#no one has ever seen it and lived to tell the tale

[whencyclopedia]

Tsul'kălû', The Slant-Eyed Giant

Tsul'kălû', The Slant-Eyed Giant is a myth of the Cherokee nation and is among the most popular. The legend relates the story of the great giant, Tsul'kălû', his marriage to a Cherokee maiden, and how the people broke trust with him so that, ever after, he could not be seen, though his presence and power could be felt.

Tanasee Bald, North Carolina

Thomson 200 (Public Domain)

The giant's name, Tsul'kălû', means "he has them slanting", referring to his eyes. He is said to inhabit the top of the Tanasee Bald Mountain in modern-day North Carolina in his home, known as Tsunegûñ′yĭ. He is the Great Lord of the Game, the spirit invoked prior to and during a hunt, and he is said to assist hunters in tracking their quarry. As a spirit, the giant is invisible, and this is hardly unusual as Native American lore generally, and Cherokee tales specifically, abound with unseen spirits, but this tale explains how Tsul'kălû' came to be invisible and why the people never have, and never will, see him.

In the story, the young woman and her mother live in the village of Kanuga ("gathering place"), roughly, modern-day Hendersonville, North Carolina. The mother lives in the family lodge while her daughter lives in the asi – a wattle and daub house, often referred to as a "winter house", which is sometimes, though not always, smaller and more compact than a lodge. The asi of the Cherokee, historically, had no windows and a hearth in the center, and so it was always smoky and dark. Setting part of the story in an asi lends a comedic aspect to some parts of the tale, as the structure was not big enough to accommodate a giant, much less the giant and his wife, which would have been appreciated by the original audience.

This story – like the Cherokee legend of The Man Who Married the Thunder Sister, the Cherokee Ulunsuti tales, the Wihio tales of the Cheyenne, and the Iktomi tales of the Sioux – emphasizes the importance of paying attention to and following instructions. This concept appears frequently in Native American literature where supernatural entities bestow gifts on those who follow instruction, even if they do not understand the reason, and punish those who cannot do so. Frequently, the transgressor actually punishes himself or herself by failing to simply do as they were told.

Following instructions is a central cultural value of the Native peoples of North America generally, as it has to do with the observance of traditions, rites, and rituals, which need to be performed in a certain way, as they always have been, without deviation or innovation. In the following story, failure to follow instructions results in gifts withheld and the giant rendering himself invisible for all time.

Text

The following text comes from Myths of the Cherokee (1900) by James Mooney, republished by Dover Publications, 2014.

A long time ago a widow lived with her one daughter at the old town of Kănuga on Pigeon River. The girl was of age to marry, and her mother used to talk with her a good deal and tell her she must be sure to take no one but a good hunter for a husband, so that they would have someone to take care of them and would always have plenty of meat in the house. The girl said such a man was hard to find, but her mother advised her not to be in a hurry, and to wait until the right one came.

Now the mother slept in the house while the girl slept outside in the âsĭ. One dark night a stranger came to the âsĭ wanting to court the girl, but she told him her mother would let her marry no one but a good hunter. "Well," said the stranger, "I am a great hunter," so she let him come in, and he stayed all night. Just before day he said he must go back now to his own place, but that he had brought some meat for her mother, and she would find it outside. Then he went away, and the girl had not seen him. When day came, she went out and found there a deer, which she brought into the house to her mother, and told her it was a present from her new sweetheart. Her mother was pleased, and they had deer steaks for breakfast.

He came again the next night, but again went away before daylight, and this time he left two deer outside. The mother was more pleased this time, but said to her daughter, "I wish your sweetheart would bring us some wood." Now wherever he might be, the stranger knew their thoughts, so when he came the next time he said to the girl, "Tell your mother I have brought the wood"; and when she looked out in the morning there were several great trees lying in front of the door, roots and branches and all. The old woman was angry, and said, "He might have brought us some wood that we could use instead of whole trees that we can't split, to litter up the road with brush." The hunter knew what she said, and the next time he came he brought nothing, and when they looked out in the morning the trees were gone and there was no wood at all, so the old woman had to go after some herself.

Almost every night he came to see the girl, and each time he brought a deer or some other game, but still he always left before daylight. At last, her mother said to her, "Your husband always leaves before daylight. Why don't he wait? I want to see what kind of a son-in-law I have." When the girl told this to her husband, he said he could not let the old woman see him, because the sight would frighten her. "She wants to see you, anyhow," said the girl, and began to cry, until at last he had to consent, but warned her that her mother must not say that he looked frightful (usga′sĕʻti′yu).

The next morning, he did not leave so early, but stayed in the âsĭ, and when it was daylight, the girl went out and told her mother. The old woman came and looked in, and there she saw a great giant, with long slanting eyes (tsulʻkălû′), lying doubled up on the floor, with his head against the rafters in the left-hand corner at the back, and his toes scraping the roof in the right-hand corner by the door. She gave only one look and ran back to the house, crying, Usga′sĕʻti′yu! Usga′sĕʻti′yu!

Tsulʻkălû′ was terribly angry. He untwisted himself and came out of the âsĭ, and said good-bye to the girl, telling her that he would never let her mother see him again, but would go back to his own country. Then he went off in the direction of Tsunegûñ′yĭ.

Soon after he left the girl had her monthly period. There was a very great flow of blood, and the mother threw it all into the river. One night after the girl had gone to bed in the âsĭ her husband came again to the door and said to her, "It seems you are alone," and asked where was the child. She said there had been none. Then he asked where was the blood, and she said that her mother had thrown it into the river. She told just where the place was, and he went there and found a small worm in the water. He took it up and carried it back to the âsĭ, and as he walked it took form and began to grow, until, when he reached the âsĭ, it was a baby girl that he was carrying. He gave it to his wife and said, "Your mother does not like me and abuses our child, so come and let us go to my home." The girl wanted to be with her husband, so, after telling her mother good-bye, she took up the child and they went off together to Tsunegûñ′yĭ.

Now, the girl had an older brother, who lived with his own wife in another settlement, and when he heard that his sister was married, he came to pay a visit to her and her new husband, but when he arrived at Kănuga his mother told him his sister had taken her child and gone away with her husband, nobody knew where. He was sorry to see his mother so lonely, so he said he would go after his sister and try to find her and bring her back. It was easy to follow the footprints of the giant, and the young man went along the trail until he came to a place where they had rested, and there were tracks on the ground where a child had been lying and other marks as if a baby had been born there. He went on along the trail and came to another place where they had rested, and there were tracks of a baby crawling about and another lying on the ground. He went on and came to where they had rested again, and there were tracks of a child walking and another crawling about. He went on until he came where they had rested again, and there were tracks of one child running and another walking. Still, he followed the trail along the stream into the mountains and came to the place where they had rested again, and this time there were footprints of two children running all about, and the footprints can still be seen in the rock at that place.

Twice again he found where they had rested, and then the trail led up the slope of Tsunegûñ′yĭ, and he heard the sound of a drum and voices, as if people were dancing inside the mountain. Soon he came to a cave like a doorway in the side of the mountain, but the rock was so steep and smooth that he could not climb up to it but could only just look over the edge and see the heads and shoulders of a great many people dancing inside. He saw his sister dancing among them and called to her to come out. She turned when she heard his voice, and as soon as the drumming stopped for a while, she came out to him, finding no trouble to climb down the rock, and leading her two little children by the hand. She was very glad to meet her brother and talked with him a long time, but did not ask him to come inside, and at last he went away without having seen her husband.

Several other times her brother came to the mountain, but always his sister met him outside, and he could never see her husband. After four years had passed, she came one day to her mother's house and said her husband had been hunting in the woods nearby, and they were getting ready to start home to-morrow, and if her mother and brother would come early in the morning, they could see her husband. If they came too late for that, she said, they would find plenty of meat to take home. She went back into the woods, and the mother ran to tell her son. They came to the place early the next morning, but Tsulʻkălû′ and his family were already gone. On the drying poles they found the bodies of freshly killed deer hanging, as the girl had promised, and there were so many that they went back and told all their friends to come for them, and there were enough for the whole settlement.

Still the brother wanted to see his sister and her husband, so he went again to the mountain, and she came out to meet him. He asked to see her husband, and this time she told him to come inside with her. They went in as through a doorway, and inside he found it like a great townhouse. They seemed to be alone, but his sister called aloud, "He wants to see you," and from the air came a voice, "You cannot see me until you put on a new dress, and then you can see me." "I am willing," said the young man, speaking to the unseen spirit, and from the air came the voice again, "Go back, then, and tell your people that to see me they must go into the townhouse and fast seven days, and in all that time they must not come out from the townhouse or raise the war whoop, and on the seventh day I shall come with new dresses for you to put on so that you can all see me."

The young man went back to Kănuga and told the people. They all wanted to see Tsulʻkălû′, who owned all the game in the mountains, so they went into the townhouse and began the fast. They fasted the first day and the second and every day until the seventh—all but one man from another settlement, who slipped out every night when it was dark to get something to eat and slipped in again when no one was watching. On the morning of the seventh day the sun was just coming up in the east when they heard a great noise like the thunder of rocks rolling down the side of Tsunegûñ′yĭ. They were frightened and drew near together in the townhouse, and no one whispered. Nearer and louder came the sound until it grew into an awful roar, and everyone trembled and held his breath—all but one man, the stranger from the other settlement, who lost his senses from fear and ran out of the townhouse and shouted the war cry.

At once the roar stopped and for some time there was silence. Then they heard it again, but as if it were going farther away, and then farther and farther, until at last it died away in the direction of Tsunegûñ′yĭ, and then all was still again. The people came out from the townhouse, but there was silence, and they could see nothing but what had been seven days before.

Still the brother was not disheartened, but came again to see his sister, and she brought him into the mountain. He asked why Tsulʻkâlû′ had not brought the new dresses, as he had promised, and the voice from the air said, "I came with them, but you did not obey my word, but broke the fast and raised the war cry." The young man answered, "It was not done by our people, but by a stranger. If you will come again, we will surely do as you say." But the voice answered, "Now you can never see me." Then the young man could not say any more, and he went back to Kănuga.

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[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!

[hanasnx]

“ I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN’ YOU ” — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ suggestive content ノ sexual content: naughty daydreams about pussy eating, nipple play, and groping; masturbation; voyeurism.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” Those six words—six—have defined your relationship with your husband, LOGAN HOWLETT. There’s a great protector in him, this compulsion to mentor and house within him that stretches far beyond his own needs. You fall within that range, and as soon as you met him you latched onto him. It didn’t take long at all before your imprint was reciprocated. Now he thinks of you first in everything he does.

He may not always look it, but you’re a factor in all his decisions. Settling down, nabbing a good job—one that didn’t ask for his background—was all to put you up in a house in the mountains. Far away from civilization, an ivory tower made up of wood he cut himself, surrounded by acres of nature. He’s always thought of himself a hair on the wild side, somehow you tame that down. It’s good, he tells himself, you and him.

It’s a partnership, and all he wants out of you is your safety. He likes you where he can keep an eye on you, make sure you stay out of trouble, make sure you’re comfortable.

You wish you could explain just why he thinks he has to protect you, why he married you, why he pays all the bills and expects nothing in return. You wish you could explain just why this relationship comprises all facets of a real marriage except for intimacy.

Logan won’t touch you. You’ll eat off each other’s utensils, fall asleep on his chest on the couch watching a movie—hell, he’ll reluctantly incline in your direction with a roll of his eyes to let you peck his cheek good-bye when he leaves for work. Yet, he won’t even kiss you. Even before he married you, there wasn’t so much as a grope or a stray look.

There’s home in Logan. You live to please him. You’ll cook him whatever he wants, keep the house he built for you clean as a whistle, you’ll spend all your free time with him, grab him his nightly beer and light his cigar so he stays content—but you’ve never even seen him naked. You doubt you ever will. Regardless, you stay, you can’t imagine leaving this life, leaving him.

It’s defied your expectations the fairy-tales of your childhood gave you. Your knight in shining armor rescued you, yet refuses to plant even true love’s kiss. When you’d matured, you’d fantasized about an insatiable husband that found you so irresistible he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Logan’s never looked at you that way, even though he calls you his wife without hesitation, married you without a second thought.

“Is it because I’m younger than you? I’m only in my early twenties. That’s not a big deal!” you’ve reasoned with him, but he still treats you like you’re naive. He must want passion, you’re sure of that. Why else are you young and beautiful if not to take advantage of it while you still can? Just once you’d like to see him yearn for you, to show lack of restraint, to come home one day so hungry for you that you don’t make it out of the kitchen.

Those claws… those deadly metal claws… you wish he’d use them in fantastical and deviant ways. Just one would glide through your nighty like sheet paper, bareing you to your husband—a sight for him only. You lie awake next to him at night, envisioning raunchy dreams of him proudly boasting the size difference between you two, demonstrating his sheer raw strength by overpowering you and taking what he wants from you. You’ve run your fingers delicately over his lips and the rough pad of his shaved chin, but you can’t imagine just how good it’d feel against your tit, swirling his hot tongue around your perked nipple while his callused digits pinch the other. You can pretend his head is ducking between your thighs, the sensation of his soft hair tickling your skin and tangling in your fingers as his masculine jaw scratches the fragile tissue of your pussy. As starved as you are, even discomfort like that is enough to make you moan into your palm, only to check over your shoulder to make sure you still hear your husband’s snoring.

You steel yourself at the noise, the low rumbling of his sleep cautions you to stay quiet but to proceed nonetheless. Your hand creeps down your neck, your chest, your stomach… You really should leave the room, but you’d risk waking him up for real at the sound of the door. Instead, you fuck yourself yet again, the soft rocking of the mattress as you hump your own hand filling the ears of your kindhearted husband—who’s been awake this whole time.

[luxaofhesperides]

the beginning - danny

0.

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

2.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

3.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

5.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

6.

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

7.

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

8.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

9.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

[thisisnotthenerd]

a list of things we learned from the matron of ravens in this episode of bell's hells:

for her:

she has a greater awareness as a god, but can't tell what's going to happen in the future. the threads are tangled, and whatever cuts the gordian knot will guide the way to the future.

she and the arch heart are preventing calamity 2: electric boogaloo by refusing to knock down the divine gate and act.

some threads are beyond her reach, especially those who are tied to different realms or those who have artificially extended their lifespans.

in this moment of moments, after proving themselves capable of doing what must be done, bell's hells have seen the original face of the lady of death and lived to tell the tale. the face of a woman who believed in the impossible.

she has granted her aid in the form of her mask, which will call for all that she can muster.

for the people:

opal is on the ground at the hellcatch, serving as the hand of the spider queen there, likely alongside fy'ra rai.

chetney is soon to die, but not quite yet.

vax suffers in the orb, but can be taken out if the beacon is removed and the key destroyed. he was the last thing to surprise her in recent history. take me instead, you raven bitch.

laudna fell out of her realm via the machinations of delilah, but through love, through faith in imogen, in bell's hells, in herself, she is returning to the matron's realm of fate. whether she will be alive again is up to time and the decisions she makes.

she believes that love and faith will be what enables the ruidusborn to contain predathos as vessels. love and faith bolstering will.

the ritual:

the ritual of seeding took the aid of the previous god of death.

she first reached for a taste of divinity and met him.

she became a disciple and learned from him the magics of death.

they became friends, seeking the secrets of the universe and what lies beyond the coil both mortal and divine.

she performed the ritual as an act of love, of taking on the burden that fell to him as the one who looked to the void as what the gods were left from tengar.

in that moment, she who was a mortal wizard, a loving being who sought the impossible both for its own sake and its role in extending her love and faith

became the matron of ravens, she who presides over fate and death, who stewards souls to the beyond and weaves the tapestry of time with ever-changing threads.

[apartmentsmoke]

"Wait, wait, stop," Buck says, and the very pleasant feeling of Tommy's mouth on his neck vanishes.

"You okay?" Tommy's got his Look of Concern plastered on his face. Good thing, because if Buck is right, this is concerning.

"Yeah, it's just - did you hear that?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows. "I heard you moaning."

"Tommy, that's the thing - it wasn't me." The Look of Concern has morphed into the Look of Are-You-Sure-You're-Not-Having-Me-On? It's mostly used whenever Buck regales Tommy with tales of one of the 118's emergencies ("Nothing like that ever happened while I was there, Evan"), but he's seen it in other contexts (explaining the entire Kim situation).

"At this point, I think I know what you sound like in bed." Tommy's mouth is still nicely red. And maybe he's right, it was nothing, and it would be easy to fall back into him. Buck waits a beat, ears perked, but there's nothing - so he does press his lips into Tommy's, Tommy's body relaxing against him.

