#why would someone make me want to cry this much

[imujings]

[ot13] 13 ways to say three little words

synopsis. | the words that seventeen use to say i love you.

♯ pairing(s). | seventeen x gn!reader (all separate) ♯ genre(s). | fluff, established relationships ♯ wc. | 1.5k ♯ warnings. | cursing (k.sy), eating habits (j.ww), insecure thoughts (l.jh), crying (x.mh), food mentions (k.mg, c.hs)

jay’s musings. | 🎧 my heart it beats for you - grent perez

001 — 🍒. Before you can even unfasten your seat belt, Seungcheol's door clicks shut and he's on your side of the car, his smile warming you up through the window. You immediately make a noise of protest, seeing the numerous grocery bags lining his arms. He furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head as he opens the door for you. "Let me handle it." He knows you’re able to do it yourself, but why should you when he’s there, ready to help in less than a moment’s notice? (That, and he takes pride in the way your eyes savor his biceps.) You can pout all you want, sure, yet the man will just kiss your forehead, telling you that you can help him by unlocking the front door and making yourself comfortable inside.

002 — 🪽. “Come over here, please,” isn't as uncommon of a phase as you think it would be from Jeonghan. He's not one to beg—and would never admit to doing so in front of someone other than you—but there’s something about the way you bundle into the bedroom, dressed in nothing but his sweater, that makes his heart squeeze. His stomach does a cartwheel at your sleepy smile and the words tumble out of his mouth in a soft, lethally desirous whine. When you glance over at his request, the man’s lips are pursed, displeased at the fact that you aren’t currently curled into his side. Unfortunately for you, he won’t say anything more until you giggle and relent to his wishes, falling into his arms as he tells you just how much he’s missed you.

003 — 🦌. Joshua’s beaming smile greets you in your kitchen, his shining eyes drinking in the tiredness of your own. You must’ve woken up from a nap. “I was just thinking about you,” the man says while turning away from the stove with a mug in hand. It’s your favorite hot drink, still steaming with heat. You graciously thank him and soak in the warmth of the beverage. The patter of rain outside does nothing to help you wake up for productivity, and you know for a fact this won’t contribute anything to it, either. Even more so when he’s already guiding you to your cozy living room, his arm circling around your waist and asking what show you want to put on.

004 — 🐈. As the two of you hop into the taxi, hand in hand, Jun’s quiet question reaches your ears. “Sit next to me?” You still don’t really understand why he asks every single time, especially when it’s only you two traveling. But of course, you agree, and he sacrifices the window seat to sit in the middle, head already falling to your shoulder with a sleepy drawl. Your cheek rests against the man’s hairline as you gaze out the window. You’ll wake him up when you reach your destination, huffing that that’s the last time you’ll let him pull a dirty trick like that, but not before you press a soft kiss to his temple and intertwine your fingers with his.

005 — 🐯. When Soonyoung asks you if you had recently switched the brand of shampoo and conditioner you use, you have half the mind to tell him straight up how weird it is that he’s smelling your hair. He barks out a laugh at your comment, saying that it’s not his fault you have a certain aura, scent, and vibe to you that he would notice even the slightest amount of change. His laugh quickly fades when you ask just what the hell he could possibly mean. Face slowly warming at the incredulous way he stares at you, as if you had asked why the sky was blue, the man’s next words make you melt. “What are you talking about? I notice you all the time.”

006 — 🦊. It’s almost two in the afternoon when a takeout bag is placed down on the table next to you, the smell wafting from it suspiciously similar to your favorite food. “Have you eaten today?” Wonwoo’s question has you flinching, eyes blinking up and away from your computer for the first time in what feels like hours. His own eyes soften at your demeanor, pulling out the chair next to you and settling in before beginning to take the food and utensils out. The man doesn't say anything more about the topic, instead opting to give you little updates about his day. As you two eat together, he lets his thigh press against yours, and you indulge yourself—just this once. (Until he, like always, shows up again.)

007 — 🍚. The poem is short and sweet. You had wracked your brain all night trying to find the perfect words to encapsulate how you feel, but as you stand before Jihoon now, your nerves are on fire. You watch as his eyes take in the curves of your handwriting, silent. He probably thought these simple words were unoriginal. Boring. Cheesy. Meaningless. You’re snapped out of your self-deprecating thoughts when the man suddenly coughs loudly, hiding his reddening face beneath his hands. His tone is meek. “Ah, you’re really something, aren’t you?” But he’s grinning, and then his lips crash into yours with a desperation you’ve never felt from him until now.

008 — 🐸. Your vision is blurry, and you aren’t really sure where you are until Minghao’s soft, reassuring voice and soothing hand at your back are processed by your brain. “I’m here, I’m here,” he murmurs. You hiccup and cling to him, your sobs slowly subsiding. It’s a little hard to breathe for a while, but with his help you’re able to lean back against your cushioned couch without feeling like the world is crumbling around you. When the man goes to make you a cup of tea you beg him to stay with you, but he merely shakes his head, wiping away the tears on your streak-stained cheeks. “I’ll be right back, okay? Stay strong now. I believe in you.”

009 — 🐶. Rows of stocked shelves with various yummy foods do nothing to distract you from your goal. You tug on Mingyu’s sleeve and ask him if you two could have a certain food you’ve been craving lately for dinner. An apology is ready to spill right after, knowing he probably already had prior plans for what to cook, but he doesn’t even hesitate before turning into a different aisle where he knows the ingredients lie. You let out a little cheer that confuses and amuses the man all at once. Why are you even entertaining the idea of him saying no? It’s your world, and he’s just living in it. “Of course,” he hums when you thank him profusely. “Whatever you want.”

010 — ⚔️. In the dead of winter, Seoul’s city air is, quite frankly, freezing. The scarf covering your face, along with your mittens and thick winter coat, all feel like thin notebook paper against the biting winter wind. Seokmin, on the other hand, is snugly encased around your arm and giggling all the while during your walk. “You’re so warm!” he laughs, the man’s gloved hands digging into your clothes like you’ll float away if he isn’t careful. He doesn’t even have a hood on, and you scold him for this, to which he just hugs you tighter. A particularly harsh gust of wind threatens to topple you two over and he presses his face to yours, skin surprisingly toasty. “No, I’m okay, really. I mean, how can I be cold when I’m with you like this?”

011 — 🍊. Seungkwan fiddles with the photograph in his hands. “We knew each other too late.” His gaze is almost mournful, and it tears at your heart, resting your head on the man’s shoulder as you murmur that fate has its reasons. He huffs as he slides the photo—one of you and him from an outing, smiling with cheeks pressed against each other—into its placeholder that’s colorfully decorated with stickers and annotations in pen. Closing your shared scrapbook of memories, he lays his head on yours and speaks softly into the silence. “You don’t understand. I wish I could’ve known you longer. I wish I could’ve made more memories with you. I wish I had known you sooner.”

012 — 🐢. Your hand is already on the doorknob when you call out to Hansol that you’ll be going to run some errands. To your delight, the man is at your side immediately. “Okay. I’ll go with you.” He helps you pick out some bright red strawberries for the shortcake you want to try making tomorrow. He gives his opinion on what flowers would look best on your dining room table (spoiler alert: they’re white tulips). He even goes with you to the post office, standing in line for a whopping thirty seconds as you drop off your return package. On the way back to the car, you ask him what he wants to do next. He shrugs with an easy smile. “S’long as it's with you, I’m cool with whatever.”

