Gojo Satoru” could never do wrong. And if he did, it’s because of a very valid reason.”

“What?” Naoya breathes, blinking as if that were to pull him back to reality.

Did he hear you right?

All this time, you— you were the one that—

“What do you mean cheated—”

“You didn’t strike me as someone who wouldn’t know what that means.” You frown.

“No, I know what cheating is.” He responds. “What I can’t believe is—”

“That he dated me? Yes, I know. I’ve heard it a thousand times befo—"

“No. That’s not it.” Naoya shakes his head. “I can’t believe that he—"

That he cheated on you.

That Satoru would cheat with the most perfect, beautiful, funny, supportive, caring girl he’s ever met in his life? Do that to the girl Naoya has been unknowingly dreaming of for all his life, and now had the pleasure of meeting?

How could someone so vile as Satoru not understand the blessings you represented?

Well, that was a bit hypocritical of Naoya to say at first, since he too was a very difficult person at times… careless to the privileges his status had brought, even more with the people around him.

But now that he met you, he could finally see the error in his way. The… fault in the ideology he carried.

Because he could never find himself, not anymore, harming the one person he’d ever felt such strong feelings for.

Now he knew why mothers were so overprotective of their children, why partners would go above and beyond to ensure that the other is safe, loved, protected…

He never felt that sentiment before, never understood why people were so… sappy, cringy with others.

Until he met you.

Until he met you, did he understand why they’d do so in the first place, and it felt almost silly that he ever thought otherwise, when now all that he wants to do is be with you, give you the whole world, bring you down the stars, if it meant you’d be happy again.

And to think he even justified the nasty things people were saying about you.

He’s even ashamed to have ever belonged to their side.

“My feelings for you are true.” Is what Naoya would come to say. “Since the moment I saw you, I’ve always felt this… attraction to you; but when I finally got to know you better, the person you truly are, is when I knew that what I felt for you was much more than finding you pretty.”

“Naoya—” you sob, tears now falling down your cheeks, raising your hands to wipe them equally fast as they began to appear. “That’s not—Don’t take me for a fool—!”

“If you don’t believe me.” He begins, taking a step closer to you and attempting to grab one of your hands, you swat him away. “Then let me prove it to you.”

“I don’t want you to do any—”

“However long it takes, whatever I need to do” he insists, finally taking hold of your wrist. “I’ll show you how much you mean to me.”

Naoya then carefully raises one of his hands to your face, gently swiping away one of your tears as you remained there, speechless, but sad. He didn’t know where this uncharacteristic softness came from — certainly never have done so in his life with anyone else— only that it felt right to do so.

And you… you wouldn’t have allowed such thing if you didn’t harbor any kind of sentiments from him to begin with, his words giving you hope for something you’ve long thought lost… but because you were in such emotional turmoil of disbelief, you didn’t find it in yourself to make a decision at that moment, or allowing him to be near you like this, opting to free yourself out of Naoya’s grasp, quickly turning around and leaving him on the spot.

It was undeniable that you didn’t expect him to go through with his words, initially believing them to be nothing but a joke, something to get you to lower your guard, and if he did, it wouldn’t last beyond a few days….

But Naoya would soon prove himself to be a man of his word when the 8th day came along and had gifted you for the consecutive time your favorite brand of mochi, the one you recalled telling him one time, if you ever did—to the point were you had to give some away because you didn’t believe you’d ever get to finish them!

Followed by a plushie of your favorite videogame, each day a different one, any that he could find, enough to fill boxes and boxes with them, making you consider opening your own store and reselling them…

Culminating in buying you the newest release of said franchise, which you’ve been saving up for weeks now, spending nothing of your allowance just for a chance to get it, but now that Naoya had taken care of that, what were you going to do with that money?

Well, whatever it was that you thought, Naoya would find out eventually, and take care of it, moving you back to the start.

But while these actions were… alluring by their own, they were nothing compared to what he did last.