Tommy rubs his side like Buck's an anxious horse. The hair on Buck's arms slowly flattens, goosebumps leaving his skin. He loses himself in the slide of their kisses, until -

He breaks free of Tommy and looks around wildly, Tommy woah'ing.

"Sweetheart," Tommy says, reaching out again. "Seriously, you okay? Because you're giving Ghost Whisperer."

Buck snaps his fingers at Tommy. "Exactly. My apartment is haunted."

"Evan." The word is a drier desert than Antarctica.

"There was a moan again! And it wasn't me. And when Chimney and Mara and Jee were over here helping set up, they left the balcony door open. It's October. And now there is something living here."

"Last time I checked, Casper wasn't considered alive," Tommy says, and the look on his face tells Buck everything: he really is a skeptic. Falling asleep during Buck's thoughts on Area 51 wasn't just because he found Buck's voice soothing.

When Buck reaches for his phone on the bedside table, a chill runs down his arm and into his spine. "Okay." He's got Google, a helpful army of friends, and the ability to buy anything he needs. That ghost is history. "So first, we need to get -"

He's stopped by Tommy's hand on his wrist. "Baby, do we really need to figure out your ghost thing right now?"

"Do you want to fuck in front of a ghost, Thomas?"

"Is he a hot ghost?" Tommy waggles his eyebrows, then sighs. "Look, I get that this is important to you, but I was away for three weeks for that training camp and I missed you. Can we send The Flying Dutchman back to sea in a couple days? My place has a big bed and a distinct lack of the supernatural."

As they're closing the door to Buck's loft, another faint moan emanates from the air.

"It's the pipes," Tommy says, linking his arm into Buck's to guide them to his car.

(They find out three days later Tommy is technically correct when maintenance pulls a dead raccoon out of the walls of Buck's loft.

"Huh," Tommy says, frowning at his phone. "They really do make that noise."

"And they stink." Buck wrinkles his nose. "Your bed still open?"

By the time the landlord's finished the repairs, Buck's stuff, cleared out for the construction, is scattered over Tommy's house.

"It'd be a pain to pack it all up again," Tommy says. "Keep it here."

"You just want easy access to my hoodies," Buck accuses, feeling Tommy's laughter from underneath the fabric of the stolen blue hoodie he's wearing.

Two hours later, hoodie abandoned to the floor, Buck officially moves in.)

[thanks to @stardustbuck (Buck thinks he's haunted) and @theweewooshow (balcony raccoon) for the inspo 🫶]

[dilvei]

vei sama i have a request pwetty pls may i get yandere!monster x m reader it can be scenarios or oneshot or even a drabble i am so hungry for your writing

𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ( y! naga x m! human reader )

yandere! naga x m! human reader

warnings:

kidnapping

creepy + stalking behavior

dubcon/noncon

oh and some venom poisoning

brief mentions of corpses

first post here so idk what to add help

thank you for requesting pookie 🙏🙏 this almost went into smut territory ngl but i remember u said u only want a little bit of sexy so i'll end it right there hehe + i think its better for it to stop right there too so :)) hope you love this one since i know you like snake bois 🎀🎀

✾ | you are a hunter, a monster hunter, to be exact; stalking predators under the safety of shadows, silently prowling, avidly watching.

✾ | you have always known the dangers ever since you were but a little boy, ever since your father fell victim to the large amount of dangerous beast leeching their hide in the darkness of the woods.

✾ | but being a monster hunter has its perks—money, for one—and you are never one to deny yourself, especially when you have the perfect set of skills that would make the job much, much easier.

✾ | the request that forever alters the fate of your life comes in a murky, rainy evening, brought to you by a young survivor who lived to tell the tale.

✾ | the heaving man with haunted eyes comes to you immediately, pace frantic as he pushes through the crowded tavern to hand you a heavy bag of gold.

✾ | "this is only a quarter of it," he says as he pants, a hand shivering as he holds on to his own cloth. "i want you to kill the hideous beast hiding in the cave. i want him dead by the morrow."

✾ | by the time the clouds above has parted enough to let way for the moonlight to shine on the damp earth below, you are already in gear, striding into the forest with a rabid-like smile.

✾ | if only you had known that, this time, the monster you'd thought would be your prey, has been eagerly awaiting your presence all this time.

✾ | as you wait near the cave, searching for signs of life from a safe distance, your predator is all smiles, feasting on your figure from afar, unseen, patient.

✾ | when you think to yourself there is no monster hiding inside the cave, nothing but a mountain of corpses and bones that's putrid smell crawls under your skin, the creature lunges from the shadows, presence felt before seen.

✾ | your weapon helplessly clatters to the ground before the creature swiftly seizes both your wrists behind your back with a single, powerful hand. then, a cruel, slithering tail entwines your lower body, coils tightening around you with inescapable force, rendering you immobile in the creature's grasp.

✾ | you cannot run, so you twist your neck for a glimpse, only for both awe and horror to fill your lungs. it almost leaves you breathless.

✾ | you realize that the creature that has captured you is a naga, a serpent guardian, a half-human and half-snake, feared and revered in equal measure.

✾ | his upper body is unmistakably human, with muscular arms and a face that is both eerily beautiful and terrifyingly alien. his lower body, however, is a massive, sinuous tail, its powerful coils tightening around you with every passing second.

✾ | the naga smiles at you, and an instinctive shiver wracks your body, a distant part of your mind realizing that, somehow, the naga has been patiently waiting for this, for all of this, for you.

✾ | the naga's grip tightens, pulling you closer until you can feel the heat of his scorching breath against your skin.

✾ | slowly, almost deliberately, he laps at your trembling neck with his forked tongue. the twin tips of his tongue flicker over your pulse point, sending hot shivers down your spine.

✾ | and then, without warning, he plunges his sharp teeth into your neck, a searing pain radiating from the puncture wounds, a breathless gasp escaping your lips.

✾ | you can feel his venom coursing through your veins, a burning heat spreading from the bite as your vision blurs and your limbs grow heavy. it takes hold quickly, the venom rendering you completely powerless against him.

"You are adorable, little hunter," the naga says, sweetly. He releases his hold on your hands, now that you are unable to struggle, and cradles you against him, pressing you flush against his upper body, as if to soothe you.

His hand carefully caresses your cheek as he looks down at you, smiling gently, almost proudlike. "A human who acts like we are prey, a human who thinks himself better than us. How rare it is to find a piece of treasure like yourself."

With the last of your strength, not yet rendered useless by the venom, you turn your head away, only for his fingers to catch your chin, tilting your gaze back to him.

"I have been watching," he croons, "for quite some time now. My eyes have always followed you, whenever you stepped foot into these woods."

Your breath hitches at the confirmation, but even more so at how utterly enamored the naga sounds as he says those haunting words.

"My little hunter, my adorable treasure. Your presence has tempted me for so very long now. I could no longer ignore it, especially when I imagined how exquisite you would look under my grasp."

You feel utterly helpless, and it doesn’t help when he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I made a plan.”

You close your eyes, but you can still feel the naga’s gaze piercing into you.

"The man who gave you this job—a frail, pathetic-looking man, wasn’t he? It was I who sent him.” He laughs, a cruel and chilling sound. "It was I who ordered him to find you, to send you here, so you could be all mine."

A soft kiss is pressed against your cheek, and you suppress your urge to vomit.

"I'm glad you arrived here safely, my little hunter. I am so utterly happy, so utterly famished to taste you, to taste everything of you."

His heavy breath is against your ear now, and you can feel him grin as he asks, "You would want that too, wouldn't you?"

You open your eyes, see the crazed look in his slitted eyes, and tremble once more. "There is no need for such fear in your eyes, my sweet darling. I am not your villain," he sing songs.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

"I am not your predator, and nor are you my prey."

Your jaw clenches as your mind spins and spins and spins.

The naga chuckles at your expression, wanting to forever etch it into his mind. "You and I. We will only ever be each other's. I am yours, and you are mine."

"Beast," you finally spit out, venom lacing your voice.

The naga pauses, his eyes widening, before an absolutely elated expression crosses over his face. He seems terribly sated as he, so very slowly, whispers to you his greatest and utmost desire, "I am your beast. Forever."

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 18 || The Emotional Arc

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, angst, & fluff.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.6k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——OKAY... THAT'S WEIRD, VERY WEIRD.

Where the hell is Choso?

For starters, your bedroom is dark so you're pretty sure it's early in the morning-- perhaps two or three am, maybe later. You don't know how long you passed out but based on the stillness and darkness that surrounds you, you can tell the sun has yet to rise.

You slowly sit up, having been lying on your side. The second you move, you can feel the soreness in your legs, "Cho...?" You call out softly.

No response.

Hell, it's almost scary how your voice echoes through your apartment. With the way your bed is, you can see straight out of your bedroom door and you get an awkward view of your living room to some extent.

You're able to tell that the TV is off. A slow gulp emits from you as you swallow hard. Did... Did Choso leave you?

Your head shakes the thought away as quickly as it came. You turn to your nightstand and squint your eyes to look for your phone, soon spotting the device and reaching for it. You have no texts or calls from the man, there's no kind of note left to say anything, and you only grow more worried.

Though, you don't want to panic completely until you make sure you're not going crazy. Maybe he fell asleep on the couch?

Right. With that in mind, you sigh and put your phone back down, carefully swinging your slightly trembling and overly sore legs off the bed. Your feet make contact with the cold floor below and you inhale deeply.

The man is probably just sleeping on the couch out of some kind of respect, right? He probably didn't want to somehow make you uncomfortable by sleeping next to you... Yeah, that sounds like something he'd do.

You have to extend your hand out to your nightstand and use that to stand on your feet. Everything from the waist down feels sore and shaky. You turn away from the nightstand and use whatever surfaces you can to make it to your room door.

Every step you take is frustrating. You thought Mr. Fushiguro had done a number on you but what Choso did was so much worse.

When you get to your bedroom door, you narrow your eyes and take in the entirety of your apartment. It's all dark and you can't see anything. You'd turn on the lights but if Choso's asleep, you don't want to wake him.

So instead, you walk with your arm against the wall, using it to hold yourself up through each step until you eventually reach the living room. You take small but quick steps toward the couch, approaching the back of it and resting your hands on it.

Choso isn't there either.

The couch not only looks completely cleaned of all evidence but it also smells good. There's like a little lemon scent emitting from the freshly cleaned cushions. No one would ever know that you squirted all over Choso's face in this very spot just a few hours ago.

His clothes, which you remembered being in some pile on the floor, are nowhere to be seen. Neither is his phone, keys, or anything that belongs to him. You glance over to your front door where you know shoes are usually lined up and still, no sign of anything belonging to Choso.

Okay... don't panic yet... He could be... in the bathroom?

So, that's your next destination. You wobble toward the guest bathroom, then the bathroom in your bedroom, and even the bathroom in Shoko's bedroom. All void of any signs of Choso. You checked around Shoko's room a little too just in case but still, nothing.

Your heartbeat is steadily increasing in nervousness. There's this subtle panging in your heart but you keep ignoring it as you check other parts of your apartment.

Of course, your apartment is only but so big and there aren't that many places the man could've gone. The last place you end up in is the kitchen and by that time you're hoping and praying that's where he is.

Alas, your kitchen is empty. There's that panging in your chest again, this time stronger than the last and completely unignorable. A shaky exhale leaves your lips as you gather the fact that the man left you.

Sure, he cleaned you off and made sure there was no mess left but... You're left feeling so... used?

You blink, an abrupt wetness glossing over your eyes for a moment. Your sights shoot up to your ceiling as you chuckle at yourself, almost like a madwoman. The sound of your soft laughter fills the air, followed by a sniffle and a shake of your head.

You didn't just get played right?

No. No way. Not when you're already forced to whore yourself out. Not after the weeks you spent getting to know Choso. Not after he left such a beautiful mark on your heart. And certainly not after you caught feelings for him...

A snicker leaves your lips. At this point, you felt like you were going crazy. There's absolutely no way Choso just used you for sex.

You laugh at yourself before exiting your kitchen and wobbling back to your bedroom. You shake your head at your thoughts as you climb back into your bed.

Nope, he didn't just use you. He totally didn't fuck you and leave. Choso definitely did not play you. If anything, you're dreaming right now.

Yeah, that's the most logical thing, right? You waking up alone like this is nothing more than a figment of your imagination--  a nightmare, even.

Surely, if you lay back down and go back to sleep, you'll wake up in the real world where Choso is holding you in his arms and he'll tell you that you had some kinda bad dream about him leaving you.

Mhm, yup, that's exactly what's going to happen. You comfort yourself into your mattress, your head sinking into your pillow as you shut your eyes and try to force yourself back to sleep.

You try to shut your brain up and fall asleep but... your thoughts won't stop.

Is this what you get? Is this some kind of punishment for something you did? Did Choso really leave you like this? Not even a text or note? Just nothing? Is this the kinda guy he really is, the kind to just fuck and leave?

And Gojo said Choso didn't understand the concept of hookup... Yeah, that's bullshit. Hell, everything Gojo's told you is probably bullshit. All his stupid difficulty levels, this stupid list, the stupid amount of money he gives you, that stupid promise he made to you, all of it.

Everything Gojo told you about anyone on that list was a damn lie. It's all a lie. It's all bullshit. None of it makes sense. You hate the list, you hate Gojo, and you think you're gonna hate Choso if you wake up and he's really not there...

There's a sharp throb in your heart at that last thought of yours. You? Hate Choso? In what universe...??

He was so nice to you, so caring, so gentle, so fucking hot... There were no red flags, were there? Did he ever give off anything suspicious or negative-

Holy shit, wait.

Your eyes open and your heart drops for a second.

Did he... Did he find your journal?

As quickly as the thought echoes in your brain, you remember that the journal is hidden in a locked dresser drawer and the key to said lock is in only a place you'd know. Realistically speaking, he'd have to be a really nosy person to have found your journal.

So with that, you scratch that possibility off.

Leaving only one...

Choso left you because he got what he wanted.

But, that just can't be true. You should call him, right? Maybe text him and ask where he went...

Yeah, that's smart.

You sit up halfway and look at your idle phone. For some reason, you just freeze as you look at the device.

Do you really want to know the truth about why he left? What if he doesn't even answer the phone? What if he blocked you? What if he does answer the phone and does a complete one-eighty with his personality? What if Choso is secretly an asshole?

You grit your teeth as you stare at your phone, a sudden slip of water rolling down your cheek. The feeling makes you sit up fully, rushing a hand to your face and wiping the single tear away.

Does that help though? No. Right after one tear, multiple begin streaming down your face. Fuck, you can't do this right now.

It's too much. Between the overwhelming stress you've been suppressing for weeks because of the list, the sudden feeling of being used, thinking Choso's just an asshole, and the horrid ache in your legs... you can't take it anymore.

Everything sucks. This profuse rush of stress, anxiety, and self-pity engulfs you. Is this all you are to these men? Just some tool for them to use whenever they want?

Gojo uses you to clear his debt and now Choso uses you for... what, his own amusement??

So this is all you're good for then. This is all they view you as-- a tool.

You dread this feeling swirling in your heart. You feel like trash, like you've been abandoned by the one person you least expected it from.

Tears are coming in a little heavier now as you pull your knees to your chest and cry into your blanket. You're too scared to call or text him. You don't even want to face the truth, too scared of the reality you may have to face.

Things were going so well for you just a few hours ago. Is this some kind of curse or something? This is the second time things have gone from great to terrible in less than twenty-four hours.

And like always, aside from yourself, you blame Gojo for it all. Damn him. It's his fault you met Choso, his fault you had to seduce the guy... not so much his fault that you caught feelings though-- that's on you.

The sound of your sniffles and soft weeps fills the dead air of your apartment.

You don't know how long you sit there crying but it was long enough for a headache to develop.

Now everything hurts; your legs, your heart, and your head. You're in such a shit mood and you're so consumed by all these emotions that you can't even stop yourself from crying.

"Shit," A voice sighs out, the sound followed by a soft thud.

Your head flies up from your blanket at the noise, your eyes frantically searching the darkness outside your bedroom.

All teary-eyed and emotional, you just barely make out a figure approaching your bedroom.

Your brows push together and after a sniffle, your voice comes out choked, "Ch-Choso?"

With his hair down casually, a white and red plastic bag in his hands, and his eyes down on his phone before he walks into your room, Choso Kamo's silhouette is made out despite your hazed vision.