013 — 🦦. “I knew you could do it!” Chan cheers, strong arms grabbing your waist to lift you up and spin you around. Your laughter is contagious, infecting him with your symptoms of pure adoration and a lightened heart. He places you gently on the ground, letting go for only a moment before his arms are enveloping you again in a hug. His comforting cologne fills your senses and you relax against his hold. Your body feels weightless, somehow, and any heaviness settled on your shoulders is gone as the man’s lips find the crown of your head. All the hard work, all the sleepless, worrisome nights led up to this moment—and you know you’d do it a thousand times over if given the chance to hear his euphoric words again.

#s — @etherealyoungk, @ylangelegy, @shinysobi, @heartepub, @junplusone, @fallminlove, @wheeboo. if you’d like to be notified when new releases drop, don’t hesitate to send in an ask! <3

[natalievoncatte]

“Wake up,” Lex snarled.

Kara’s eyelids were brutally heavy. She couldn’t force them open no matter how she tried, and everything sounded distant, as if she were listening from underwater. The loudest sound was the blood rushing in her own ears and the steady march of her pulse, like the distant rush of some animal moving across leaves.

“Whu?” she managed to choke out.

“Open. Your. Eyes.”

Kara finally managed to split them open, blinking away gummy eyelashes to take a blurred look around the room. She wasn’t sure where she was, only that they were underground. Her limbs felt leaden and her body ached. It was soon clear why.

The chunk of kryptonite in front of her glowed a paler green than normal. It was different somehow, hard to look at.

“What? What did you do?”

“I broadened my mind,” said Lex.

Kara managed to raise her head and look at him. He was stripped to the waist, a flabby early middle aged business executive, much softer than he would allow anyone to realize. He looked a little absurd, especially after all the effort he put into a public image of a physically fit, debonair, imposing man.”

“What is this?”

“That is a very special type of kryptonite. You wouldn’t believe what I had to give up to get it. It’ll be worth it in the end.”

“Where are we?”

“Oh this place,” Lex said, glancing around the stone walls, lit by flicker torches and glowing Edison lamps. “A castle, in Scotland. It was incredibly expensive, I assure you. The grounds are quite lovely, though you’ll never have a chance to see them.”

“Of course I won’t,” Kara rasped. “Can you finish your monologue without the dramatic pauses? I’m on the clock.”

Lex smirked at her.

“This castle was built on a conduit of energy- a ley line. Actually several, and they converge beneath our feet. That and the peculiar construction -sandwiched within these walls are layers of copper, cold-hammered silver, and pure selenium- make it perfect for my purposes.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Oh no no no,” Lex laughed, “not everything is about you, Supergirl. This is about Lena.”

Kara heard a muffled cry and looked around frantically.

“She’ll join us shortly,” said “Lex. I wasn’t finished.”

“You talk too much.”

“Oh indeed. You know, I’ve wondered what she sees in an alien freak like you. Why you’re so alluring to her. I’ve often wondered why you never made a move- I know you think about it. Fantasize about it.”

“Shut up,” said Kara.

“I’ve been watching, you know. Did you think I’d let you out of my sight?”

Lex walked to a table and began toying with a long dagger with a thin, blue-black blade, drawing the edge over his thumb with a wince. He let a thin bloppy stream of his blood trickle into a silver chalice on the table before staunching the bleeding with a towel.

He turned to Kara sharply, holding the dagger.

“Know what?”

“Your little secret? Or should I say, your big secret?”

“I haven’t told her.”

He stopped and regarded her with a smile.

“I don’t mean your real name, Kara,” Lex chuckled. “I mean the other secret, you moron. The one that made you switch from the skirt to pants.”

“What? No, of course not…”

“I know what you want to do with her,” Lex said, kneeling to look Kara in the eye as the heavy chains weighed her down.

“Fuck you,” Kara spat.

“Oh dear me no, I don’t play catcher. Anyway, as I was saying, I think I know what she sees in you. Turns out that rutting with inhuman monsters is in my half sister’s blood. On her mother’s side, obviously. Someone in the deep end of my dear sister’s gene pool interbred with one of the fair folk. The kindly ones. The fey.”

“The what?”

Lex lashed out with the knife and a hot red sting slashed Kara’s cheek. To her shock she felt blood running down her jawline and chin. Lex let it drop into the chalice, mingling with his own, then stood up.”

“Bring her!” he shouted. “Otis you oaf, bring her in.”

Kara’s attention snapped to the far end of the room. Otis Graves shoved Lena into the room. Kara knew it was her even with a black bag over her head. Lena was barefoot and bruised, her blazer and skirt torn from putting up a fight.

There was a thin chain of dark metal looped lazily around her neck.

“Once I learned about this, I did what I always do,” said Lex. “I decided to master my circumstances. I studied, I learned, I applied what I’d researched.”

He turned back to Kara, and as her vision cleared, she saw that Lex was drawn and haggard, thinner than she remembered.

“It took me almost two years to prepare this ritual. I have walked trails blazed by gods. I had to beg, borrow, and steal to piece together the forbidden lore I need. I even had to strike treaties with the pit.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Kara.

“Lex,” Lena panted through her mask. “Don’t do this. Let her go. Please.”

Lex barked out a sharp laugh. “Let her go? Come on, sis. That’s Kara’s line.”

Lena let out a sharp gasp, visibly tensing.

“Kara?”

“It’s me, Lee.”

“Lee?” said Lex. “You hate that nickname.”

“Not from her,” Lena said softly.

“Lena, I don’t know what crazy nonsense he’s talking but I will get us out of this. He has some kind of-“

Kara was cut off as Lex kicked her hard in the belly, driving the toe of his shoe up under her ribs. The world exploded in pain and Kara doubled over, almost retching in agony.

“As much as I’d like to spend the rest of the day making you feel pain, we’re on the clock. I have power to acquire, a world to master, and a deal with a devil to weasel out of.”

“Lex,” said Lena. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Promised my immortal soul upon death, but alas, I’m never going to die. Otis, get her in place.

Kara strained at her chains as the big oaf wrenched Lena around and bound her hands behind her back with ancient looking iron manacles.

“The iron keeps her from trying any tricks,” Lex explained.

Kara was tired of his bullshit. The only thing that mattered was Lena’s shocked cry of agony when Otis forced her to her knees on the stone floor, followed by the whimper as he yanked the bag from her head. Her right eye was swollen almost shut and she had a split lip.

Incandescent rage boiled in Kara’s chest with the fury of a newborn star. If not for the strange kryptonite sapping her powers, Otis Graves would burn, screaming in agony in the terrible wrath of a Kryptonian’s gaze.

He hurt her. He hurt her Lena.

“You know how this is going to end, Lex.”

He was leafing through the pages of a heavy book on his work table.

“Out, Otis.”

Graves withdrew, smirking at Lena. She turned to Kara, eyes soft with emotion.

“Not often we get kidnapped together.”

“I’d rather have had a movie night.”

“Ugh, can you two please save the tearful love confession? I’m gagging.”

“Why didn’t you ever ask me out?” said Lena.

“I’m stupid,” Kara sighed. “I thought about it. I was scared. I thought… I don’t know.”

Lex rolled his eyes. “Danvers, are you really going to pretend you didn’t know that my sister is a rug muncher? It’s the worst kept secret in the Luthor family history. Throwing her into a girl’s boarding school was like throwing a pig in shit, but then Mother has always been a dolt.”

Kara ground her teeth. “Don’t talk about Lena like that.”

“Or?” said Lex. “Alright, look. I’d love to spend a bit longer taunting you, but I’m busy. The forms have been observed. I monologue, we taunt each other, I kill you.”

“No,” said Kara. “You try and fail and I drag you to jail.”

“Not this time,” said Lex.

“No, not this time,” said Kara. “This time I break my biggest rule.”

Lena stared at her across the room, eyes wide.