Naoya would be underestimating his feelings if he didn’t voice just how infuriated he truly was to hear that first, Satoru had cheated on you, and secondly, that his so called “friends” had been pestering you about it—no, not pestering you, tormenting you. Picking at you as if you were the novelty hobby, the prime instigator, when it had been the other way around, and you were only smart to call quits!

He couldn’t see the same people he used to involve himself with without feeling disdain for them, especially those he knew had only gone above and beyond to make a miserable, laughingstock out of you.

And as the always determined man to take matter into his own hands, it didn’t take long for you to se the consequences of it.

It’s what finally pushed you to talk to him, after all.

“Y/N, good morning.” He says, a soft smile on his face upon seeing you approach him. Like a lost puppy, he couldn’t help himself from beaming with excitement when seeing your familiar, cute, adorable face looking at him after days of silence. “How are you—”

“…You had something to do with that, didn’t you?” you ask, straight to the point. Your bluntness surprised Naoya, but he can’t say he wasn’t expecting this at one point, hoped it would, really.

“With what?” He asks, there were many things he had planned for you, but he didn’t want to be the one to reveal them. Naoya wished to keep the element of surprise for as long as possible.

“You know exactly what. It’s… with them” and Naoya does his best to grin proudly.

“Did something happen?” he asks instead, feigning ignorance.

No.

Nothing bad, at least; completely unexpected… yet welcomed, because it gave you both things your heart always wanted, but never voiced in fear of being hurt.

“… the ones that made fun of me, they… apologized to me.” You begin, the first of your closures.

And it was only obvious that they would, for as soon as Naoya found out the responsible ones of your growing pain, he made sure to find them and give them a hard-earned lesson through… unconventional matters, nothing that could be traced to him, of course.

You could only guess what it had been due to the frightened look on their faces when they sought your forgiveness, as well as the bruises on their arms…

Which you didn’t necessarily agree with, but at the same time, you couldn’t deny the obvious: the impact that Naoya’s actions have caused on your life, starting from his appearance to his insistence, and now, this.

“Really?” He asks. “That’s good, it’s the bare minimum…”

“I don’t need to be a detective to know you had something to do with it” You respond, and he just shrugs, still putting up the ignorant act. But if anything, that just gave away his involvement.

“But… why?”

You knew the answer, but perhaps you needed to hear it with your own ears.

The second of your closures.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he responds. “I wanted to show you how much you truly mean to me…”

Before looking away, cheeks red upon noticing your intent stare at him, instead of running away.

“But, I mean—yeah, what they did was wrong. As I said, it’s the bare minimum!” he coughs. “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, not when you weren’t the one at fault.”

And at the culmination of his words, his actions, and now, your feelings—you can’t help but cry, tears falling down your cheeks as you let out a quiet sob.

But your tears weren’t of sadness, or disappointment, no. They were far from that.

They were of happiness, for the realization that you finally obtained what you’ve longed for in your life, what your heart always dreamed of since the moment you had conscience: to find the man that would do anything for you; prove you such… cherish you….

“I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—cry.” You’d say, laughing nervously as you do your best to wipe away the falling tears. “It’s the 2nd time you’ve seen me do this, and we’re not even that close—”

“What difference does it make, if you’re going to be my girlfriend either way?” He attempts to joke, lighten up the mood so as to get you to stop crying, but when you don’t respond is when he notes he might’ve greatly miscalculated the moment, feeling nothing but a jerk. “I—forget what I said, I shouldn’t—

“I…I’ll have to think about it.” You begin softly through sniffles. “It all depends on where we go on our first date.”

His heart soars for you.

“I know a place that might push you into considering it.” He teases, and for the first time, of many to come, he makes you blush.

“…We shall see, then.” You chuckle, continuing to wipe some of the tears off your face, until Naoya wins you to it by swiping them with his thumb. The gesture, alongside his closeness, further flusters you, but makes you feel good, nonetheless.

If being with him means you’d get this kind of attention, this kind of care, and the promise that your feelings will be reciprocated….

Then you wouldn’t mind giving love a second chance.