"Hm? Did you call me?" Choso hums, his brows quickly pushing together and his voice filled with confusion as to why you sound so distraught.

You wonder if you imagine the way he places both the bag in his hands and his phone down on the bed before making his way over to you.

Choso takes a seat in front of you and due to the dark, he couldn't quite tell you were crying. You're blinking and trying to wipe away your tears, sniffling multiple times to collect yourself.

The man leans closer to you and his brows furrow, "Heyyy," He whispers softly, lifting a hand to your cheek, "I didn't mean to wake you-, shit, a-are you crying?" Choso asks, panicked.

You swallow and open your mouth but with the way your lips quivered, you end up shutting your mouth and simply shaking your head. Your bottom lip slips into your mouth as you try your best to bite back more tears.

You really thought he had abandoned you and now you're just embarrassed.

Scooting closer to you, Choso moves to cup your face in his hands and swipe his warm thumbs under your eyes, wiping your tears.

"What's wrong?" He whispers, his voice so soft and gentle with you that it basically adds to your sadness.

Choso feels the way more tears leave your eyes and he continues to wipe each one away. The man then leans closer to you, searching your eyes with his own, "C'mon baby, talk to me. Why're you crying?" He urges.

The way he's treating you right now is only making it worse, especially with the little nicknames.

"I..." You sniffle and try to collect yourself by batting your lashes. "U-Uhm..."

Choso tilts his head at you, awaiting your every word. He gives you only a few seconds before he figures that talking might be difficult for you right now. "Did you think I left you?" Choso asks, quickly putting two and two together.

You grit your teeth and nod before you start to tear up all over again.

Choso frowns and his hands move from your face. One goes to the back of your head to pull your face down into his chest and the other goes behind you, tugging your body close to his in a comforting hug.

The steady feeling of his hand running up and down your back makes the tension you feel begin to fade away. You cry into the man's hold, feeling yourself just melt into his arms. It feels like it's been forever since you've been comforted like this and it's like you were letting out all your emotions at once.

Choso holds you, rubbing the back of your head for a while before shifting so that he can talk into your ear. His voice is low but soft, "Shh, I'm right here... m'sorry for leaving you," He murmurs.

You sniffle heavily and lift your head slightly. "It's okay..." You sigh quietly, "I... S-Sorry for crying-"

"Stop that," Choso coos, "Stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault. I... I knew I should've left a note but I didn't think you'd wake up." He explains carefully.

You swallow and suck in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Your body is so flushed with emotions that tears keep dropping from your eyes.

Choso moves again, this time wrapping both of his arms around your waist and hugging you. Your head goes over his shoulder and you feel him turn his face to you.

The next thing you feel is Choso kissing your neck gently, "I left to go pick up some stuff..." His lips linger on your skin for a second before he barely pulls away, "I'm sorry."

"N-No, I shouldn't even be crying," You breathe out.

He kisses you again, beginning to trail up until he gets under your jaw. "It's okay, you probably thought I just abandoned you, right?" Choso wonders, voicing his concern in between kisses.

You nod a little, exposing more of your neck to him as your head rises. He continues to kiss your neck, slowly making you feel better.

"I'm sorry..." He sucks on your skin softly, his breath hitting you as he speaks, "...So sorry. I'd never do that to you, princess."

"Cho..." You whisper, slowly pulling yourself away from him.

He tugs you back and keeps you in place, "Don't move away from me, I need you to hear me," He whispers, leaning his face away from your neck and moving to look you in the eyes, "I'd never do that to you, understand?" Choso says seriously.

You swallow and nod your head.

"And I'm sorry." He apologizes yet again, "I should've left a note or a text."

"It's okay-"

"No, it's not." Choso cuts off, "You felt used, didn't you?"

Your eyes switch focus from his left to right eye, "Kinda..."

"Be honest," He says.

"Y-Yeah. I thought... I thought you got all you wanted from me." You voice out in a soft tone, evidence of your emotions present in the way you sound.

Choso scoffs, "You think sex is all I want from you?"

Those words make your heart convulse in an odd way.

The male narrows his eyes at you, "Have I not reassured you enough?" He asks.

You blink, "R-Reassured me?"

He grins briefly, "Sex isn't the only thing I want from you. I want a lot more than that, princess."

Shit, that might be worse than him abandoning you. You absolutely can not do a relationship right now.

"Choso, I-"

"I wasn't joking when I said you're my muse," Choso cuts off again, brown eyes filled with so much care and affection that it makes your stomach churn. He then inches his face closer and whispers, "You inspire me. Before I met you, no woman has ever made me feel the way you make me feel."

You swallow hard. Is he confessing to you right now? "Choso, I... Are you..." You trail off, unsure of what to ask him.

"No, I'm not confessing to you." He clarifies, clearly reading your mind. "My confession to you is going to be a lot more than this."

You blink excessively, "So, you plan on confessing to me?"

He shrugs cheekily, "Maybe."

"Choso." You say as sternly as you can.

"Yes baby?"

You freeze, "First off, stop that."

"Stop what?" Choso asks innocently, moving his hands to your face again.

"You know what." You huff as he wipes your tears away. "And secondly, are you really planning on confessing to me?"

His eyes are focused on removing the wetness from your face, "I don't know."

"Choso please-"

"Probably." He adds.

Again, your heart sinks a little. Yes, you want a relationship with him but not right now.

It takes you a second to respond and Choso continues to wipe your face off. With a deep breath, your voice is soft and small as you question him, "So you like me?"

"Of course I like you," Choso replies, clearly meaning it in a friendly way.

You roll your eyes at him. "I mean, so you have a crush on me?"

Choso looks at your lips for a moment and then grins, "I didn't say that."

"Well then what do you mean you might confess to me?" You ask eagerly. His lack of clarity is frustrating you, "Confess what to me?"

"You'll find out when I confess." He explains to you.

"Confess what??" You emphasize.

"I'm not telling you right now."

"Why?"

Choso lets out a sigh and retracts his hands from your face, "Cause' I don't need to."

You're bothered that he's not being clear with you. "What do you mean you don't need to??"

"The fact that I have something to confess to you should be enough reassurance." Choso finally gets out.

"Oh... So making me wonder what you want to confess to me is your form of reassurance?"

"Mhm. I wouldn't abandon you if I still had something to confess, right?"

"I mean, I guess not."

"C'mon Ms. Psychology major," Choso teases before leaning his face closer to you, "Shouldn't you be able to like, read my mind or something?"

You stare at him for a couple of seconds and then let out a chuckle, "That's not how psychology works, silly."

A pleased smile spreads across his handsome face as he hears your laughter. "Really? That's not how it works?" Choso utters playfully.

"No, I can't read minds." You tell him, his smile almost contagious with the way one appears on your face.

"Mmmmh, I don't believe you." Choso hums.

You scoff, "I just study the brain functionality and behavioral aspects of humans-- that's not reading minds."

He falls quiet for a second, just smiling at you with his eyes stuck on your lips. His mouth then moves as he licks his lips and then bites his lower one, lost in a sudden visual appreciation for your face.

Choso's voice gets lower, "Is it weird that I found what you just said attractive?"

There's a hot flash that goes through your face, "Y-You did??"

"Mhm." He hums, "Your intelligence is very... alluring."

"Alluring?" You echo, smiling. "How??"

"Cause' every time you talk about what you study," One of his hands goes to your face again, gently placing his thumb to your lips and outlining them with his nail. "Your face lights up. It's clear you like talking about it."

You shrug, "Yeah, I like talking about it sometimes..."

"All the time," Choso corrects.

"Who's the mind reader now?" You tease.

He chuckles and you watch the way his eyes glide up along your face, soon meeting your own. The man stares deeply into your irises, studying them for the millionth time.

It's odd but you think you love the way he does that. The way his eyes study different parts of you whenever he can draws you to him.

"So uh..." You swallow and look away from his gaze, focusing on the nearby plastic bag. "What'd you go get?"

Choso tilts his head in the direction you've looked into, trying to get you to focus on him again.

You continue to keep your sights elsewhere up until he leans his face closer to yours, his thumb still outlining parts of your lip.

"Look at me," He murmurs to you.

It's slow but, you do. When your eyes meet his, he grins.

"Ask your question again please, I didn't hear you the first time." Choso requests softly.

You blink, wondering why he needs this direct eye contact in order to have such a simple conversation. "I asked you what you left to go get." You repeat, nodding your chin toward the bag.

His brows raise slightly, "Oh, just a few things." He hums, removing his hand and just barely taking his eyes off of you as he turns to grab the bag and place it in between the two of you, "I originally went to my car to grab meds but the bottle was empty so I had to go to the store really quickly," He explains.

"So that's why you were gone for so long?" You ask.

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting the pharmacy to be so far from here..." Choso sighs gently.

You glance down at the bag, breaking eye contact, "Y'know I have a medicine cabinet... Whatever you went to go get, I'm sure I have it already-"

"Didn't wanna go through your stuff," Choso shrugs, "And plus, I also used being out as an excuse to uh... buy myself a change of clothes."

Your head tips to the side and you look up from the bag and to his face, "So you plan on spending the night?"

His eyes are already on yours as you gaze at him, "Of course." He claims confidently.

For some reason that makes you smile, "Of course? Why'd you say it like that?"

"How was I supposed to say it? Of course I'm spending the night after all that I did to you. I can't just leave you after that," Choso scoffs.

"Mmh." You hum, inching toward him with a smile, "Is that so?"

"Yes ma'am." He replies, returning a smile to you as you get closer to him. "Is that alright? Am I allowed to spend the night with you, princess?"

You shrug, "Yeah, I guess..."

"You guess?"

"Mhm."

Your face is roughly an inch away from his, your head tilted and your eyes low on his lips. Choso can tell you were leaning in for a kiss but he wants to tease you about it so he pulls himself back.

Your eyes widen at how he moves away from you and you pout, "Choso..."

"Ma'am?" He replies, his tone taunting.

"Why'd you pull away from me?" You question.

He smirks, "Why were you getting so close?"

"Cause' I wanted to kiss you. Now come back," You order.

Choso's smirk grows into another smile, "Aw, you wanted to kiss me?"

His teasing frustrates you so you sigh dramatically and roll your eyes at him, "Never mind now." You huff.

The man is simply infatuated with your reaction. "You gotta' ask for one, pretty girl." He tells you.

"Nope," You start to lay back down on your side, uncomfortably stretching your legs past the man as he remains seated over the blanket. "I don't want one anymore."

"Because you have to ask for it?" Choso chuckles.

"No, because you pulled away from me..." You mumble.

You're being dramatic but he seems to enjoy you acting in such a way.

"You're a big baby, y'know that?" Choso tells you with a sigh.

The bed moves around as he shifts, a heavier dip felt in the mattress behind you due to him turning and pressing his knee into the bed. One hand is placed in front of your body and the other is behind your back before you see him peering down at you.

Slowly, you lay on your back instead of your side and look directly up at him. A leg goes over your body and Choso holds himself up over you, his knees straddling your legs.

He slowly leans down to you and goes right past your face, moving his lips to your neck, "...You wanted a kiss, huh?" He whispers into you.

The man places soft kisses along the side of your neck and you smile, "Yeah, I did..."

"What kinda' kiss do you want, baby?" Choso murmurs, moving under your jaw and sucking the skin there, "A slow kiss?" He hushes out, "A rough one?"

The man lifts from your neck and his face hovers right over yours.

"A sloppy kiss?" Choso continues to question before just barely pressing his lips into yours.

You try to kiss him back but he slides a little and takes your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it carefully. He then pulls on it a little as he lifts away from your mouth, releasing your lip after a second and letting it fall back into place.

"Hm? Tell me, how do you want me to kiss you?" Choso asks you, lips brushing over your own as he speaks.

You lift your arms and wrap them around his neck, "Doesn't matter how... I just need your lips on mine."

He smirks, "Right. And who am I to deny you of your needs?"

With that, the sweet sensation of his lips pressing into your own finally occurs.

You've never felt so whole while kissing someone before. God, you can literally feel yourself falling for this man. And maybe it's only because of your predicament that you find yourself feeling so strongly for someone who treats you right but, you could care less.

Accepting your feelings for him is the sole thing you have to focus on.

After all, somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember... you still have to sleep with three other guys who you haven't even met yet.

But you can do this. You'll pull it all off with no problems.

...Right?

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

??? NAOYA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄 . ( a collection of fantasy - based dialogue prompts . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

strangers don't last very long around here .

lay down your sword , and i'll lay down mine .

whatever you do , do not stray from the path .

try not to get yourself killed .

the magic here is old and wild .

quiet ... do not wake it .

i thought i'd find you here . get up .

the tavern in [ location ] is known for its ale and its rumors .

you are starting the path towards your destiny .

is there no end to this accursed forest ?

my sword is yours .

the path to redemption is paved with trials and tribulations .

this forest feels ... sick . as if a disease lies upon it .

you are nothing but damned bones , and a damned soul .

have you ever seen the world beyond [ location ] ?

in the face of overwhelming odds , we must stand united .

please don't let them know that i'm here .

i've heard tales of your exploits . impressive , if they're true .

there's a town three miles east from here .

we have such history , you and i .

go carefully ... there's a camp nearby .

you will not die here , i forbid it .

your reputation precedes you .

i would rather die on my feet than on my knees .

there is no destiny . no born heroes .

you've got a fire in your eyes . use it , but don't let it consume you .

the spirits of this forest are restless .

there's more that you aren't telling me .

you have something that belongs to me .

you shouldn't be here , it's not safe in these parts .

all we can trust are the blades in our hands .

do you believe in fate ? destiny , prophecies ...

i don't think i'll ever get used to having blood on my hands .

wait ! there's traps here . lots of them .

i would die before helping in such a task .

there's an inn just another mile north .

have your blade at the ready .

if you can't already tell , i don't require saving .

have you drank your fill already ?

this isn't just some lark to me .

i'm headed to [ location ] . i could use some company .

your bravery is admirable , but it will also be your undoing .

you're exhausted , [ name ] . we're stopping here .

i will hunt you until the day i die .

i wish you a safe journey home .

as long as i can be of no help , i'm going to hide .

raise your sword . this should be a fair fight .

you're brave to show your face here again .

in this world , you can trust two things ; your intuition and your sword .

i've seen the way you look at the horizon . you're searching for something .

[ administers a healing potion / spell ] is that any better ?

you have no idea of the catastrophe you've set in motion .

there's an ambush ahead , stay quiet .

i want to know your story ... beginning to end .

in the end , we're all just stories waiting to be told .

i've heard tales of a dragon living high up in the mountains . some say it's just a myth , others swear it's real .

the line between friend and foe is often blurred .

try to stay quiet . is the wound deep ?

do not provoke them .

monster ? who's the monster here ?

i forbid you from telling anyone what you've seen here .

are you scared of witches ?

that's a beautiful [ weapon ] . may i ?

you are a valuable ally and a fearsome adversary .

do not tell me you've grown soft over the years .

if our enemy has returned , we must know .

you're a tough one to read , but i can see the kindness in your eyes .

the key to survival is knowing when to fight and when to flee .

i never expected to run into you in [ location ] .

last we spoke , you owed me some coin .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

there is no magic or medicine that can cure this .

you keep questionable company .

every choice has a consequence .

the fate of the world lies in your hands .

so you're the great [ name ] .

remorse will get you nowhere .

you must stay on the path . do not leave it . if you do , you'll never find it again .

i once dreamed of this place . it's real ?

some secrets are best left buried .

the bridge is heavily guarded . we need a plan .

i thought you were returning home .

i would not do this unless i had to .

i need my horse .

it's real . all of the stories , the legends ... and it's real .

don't lose your wit . i believe you'll have need for it yet .

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐂.𝐉𝐇 ♡

Day Twenty-Five - Angel/Worshiping

【Synopsis】 : His job was to be an observer. Do not under any circumstances interact or intervene with human lives. Oh, how he royally fucked that up.

『Word count』 : 4.50k

-> Genre: Smut. Spn Au. Fluff. Angst-ish. Romance.

Pairing: Angel!Jongho x Human!Reader

[Warnings] : We stan a service dom. Making out. Mention of toxic religion and dark past. Swearing. Play fighting? Lots of sweet talking and pet names. Jongho loses it. Multiple orgasms. Fingering. Bondage with the use of angelic power. Creampie. See now… this was supposed to be protected sex. But uh… Whoops.