“I’m not going to let him hurt you anymore.”

“How noble,” Lex deadpanned. “Hold still, sis.”

He grabbed her by the chin, dabbing a thin paintbrush in the chalice, and began to paint lines and sworls on Lena’s face in their mingled blood. When Lena tried to turn, her let go and backhanded her across the face. Lena almost fell to the floor and let out a pained yelp.

Kara pulled hard at the chains but the held fast. She felt like she was weighed down by an invisible force, unseen hands digging spectral fingers into her arms and legs.

“It’s interesting,” said Lex. “Everyone assumes you have one weakness- Kryptonite. But you’re just as vulnerable to magic as anyone else.”

“What?” said Kara. “You’re insane.”

“I don’t think he is,” Lena said, wincing at her split lip. “When I was a girl, there were rumors that my mother was a witch, and she did some… some things I didn’t understand.”

Lex smirked.

He propped the book open on his forearm, making a final study of the markings he’d drawn on Lena’s face.

“You know the most annoying part?” said Lex. “It’s that you can’t just do magic. The power source, as it were, has to come from somewhere. The most common place to get it is from ancestor fucking a dragon or a god damned fairy or some other absurd thing. I don’t have the spark. But she does.”

He looked at Lena, a feral, hungry glint in his eye, and began to chant, reading from the book.

Kara flinched. The words sounded wrong, twisting and turning unnaturally as they fell from Lex’s mouth. The air grew heavy, as if a coat of soot and oil fell over everything, and a hideous stink of rotten eggs filled the room.

Lena cried out, eyes flying open in shock. She tried to say something but choked.

Kara lunged, desperate to free herself, to break the chains, to reach Lena and spirit her to safety the way she always did, but she was helpless. A terrible certainty of her own death fell over her like an ebon cloak, and she felt a distinct certainty of things, other presences in the room just out of sight.

“Lex,” Lena pleaded, “Stop. Please. You’re hurting me.”

Kara let out a sharp snarl, a ripping sound of threat from deep in her chest.

Lex briefly broke his chant. “Yes, the ritual will most likely kill you. No great loss. The world has enough degenerates and alien-fuckers as it is.”

He resumed his chanting, and Kara felt a sudden wave of agony through her body. She tried to scream but no sound came. It was as if a giant’s hands had shoved into her chest and begun crushing her lungs from the inside. She fell boneless to the floor, writhing in pain.

Lena lay on her side, tears streaming from her eyes, tears that tinged pink with blood as she jerked and convulsed, teeth clenched.

And Lex… Lex changed.

There was a soft crack and the rhythm of his chanting changed. He grew taller before Kara’s eyes. His arms swelled, corded with new muscle as his paunchy belly flattened and tightened into a washboard.

“That’s right,” he snarled. “Soon it all be mine. All your beautiful power mine. I will be powered by the sun! Lex Luthor will fly faster than a speeding bullet, bend steel in his bare hands! I will be a god, and when I am I will finally lead humanity into its glory! My glory! Lex Luthor, the Man of Tomorrow! Invincible! Immortal!”

Kara could feel herself fading, the world irising shut as death stalked her from below, a hungry predator always waiting just beyond the edges of her gaze. Her hands were pale, the flesh drawn so tight to the bone that they seemed barely more than skeletal. Her hands actually slipped free of her manacles, but she might as well be buried beneath a mountain for all the good it did. She had no strength to move.

Yet she could speak.

“Lena,” Kara rasped out, “Lena!”

Lena forced her eyes open.

“You have to fight him.”

“I can’t,” said Lena, her face shattering into a mask of agony. “It hurts so much, and I’m too weak.”

“You are not weak!” Kara spat, with all her remaining strength. “You’re beautiful and powerful and… magical. You’re my Lena.”

“Kara,” Lena gasped.

“I love you.”

“Kara!”

“I love you, Lena. Please, I need you to know.”

“I know,” Lena choked out, pinching her eyes shut, tears of blood streaking her face as she clenched her jaw in tooth shattering pain. “Oh God I know, Kara. I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. I just wish we had more time. I…”

She went silent, and still. Kara stared at her for an awful endless moment of white hot pain as something ate her alive from the heart out, yet that pain paled next to the agony of watching Lena suffer. She was almost glad that death would take her first, but prayed to the god of a distant broken world that Lena wouldn’t have to see it. She felt a dim hope that somewhere past this, in fields beneath a crimson star there would be a place for them, that Rao would find a way to bring Lena home to Him, that He would not let her wander in the dark, forever lost.

Kara had fucking earned a little grace.

Then, Lena’s eyes shot open, ablaze with stunning, brilliant light. She wrenched from the floor with a sudden strength and arched her back, screaming.

Lex looked down at her as the iron manacles fell ruined from her wrists and she yanked the chain from her throat, her hands wreathed in otherworldly light as the links snapped.

Slowly she rose to her feet, eyes still blazing.

Lena screamed, a banshee wail that shook the walls around them, and her cry seemed to swallow Lex’s frantic chanting, opening vast shark-toothed jaws of music that gouged into his feeble warbling and bit down, devouring it.

He stumbled back, frantically turning pages in his book.

“Fuck you,” Lena snarled, and the words carried an intensity, a physical force just as Lex’s had, but where his sharp wrenching syllables turned the air somehow profane and tainted it with invisible filth, Lena’s burned, not as fire but as daylight burns, clear and bright to chase dark crawling things back into their hateful shadows.

With a soft cracking sound, the strange chunk of tainted kryptonite turned a dull gray.

It had become lead.

Kara planted her palms and pushed up to kneel. She could feel, see the vitality coming back to her. Her frame expanded from skeletal and deathly thin to its normal self, slabs of lithe muscle bunching beneath her colors and crest as she stood and watched Lex shrinking.

Lena sagged, suddenly winded, grabbing the table for support.

Lex silent and stunned, wasted no opportunity. He snatched the dagger from where it lay and raised it high to slam down into Lena’s back.

It clattered to the floor instead as Kara effortlessly grabbed his wrist, feeling her thumb drive between the bones of his forearm.

“I,” Kara said, “am tired of you hurting us.”

So she hurt him.

Lex screamed in agony as Kara closed her hand, pulling every bone in his forearm. She reached out and seized his throat, savoring the hate and terror in his eyes as red sun fire blazed in her own, savage loathing kindling a blaze in her chest. This ended now.

A soft hand fell on her shoulder.

“Kara,” said Lena. “Don’t.”

“Lena,” she rasped.

“Not for him. For you. He made his own grave. Let him lie in it.”

Kara turned and looked at her. There was still blood on her face- the mingled painted lines smeared with her own. She looked so small and fragile and soft and the furnace that burned in Kara was doused, and suddenly nothing mattered but making her safe.

Kara let the sniveling coward go and brought Lena into her embrace, sheltering her with all her might.

“We have to go. Now. Trust me.”

“Yes,” Lex gasped, “time to leave, take me to jail now.”

Kara looked down. Lena’s eyes hardened.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Kara raised her foot and brought out down, snapping Lex’s ankle in a single sharp motion. He screamed and collapsed, crawling for the door.

Kara heaved Lena into a bridal carry and walked past him.

“Supergirl!” Lex bellowed, “you can’t leave me here! You don’t know what’s coming.”

“I don’t care,” said Kara.

She shoved the door open with her foot, then turned to close it the same way. Lena clung to her, arms around her neck.

“Lock him in.”

Kara did more than that. A quick flicker of heat vision welded the heavy metal door closed. Lex screamed and pleaded from the other side.

Something was coming. Something ancient.

“Please. Get us out of here,” said Lena.

A crimson light blazed behind the door, bleeding through its edges. The stink of rotten eggs filled the corridor. Kara turned and carried Lena away.

“Wait!” Lex called. “Supergirl! You can’t leave me here!”

Kara ignored him and kept walking.

“No,” Lex was screaming, “no, wait, we can make another deal, a trade, there has to be something I can-“

“You tried to trick me,” something said in a voice like a hot knife dragged across a tombstone.

“What is that?” Kara whispered.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to,” said Lena. “Get us out of here. Take me home, Kara.”

Kara touched a soft kiss to her forehead, a promise of more and deeper to come. Once they were outside, Kara used the comm bead in her ear, and called Alex, told her what happened.

“Let’s go home, baby,” said Kara.

A year later, she flew back to the castle.

It was secluded, somehow forgotten, a tumbledown ruin. Heart thudding in her chest with uncharacteristic fear, she walked down the corridor into the underground and slammed the door open with her first.

No remains. No body. There was only one sign that Lex had been there at all. Scratches across the store floor, one with a fingernail still stuck in it.

As if he had been dragged.

Kara rocketed outside at supersonic speed, desperate to feel the sun and cleanse the oily, tainted feeling in that room. A cold, lingering dread welled inside her, twisting deep in her belly.

She had to be sure.

Part of her regretted what she did to the old ruin. It was history. Only part of her.

The rest of her flew fifth thousand feet up and came straight back down fast enough to destroy the stonework in massive shockwave that dug a crater where the building had stood seconds before. She then turned her heat vision on it, burning and melting. By the time she was done, by the time it no longer felt like she was being watched, as if she might be followed, there was nothing left but a smoldering, glassy crater. It looked like someone had dropped an atomic bomb.

It still felt like something slithered beneath, but whatever it was, it would not follow and that was all that mattered.

Kara flew. She had places to be. She’d already planned a date night with Lena.

Alex was watching their baby.

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (1/???)

Here I aaam! Remembering that the posts will be every Saturday.

So, enjoy it!

*I'm a little drunk rigth now, so, I'm sorry if you find mistakes*

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Summary: A serie of events makes you fall into the good graces of two older women.

Hey! I've a masterlist

Fascination

You wake up to the first rays of sunlight slipping through the gaps in the curtains. Your bedroom is small, just 23 square meters, but it’s the only space in the world you can truly call your own. A study desk pushed against the wall, shelves crammed with books and notebooks filled to the last page, and plants scattered in every corner—ferns, succulents, and a small cactus that stubbornly clings to life even when you forget to water it.

After stretching, you get up and head straight to the window, where your plants greet the day. You talk to them in a soft tone as you mist them, almost as if expecting a reply. “You look beautiful today. I promise I won’t forget you again.”

Lucky, your overly talkative black cat, meows at your feet. He wants nothing but your attention, and you oblige, stroking his head with a tired smile. “Good morning, Lucky. Seems like you’ve got a lot to say, huh?” He meows back, and you laugh.

In the comfortable silence of the morning, your mind drifts, as it often does, to the past. You grew up in the suburbs, in a small house that was always full. Your father did his best to raise you and your five older siblings, but there was a gap that was never filled: your mother. She left when you were just a child, and though no one in the family spoke openly about it, her absence was a constant shadow in your life.

You remember the nights when your older siblings would laugh and argue in the living room, while you, the youngest, hid in a corner with a book or a notebook. Writing was your escape, your way of creating a world where you had control, where mothers didn’t leave and bad things always had a solution.

She left when you were little, leaving behind you, your five older siblings, and a father who never knew how to handle her absence. You remember the nights when the silence of the house was broken by questions no one dared to ask. Why did she leave? Was it us? Was it me?

No matter how hard he tried, your father couldn’t fill the void she left behind. He worked all day, came home exhausted, and did his best to keep the house running, but affection and kind words were never his strong suit.

“You’re strong. You don’t need to cry over this,” he’d say every time tears threatened to spill. Gradually, you learned to swallow your tears and convince yourself that you needed to be strong, even when everything inside you wanted to collapse.

Her absence shaped much of who you are today, though not in a way you like to admit. It’s hard to look in the mirror and not feel... inadequate. You wonder if she left because you weren’t good enough, because you weren’t good enough.

These thoughts are like shadows that appear at the most unexpected times, especially when you try to open up to someone. Intimacy is terrifying. You fear that if people truly know you, they’ll abandon you, just like she did.

In school, this made you shy and reserved. You always felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, unable to fit in. Your siblings tried to shield you from the worst, but they had their own battles to fight.

You were the youngest, the “baby” of the house, and yet you never had the chance to be treated as such. While they laughed and argued, you hid in your room, writing stories that transported you to worlds where mothers didn’t abandon their daughters.

This absence also gave you a fierce determination. You promised yourself that if no one was there to take care of you, then you would take care of yourself. You studied late into the night, devouring books on screenwriting and filmmaking from the public library.

When the college acceptance letter arrived, it felt like the world had paused for a moment. You’d made it. The first in your family to set foot on a university campus. Despite the pride, the insecurity is always there, lurking. The fear of not being good enough, of failing, of being discarded. You work hard because you feel you have something to prove, even if no one asked you to.

The sound of the bell above the door announces another day of work at the small café. You walk in, adjusting your apron with a resigned sigh. The air smells comforting, like fresh coffee, but the weight of the shift ahead is always present. You do everything there: serve tables, clean counters, even organize the stock. Your boss is an unpleasant man, known for his sexist jokes and invasive behavior. But you need the money, so you swallow your anger and keep going.

América, your coworker, is the opposite of you. Rebellious and fearless, she confronts the boss without hesitation, even knowing it could cost her the job. You make an unlikely team, but somehow it works.

As you wipe down the counter, you hear the sharp click of heels echoing through the café. The sound has a weight to it, cutting through the usual hum of the room. A barely perceptible pause spreads through the space, as if the air itself had been suspended for a second. It’s not just curiosity—it’s reverence.

Your gaze lifts almost instinctively, and it’s impossible not to notice the woman who just walked in. Tall, with perfectly styled dark hair and a black blazer that looks tailor-made, she exudes power. But it’s more than that. There’s something in the way her eyes sweep the room—a sharp coldness, as if she could dissect everyone there with just a glance. And people notice her. Some whisper her name, others try not to stare too long.

You swallow hard, trying not to seem intimidated. But when her eyes finally land on you, it’s as if the world around you has disappeared. She doesn’t look away, and the intensity of that moment makes your stomach churn. For a split second, it feels like she knows exactly who you are—all your fears, insecurities, and dreams laid bare before her.

Summoning what little courage you have left, you adjust your apron and force a smile you’ve practiced hundreds of times. “Good morning, what can I get for you today?” Your voice sounds calm, but your heart is racing.

The woman continues to stare at you, silent. Her dark eyes analyze every detail: the slightly worn apron, your hands gripping the notepad too tightly, even the stray strand of hair that escaped your bun. It’s unsettling, as if she’s assessing every tiny aspect of your existence.

“A caramel latte... and a black coffee. No sugar. To go.” Her voice finally breaks the silence. It’s low, gravelly, like distant thunder, and carries a strange familiarity—as if she’s used to being obeyed without question.

You nod, trying to stay professional. But as you prepare the orders, you feel her eyes on you, watching every move. The weight of her gaze is almost unbearable, like a test you didn’t know you were being forced to take. Your hands start to tremble, and an anxious heat spreads through your body. The feeling of being judged grows.