Note: This is inspired by the show supernatural. I dearly love that show, and i love Castiel, so i wanted to give this a hunter x angel vibe (even included Jongho wearing a trench coat cause i personally need that, hehe) anyways enjoy my loves. Also, more credits to my baby yaya for brainstorming and chatting with me about these plots and concepts. I love youu. @skteezcursed ♡

Networks: @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober list | Tip Jar ♡

In the realm of ethereal lights and whispering winds, Jongho, a young angel, received his first assignment from the Council of Celestial Beings. His task was to descend to Earth, to wander among the humans, unnoticed, learning their ways without ever intervening. Simple enough he thought, observing these creatures fascinated him the moment he was awoken. So studying was a secret passion of his. Of course the Celest didn't need knowing of his passions. His feelings. Angel weren't allowed such luxuries. As he readied for his departure, he couldn’t shake the sadness that slowly came to him. He had heard tales of their joys and sorrows, yet he was forbidden from mingling, a bystander in a world so vibrant and chaotic. It left a feeling deep inside him that he didn't have a word to describe It.

Upon his descent, Jongho found himself in a quaint off shore town, alive with the chatter and bustle of everyday human activities. He found an instant awe in every passerby as he felt his new solid body get used to the mucked air of humanity. It wasn't all sunshines and rainbows, Jongho was quick to find. But there was something so raw and intriguing about faults and flaws that left him wanting to know more. Angels are perfect in every way. Raised to be emotionless and trained to be warriors. But humans. They drew their own path. Each and every one, different and interweaving with another.

They were perfect in their own imperfect ways.

It was during one of his solitary wanderings through the local park on his third day that he first saw his ultimate study, a young woman with an aura unlike nothing he has ever seen. You. The eventual love of his life. He still found it entertaining telling the story of how you two met to others. It was one he was proud of, granted slightly embarrassed but proud nonetheless.

You were the embodiment of joy in Jonghos eyes when he first laid eyes on you. Laughing amongst friends, your smile bright enough to illuminate the drab grey skies or any dark day. Yet, there was something else that drew Jongho in—an underlying energy that contradicted your outward happiness. Was it despair that he felt? Longing or unfulfillment? Despite the sparkle in your eyes, your aura shimmered a muted blue, heavy with isolation and unspoken sorrow.

At first, he remained hidden, watching from the safety of the shadows. Days turned to weeks, and Jongho grew to adore your way of life, your fierce independence, and the way you chased dreams like they were fireflies. As he watched something inside him began to stir—a longing that felt both exhilarating and dangerous. Rules dictated that angels should remain distant, mere observers of mortal life, yet Jongho found himself captivated, unable to tear himself away.

but he couldn't help him as he listened to your laughter, watched your interactions with others, and noted how you seemed to wear your joy as a mask making sure everyone around you thought everything was perfect. The dissonance captivated him as he began to seek ways to understand why your essence felt so at odds with your expression. It wasn’t long before you began to notice him. At first, it was a fleeting shadow in your periphery and a strangle feeling of being watched. But soon enough, you turned, eyes narrowing on the mysterious presence that lingered whenever you wandered through the quiet parts of town. And one starry night, under a full winter moon, you finally got to confront the mysterious figure.

“Who is there?” You demanded into the darkness your breath shook out like smoke, “Show yourself.” Your voice was a mixture of curiosity and alarm, as you reached for some snow that sat on top of the brick wall next to you. You didn't really know what a snowball would accomplish but at least you were armed… Kind of. “Why have you been following me!!”

Jongho hesitated, heart pounding in his chest like a drum. Lying was not an option, he knew that. But he didn't want to scare you away. “I… I’m Jongho,” he stammered, stepping from the cloak of darkness. his glowing crystal blue eyes making your breath hitch as his cream-coloured trench coat covered his hunched figure. his crooked smile and hands up in defeat caused you to feel a slight twinge of relief, knowing it wasn't someone bad but you didn't drop the snow still holding it firmly in a throwing position.”I’m sorry. It was not my intention to scare you.”

You went to speak, but what caused your eyes widened in surprise. Disbelief flitting across your face was the way his eye danced in the dimly lit street lamp above him with each step he took. They shifted from blue to a pale grey to a purple and then back to blue like they could just stick to one colour. You took a step back, putting your other hand up with a ‘stop’ expression with a shake of your snowball slightly as if it's a threat. Jongho seemed to notice your caution quickly stopping in his tracks with a slight raise in his brow. “W-what are you…” You knew he couldn't be human. Creatures weren't abnormal in your life, but seeing one in front of you was a different story.

“I'm a…” He felt his words get caught in his throat. He wasn't allowed to reveal himself. That was rule two. Rule one was to never get caught so he's already fucked that one up.

“Well.” you felt the silence deafening. Was he a demon coming to steal your soul? Was he a vampire looking for a meal? Worse was he a wolf wanting to forcibly claim you… Your anxiety began to spike at his slow response. “Who are you!?” you said more firmly.

“I..” He took a step forward without thinking, making you freeze. “Don't move!” He put his hands up higher, clicking his tongue a little. Are humans always this cautious? “Can you lower your…weapon.. Please.” he pointed to the snowball.

“Tell me what you are first.”

“I'll tell you. Just put the snow down.” He rolled his eyes. “It'll have no effect on me.” He said calmly.

“Oh really?” You took his innocent words as a threat throwing the snow at him. It hit him square in the chest. Jongho looked down at the wet patch now on his trench coat and suit.

“Yes, really.” His voice seemed to have grown deeper as he looked at you with a deadpan expression. “Now that you are done. I—”

You threw another snowball at him.

“What was that for?” Jongho wiped the soft white snow off his face this time looking at you unamusingly. But you, on the other hand, had a small crooked smile as your chest heaved lightly in delight. “For scaring me.”

Jongho inhaled deeply, staring at you bluntly with a tilted head. He Knew what you did was technically fair. But he also knows if he opens his mouth you'd just throw another piece of snow at him. He could see it in your aura as it shifted from the sombre blue to a pale calming green. For the first time since he was observing you, your emotions matched your aura.

So in an instant he chuckled, his eyes glowing bright white as his ethereal wings unfurled behind him as if appearing out of thin air, each feather glimmering like freshly fallen snow in the moonlight. You gasped, eyes wide in awe as you witnessed the angelic magic. The wings stretched out majestically, radiating a soft glow that illuminated her face.

After the initial shock wore off, a slow smile spread across your face... “oh okay, you're an angel..” you said, you voice a gentle whisper with a slight chuckle in it. “Still doesn't answer why you're following me.”

“I'm an observer” he admitted, folding his wings back into a softer form, their brightness dimming as he hid them from your gaze. He shook his shoulders a final time letting them fall out into the cosmos as if they were never there to begin with. “I’m not supposed to interact with humans. I’m here to watch, not to engage.”

“Hmm…” That night was still etched in Jongho's mind. He often spent his night dreaming of it. He would remember the way you would walk with him after you finally put the snowballs down. Asking about his kind while you told him about you being a descendant from hunters, hence why you knew he was a creature of sorts.

He took you home that night with a smile and a shining green aura. He couldn't explain it back then but he came to realise you have both changed each other for the better and worse. You found he was missing in your life while he found his whole meaning and morals to be no longer black and white but a swirling mixtures of bright colours and shades.

Every moment of joy you gave him was shadowed by an encroaching darkness—his guilt weighed heavily on his heart. Heaven was meant to keep him untouched, a guardian observing life from afar. And yet, here he was, choosing to break the sacred rules for a connection he had never thought possible.

And he regretted nothing.

You filled his days with light. Helping him uncover the joys of human existence—the taste of fresh fruit, the thrill of a summer storm or the calmness of spring breeze and the beauty of quiet sunsets. Each moment spent with you made him yearn for more—a desire to embrace earth and all its wonders, bad or good… To mingle not just as a watcher, but as a participant.

“What you thinking about, angel?” Your voice rang through his thoughts. Your head nuzzled against his large back as you gave the large man a back hug, feeling his defined shoulder muscles against your plump cheeks.

“Hmm.. oh, just us.” He said calming looking back down to the drink he was pouring, closing the lid to the liquor bottle. “how we met.”

You could hear the sombre beat of his golden angelic heart in your ear pressed firmly against his back. He had prepared a grand dinner earlier in the evening. A feast fit for a celestial being. The night was rich with aroma and laughter, and as the candles flickered against the walls, the air thickened with anticipation and longing. He wanted to make the night perfect. To show how much he loved and cared for you. Plus he wanted to show off his new cooking skills.

“We were both so different back then…” You whispered, neither of you moving. “I was running and you were…”

“Following corrupted orders blindly.” He downed the dark amber liquid in his glass, turning around while holding your arms so you would be hugging his front now. His hand gently came up to pat your head, giving you a gummy smile, his eyes lazy and content. “I still don't regret anything. You know that dont you Honey?”

“I know…” You whispered, sitting up slightly to look at his face. Your hand cupped his cheek feeling the warmth of his skin against your own. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, taking every slight touch you gifted him. “I just... You left so much behind. It wasn't easy.”

He grabbed your hands quickly, making you jump lightly. Bringing them up to his mouth he kissed every knuckle. “I left pain behind. I left corruption and misguided order. Yes it wasn't easy leaving the only thing I knew of. But if I hadn't left. I would have never been able to call you mine.” Heart racing, Jongho leaned closer, his instincts taking the lead as passion surged within him, inviting him to surrender to the depths of their connection. “I would have never discovered the wonders of this world.”

He placed a sweet short kiss on your lips, “I would've never found a new, even better thing to worship.” You didn't miss the way his smirk grew as the kiss grew more fervent, igniting a flame inside him that urged him to give himself completely to you. To honour and worship the beauty and vulnerability he now cherished. With each caress, he learned how to dissolve the hesitating lines between an angel's restraint and a lover's fervour. He was more than ready to succumb to the ways of humanity, to embrace his newfound cravings, even before he met you. He willingly danced down the spiral towards being a fallen angel, all for human life—all for you.

“J-Jong…” You whimpered against his lips, never being able to get used to the power the drips from him. His hands let go of your own, finding a new place on your hips. He pushed you backwards until your ass tapped the island bench and without warning he lifted you up onto it, letting your exposed thighs feel the sharp twinges of the ice cold marble. Tonight was almost identical to the night you met, snow falling harshly with crisp air, leaving everything to be blanketed in a freezing touch. “P-please.”

Your whimpers were completely swallowed by Jongho as he moved with determination. Never has he initiated sex before nor has it ever been rough. The first time you slept with him was downright awkward to say the least. You both acted like teenagers that had no idea what they were doing but you soon got Jongho to understand the ways around the human body, especially the female anatomy. But in this moment he had all the control, sending your head into a tailspin. His grunts caused a shiver down your spine as he cage you on the table. His hips were snug against yours, letting you feel his growing hard on with each grind of his pelvis. His left hand snaked up to hold the back of your neck while the right slowly made its way down to your panty covered core. You had forgone pants as you were just lazing about and right now you were shouting thank you at your past self for it.

“So beautiful…” he murmured, finally breaking free from your mouth, giving you space to breathe. His lips, however, were quick to latch onto your neck, suckling bright marks on your soft skin. “Do you like this baby? Does this feel nice.”

“Y-yes.” You whimpered, bucking your hips, urging him to continue further. He understood as if he could hear your thoughts, quickly tugging your panties off until they were discarded somewhere on the floor. His fingers quickly found your wet folds spreading them so his thumb could push firmly on your clit. You let out a loud gasp, your head tilting back against the marble, letting Jongho continue his assault on your flesh. “Angel…please, more.”

He growled at the ironic pet name you have gifted Him. The word made him feel some unexplainable way. In the past the name meant soldier, a warrior that was devoted to the higher purpose but now it meant he was yours. That he belonged to you and was yours to do as you wished. He trailed his lips down your covered chest making you giggle as he tried to kiss through the soft cotton. “What are you doing, my love?”

“Hmm, loving you.” He merely replied, going back to trailing his kisses down until he got to your soaking cunt, it glistening with slick from his thumb gently rubbing your sensitive bud for the last couple of minutes. He flattened his tongue on your core, licking up a strip Feeling the way your whole body shivers and bucks in response. He continued, using his free hand that was holding onto The marble countertop to slide down and sink two fingers inside of your clenching pussy. You sighed feeling the contemptment of having something inside you but it was when his tongue flicked your clit before he sucked in sharply that your hands flew to his hair choking on a scream as he fucked you in a quickened pace.

“Fuck fuck fuck, f-faster. Please.” With a soft chuckle, Jongho quickly granted your wish. He thrusted his fingers faster while his tongue lapped up your wet folds while also teasing your bud.

"You taste so good," He murmured against you, his free hand gripping your thigh as he held you in place.. "I love eating your pussy, Honey." His words sent a shockwave of desire through you. Never have you heard Jongho whisper such filthy confessions. He was always so shy to mention what he found attractive or enjoyable. Always settling for simple and whatever you wished over his own desires. You couldn’t help but cry out, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Oh fuck, Jongho... don't stop."

Jongho moaned in response, the vibration of his groan sending pleasure spiralling through you. He sucked and licked, his fingers now quickening their pace just right, scissoring, and curling to find that magic spot. You were reduced to a quivering mess, your hips bucking off the countertop as he skillfully pushed you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he whispered, his fingers pumping inside you harshly. "Let go."

You silently cried out, your whole body shaking as you tumbled over the precipice. White-hot pleasure engulfed you as your juices flowed out, riding out your intense orgasm. Jongho lapped at you eagerly, drinking up your slick as he gentled his fingers, prolonging your pleasure.

You slowly opened her eyes, your chest still heaving as you smiled down at Jongho with a light giggle.. He looked up at you, his eyes sparkling with love and desire. "I love you so much." he said, his voice thick with need. "I want to make you feel good. I need to make you feel good."

Your heart melted at his words. "I love you too," you whispered, stroking his hair as his wet cheek nuzzled against your hand. Your smile only grew as he came up slowly to seal his lips against your own letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hard body was pressed against your as he caged you, his fingers lacing with yours so he could give your hand a tight squeeze. Your tongue danced with his completely missing the way his free hand moves back to your empty pussy.

It wasn't until you gasped against him as he entered you even deeper with two fingers, that you felt yourself shiver in completely ecstasy.

He began to move again, freeing his laced fingers to move down to your ass, spreading your cheeks while he thrusted slowly and deeply, using his hips to grind into you.

Your moans were swallowed by Jongho, your nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure built within you again. The kiss grew deeper, more feverish as your tongues duelled while your passion escalated.

Breaking the kiss, Jongho nibbled on your ear, his teeth tugging at the lobe. “My perfect little human. My beloved…” He growled, “My goddess.”

You could tears prick in the corners of your eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and devotion. Your angel, calling you the one thing he treasured most. To think anyone let alone a celestial being, would think so highly of you made your heart soare. Reaching down between your bodies, you grasped his hard length through his pants making him let out a low grunt. You undid his belt and zipper, reaching inside to free his throbbing cock. It pulsed in your hand, slicked with pre-cum, and as you stroked him gently, he continued to move within you.

"Condom... need one..." Jongho panted against your swollen lips, his hips snapping forward as he filled her over and over with his fingers, threatening to slip the tip of his cock inside..

You bit your lip, knowing exactly what to do. "Go, I'll wait here for you."

With a final, deep thrust, Jongho pulled out, his eyes burning with desire. "Don't move," he ordered his hair dishevelled, face red and chest heaving. He kicked off his jeans that had fallen off his thick thighs, discarded them alongside your panties. Your eyes never left his as he tugged his shirt off before turning to sprinting down the hall, his bare ass on display as he went to retrieve protection from the bedroom. You couldn't help giggled, your body still buzzing with pleasure as you finally gave yourself a moment to relax on top of the kitchen counter. You watched his retreating form, admiring the defined muscles of his back and the powerful flex of his ass as he ran. Your eyes travelled down to his strong, bare legs, and you licked your lips, a naughty idea forming in your mind.

Jongho soon returned, the box condoms in hand. But when he turned the corner, he stopped short, his eyes widening at the sight before him. There was his beautiful baby, bent over the dining table, completely naked, displaying your delectable ass to him.

You glanced back at him over your shoulder, a sultry smile on your face. "What ya waiting for angel," You purred, wiggling her bare ass invitingly.

Jongho's eyes darkened, and he quickly crossed the room, his steps purposeful and filled with determination. He gripped yout hips, pulling you toward him. His hand rubbed the globs of your ass giving the Soft skin a slight slap. He didn't know what came over him but it was like a fearl creature has crept through his very being. “Look at you.”