When you turn to hand over the drinks, the tension in your muscles is so tight that your hands falter. Before you realize it, the hot coffee cup slips, spilling the brown liquid all over the woman’s immaculate white blouse. The sound of the cup hitting the counter is muffled by the low, controlled sound of frustration that escapes her lips—not a scream, but a deep, restrained noise.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, your voice trembling. Grabbing napkins in a panic, you lean in to clean up the mess but freeze when you see the stain spreading across the expensive fabric.

The murmur in the café grows louder. Someone lets out an audible sigh, while another mutters something about “the mighty Rio” being treated so carelessly. The name hangs in the air, and only then does it fully hit you.

You knew she seemed powerful, but you hadn’t realized you were standing in front of Rio Vidal—one of the world’s most renowned visual artists. Like her wife, Agatha Harkness, she’s an icon. Together, they’re one of the few openly gay couples to dominate and be celebrated by the industry. Her fame precedes her, and now you’ve just spilled coffee on her.

The woman doesn’t say anything immediately, but her eyes—once analytical—now seem to pierce through you. There’s something terrifyingly calm about the way she looks at you, as if she’s deciding how much of a reaction you’re worth.

Before you can stammer out more apologies, your boss’s voice cuts through the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouts, his anger exploding. “How can you be so clumsy? A client of this caliber, and you do this?! I should fire you right now!”

The embarrassment spreads through you like the coffee on her blouse. Your eyes well up as you try to explain, but the words won’t come. All you can do is look at the woman, hoping she’ll say something—anything.

She, however, doesn’t even glance at your boss. Her eyes remain fixed on you, as if he doesn’t exist. Finally, she breaks the silence with a low, sharp voice: “That really isn’t necessary.”

Your boss stammers, surprised. “But, ma’am, she—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Her gaze silences him, and for the first time, you see a man who thrives on authority shrink back.

You try to catch your breath, your face burning with shame. With a thread of courage, you murmur, “Please, come with me. I—I can fix this.” Your voice falters, but there’s something in your insistence that makes her tilt her head slightly, as if weighing your determination before nodding.

In the restroom, the silence between you is heavy but not empty. You grab the spare blouse you always carry and try to gather your thoughts, but when you turn around, the air seems to leave your lungs.

The woman unbuttons her blazer with precise movements, and when she removes the stained shirt, she reveals a black silk blouse so delicate that the light highlights the curves of her collarbone and the edges of her lace bra.

Your gaze involuntarily drifts to her shoulder, where the skin reddened by the coffee looks almost fragile. The sight is intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for, and your face burns.

“I... I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have...” you begin, but your voice falters. Your mind is torn between the embarrassment of the accident and the hypnotic presence of her, which seems to fill the small space of the restroom.

“Do you always get this nervous?” Her question is unexpected, her voice low and laden with something you can’t decipher. It’s almost a challenge, a test, and her gaze remains fixed on you, as if expecting more than a simple answer.

“I... I don’t know. Maybe?” You look away, shrinking slightly as you hand her the clean blouse. It’s cheap fabric but carries the faint scent of your homemade perfume. When her fingers brush against yours as she takes it, a shiver runs down your skin, quick and unexpected.

She puts on the blouse slowly, unhurried, and her words follow like an echo: “You shouldn’t apologize so much. Especially when you don’t know what for.” The statement is intriguing, almost disconcerting. Your heart races, as if you’ve just stumbled upon something you don’t fully understand.

Before she leaves, you blurt out, the words tumbling out in one breath: “Please... let me wash your blouse. I want... I need to make it up to you.”

She pauses at the door and turns, her eyes locking onto yours once more. There’s something different now, a genuine interest, almost calculated.

Without a word, she pulls a black card from her pocket, elegant and scented with a faint woody aroma. “When it’s ready, come to this address.” Her voice is low but layered with meaning you can’t interpret.

She leaves before you can respond, her posture impeccable and her steps controlled, as if every movement were rehearsed. You’re left alone in the restroom, holding the card that feels heavier than it should.

Rio Vidal.

The name echoes in your mind. A short, strong name, as enigmatic as she is. And for some reason you can’t explain, you feel like you’ve just opened a door to something that will change your life in ways even the worst coffee spills couldn’t predict.

A few minutes later, you gather enough courage to leave the restroom. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, as if trying to remind you of the disaster that just happened.

You find your boss standing near the counter, wearing the same disdainful look that always makes your skin crawl. But something is different today. He doesn’t explode into shouts as you expected.

“Rio Vidal. The Rio Vidal—” He crosses his arms and sighs, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say, “—said it was fine. And she was very clear that you shouldn’t be punished.”

You blink, confused. The black card in your hand feels heavier now. Why would she do that? Was it pity? Some kind of veiled charity because of your desperation? Or... something more?

The woody scent of the card wafts up to you, a tangible reminder of the woman who, even with coffee spilled on her expensive blouse, had remained impassive and enigmatic.

“Get back to work before I change my mind,” your boss grumbles, but his tone has lost its usual edge. You don’t argue, just tuck the card into your pocket, still feeling every embossed letter like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

[...]

You practically run to the university. Your legs ache, but it doesn’t matter because today is important. When you finally reach the worn-down building that houses the film department, you can barely catch your breath. The room is packed with anxious students, and excited whispers fill the air.

“You’re almost late!” Darcy whispers, pushing a notebook aside to make room for you. Her eyes are wide, nervous. “Agatha Harkness is already here.”

Her name makes your heart race, in a completely different way from the panic you felt before.

Agatha Harkness.

The legend. The queen. The woman who made actors cry on set and screenwriters question if they were good enough to write even a single line of dialogue. She was a monster… but undeniably a genius. Everything that came from her hands was masterful, and you secretly harbored an absurd admiration for her.

Peter, sitting in front of you, whispers to Darcy, “Do you think she’s going to rip someone’s heart out today? She did that the last time she visited a university…”

Darcy, next to him, makes a face. “On the first day?”

“Without a doubt,” Peter replies, shrugging.

Before you can respond, the door swings open. The sound of her heels is the first thing that fills the sudden silence. And then she enters.

Agatha is everything you imagined and more. Tall, dressed in an impeccable purple suit that seems to radiate authority, with a smile that borders on cruel and eyes that scan the room as if evaluating every soul present. Her presence is a punch to the stomach, yet at the same time, something in you feels magnetized by her. It’s impossible to look away.

She wastes no time with warm introductions. Instead, she tosses a stack of papers onto the desk and begins speaking. Her voice is deep, firm, and filled with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

“Writing is an act of courage. And from what I’ve heard, many of you have been content with mediocrity.”

The students exchange nervous glances. Darcy practically sinks into her chair beside you. You, on the other hand, feel your heart race even more. There’s something hypnotic about the way she speaks, as if every word is carefully sharpened to cut.

“Now, here’s what you’re going to do.” Agatha steps up to the blackboard and writes something with an elegant pen. “Write a scene. Any scene. But make it something worth reading. Because if I think you’re wasting my time…” She lifts her gaze, and the silence that follows is more threatening than any word. “—your nonexistent careers won’t even start.”

Agatha picks up the first stack of papers and starts reading in silence, her eyes moving rapidly from side to side. The room is absolutely silent, so quiet that the sound of students breathing feels deafening.

After a few seconds, she lets out an almost exasperated sigh and lifts a paper, holding it up as if it were evidence of a terrible crime.

“Who wrote this?”

A girl in the back of the room timidly raises her hand, almost regretting existing.

Agatha narrows her eyes at the paper, then at the girl. “Is this a love story?”

The girl shakes her head, mumbling something about the plot being deeper than it seemed.

“No. It’s not.” Agatha cuts in, her voice as cold as steel. “This is a cheap fanfic disguised as a script. Characters with no substance, dialogues recycled from a teen drama. Where is the humanity? Where is the real conflict? This isn’t writing. This is a murder of art.”

The girl seems to shrink into her seat.

Agatha tosses the paper onto the desk and picks up the next one. This time, she doesn’t read for long before looking up. “Who thinks it’s acceptable to start a scene with ‘Once upon a time’ in an academic assignment? Are you trying to sell an idea or put a child to sleep?”

A boy in the front row tries to justify his choice, but Agatha raises a hand, cutting him off.

“I’m not here to hear excuses. I’m here to see talent. And so far, I’ve seen nothing worth my time.”

The silence in the room is palpable. You see Darcy whisper something to Peter, probably something like “Yeah, definitely heartless,” but you can’t focus. Your own script is in your hands, and the weight of the paper feels like lead.

Finally, your turn comes. With trembling hands, you hand the sheet to Agatha Harkness, feeling as if you’re handing over a piece of yourself. She takes the paper with an almost deliberate calm, and for a moment, you’re sure she’s going to toss it onto the “failures” pile without even looking.

But then, something in the title seems to catch her attention. Her eyes, previously indifferent, narrow slightly, and she begins to read.

Seconds turn into eternities as you watch her. The room around you fades away; all you can hear is the sound of your own heart pounding against your ribs. Your mind drifts back, inevitably, to the moment you wrote those words—the weight of the story, the piece of your soul you decided to share.

Agatha turns the page. Once, then again. Her silence is like a knife. You don’t know if this is good or bad.

When she finally finishes, she places the paper on the desk. Unlike the others, she doesn’t discard it immediately, but she also doesn’t show approval. Her eyes lock onto you, assessing, and there’s something new in her expression: a trace of curiosity.

“Interesting.” Her tone is neutral, but there’s something hidden in it—a hint of intrigue, perhaps? She leans forward slightly, crossing her arms. “Are you trying to tell a personal story?”

Your face burns instantly, and you feel the weight of all the eyes around you. Still, you find the strength to nod in confirmation, even as shame nearly swallows you whole.

“Hmm.” Agatha raises an eyebrow, pressing her lips into a thoughtful line. “You have no technique. No structure. The writing is messy, almost amateurish.”

Her words cut deep, and you bite your lip hard to keep the bile from rising in your throat.

“But…” She pauses, looking at the paper with unsettling intensity. “You have—” then, she focuses on you, and seeing those ocean-blue eyes so close makes your body tremble. “—something.”

Her choice of words is as vague as it is provocative, and you feel the weight of that “something” hanging in the air between you. She narrows her eyes, as if trying to figure out exactly what it was in the text that caught her—or in you.

“Stay after the bell rings.”

Her voice is final, like a sentence, but there’s no hostility. She dismisses you with a slight wave of her hand, and you feel a mixture of relief and anxiety as you return to your seat.

While the others hand in their scripts, you remain restless, trying to decipher Agatha’s expression and the reason behind her words. What in your text could have caught her attention? The room around you is filled with muffled murmurs, but in your mind, it’s as if you’re trapped in a storm.

As soon as the bell rings, only three people remain in the room besides you. The silence is dense, heavy with expectation, as Agatha moves with the same deliberate calm as before.

Of course, she already knows exactly what she’s doing. This special, hand-picked mentorship was clearly a strategy to appear more "kind" to the public, even though, so far, there had been nothing friendly about her approach.

You watch as she begins the individual feedbacks, calling Darcy first. The girl in front of you seems to be caught between hope and terror but agrees to step forward. As Agatha starts speaking to her, you try to distract yourself, but you can’t stop your eyes from wandering back to the director.

She is... magnetic. Even as she crushes Darcy’s creative dreams with precise, cutting words, there’s something about her that simply demands attention. And then it happens.

For a moment—or perhaps for all eternity—her blue eyes meet yours.

Your throat goes dry instantly. It’s impossible to interpret what’s in that gaze, but it hits you hard. Curiosity? Judgment? Or something else? You try to look away, but it’s as if you’re trapped. She stares at you for only a few seconds before returning to her conversation with Darcy, as if nothing had happened. But you know it did.

Your heart pounds so loudly it feels like it echoes in the empty room. Nervousness is consuming you, but there’s something else, a sensation you weren’t expecting. A tightness in your stomach.

Desire? Nervousness? Anxiety?

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to take a deep breath and organize your thoughts, but it only makes things worse. It feels like she has pulled a piece of the air around you away with just that look.

Time moves slowly. Agatha finishes Darcy’s feedback, moving on to the next student. And then, when your turn finally comes, you don’t know if you’re ready—or if you ever would be.

She calls your name firmly, and you stand up. Your legs feel weak as you walk toward her, carrying the weight of her expectation and your own desire to impress her.

“So,” she begins, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze settling on you. “Let’s talk about what you wrote.”

As soon as you sit before her, Agatha picks up your sheet of paper, holding it carefully, as if she were carrying something precious—or something dangerous. She doesn’t say anything right away, just fixes her eyes on the text for a few seconds before beginning to read again, this time out loud:

"One day, I had a dream about my mother. She was married to the man she truly loved, and without children. There, I had never seen her so happy."

Her voice is deep, but it carries a softness you didn’t expect. It’s as if she’s savoring each word, analyzing every nuance.

When she finishes, Agatha places the paper on the table with a controlled gesture and looks directly at you. The silence that follows seems to last an eternity.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of that gaze, as if she could see every secret you tried to hide.

“Is your mother the main character here?” The question is direct, blunt—like everything about her.

You feel your face heat up, looking away. “I... maybe?” you murmur, the words hesitant.

“No need to lie,” she interrupts, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “The text screams it. Every line, every word choice… it’s as if you were exorcizing a ghost. Tell me, is that what you tried to do? Exorcize the guilt of loving and hating at the same time?”

The brutality of the question leaves you speechless. You shift in your chair, uncomfortable, but she doesn’t seem inclined to ease the tension.

“Did she leave you?” Agatha presses, her eyes locked onto yours, as if she could pull the truth out of you by force.

You hesitate but finally let out a shaky sigh. “Yes.”

For a moment, her face seems to change. Something in her gaze softens, but only for a fraction of a second before she composes herself again.

“And yet, you chose not to hate her.” She tilts her head, as if studying a particularly intriguing piece of art. “That is… rare.”

“I think that… she did what she thought was best for her,” you reply, your voice almost a whisper. “I don’t blame her for seeking happiness, even if it hurt me.”

Agatha remains silent for a few moments, as if processing something. There was something in the text—or maybe in the way you spoke—that seemed to touch an old wound in her. A shadow passes over her face, but she quickly pushes it away, replacing it with a neutral expression.

“You have talent,” she declares, breaking the silence. “Still raw, but it’s genuine. And, more importantly, you have courage. The kind of courage I’m looking for.”

You blink, confused. “Looking for?”

Agatha leans forward, her eyes gleaming with dangerous intensity. “I’m assembling a team for my next project. I need minds that think like yours—that see beyond the surface and aren’t afraid to explore the shadows. Would you be interested?”

Your heart races. Working with Agatha Harkness? The woman you admired, even feared? It was more than you could have imagined, but the answer was obvious.

“Yes,” you respond quickly, barely able to contain the excitement in your voice.

Agatha smiles, and the gesture is as enigmatic as the rest of her. “Good. Get ready, little gem. I’m going to shape you piece by piece," The way she spoke was hypnotic, pulling you in. “and it will be… painful.”

As soon as you answer affirmatively, Agatha pulls something from the pocket of her purple blazer: a business card. It’s blue, with purple lettering in an elegant cursive font. The floral scent of the paper fills the air as she slides the card across the table toward you.

“Come to this address tomorrow,” she says, her voice firm but low, as if each word were chosen with care. “Seven at night. And don’t be late.”