His growl was animalistic, something you've never heard before. The way he push air through His nose with a low grunt sent your mind straight into a fog. Jongho thought all he powers were gone when he left heaven. But yet, he could feel the tingle of power trickle down his spine, the energy surging through the palms of his hands. This was a different kind of power though and with a blink of an eye, he swiped his hand in the air, black smoke coming out like tendrils dancing Around your body until they found your wrist yanking them behind your back before bounding you tightly. Your face was squshed against the countertop as you gasp out with a startled. “J-Jongho?”

“Don't. Fucking. Move.” He punctuated every word, sweat already coating his brow. His whole body was shaking, as if something was invading all of his senses. You've never heard him swear before let alone say the word fuck. Even trying to get him to say shut up was hard. But yet here he was, and oh, Did it make the situation feel ten times more filthy. Completely forgetting about the condoms that were place a hand reach away, he lined the tip of his angry cock up with your wet entrance. And with one smooth thrust, he sank into your aching cunt, his cock sheathed snuggly.

You cried out, your eyes snaping Shut as your hips bucked. You've never felt him fuck you raw before as he always said he wanted to respect you and treat you right. The excitement of him coming inside you suddenly clouded your judgement and you started to beg for more. Jongho gripped your wiggling hips tightly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he began to move, fucking you slowly and passionately, his eyes fixed on the way their bodies joined. The was his cock disappears deep inside you while slowly being coating in your juices.

"You feel so damn good," he growled, his eyes fluttering closed as he relished the tight heat surrounding him.

You drooled into the table, your fingers tangling in the shadows the bound at your wrists as he felt him stretch you, taking him time to enjoy every sensation of your cunt. “H-hard, Angel.” You begged, wanting more. "Please.

At your words, Jongho quickened his pace, his hips snapping forward as he gave you what you craved. The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, along with mingled moans and groans. Your breasts pressed firmly into the tabletop made your nipples tingling as Jongho pounded into you harder from behind. His hand found place on your ass cheek, gifting you a open palmed smack making you sob while your walls clench arounf his thick cock, your body spiralling towards another climax. Jongho felt you tightening around him, and his own control snapped, crossing his arms, he gripped your hips drilling his cock into you at an inhuman pace.

"Cum for me again," he ordered, his voice harsh almost dark. "Cum on my fucking cock like a good baby."

His words were all it took to push you over the edge. Tears staining your face and table, you body shook as pleasure blitzed through you. Jongho groaned, his own release imminent as he felt you clutching at him, milking his cock. another Surge of power trickled down his spine cause a low monstrous grumble to leave his chest. And with few more powerful thrusts, he followed you over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him as he filled your tight hole with his seed. Panting, Jongho pulled out, his legs trembling as he reached for your hand. The shadows as snaked away letting you move from the uncomfortable position. But it was when you looked over your shoulders that all the air had seemingly left your lungs.

“J-Jongho…” There he Was your lover with beautiful angelic wings. But what caught Your attention was they were no longer the snow piercing white like your remember. No, they were a pitch inky black. A shade you only see when staring At a night sky with no stars. He chest was heaving he finally Opened his eyes To gaze upon you but his creamy chocolate brown were replaced with deep crimsons. while his skin was litter with greyish black veins. “Holy shit…”

All your words were stuck on your tongue. he was not an angel anymore. That you were sure of but Something darker had crept its way inside and you could tell if it worried or excited you. But Jongho was not worried, in fact, he had a feeling this was bound to happen to him. He had heard of angels that fall become demonic rather than just a powerless human. But he didnt think it would feel so freeing. It was like Jongho finally understood the meaning of true connection and the cost that came with it. With you by his side, the allure of mortal desires became a promise, carrying him forward into the beautiful unknown. And together, he would rewrite all the rules of their worlds, one climax at a time.

[whencyclopedia]

The Nûñnĕ′hĭ and Other Spirit Folk

The Nûñnĕ′hĭ are the Cherokee "spirit people", similar to the fairy as sometimes depicted in European medieval folklore, and The Nûñnĕ′hĭ and Other Spirit Folk is a collection of anecdotes about them compiled by American ethnographer James Mooney (l. 1861-1921) and included in his Myths of the Cherokee (1900). The Nûñnĕ′hĭ appear in many Cherokee myths and legends.

Cherokee Beadwork Sampler

Uyvsdi (Public Domain)

The Nûñnĕ′hĭ and Other Spirit Folk describes the entities – as well as others – and their various antics and is partly drawn from stories told by James D. Wafford, also known as Tsuskwasun'nawa'ta of the Western Cherokee nation. Wafford became a great Cherokee storyteller who collected and memorized the tales of the people and is referenced in the following text.

To a modern audience, the belief in the "Little People" may seem only a superstition, but this is a relatively new understanding when placed in the context of world history. Belief in spirits, fairies, ghosts, and other supernatural entities has been a part of the human condition far longer than the popular modern-day skepticism and cynicism. The Teihiihan ("Little people") of the Arapaho nation, as well as similar entities of other Native peoples of North America, were recognized as realities of life for centuries and still are today.

The literal truth of any of the tales of the Nûñnĕ′hĭ is never questioned, but neither is it ever vouched for, in keeping with Cherokee storytelling tradition, which follows the policy of "I know not how the truth may be/I tell the tale as 'twas told to me" (Mooney, 236). According to Mooney, however, all the following anecdotes were verified using different sources. The tales are still recited by Cherokee storytellers in the present day, and the Nûñnĕ′hĭ are still understood, as in the past, as simply another aspect of life on earth.

Text

The following text is taken from Myths of the Cherokee (1900) by James Mooney, republished in 2014 by Dover Publications.

The Nûñnĕ′hĭ or immortals, the "people who live anywhere," were a race of spirit people who lived in the highlands of the old Cherokee country and had a great many townhouses, especially in the bald mountains, the high peaks on which no timber ever grows. They had large townhouses in Pilot knob and under the old Nĭkwăsĭ′ mound in North Carolina, and another under Blood Mountain, at the head of Nottely river, in Georgia.

They were invisible excepting when they wanted to be seen, and then they looked and spoke just like other Indians. They were very fond of music and dancing, and hunters in the mountains would often hear the dance songs and the drum beating in some invisible townhouse, but when they went toward the sound it would shift about and they would hear it behind them or away in some other direction, so that they could never find the place where the dance was.

They were a friendly people, too, and often brought lost wanderers to their townhouses under the mountains and cared for them there until they were rested and then guided them back to their homes. More than once, also, when the Cherokee were hard pressed by the enemy, the Nûñnĕ′hĭ warriors have come out, as they did at old Nĭkwăsĭ′, and have saved them from defeat. Some people have thought that they are the same as the Yûñwĭ Tsunsdi′, the "Little People"; but these are fairies, no larger in size than children.

There was a man in Nottely town who had been with the Nûñnĕ′hĭ when he was a boy, and he told Wafford all about it. He was a truthful, hard-headed man, and Wafford had heard the story so often from other people that he asked this man to tell it. It was in this way:

When he was about 10 or 12 years old, he was playing one day near the river, shooting at a mark with his bow and arrows, until he became tired, and started to build a fish trap in the water. While he was piling up the stones in two long walls a man came and stood on the bank and asked him what he was doing. The boy told him, and the man said, "Well, that's pretty hard work and you ought to rest a while. Come and take a walk up the river." The boy said, "No"; that he was going home to dinner soon. "Come right up to my house," said the stranger, "and I'll give you a good dinner there and bring you home again in the morning." So the boy went with him up the river until they came to a house, when they went in, and the man's wife and the other people there were very glad to see him, and gave him a fine dinner, and were very kind to him. While they were eating a man that the boy knew very well came in and spoke to him, so that he felt quite at home.

After dinner he played with the other children and slept there that night, and in the morning, after breakfast, the man got ready to take him home. They went down a path that had a cornfield on one side and a peach orchard fenced in on the other, until they came to another trail, and the man said, "Go along this trail across that ridge and you will come to the river road that will bring you straight to your home, and now I'll go back to the house." So, the man went back to the house and the boy went on along the trail, but when he had gone a little way he looked back, and there was no cornfield or orchard or fence or house; nothing but trees on the mountain side.

He thought it very queer, but somehow, he was not frightened, and went on until he came to the river trail in sight of his home. There were a great many people standing about talking, and when they saw him they ran toward him shouting, "Here he is! He is not drowned or killed in the mountains!" They told him they had been hunting him ever since yesterday noon and asked him where he had been. "A man took me over to his house just across the ridge, and I had a fine dinner and a good time with the children," said the boy, "I thought Udsi′skală here"—that was the name of the man he had seen at dinner—"would tell you where I was." But Udsi′skală said, "I haven't seen you. I was out all day in my canoe hunting you. It was one of the Nûñnĕ′hĭ that made himself look like me." Then his mother said, "You say you had dinner there?" "Yes, and I had plenty, too," said the boy; but his mother answered, "There is no house there—only trees and rocks—but we hear a drum sometimes in the big bald above. The people you saw were the Nûñnĕ′hĭ."

Once, four Nûñnĕ′hĭ women came to a dance at Nottely town and danced half the night with the young men there, and nobody knew that they were Nûñnĕ′hĭ, but thought them visitors from another settlement. About midnight they left to go home, and some men who had come out from the townhouse to cool off watched to see which way they went. They saw the women go down the trail to the river ford, but just as they came to the water they disappeared, although it was a plain trail, with no place where they could hide. Then the watchers knew they were Nûñnĕ′hĭ women.

Several men saw this happen, and one of them was Wafford's father-in-law, who was known for an honest man. At another time a man named Burnt-tobacco was crossing over the ridge from Nottely to Hemptown in Georgia and heard a drum and the songs of dancers in the hills on one side of the trail. He rode over to see who could be dancing in such a place, but when he reached the spot the drum and the songs were behind him, and he was so frightened that he hurried back to the trail and rode all the way to Hemptown as hard as he could to tell the story. He was a truthful man, and they believed what he said.

There must have been a good many of the Nûñnĕ′hĭ living in that neighborhood, because the drumming was often heard in the high balds almost up to the time of the Removal.

On a small upper branch of Nottely, running nearly due north from Blood Mountain, there was also a hole, like a small well or chimney, in the ground, from which there came up a warm vapor that heated all the air around. People said that this was because the Nûñnĕ′hĭ had a townhouse and a fire under the mountain. Sometimes in cold weather hunters would stop there to warm themselves, but they were afraid to stay long. This was more than sixty years ago, but the hole is probably there yet.

Close to the old trading path from South Carolina up to the Cherokee Nation, somewhere near the head of Tugaloo, there was formerly a noted circular depression about the size of a townhouse, and waist deep. Inside it was always clean as though swept by unknown hands. Passing traders would throw logs and rocks into it, but would always, on their return, find them thrown far out from the hole. The Indians said it was a Nûñnĕ′hĭ townhouse, and never liked to go near the place or even to talk about it, until at last some logs thrown in by the traders were allowed to remain there, and then they concluded that the Nûñnĕ′hĭ, annoyed by the persecution of the white men, had abandoned their townhouse forever.

There is another race of spirits, the Yûñwĭ Tsunsdi′, or "Little People," who live in rock caves on the mountain side. They are little fellows, hardly reaching up to a man's knee, but well-shaped and handsome, with long hair falling almost to the ground. They are great wonder workers and are very fond of music, spending half their time drumming and dancing. They are helpful and kind-hearted, and often when people have been lost in the mountains, especially children who have strayed away from their parents, the Yûñwĭ Tsunsdi′ have found them and taken care of them and brought them back to their homes.

Sometimes their drum is heard in lonely places in the mountains, but it is not safe to follow it, because the Little People do not like to be disturbed at home, and they throw a spell over the stranger so that he is bewildered and loses his way, and even if he does at last get back to the settlement, he is like one dazed ever after. Sometimes, also, they come near a house at night and the people inside hear them talking, but they must not go out, and in the morning, they find the corn gathered or the field cleared as if a whole force of men had been at work. If anyone should go out to watch, he would die. When a hunter finds anything in the woods, such as a knife or a trinket, he must say, "Little People, I want to take this," because it may belong to them, and if he does not ask their permission, they will throw stones at him as he goes home.

Once a hunter in winter found tracks in the snow like the tracks of little children. He wondered how they could have come there and followed them until they led him to a cave, which was full of Little People, young and old, men, women, and children. They brought him in and were kind to him, and he was with them some time; but when he left, they warned him that he must not tell or he would die. He went back to the settlement and his friends were all anxious to know where he had been. For a long time, he refused to say, until at last he could not hold out any longer, but told the story, and in a few days he died. Only a few years ago two hunters from Raventown, going behind the high fall near the head of Oconaluftee on the East Cherokee reservation, found there a cave with fresh footprints of the Little People all over the floor.

During the smallpox among the East Cherokee just after the war one sick man wandered off, and his friends searched, but could not find him. After several weeks he came back and said that the Little People had found him and taken him to one of their caves and tended him until he was cured.

About twenty-five years ago a man named Tsantăwû′ was lost in the mountains on the head of Oconaluftee. It was wintertime and very cold and his friends thought he must be dead, but after sixteen days he came back and said that the Little People had found him and taken him to their cave, where he had been well treated, and given plenty of everything to eat except bread. This was in large loaves, but when he took them in his hand to eat, they seemed to shrink into small cakes so light and crumbly that though he might eat all day he would not be satisfied. After he was well rested, they had brought him a part of the way home until they came to a small creek, about knee deep, when they told him to wade across to reach the main trail on the other side. He waded across and turned to look back, but the Little People were gone and the creek was a deep river. When he reached home his legs were frozen to the knees and he lived only a few days.

Once the Yûñwĭ Tsunsdi′ had been very kind to the people of a certain settlement, helping them at night with their work and taking good care of any lost children, until something happened to offend them, and they made up their minds to leave the neighborhood. Those who were watching at the time saw the whole company of Little People come down to the ford of the river and cross over and disappear into the mouth of a large cave on the other side. They were never heard of near the settlement again.

There are other fairies, the Yûñwĭ Amai′yĭnĕ′hĭ, or Water-dwellers, who live in the water, and fishermen pray to them for help. Other friendly spirits live in people's houses, although no one can see them, and so long as they are there to protect the house no witch can come near to do mischief.

Tsăwa′sĭ and Tsăga′sĭ are the names of two small fairies, who are mischievous enough, but yet often help the hunter who prays to them. Tsăwa′sĭ, or Tsăwa′sĭ Usdi′ga (Little Tsăwa′sĭ), is a tiny fellow, very handsome, with long hair falling down to his feet, who lives in grassy patches on the hillsides and has great power over the game. To the deer hunter who prays to him he gives skill to slip up on the deer through the long grass without being seen. Tsăga′sĭ is another of the spirits invoked by the hunter and is very helpful, but when someone trips and falls, we know that it is Tsăga′sĭ who has caused it. There are several other of these fairies with names, all good-natured, but more or less tricky.

Then there is De′tsătă. De′tsătă was once a boy who ran away to the woods to avoid a scratching and tries to keep himself invisible ever since. He is a handsome little fellow and spends his whole time hunting birds with blowgun and arrow. He has a great many children who are all just like him and have the same name. When a flock of birds flies up suddenly as if frightened it is because De′tsătă is chasing them. He is mischievous and sometimes hides an arrow from the bird hunter, who may have shot it off into a perfectly clear space but looks and looks without finding it. Then the hunter says, "De′tsătă, you have my arrow, and if you don't give it up, I'll scratch you," and when he looks again, he finds it.

There is one spirit that goes about at night with a light. The Cherokee call it Atsil′-dihye′gĭ, "The Fire-carrier," and they are all afraid of it, because they think it dangerous, although they do not know much about it. They do not even know exactly what it looks like, because they are afraid to stop when they see it. It may be a witch instead of a spirit. Wafford's mother saw the "Fire-carrier" once when she was a young woman, as she was coming home at night from a trading post in South Carolina. It seemed to be following her from behind, and she was frightened and whipped up her horse until she got away from it and never saw it again.

Continue reading...