You take the card with trembling fingers, its weight feeling heavier than it should. The moment you touch it, a wave of déjà vu washes over you. The texture, the scent, even the sophistication of the design remind you of the card Rio gave you earlier.

Two women so different, and yet… so similar. Both had a presence that seemed to capture the room, leaving you breathless. Both seemed to see through you, as if they could decipher your deepest thoughts with a single look.

You feel your heart speed up, confusion mixing with excitement. Why had these women, so powerful and enigmatic, captivated you so much? Rio had left something in you—a sense of unresolved mystery. Now, Agatha was doing the same, but in an even more intense way.

“Something wrong?” Agatha’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present.

“N-no,” you reply quickly, slipping the card into your backpack. “I’ll be there.”

She only tilts her head, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before turning and leaving the room. Her silhouette disappears through the door, but the weight of her presence still lingers—heavy, inescapable.

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, a single question echoes in your mind: What the hell were you getting yourself into?

And more importantly, why couldn’t you stop feeling excited about it?

~*~

Y/n... How lucky you are, huh?

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[meowerswowzers97]

Hi! Could I request a Daryl x Female Reader set in Season 2. Where the reader is Ricks younger sister (she's like two - three years younger than him) and gets confronted by a jealous Shane after seeing how worried she got over Daryl being injured and shot. Like Shane's had feelings for the Reader for years but she has just never felt the same way towards him. And seeing her be friendly to Daryl since he first arrived at the Atlanta Camp and watching the chemistry between them grow overtime has got his blood boiling.

Maybe Daryl over hears the conversation and steps in when Shane roughly grabs reader and causes a fight to where Rick has to step in and break it up. And some fluff between Reader at Daryl afterwards.

Jealousy

Summary- Shane likes the reader, but sees that she’s way too friendly to Daryl. When Shane does something, Daryl steps in.

Warnings- kissing?? Other than that none really.

Theme- fluff

You were Ricks Younger sister, after finding out he got shot, you were pretty depressed. You couldn’t lose your brother. You were with Lori, Carl, and Shane at the Atlanta camp. You met someone apart of the group.

Daryl.

You grew close to Daryl a bit after you guys were in the forest together, you brung up how your brother, Rick, got shot and is probably dead. Daryl wasn’t a huge talker about his past, but he trusted you enough too talk about some stuff, he brung up his mothers death, and he didn’t say much after that. It was understandable, you didn’t bring up Rick that much to anyone. But since you had a major crush on Daryl, yeah, you told him. You guys suddenly grew closer, building a bond. You guys always sat next together durning dinner, always went on runs, and always told jokes to each other.

After you reunited with Rick, Daryl was pretty pissed at you. Thinking you used Rick as a lie to get to know his past.

“ya just lied to me about yer brother!”

“Daryl I thought he was dead!”

“Idiot. God I wish I never met ya”

You haven’t talked since then since the incident. You tried to talk but it was always a grunt in return.

After the cdc, Sophia ran away and went missing, then Carl got shot. The group was making plans about looking for Sophia. Daryl offered to go. 

Later you were currently talking to Maggie 

Maggie: “so, do you like anybody??” Maggie said with a smile

You barley knew Maggie, but you trusted her

Y/n: “yk, kinda-“

You then heard a gunshot go off, and the word “No!” Being yelled.

“Was Rick injured? Did he get shot again?” And many other thoughts when through your mind.

You ran outside to see what was going on.

Your heart skipped a beat, you sat there, wanting to let out a cry and start sobbing.

Daryl, carried by Rick and Shane. Injured and bloody.

You quickly ran over to them. 

Y/n: “is he okay?! Is he dead?! Please tell me he’s alive! What happened?!”

Shane tried to interrupt 

Shane: “y/n-“

Y/n: “WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM?!”

After finding out he was okay, you let out a sigh of relief. Even if Daryl hated you, you loved him as much as Rick. You couldn’t lose Daryl.

Hershel came out to say that Daryl was okay, as you quickly ran it, Shane gave you a confused look.

Y/n: “Daryl!”

Daryl: “I’m fine woman, just leave me alone.”

You were pretty stunned, but you slowly nodded and walked out.

You sat on the steps of Hershel’s house. Thinking about Daryl.

Shane took a seat next to you.

Ever since Rick became friends when Shane, Shane’s always said he’s liked you, and has flirted with you many times. You always told him you weren’t interested, but he never tried stopping.

Shane: “you okay”

Y/n: “just thinking”

Shane: “about what”

Y/n: “nothing”

A quick moment of silence passed.

Shane: “what’s going one between you and Daryl?”

You almost blushed, but you gave him a confused look. Why would he care?

Y/n: “wdym?”

Shane: “y/n out of every guy you’ve met the most I’ve seen you care about is Daryl, now what’s going on between you guys?”

Y/n: “Shane why does it matter?”

Shane: “y/n just answer me”

Y/n: “no, Shane, why are you so concerned?”

Shane: “because you know y/n I think you like him”

Y/n: “oh so what this is about me liking him? I can like anyone I want Shane, I already told ya I’m not interested in you”

You started to get up to go inside, wanting to speak to Daryl.

Suddenly, Shane grabbed you and pinned you againt a wall.

Y/n: “Shan-“

Shane: “shut up”

Y/n: “shane get off me”

You were suddenly slapped. You held your cheek about to burst into tears

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Shane was thrown to the floor, someone was straddling him.

Daryl.

Y/n: “Daryl-“

Suddenly a fight between the two happened. Punches were thrown, kicks, Shane had a bloody face and Daryl had a bloody nose. Daryl was trying to get injured all over again.

You then saw your brother, Rick, grab the two and yelled at them

Rick: “Break it up!”

Daryl: “tell him to get his hands off my girl!”

Y/n: “wait what-“

Shane tried to protest but was stopped by a look from Rick. He then shut up and walked away. Rick then followed him. You heard Rick in the other room yell at him

Y/n: “Daryl-“

Daryl: “your sleepien in my tent tonight”

Y/n: “but-“

Daryl: “end of discussion”

Later after having food, you didn’t talk to Shane once. 

When it was time to go to bed, Daryl gestured for you come with him into the tent. You followed.

It felt awkward being in the same tent with your crush, even though he literally hates you.

You both slept to where you weren’t facing each other, back facing back, you rolled over to look at him, you can tell he wasn’t asleep.

Y/n: “Daryl” you said softly 

Daryl: “what”

Y/n: “what did you mean by ‘my girl’ earlier?”

A moment of silence passed.

Daryl: “I…”

Y/n: “you like me don’t you?”

He didn’t say anything else, which meant he had to mean yes.

Y/n: “look at me”

He rolled over and looked at you. You cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss. His eyes widened, but he eventually started kissing back.

Y/n: “I like you too idiot” you said against his lips.

Daryl made a guilty face

Y/n: “what’s with the face?”

Daryl: “I’m sorry about earlier, I know you’ve known Shane for awhile, I didn’t mean to ruin your guys relationship”

Y/n: “Daryl Dixon if it weren’t for you who knows what would’ve happened, I’m so grateful that you were there, I don’t ever want you to regret about what happened earlier”

Daryl smiled, then it turned into a smirk.

Y/n: “what’s with the smirk?”

Daryl: “I’ve been ignoring ya because I like ya, I just didn’t wanna talk to ya”

You pushed his chest playfully and started laughing.

Y/n: “Daryl”

Daryl: “Ye”

Y/n: “are we dating”

Daryl: “want too?”

Y/n: “please”

Daryl: “okay well im tired”

Y/n: “can we cuddle”

Daryl: “no”

A minute later, he cuddled you in your sleep.