[beenbaanbuun]

Haiii this might be a weird request but I wonder if you could write an angsty Addams!MATZ fic 😭 so sorry if this is weird I've just been feeling really angsty! You can choose whatever happens lol I just wanna cry 🫶🏽

sorry i didn’t write this sooner!!! i really wanted to but i’ve been super busy over the past few days :(( i never feel super confident writing angst but i did my best!!! i hope you enjoy :D

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hongjoong yelled at you… hongjoong never yells. he doesn’t yell when yeosang is being difficult to train or just acting downright feral. he doesn’t yell when clients are being cheeky and asking for far too much. he doesn’t even yell when you’re being a brat and he slips into ‘dom mode’ to punish you. yet he yelled at you just a few minutes ago…

why?

it’s your fault, you tell yourself. if you’d just listened when he told you he was busy, none of this would’ve happened. he was already stressed so why did you think being a brat and pushing his buttons would be a good idea? of course he wouldn’t want to deal with you when he already so much else on his plate with work. it was dumb of you to even think he’d give you the time of day.

you try and keep your tears to a minimum as you stalk through the house. noisy crying would only be another distraction to hongjoong and you don’t want to upset him any more than you already have done. still, despite your best attempts, you can help the shuddered breathing and quiet sniffles as you make your way down the stairs and towards your favourite spot in the house.

the fire is already crackling, drawing you in like the pied piper. you can hear the hushed conversation behind the soft crepitation, but you ignore it, entirely too focussed on how nice it will be to flop onto your favourite rug and fall into a slumber. perhaps when you wake, everything will be fine. maybe hongjoong won’t be mad at you anymore. he’ll smile at you as he tells you you’re forgiven, placing a kiss to your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips. he’ll take you up into his arms and apologise for yelling, speaking to you in the softest, most gentle voice he can muster. it’s a nice thought…

you reach the doorway to the living room, staring up at the large, oak arch that reaches high above your head. it’s carved with intricate details all hand finished by their artist friend, yunho. most of it represents their respective histories, each of their tales beginning from the bottom of the arch and climbing the wood like vines until they reach the apex at the top. prior to your arrival, their wedding had been the carving at apex of the arch, the image of two ravens, each holding a ring within their beaks, sat proudly above everything else.

now, though, the image at the top is entirely different. a lamb with dove wings and a dainty collar around its neck. the ravens still sit proudly on either side of the creature, watching over it as it sleeps. as you stare at it, you can’t help but wonder whether hongjoong will still be upset with you come bedtime. there’s a spare room down the hall that you used to sleep in when you were nothing more than their sugar baby and it was too late for them to send you home alone. perhaps you’ll have to reside in that room tonight, cold and alone and unable to sleep without the warmth of your lovers on either side of you. the thought has you biting your lip to silence a sob.

it doesn’t quite work. you still involuntarily whimper, catching the attention of both seonghwa and yeosang. their hushed conversation halts to a stop as they see you at the doorway, eyes wide and wet as you stare up at the very tippy-top of the arch. your fingers tangle themselves up as they helplessly fiddle with one another, tugging and twisting and picking until blood begins to pool along one of your nail beds. seonghwa can’t recall a time he’s ever seen you like this, and there werewolf had certainly never. they share a wary look.

“my darling lamb,” seonghwa calls to you in a hushed voice. he doesn’t want to startle you by being too loud, but he needs to pull you from this anxious haze you’d found yourself trapped in. he can’t lie that he’s a little relieved when your red ringed eyes flicker over to meet his. smiling is the last thing he wants to do upon seeing you in this state, but he knows his gentle disposition will calm you; it always does. his lips curl up softly. “what happened?”

the werewolf that has taken up residence on your favourite rug watches with concerned eyes. ever since his arrival, you’ve been an annoying little shit. an absolute thorn in his side when he wanted nothing more than to have a peaceful existence in his new home. you have no respect for personal space, you never know when to shut up, and you’re always way too cheerful all the time. they were facts that yeosang just had to accept when he realised you weren’t threatened by his harsh growling and gnashing teeth. all those times he had you pinned to the floor, spit spraying as he warned you to leave him the fuck alone only to have you giggle in his face and call him pretty; that person is nowhere to be seen right now.

“pup?” he hums, deep voice grumbling as his worries work themselves into his tone. even though he quite thoroughly despised you on his entry to the house, it seems you have this magical ability to work your way into the hearts of anyone you set your sights on. you set your sights on him before you even knew him; it took you no time at all to become one of his top priorities. “tell us what’s the matter. we can’t help unless we know?”

you take a few tentative steps into the room, bare feet tapping lightly against the parquet floor. they’re so used to your thundering footsteps as you traverse the house at your excitable pace. the silent footsteps you take towards them make their skin crawl.

you reach the rug, gently lowering yourself until your bare thighs hit the soft fur. your pastel blue skirt—the one that seonghwa had picked out to match the werewolf’s fuzzy blue jumper—bunches up around your waist, but neither of them have the time to admire how perfectly slutty it looked. it hardly seems right when you continue to wordlessly snivel and whimper, not even bothering to lay yourself down alongside your favourite werewolf-shaped pillow.

“hongjoong was mean to me,” you whimper, and seonghwa can’t lie, it confuses him.

hongjoong is mean to you a lot. it’s how he punishes you for being a brat, bullying you into submission until you decide to be a good girl. he calls you names, pushes you around a little—it’s nothing too severe but still enough for him to have earned the reputation as the crueler of the two of them. for a second, seonghwa thinks he’s landed on the answer, you must’ve been a little too bratty and couldn’t handle the consequences…

but that still doesn’t make sense.

if you couldn’t handle the consequences then that must’ve meant you weren’t in the right headspace to be punished. that in itself is nothing new, although normally, you tend to realise that before you decide to go and act out. it could’ve been the case that you didn’t realise you weren’t feeling up for a punishment but then you should’ve used your safeword. the fact that you’re sat downstairs with him and yeosang and not snuggled up in hongjoong’s arms is testament to the fact that you can’t have done that either. his husband would never do something so utterly stupid as to let you out of his sight when you’re clearly still upset over a scene you stopped.

so what happened?

did you just force yourself to take a punishment you didn’t want? no. seonghwa knows you’re too smart to do that just like he knows his husband is too observant not to notice. it’s something else entirely. something that seonghwa just can’t put his finger on.

“i need a little more information than that, darling,” seonghwa coos as he leans forwards to rest his elbows on his lap. his chin sits prettily in the palms of one hand, the other coming to rest atop your head. he pets you a few times, his touch like a cloud as tries to soothe you. your shoulders relax a touch, but your fingers still pick at one another in your lap. seeing you in such a state makes his heart sink. “lamb, what exactly did hongjoong do to make you so upset?”

you sniffle, separating your hands for just a second to wipe your tears away. they fall right back onto your lap, twisting and tugging and smearing the blood around. seonghwa can’t help but be thankful that nothing in the house is pale enough to be stained by your blood; otherwise he’d be marching you the bathroom to wash your hands, begging you to tell him what happened as the two of you walk.

“he yelled at me,” you say simply, as if that would answer all of seonghwa’s questions. it doesn’t. in fact it only fills his mind with more.

“he yelled? as in he raised his voice?” seonghwa asks softly. he hopes that the answer is no; that you just mean that hongjoong has scolded you for something. it’s a little bit of a strong reaction for just a small telling off, but you have been known to take these sorts of things to heart.

but you nod, and seonghwa’s heart sinks. hongjoong never yells at anyone, let alone you, his little dove. seonghwa and yeosang pass an odd look between them.

“master yelled at you?” the werewolf hums as he shuffles his body closer to yours. an arm wraps around your waist and effortlessly tugs you until you’re lay flat against the rug alongside the pretty creature. he lays the hand atop your own, stopping you from doing any more damage to your nail beds. the blood that spills onto his hands is nothing that bothers him. “why would master do that?”

the question is more aimed towards seonghwa than it is you. as close as you are with the couple, it’s only really seonghwa that knows the inner workings of his husbands brain. he always has an explanation to everything hongjoong does…

“i don’t know,” he says, a frown taking over his beautiful features. you hate it because you know it’s your fault. you upset hongjoong, you got yelled at, you told seonghwa, and now you have upset him. every sign points to you…

“it’s my fault,” you whisper. yeosang’s arm tightens around your waist in an instinctive display of protection. from what, he isn’t too sure. “i just wanted him to take a break but he’s too busy right now. i should’ve known.”

of course. seonghwa could’ve guessed it would be down to stress. it’s been a rough few weeks for hongjoong, the stress of yeosang arriving and finding his way into their weird, mismatched family, mixed with an increase in customers with the jewellery business, it’s safe to say hongjoong had barely had a moment free. of course, yeosang has calmed a little by now, but that doesn’t take the stress of the business away from his poor husband. he’s still being worked half to death by demanding clients who have more money than sense.

seonghwa imagines that any moment now, his husband will come to his senses and see that you were just trying to do something nice. that you weren’t just being difficult for the sake of it—which, granted, you often are—but were instead just trying to take care of him. you lacked the grace and finesse that the two of them did, but you still tried. demons, it fills his heart with love to know that you desire to care for them in the same way they care about you. you’re such a precious little lamb for them; they must’ve done something very special in their past life to deserve you.

“oh, my lamb,” seonghwa mumbles through a soft smile, “you have nothing to blame yourself for except being at the mercy of your own empathy. you prodded him because you were worried and that’s very thoughtful of you. your daddy should be worshipping you for such a kind act. i’ll go and see if i can’t talk some sense into him, hm?”

he stands up, long flowing trousers pooling gracefully over his feet. his red nails dance along them as he straightens the material out, trying to iron out the creases with only his bare hands.

“i’ll be back soon,” he hums, “let your puppy take care of you for now.”

[ditoob]

Something I find makes the life and death of Achilles far more tragic is the fact that all he is is the Trojan War. His parents’ wedding begins the conflict, and he dies before the end of the war. His entire life was spent in something he had no control over. Did he know Helen? Paris? Hektor? The Trojans became his enemies only when he reached the beaches of Troy.

Hell, if we go by the Achilleid, Achilles didn’t even know what the war was about until he was sailing to Troy. A young boy whose birth produced an unjust prophecy that dictated the rest of his life: Live long and die in obscurity, or die in war and live in the minds of the people forever. No greek man of his time could bear to die in obscurity, but it was especially impossible for Achilles to do so. His father Peleus, a legendary Argonaut whose adventures would be remembered for millenia, his mother Thetis, a towering goddess raised by the queen of the gods herself.

Their child had to be known.

At Aulis the greeks call for Achilles, a legend before he even steps into the battlefield, and he is forced to go to war. And he fights, he kills, he ravages the city of Troy. A boy who has never even seen a battle in his life, living in peaceful Pthia and later protected by mighty Chiron in Thessally, becomes a machine specifically created for one purpose: To destroy Troy.

This is the reason why Achilles refuses to fight after the taking of Briseis. Unlike Agamemnon, who lived before the Trojan War, who had a wife and family before the Trojan War, who will leave Troy. Or Odysseus who will tell his tales to his son and wife after 20 years away. Or Menelaus who after years regains his family and rules Sparta in peace. Achilles has no life, no future, he IS Troy, more than even Hektor, Paris, and Priam are. Thus, when his honor is threatened, everything he has ever lived for has been taken away from him. Realize that before the taking of Briseis, Agamemnon mentioned takingthe “bride prizes” from the other greek kings and despite this not going anywhere none of them attempted to argue. Would Odysseus attempt to kill Agamemnon if his bride prize were taken? Would Diomedes or Greater Ajax?

And yet, after Achilles lives his entire life for war. After he struggles and suffers so much at the face of adversity. At the loss of his everything, Patroklos. At the slight to his honor. He spends the rest of eternity regretting everything he had ever done. Perhaps it is a mercy to Achilles that shades forget their life on earth

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seongji Yuk x Reader: Treats

G/N. Meeting Seongji for the first time.

"Your teeth are gonna fall out."

The monster of the mountain looks at you, face blank though eyes amused, tanghulu hanging from his mouth.

You've seen him enough times to know there's not much monstrous about him, apart from his overwhelming sweet tooth.

Rumours of this monster were grossly exaggerated.

Maybe you should have had more self preservation than to wander the mountainside when such tales persist. Yet when you found out the monster was a mere man, a mere boy close to your age, who seemed to have a penchant for sugary, syrup covered fruit-

You realised the only thing to fear was cavities and tooth decay.

Still. It helps to have someone with such a reputation on your side, you decide, as you toss over a pack of fruit gummies.

A hand shoots out and swiftly catches it.

(Six. You swore you saw six fingers on that hand.)

"Thought you might like these," you shrug as he gives you an odd look, "See ya!"

.

.

After the fifth pack of candies you threw at him, the guilt sets in.

You make your way through now familiar half hidden paths, searching for the monster.

He's there. Sitting in front of his giant wok, surrounded by freshly made tanghulu. Scents of sugar and caramel fill the air.

"You're here again," The words are spoken so quietly you almost missed them. His voice is softer than you expected.

"I bought you more things," you hold out a small plastic bag. He gives you the same look each time. 

"Open it," you encourage, shoving it more forcefully in his direction.

With little trust - which is somewhat unfair, you think, considering all the treats he has received from you - he takes the bag.

(Six. You know you saw six fingers on that hand.)

He opens it, peers in, face clouded with caution. Then-

Eyebrows shooting into his hairline, eyes widening almost comically, mouth forming an 'o'-

The tension breaks and he chuckles.

"It's one thing if all the tanghulu you eat rots your teeth, that's your own fault," You rub the back of your head self-consciously as he pulls out more fruit candies, as well as a new toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash one after the other. "But if it's because of me then..."

"You're strange," he says, staring at you like you're a puzzle he can't quite figure out.

His words have no bite.

.

.

"Seongji Yuk," he eventually provides his name with reluctance. In exchange, you provide the rest of the banchan and rice to accompany his homemade kimchi.

(Your single braincell stopped functioning the first time you realised he does in fact eat something besides sugar.

It's endearing, this supposed 'monster' making his own tanghulu, making his own kimchi.

You kept comparing his recipe with your own before eventually he asked you to leave out of exasperation.)

"Well Seongji, your kimchi needs more saeujeot," It's not bad, it's just missing something.

"You don't have to eat it," he grumbles, swallowing down an extra big mouthful.

.

.

"So..."  You stall, elongating the word, letting it drift into the night. You don't really know Seongji well, hell you don't know him at all. Maybe it would be intrusive to ask.

You hear a rustling beside you. "So what?"

"So… you live on this mountain?"

"I do."

"Huh." You gaze out at the stars. It's a pretty peaceful existence, or it would be if not for Cheonliang. "On your own?"

"Yes."

"Do you ever get lonely?"

A beat. Then - "No."

Oh.

You turn to him and see his face blank but eyes amused. Messy hair and high cheekbones highlighted by the fire.

"Well I can visit you if I get lonely then."

There's a huff of laughter. Seongji knows he can't stop you anyway. He turns back toward the vast inky sky. Takes in the scattered stars. Feels the heat from the flames, a heat that settles into his cheeks.

A smile dances on his lips when he tells you "Okay."

[astarioffsimpmain]

Unsolicited Affections (Part 1)

[Screenshots and Tav, Ban, by the lovely @brabblesblog]

Halsin x Plus Size F!Reader

Warnings: Body insecurity; internalized fatphobia; otherwise, floof (for now)

Synopsis: Your growing feelings for Halsin can no longer be ignored. Even so, that doesn't mean you don't try for your poor heart's sake. However, Halsin keeps bringing you closer, and you aren't sure how much longer you can take it without confessing... even though confessing is your worst fear.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to @brabblesblog for taking these screenshots and allowing me to use Ban in the header! For all readers, there will be a Part 2 to this fic and it will be the smut you all requested from the poll I took! This became a super duper indulgent fic for me, as I struggle with all of the insecurities the reader struggles with here. But I hope this little 2 part creation can act as a balm for anyone who has ever struggled with their bodily image, or wondered if they'd ever be seen as beautiful. This one's for you; for us. <3

Part 2 Here

The battle had been bloody. Grime and viscera was spread across each body, hair color lost in deep dyes of red in the wake of the victory. You and your companions trudged back to camp in silence; exhausted. You had failed to obtain what the battle had been fought for in the first place, and you were certain that your mood was soured for the rest of the evening. Upon reentering your campground, Gale was the first to greet you all, thankful to see that everyone was alive, albeit roughed up; obvious disappointment creased his features for a moment when you told him the news that you had failed to obtain the magical object you had set out for, but he hid it behind an understanding smile and ushered you to sit by the fire as he finished dinner. 

You had reasoned that if the Netherese Orb in Gale's chest required the consumption of magic to remain stable, that the more powerful the object, the longer it would sate him. So you had taken a group and set out for the most powerful magical object in your direct vicinity - the Circlet of Blasting. You had recognized it the day previous on the head of a Drow with several of its companions near the Myconid colony in the Underdark. Once you found them again, you approached to inquire whether you could cough up enough gold to take it off their hands, but when they turned and pierced you with vicious red eyes that gleamed back at your group with a reflectiveness like a cat's, you knew gold would not satisfy them. And as they drew their daggers, you were proven correct, and the battle had begun.

You slumped over on the log next to the fire, too exhausted to properly stow your weight, as you removed your armor piece by piece. The second person to approach you carried a warm bowl of stew and placed it gently into your palms. The hands were tender and gentle, and much too large to belong to anyone but your favorite Archdruid. You raised your weary head to meet his beautiful bright green eyes, creased with worry, but soft with care as he lowered himself to the ground beside your legs, his muscular arm grazing the now-bare skin of your thigh as he adjusted. A flutter ran through your stomach at the contact, but you clamped down on it before you could get carried away. You knew his kindness was platonic. It had to be. Halsin was simply…kind. 

The tell-tale signs of complicated and painful feelings had risen within your chest since rescuing Halsin from the goblins, and although you had tried to deny them, recently it had proven impossible. But while you finally admitted to yourself that you had fallen for his disarming smile, the scratch of his well-worn fingertips against your softer skin, and how passionately he cared about every living creature in nature, you refused to admit it to anyone else. You would be sparing yourself that embarrassment this time around. Your chest ached, remembering the many times you'd fallen for someone and approached them with this truth, only to be turned away over and over again. Inwardly, you snarled, blaming the extra plush your body carried for your lack of luck in love. Whether the objects of your affection had been kind, polite, or downright rude, there was always a moment in which their eyes would quickly rake your body up and down before delivering their blow. Perhaps they didn't even recognize that they did it, but you saw. You always saw. 

So, while you knew Halsin would never be unkind to you, you had been trying to make peace with the very probable fact that he would only ever see you as a friend - never quite attractive enough to be anything more. It was something you were used to, but it never seemed to dull the throbbing pain in your heart whenever you thought on it too long. There was a part of you, somewhere deep, that knew you were not at fault; that knew you were not to blame; that perhaps if they had deigned to look beyond the surface for even a moment, that they would have seen how genuine your heart was, and how they never would have had to go without affection, love, or loyalty should they have chosen you. You weren't without this enlightenment, but the constant dissatisfaction of, or concern for, the body you carried from those around you - from well-meaning friends to pushy strangers - weighed heavy on your tired mind. 

This moment around the fire was no exception, your burning desire to curl around Halsin's broad shoulders like a cat and purr was strong, but overshadowed by the fear of rejection. You had him near, but pulling him too close was to risk sending him far away, and you weren't sure you'd be able to stand it were that to occur. An icy shudder ran through you at the mere thought of Halsin retracting his warmth from your side. "- giving you a chill?" His dulcet voice pulled you back to reality like a line reeling you in, but you caught only his last few words. 

"What?" You said, blinking as his image in your eyes grew sharper again. "Apologies, my mind was far away." 

"No worries." He chuckled. "I merely asked if the night air was giving you a chill. You were shaking, my heart." 

My heart. 

You melted a little. The nickname was fairly new. The first time he had called you that had been two mornings prior, after a late start and a quick bath in the bioluminescent pools near your campsite in the Underdark. You had come trudging back to camp in clothes that were quickly dampening due to being pressed against your still wet skin, wringing your hair out ferociously as you tried to hurry to catch up with everyone else's progress. You had just started to wrench your boots up over your clinging pants when Halsin had approached you, laying a warm hand against your wet-stained shirt. You had startled, your head snapping up to his in a surprised daze. 

"Slow down." He had said, running a soothing hand down your bent spine and back up, sending full bodied shocks through you like tidal waves. "You needn't worry, my heart. We will wait for you." 

As the memory warmed your cheeks, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes, praying he couldn't see the thoughts lingering just inside the colors of your irises. "No, I'm alright. Just- just a bit weak from not eating all day. Thank you, for bringing me this." You finally acknowledged the bowl in your hands and raised it a little. 

"Of course. Please, eat. I hear from the others that you had a rough skirmish. I implore you to let me check you over once you've finished your stew." 

Ignoring the way your heart jumped dangerously near to your throat, you nodded silently, opting instead to pick up the wooden spoon in the bowl and begin to eat. It was one of Halsin's spoons; one he whittled. It was smooth and beautiful and easy to hold. Almost all of the cutlery in camp had been fashioned by Halsin, and several of the stools you kept as well. It was his hobby and his form of relief, to create things with his hands. Subconsciously, you glanced down to where the hands in question rested on his knees; large and rough, his hands had seen it all and done it all through his 300 plus years of life, and you couldn't help but quietly admire how much they had learned and lost in the process. And after all of that, he chose to create beauty with those hands that knew so much. It made your heart clench with a new wave of affection. You swallowed hard, as if the feelings would force their way back down in the same way as the contents of your bowl. 

Again, you were drawn back from your reverie by the Druid's movements, one of his hands moving from his lap to yours. His palm came down to rest flat on your thigh, only a thin layer of fabric left to separate the blazing heat from your skin. You barely suppressed a gasp of surprise at the sudden contact, feeling much more intimate than it probably was, and locked eyes with Halsin, whose brow was worried into wrinkles. "You seem more distant than usual, are you sure you're alright?" He said, his thumb taking a slow drag across your leg, sending your poor heart racing in your chest. 

"Yes," you managed to respond, rather breathlessly. "I- I'm alright." Even you weren't convinced by your attempt at deflection, and Halsin's frown only deepened. 

"When you've finished your stew, come find me by my tent. I will have some healing herbs waiting for you." He said sternly and you nodded silently. His eyes softened at your wide-eyed expression and he reached up to gingerly tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "Promise me you will come." He murmured quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, and your heart stuttered wildly in your chest. 

"I promise." You replied, and a soft smile graced his lips. He nodded in return and stood up, brushing himself off before walking back towards his tent. 

"Gods," you muttered under your breath, pressing your palm to your chest in an effort to keep your pounding heart inside. 

"You've been given the perfect opportunity, darling." A voice chimed lyrically behind you, and you turned your head to find Astarion eyeing you appreciatively. "Don't waste it." He grinned widely, putting his fangs on display as he did so. 

"Shut up, Astarion." You mumbled, your face heating as you pressed your hands over your eyes. You only hoped you wouldn't make a fool of yourself. 

fin

[solxamber]

Fairytales and Fever Dreams - Vil Schoenheit x reader

When you decide to beg a fairy for help at your lowest point, you didn't expect that he'd decide to help you— at the cost of you making skincare for him.

You’re a mage at the academy, and life has officially declared war on you. Seriously. You’re about this close to having a full-on breakdown, the kind where they find you cackling in the library while surrounded by half-finished spell scrolls. One more minor inconvenience and you swear, you’re going to walk out onto the quad, set fire to the herbology building, and just stand there, staring blankly as it burns, sipping tea.

And why? Because you have four—count them—four finals on the same day. You don’t know who pissed in the universe’s cereal, but apparently, you’re the one paying for it.

"Okay, it’s fine," you mutter to yourself while chewing on the end of a quill. "You just need one little miracle. Just a small one. Like, I don’t know, a meteor wiping out the school. Or the headmaster spontaneously combusting. Something normal like that."

But then, you remember the rumor—the kind of rumor people whisper about when they’re this close to a mental collapse. Oh yes, the whispered tale of the fairies in the forest at the edge of town. Supposedly, if you bring an offering to the fairies, they’ll grant you a wish. Any wish. No strings attached.

You snort. It’s probably a load of magical nonsense. But considering your current state of sleep deprivation (and let’s be honest, mild hysteria), you’re willing to give it a shot. Desperate times and all that.

So, you scrape together the fanciest honey and milk your student budget can manage, which is probably a 5/10 by fairy standards but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You pack it up in a basket like some weird, broke Little Red Riding Hood and trudge out to the forest.

The second you arrive, you’re not even trying to be subtle or respectful about it. No, you go straight to begging.

“Please, fairies, PLEASE!” You fall to your knees dramatically, waving the basket around like you’re presenting some holy relic. “I’m begging you. I need help. I haven’t slept in three days, I’m running on a liter of coffee and sheer spite, and if I fail one more class, I’m gonna have to turn myself into a toad and live under a rock. Just—just one wish, that’s all I’m asking!”

It’s bad. Like, so bad, you’re half-expecting some animal to come along and put you out of your misery out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But then, there’s this rustling sound behind you, and when you look up, someone is standing there.

Correction: the prettiest person you’ve ever seen is standing there.

He’s tall, ethereal, and glowing—literally glowing, like he bathes in moonlight and stardust. His hair’s all silky and perfect, his skin looks like it’s never heard of acne, and the expression on his face tells you that he’s about two seconds away from calling security on you.

“Why, exactly,” he starts, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow that could cut glass, “are you kneeling in front of my forest and making this embarrassing display?”

You blink. Several things occur to you all at once:

1. Fairies are real. Huh. You thought you were just being insane.

2. Holy hell, he’s the most beautiful person (fairy?) you’ve ever seen.

3. Wait—his forest?

You quickly wipe the pathetic tears from your face and stumble to your feet. “A-are you… a fairy?”

“No, I’m a sentient dust bunny,” he deadpans. “Yes, of course, I’m a fairy. What are you even doing here?”

You hesitate. He’s giving off serious annoyed model on a runway vibes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hex you out of his forest or just roll his eyes so hard that you get flung into another dimension.

“I, uh… finals,” you mumble, the tears starting to well up again. “Four finals. Same day. And I haven’t slept. I’m one failed exam away from permanently turning into a raccoon.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like your existence is just too much for him. “And you thought the best course of action was to come here and… grovel?”

You nod pathetically. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to just walk away, leaving you to your breakdown. But then his eyes narrow, and he points at your backpack. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” You look down and see the sunscreen bottle sticking out. “Oh, uh, that’s just something I made. I’ve been working on a skincare formula for sensitive skin.”

He steps closer, plucking it from your bag with the grace of someone used to handling priceless artifacts. “Skincare, you say?” He opens it, sniffing it cautiously before dabbing a bit onto the back of his hand. His eyes light up for a second, and you swear you hear an angelic choir in the background. “Hm. Not bad. A bit of a lavender undertone. Smooth texture. SPF 50?”

You nod. “Y-yeah.”

He looks back at you, and for the first time since he appeared, you see the barest hint of approval on his face. “It’s hard to find good skincare products these days, even among the fairies.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Is this your life now? Trading finals survival for skincare tips with a beautiful fairy?

“Well,” he says, still admiring the product, “I suppose I could grant you one wish. One. But only if you agree to make more of these skincare products for me.”

“Really?” You blink, not entirely believing your luck. “You’ll help me?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t do charity. But your skincare is adequate. And it’s not every day I meet someone this close to unraveling. It’s almost entertaining.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. “Deal. Deal. I’ll make you whatever skincare you want, just get me through these finals.”

He gives a nod, satisfied. “Then we have a deal.”

And just like that, you’ve somehow bartered your way out of academic doom with a fairy obsessed with sun protection. Let’s hope this arrangement works out better than the rest of your life so far.

Apparently, fairies like Vil don’t believe in things like cheating or, you know, the basic decency of using magic to fix your problems instantly. No, that would be too easy. And Vil—your very pretty, very exasperating new fairy overlord—has decided that the best way to help you pass your finals is to tutor you personally.

His price? One skincare product per lesson. And you, being surprisingly decent at making potions and cosmetics (alchemy major, what else), agreed because, at the time, you thought, How hard could it be?

Sweet summer child. You had no idea what you were getting into.

Because Vil? He’s not just strict. He’s villain origin story strict. His “tutoring” is so intense, so grueling, that you’re starting to wonder if he’s secretly training you for some kind of sadistic mage boot camp. At one point, you fail a poison-brewing technique, and he makes you redo it. Then again. And again. And again.

By the fifteenth attempt, you’re seriously contemplating bottling the poison and taking a little sip just to see what happens.

“Again,” Vil says, his voice icily calm, like he hasn’t just been watching you fail for an hour straight.

“I think I’m seeing stars,” you mutter, staring at the cauldron. “Should potions be giving me a near-death experience?”

“Focus,” he says, completely unfazed by your descent into madness. “If you can’t even get this basic potion right, I have serious concerns about your competency as a mage.”

You’re on the verge of a mental breakdown. One more failed attempt, and you’re going to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Or better yet—turn yourself into a toad and hop into a pot of boiling water. Anything to escape the relentless perfectionism of Vil Schoenheit.

“Maybe I’ll just hex myself into a mushroom and live out the rest of my life in peace,” you grumble under your breath as you stir the potion yet again.

“ What was that?”

“Nothing!” You stir faster.

To your utter shock, the potion finally turns the right color. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully brewed the poison, and it only took, what, half your lifespan?

Vil inspects it with a critical eye, and after a long, painful pause, he says, “Acceptable.”

“Acceptable?!” You want to scream. This is the culmination of blood, sweat, tears, and the remnants of your sanity, and all he has to say is acceptable?

“Yes, acceptable,” Vil repeats, as if your suffering isn’t the most amusing thing he’s seen all week. “You’ll need to refine your technique, of course, but this will suffice for now.”

You groan, head in your hands. “I’m going to transmute myself into a sock and live in someone’s laundry basket.”

But here’s the kicker: despite all of Vil’s strictness, he’s actually the nicest person (fairy?) you’ve ever met. You don’t know if that’s pathetic or straight-up depressing, but still, it’s true. He’s picky, yes, but he cares.

Apparently, Vil has a radar for poor life choices because one day, after what feels like your 57th failed poison attempt, he takes one look at the sad pile of instant noodles and energy drinks cluttering your desk and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

"You've been eating this?" He gestures at the disaster that is your meal—a cup of ramen sitting next to an open bag of questionable chips. His expression could curdle milk. "Do you actually value your internal organs, or are you trying to audition for the role of a trash panda?"

You blink, staring at your gourmet spread, and then back at him. "Excuse me, I’ll have you know, this is an advanced student diet. We run on caffeine and MSG."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’re not running on anything. You’re sputtering at best."

You open your mouth to argue, but then glance down at the pathetic excuse for food in front of you. Okay. Fine. Maybe you are sputtering. But what are you supposed to do, handcraft five-course meals between four finals and Vil’s poison-torture sessions?

Vil sighs dramatically, as if your very existence is a personal affront. "I’m not letting you continue this… self-destruction. You’re going to eat real food even if it kills you." He waves a hand, and suddenly a basket of the most beautiful, vibrant fruits and vegetables you've ever seen appears out of thin air. It's like the entire organic section of a high-end grocery store, but, you know, without the soul-crushing price tags.

"Where did you even get all this?" you ask, poking suspiciously at a particularly shiny apple. "Did you steal it from some enchanted Whole Foods?"

Vil glares at you like you’ve personally insulted his lineage. "I foraged it from my forest, you uncultured turnip."

You blink. "I’m a potato now, and a turnip? What’s next? Are we making a root vegetable salad?"

Vil rolls his eyes. "No, we’re making something that doesn’t resemble a cry for help. Get to it."

You sigh, but with Vil watching like a disapproving food critic, you figure you might as well try to impress him. You rummage through the basket, grab a few ingredients, and somehow manage to throw together a halfway decent stir-fry. You may be broke, but you can cook. It’s one of the few things that hasn't gone completely sideways in your life.

You serve it up with a flourish, smirking a little. "Voilà, a proper meal. Happy now?"

Vil inspects the plate with his usual level of judgment. You half-expect him to whip out a magnifying glass and start searching for flaws. Finally, he takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and then gives you a rare, grudging nod of approval.

"Surprisingly competent for someone who survives on garbage," he says, in what you can only assume is Vil’s version of high praise.

"Wow, a compliment. I feel blessed," you deadpan, but you’re grinning. It’s not every day you get validation from a fairy with standards so high he probably judges oxygen.

Vil continues eating, and you join him, secretly proud of the fact that you managed to cook something that didn’t send him into a rant about toxins and poor life choices. For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, just… eating. It’s weirdly nice.

After you both finish, Vil leans back, looking mildly satisfied. "If you continue to feed yourself like a proper human being," he says, "you might actually survive your finals."

"Yeah, well, if I keep spending time with you, I might also survive on sheer fear," you mutter.

He smiles, that rare, dazzling smile that makes your brain short-circuit for a moment. "Fear is a good motivator. But I expect more than just survival from you. I expect excellence."

You groan. "You know, for a fairy who showed up because of my embarrassing begging, you sure do expect a lot."

Vil just smirks. "You begged for help. I’m making sure you don’t embarrass yourself further by failing."

"Touché," you admit, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth to avoid further conversation.

You know, maybe being insulted by the prettiest fairy in existence while eating fresh, organic food isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you.

But soon enough, it was back to work. After the food debacle, you whipped up a fresh batch of moisturizer for him. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before, so you’re not expecting much.

Then Vil tries it. And his entire face lights up like you’ve just handed him the elixir of eternal youth.

“This is… impressive,” he says, his voice soft with genuine surprise. “It’s incredibly hydrating, and the texture is—” He pauses, then flashes you a smile that’s so dazzling, it practically sparkles. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

And then, out of nowhere, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

You freeze.

Your brain flatlines.

“Wha—Did you just—?”

Vil pulls back, completely unfazed by the fact that he just KISSED YOU. “If you continue to make products of this quality, I may have to keep you around longer.”

Your heart is still trying to restart, but you manage to nod. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Skincare. I can do that.”

You stare at him, wondering if this is real life or if you’ve just died and gone to some bizarre, fairy-run skincare hell. Because if that’s what’s happening, it’s starting to feel weirdly okay. Especially with the way he’s smiling at you.

And as you walk away, still reeling, you catch yourself thinking, Is dropping out of the academy to become Vil’s personal skincare maker really such a bad idea?

Honestly? With a smile like that? You’re starting to think it’s the best idea.

You’ve finally survived—ahem mastered—the hell that was poisons and advanced magical theory under Vil’s terrifyingly perfect supervision. You can now confidently brew lethal concoctions and analyze obscure spells without mentally cursing out every deity you can name. That’s progress. But of course, your next subject is Magical Beasts, and because life apparently hates you, it’s your worst one yet.

When you express this to Vil, expecting some helpful advice or perhaps even a break (hah, wishful thinking), he just waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll ask a friend for help,” he says simply.

And that’s how you end up in the presence of the most extra fairy you’ve ever seen in your life. (Okay, you’ve met a grand total of two fairies, but still.)

The fairy in question bursts into your study room in a whirlwind of sparkles and sheer chaos, trailing a cloud of rose petals and the distinct scent of overly expensive perfume. He’s tall and elegant, his wings shimmering with iridescent hues, and before you can so much as blink, he’s speaking a mile a minute in a mix of French and pure gibberish.

“Mon cher! Quelle horreur! This room is an insult to aesthetics! Non, non, I simply cannot work in these conditions!” he cries dramatically, gesturing wildly at your meticulously organized notes.

You blink. “…What?”

But he’s already prancing around, rearranging your books and scattering glitter like some kind of deranged fairy godmother. Then, with zero transition, Rook starts rambling about magical beasts and their habitats in a way that has your head spinning. One minute he’s critiquing your choice of ink color (“Black? How dull!”), and the next he’s rattling off obscure beast facts with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated professor.

“The Hippogriff prefers moonlight baths! Ah, and the Knarl must be serenaded with music, or it will—how you say?—stab you!” he chirps, waving his delicate hands around in a way that seems more dangerous than helpful.

You’re sitting there, bewildered and slightly concerned for your sanity. “Wait, wait, wait, so—hold up, what do I do if a Knarl shows up in the daytime?”

Rook stares at you like you’ve just asked if water is wet. “Why, you run, of course!” Then he bursts into laughter, as if this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve lost count of the number of strange and sometimes horrifying tidbits he’s thrown at you. You’re pretty sure you’ve somehow become an expert in magical beast theory without consciously realizing it, and the sheer absurdity of the situation is enough to make you feel like your brain’s been hijacked.

“And that,” the fairy declares with a dramatic twirl, “is how you tame a Chimaera!”

You blink, staring at your notes, which are now a colorful mess of drawings, beast diagrams, and snippets of what you hope are actual instructions and not just fashion advice. “…I feel like I’ve learned a lot. But also absolutely nothing.”

“Perfect!” he crows. “You have done magnifique!”

Before you can process what the heck just happened, you decide to thank him the only way you know how: by giving him a small, beautifully-packaged vial of a custom serum. You’ve worked hard on this formula, combining the best of alchemy and skincare magic, and as soon as you hand it to him, his eyes go wide.

“Pour moi? C’est incroyable!” He clutches it dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve just gifted him a crown jewel. Then, without warning, he’s leaning in way too close, inspecting your face with an intensity that borders on obsessive. “Mon Dieu, you are a true artiste! So beautiful! So—”

“Excuse me,” a low, frosty voice cuts in.

You turn just in time to see Vil gliding over, expression smooth but eyes narrowed. With the grace of a professional diplomat (or maybe a particularly possessive cat), he slips between the two of you, placing a firm hand on the other fairy’s shoulder and gently guiding him away from your personal space.

“Thank you for your assistance, Rook,” Vil says with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We appreciate your expertise, but I believe that’s enough for today.”

Rook pouts but finally relents. He throws one last, longing glance at your serum and then at you, as if you’re both equally captivating. “Ah, c’est dommage… I shall return!” With that, he flits off, leaving you standing there, more confused than ever.

You turn to Vil, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… thanks?”

But Vil isn’t looking at you like a savior. No, he’s looking at you like you’ve just betrayed his entire bloodline.

“Excuse me,” you ask, blinking in confusion. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“You,” Vil says slowly, his voice dangerously soft, “are my skincare human.”

You stare at him. “Um. What?”

“Mine.” Vil’s gaze flickers pointedly between you and the direction Rook flew off in, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I did not agree to share your talents with anyone else.”

Oh. Oh.

“Vil,” you say, a grin spreading across your face despite yourself. “Are you… jealous?”

The way his expression shifts from imperious to indignant would almost be funny if it weren’t so incredibly satisfying. “Jealous?” he scoffs, tossing his hair back with a haughty flick. “Don’t be absurd.”

You glance pointedly at the pink tips of his ears, which are steadily darkening into a bright red.

“Riiight,” you say slowly. “Totally not jealous at all. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not,” he insists, crossing his arms, but his voice is just a fraction too defensive.

“Sure, sure,” you say with a mock-serious nod, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s just that, you know, your ears are kind of giving you away.”

Vil sputters, shooting you a glare that could melt glass. “You—!”

“I’m just saying!” you chirp, smirking as you lean back. “I’m your skincare human. Got it, boss.”

He narrows his eyes, but the flush on his ears betrays him. “Remember it,” he huffs, turning sharply on his heel. “And don’t you dare give away my products to anyone else without consulting me first.”

You watch him stalk off, your grin widening. Maybe studying under Vil isn’t so bad after all.

Finally, your last subject: Offensive Magic. You’re almost at the finish line, but there’s one little problem. Apparently, dueling Vil or Rook is a fast track to the afterlife, and you aren’t too keen on becoming a cautionary tale.

That’s how you find yourself facing off against the youngest of the bunch—a fairy named Epel. He looks as thrilled to be there as you are, which is to say, not at all.

“Vil made me do this,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

You quickly realize that Epel’s main emotion is mild resentment, which honestly? Relatable.

The duel begins, and you’re expecting something simple—maybe some low-level spells, something to pad out your barely passing grades. But then Epel smirks, lifts his hand, and suddenly, half the field explodes in a brilliant display of magic that has you rethinking your life choices. Like, seriously reconsidering everything that led you to this exact moment.

You’re left standing there, jaw practically on the floor as bits of dirt rain down around you. “Holy shit,” you breathe. “You’re so cool.”

Epel freezes. His eyes dart to you, clearly shocked by the praise, and he suddenly looks a lot less surly. “...Really?”

“Yeah! That was amazing! I didn’t even know you could do that!”

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to hide a smile. “Well, I’ve been practicing…”

And just like that, you’re friends. Bonded over the mutual understanding that Offensive Magic is both terrifying and awesome when Epel’s involved.

Later that day, after a lesson where you actually didn’t almost explode yourself (personal growth!), you, Vil, and Epel are lounging in the forest. Rook’s off doing...whatever mysterious thing he does, leaving you all in relative peace. You’re casually chatting about the lessons when Epel, totally offhandedly, drops the biggest bomb of the century.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty lucky the king of the fairies decided to help you out.”

You blink. “The what?”

Epel gives you a look like you’ve just asked if the moon was real. “The king of the fairies. You know, Vil.”

You almost choke. “Vil’s the king of the fairies?” Your voice cracks like you’ve hit puberty again.

Vil, lounging nearby, doesn’t even flinch. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“NO. YOU DIDN’T.”

“Well, now you know.”

You stare at him, mind reeling. “I’ve been—wait—what in the Sevens—you’re the king of the fairies? And you just—casually tutor people? Like it’s no big deal?!”

Vil sighs, flipping through a book as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not obvious!” You’re flailing at this point, and Epel is snickering behind his hand, clearly enjoying your existential crisis.

Vil’s still cool as a cucumber, but when you stammer, “No wonder you’re the most beautiful fairy I’ve ever seen,” you catch the faintest flicker of a smirk on his face. He straightens up just a little bit, clearly preening at the compliment.

Rook suddenly appears out of nowhere, laughing like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing in his life. “Ah! How charming! Our humble little mage finally sees the light!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, feeling your face heat up. “This is too much. My brain can’t handle this.”

The lesson ends, and you decide to thank Vil the only way you know how—by crafting him a night cream as a parting gift. You’ve gotten pretty good at making skincare, and you can tell he’s been eyeing this particular blend.

But then, in a rare moment of what can only be described as vulnerability, Vil hands you the jar and says, “Could you…apply it for me?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

He’s holding it out to you, but he’s not meeting your eyes, and—wait, are his hands shaking? You squint. Is he nervous?

Nah. Can’t be. Vil doesn’t do nervous.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to overthink it. You take the jar and start gently massaging the cream into his flawless skin. Vil closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s almost…peaceful.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

You smile to yourself, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing inside him. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing.”

What you don’t realize is that this was your last lesson. Vil knows this. And for some reason, it’s hitting him hard. He’s spent all this time tutoring you, teaching you everything he knows, and now…you won’t need him anymore. You won’t come back. You’ll pass your exams and move on with your life, leaving him behind. And the thought of that—it stings more than he wants to admit.

Meanwhile, you’re completely unaware of his inner turmoil, humming to yourself as you finish applying the cream. “There you go. All set!”

You stretch, packing up your things, already mentally planning your next skincare batch for him. “Well, I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Wait.” Vil’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. You blink as he suddenly pulls you into a hug, catching you completely off guard.

“Uh…Vil?”

He’s holding you tightly, and when he speaks, his voice is a little sad. “Good luck.”

You frown, confused. “Why do you sound so sad? I'll pass my exams for sure after all your help.”

He doesn’t respond. You shrug and hug him back, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Alright, see you later, drama king.”

And with that, you stroll off, leaving Vil standing there, still holding on to the weight of his unspoken feelings.

Rook, watching from a distance, smiles knowingly. “Ah, how bittersweet…”

Epel just rolls his eyes. “Man, this is like watching a soap opera.”

You passed your exams. Scratch that—you topped them. You’re basically an academic legend now, leaving everyone wondering what kind of ancient god you made a pact with. The professors are whispering your name like you’re some ancient prodigy who’s been secretly acing exams since the dawn of time.

Naturally, you’ve decided to celebrate by making your magnum opus: the most legendary lip balm the world has ever seen. The kind of balm that could revive a dying star, or, more realistically, soothe the chapped lips of a certain fussy fairy.

With your glorious lip balm in hand, you set off to the forest to see Vil. The path is familiar, and yet, today something feels... off. The trees look droopy, the flowers are wilting—like someone forgot to water this whole section of the forest.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, stepping over a vine that looks like it’s given up on life. “Did everyone just forget what hydration is?”

When you reach Vil’s cottage, your gut instinct kicks into overdrive.

Something’s wrong. Really wrong. Your heart is racing. You knock once. Twice. Still nothing. Panic sets in, and before you know it, you’re knocking the door clean off its hinges in your haste.

“Oops,” you whisper, but there’s no time to dwell on it because you see someone on the bed. It’s Vil, and he’s looking about as far from his usual flawless self as you’ve ever seen. He’s feverish, pale, and frankly, it kind of looks like he's dying.

“Vil!” you rush over, shaking him gently. He opens his eyes, squinting at you like you’re an overly bright light in the middle of his fever dream.

“I didn’t know hallucinations could be so vivid,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

“What hallucinations? I’m real!” You’re practically crying now, shaking him harder. He just smiles faintly, completely convinced that you’re some fever-induced mirage.

Fantastic. Not only is he sick, but he also thinks you’re a figment of his imagination.

Frantically, you start brewing a cooling potion, your hands shaking as you mix the ingredients. Vil just watches you with a dazed, slightly amused expression, like he’s impressed that his hallucination has such a good grasp on potion-making.

“I’m real,” you repeat, as you pour the potion down his throat. He gives a tiny nod before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Cue full-on panic mode. You don’t know what’s happening or why Vil’s like this, so you do the only thing you can think of—you send a carrier pigeon to Rook, because of course fairies don’t have phones.

Rook shows up in record time, practically gliding into the cottage like some kind of majestic hunting bird. He takes one look at the pitiful scene—Vil feverish and weak, you hovering like an anxious mother hen—and smiles.

“Oh, he’s heartbroken,” Rook declares, as if that explains everything.

“Heartbroken?!” you echo, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “I saw him two days ago, and he was fine. How could he be heartbroken in two days?!”

“Ah,” Rook says, his eyes twinkling with dramatic flair, “fairies can only fall in love once, and when they do, they fall hard. He thought you wouldn’t return after your exams. He was suffering in silence, believing you’d move on without him.”

You stare at Rook, dumbfounded. “Is he blind?!” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been horrendously in love with him since day one! How could he not notice?”

Rook just beams at you, like you’ve confirmed his favorite romantic theory. “Ah, l’amour. So tragic, yet so beautiful.”

At this point, you’re ready to throw your hands up in frustration. How does Vil not notice? You’ve been making him skincare products, practically living in his cottage, and hovering over him like a lovesick puppy. Could he really think you were just going to leave? But of course, Vil—being Vil—had assumed you’d outgrow him and move on to something better, leaving him behind like a discarded serum bottle.

With renewed determination, you take care of Vil, nursing him back to health with potions and plenty of water. You even manage to coax him to eat something other than the fairy equivalent of air-dried kale. Slowly, he starts looking more like himself, his fever fading and his color returning. But when he finally wakes up, fully lucid, his eyes widen in shock.

“You... you’re real?” he whispers, staring at you like you’re some miraculous vision.

“Yes, I’m real,” you huff, crossing your arms. “And I made this.” You pull out the lip balm you’ve been working on, your prized creation. You swipe some on your lips and then lean down to kiss him.

Vil blinks, stunned into silence. After a moment, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s... a surprisingly effective balm.”

You grin, feeling the tension melt away. “Maybe you should test it again.”

Vil wastes no time, pulling you in for another kiss, his lips soft and cool from the balm. He kisses you a second time, then a third—because, well, it’s important to make sure the balm has long-lasting effects, right?

But then, you pull back slightly, the grin slipping from your face. “Vil, I... I passed all my exams. I even got an offer to move to the capital.”

Vil’s entire body tenses. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten slightly as his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—fear? Dread? Whatever it is, it’s like a storm cloud settling over him.

“Oh.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable. “I see.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself so carefully, as if preparing for you to tell him you’re leaving. That you’re going to take the offer and disappear from his life, just like he feared. He’s already trying to let you go, even as his hands tremble slightly against your waist. It hits you all at once—how terrified he must have been, thinking you’d leave him behind.

For a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching at the sight of his barely concealed distress. And then, finally, you say, “I declined the offer.”

Vil’s breath catches. His eyes snap up to yours, wide with disbelief. “You... you what?”

You smile, leaning in closer. “I declined. I’m not going anywhere, Vil. In fact...” You take a deep breath, your grin widening. “I’m opening a skincare shop right here, on the edge of the forest. And I’m going to live here. With you. No arguments.”

For a moment, Vil just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Then, slowly, the tension in his body dissolves, replaced by pure, unfiltered relief. His hands, which had been shaking moments ago, steady as they pull you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You’re staying?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m staying,” you confirm, your heart swelling at the way he’s holding you, like he’s afraid to let go.

Vil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, you almost miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, drama king.”

Vil huffs out a small, breathy laugh, pulling you down into the bed with him, his arms wrapped securely around you. For a moment, everything is still, peaceful, as you lie there together, tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of you says a word, content just to hold each other, the weight of the past few days finally lifting.

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by Vil’s side, where you’ve always belonged.

I'm so deeply in love with this man it's kinda embarrassing

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