You smilied, thankful to be in his arms.

(This is my first imagine! Sorry it’s so bad! When I start to write more I think I’ll get better at writing!! I’m sorry!!)

[dragqueenstarscream]

Based on your reply to my hear me out:

Starscream (role-playing as a captured Decepticon, handcuffed on Optimus's bed): What makes you think I'll join you, Autobot scum?!"

Optimus proceeds to gently opens Starscream's legs and show him that his tongue isn't just good for heroic speeches. As he's eating Starscream out, he's being gentle in all the best ways, praising his intelligence and beauty, telling him just how much the Autobots need him, how important he is, and that he's the prettiest mech Optimus has ever seen.

Starscream is a absolute mess by the end of it, but not just because of the pleasure. Because he feels....wanted. Happy cuddles with Starscream acting like an oversized, cooing cat ensues

+Bonus points if another Autobot hears or walk in on the first part and gets confused on why Starscream's getting arrested again. (Most likely Bumblebee or Smokescreen)

-💌 anon

RAGHHHHHH this idea has me so weak...

starscream's arguing with optimus, listing all the reasons why he'll never join the autobots while he's cuffed. "i'm a decepticon officer! i serve under megatron! the autobots wouldn't want someone like me!"

and optimus does everything he can to make starscream feel well and truly cherished, eating him out like he was built by primus just for starscream while singing his praises. he's an amazingly graceful flier. he has a brilliant scientific mind. he's so beautiful that optimus can't believe his optics. he deserves to be appreciated for who he is. the autobots would be thrilled to have him as part of their ranks. optimus would be the luckiest bot in the world if he had someone like starscream at his side.

and it's all too much for starscream. he's teary eyed and crying out for optimus as he overloads hard, his thighs squeezing around optimus' helm. it's one thing to overload, but to feel so loved, so wanted, so desired... it's too much for his processor to handle.

optimus eases him through his overload before uncuffing him and caring for him. he helps wash starscream down, gives him a well deserved wing massage, and cuddles with him in the berth, all while starscream feels like he's floating, his mind all dreamy and hazy. he doesn't care about anything else except for being in optimus' arms.

(smokescreen has to ask optimus the next morning why it sounded like he was arresting starscream again. optimus decided that he and starscream had to be a bit more careful next time.)

[estherscorner]

Do you think that Scaramouche would've made a good lover if he had fallen in love?

(cw: kinda toxic relationship, self sabotage, light angst & not proofread/edited.)

Think about it. His tongue is sharp and unforgiving. He wouldn't hesitate to jab hurtful words onto your mind, he wouldn't have a second thought to spout nonsense just for the sake of it hurting your feelings or getting on your nerves. But you were patient. You thought he could atleast be tolerable if you understood him on a deeper level.

You've told yourself multiple times- if you maybe understood him, he would be more softer and much more gentle to your feelings and thoughts. Maybe you would get why he was acting that way, why he was harsh to those around him.

But loving him had sacrifices you were pressured to make. It wasn't simple as a calm sunny day, and being with him was never a walk in the park.

Loving him meant that you need to be patient. That you need to wait until he felt safe around you, that you needed to slowly build trust just so he could feel comfortable around you.

And the worse of it all? You needed to understand what he was thinking, and if he truly wanted to be with you.

You weren't a mind reader. You could never understand him when he chooses to push you away, but then pull you back in soon after.

You never understood why he would be distant most of the time, but then be vulnerable while he's holding you in his arms. Opening up to you about his doubts and worries while the night was still young, both of you sharing warmth to contrast the cold air.

Eventually, there comes a point in time where his doubts and fears were much more terrifying than anything. How fear would plague his head everyday- taunting him that you would leave him. Mocking him for laying his heart out to you.

But despite your efforts, he wouldn't utter out a word to you.

Scaramouche isn't one to open up easily, instead he bottles his feelings up until they end up cracking and spilling- until they end up burning you in the process.

Communication was never his strongest suite. It never was and you knew that.

But for him you try your best to be patient, be strong just for him. To be someone he could cry to, someone he could trust.

If only it was easy.

"I can't understand you. One moment you're distant, then the next you're looking for me."

You told him. You wanted to be honest, to let him know how you felt. You tried to be close to him, to read him like an open book. But it was as if he wasn't allowing you.

He was quiet as you talked to him. He was looking for the right words to talk to you, to tell you what was on his mind. But he was never good with words.

"Don't be an idiot, you shouldn't worry about such trivial things. They only plague your mind for no good reason."

To him, it was to protect himself. If he pushed you away, you wouldn't be able to hurt him. And he wouldn't be able to hurt you.

But you persist.

"I just wish I could read your mind. To know why you're so..harsh. And I wish i knew if waiting for you was worth it."

Silence were shared between you as he took in your words. He always thought of himself, always thought of how he could be shielded away from pain, from betrayal.

From the mistakes he had made.

"..Do you think it was worth it? Loving me unconditionally despite everything?"

You didn't answer instantly. You hummed as you thought of his words deeply. It struck something within you, a question you never truly thought of.

Was every effort you put into the relationship worth it? Even after the times he would push you away?

You looked at him. A soft smile on your lips as you averted your gaze down.

You didn't have a proper answer. But you knew that you'd wait for him. Even if it hurts you at the end. Even if you had to sacrifice everything just so he could call you home.

"I just want you to love me, the same way I loved you."

(A/N); "lmao I couldn't post for a bit coz I was forced into cheer and had my body hurting for a few days 💔 also tell me why everytime I write for scara I have such good ideas but I HATE the execution. Doing a req next tho <3"

[enchantedchocolatebars]

A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human Chapter 6 : Deal?

Written by 💕 enchantedchocolatebars 🍫 (me, lol).

Ao3 version.

Commission cover art.

Cover art poll.

Chapter titles.

Fic playlist 🎵 💕 🎶 ✨️ <3

Cover redraw.

Enjoy!

October 31st, 1630

Dear Journal,

Caleb hasn't been fine or himself since the trial ended days ago. He tells me that he is, but I can tell that he's fibbing. My brother isn't exactly the best liar, though he thinks he is.

I have a slight suspicion about what's been bothering him and causing him so much pain and grief, but why would it? It's been troubling my mind a great deal as well, admittedly.

I just want my brother back, the old him.

The one who would always smile when we went witch hunting together and would cheerfully carve birds and other fantastic things, instead of the one that I have now who I have to make feel better almost all of the time, and who eats less, and who lies in bed all day crying, and--

Philip paused his penmanship on parchment mid-sentence as he sighed, shifting his gaze to his brother while sitting up in bed.

Caleb was lying silently in his bed, his head on his pillow while wrapped woefully in his thin covers.

Even though Caleb's face was turned away from Philip, the brunette could instinctively tell that his spirits were tremendously low.

...

The time of day was night as the front door of the Wittebane household in the woods flew open with great force.

With tightened jaws, lips, and flaring nostrils, Philip stormed inside, his mind exploding with more and more rage as he thought about the sinful happening he had just witnessed tonight.

Rushing to his room, he wasted no time going over to the head of his bed as the brunette slipped a hand under his pillow, retrieving his trusted journal.

Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, Philip began flipping through his book for a fresh page to start writing in.

Finding the desired page, he pulled out a pen from behind his back and began to pour out his emotions on parchment.

September 28th, 1630

Dear Journal,

I've completely had it with that ****** !

Caleb, wearing his vest and boots, wanders through the woods after Philip heads to school, eventually reaching the deep, dense forest while walking with his pitchfork in his hands.

He was on a determined hunt to capture and turn in the hooded figure, rumored to be a witch, who had been spotted in the woods outside of town.

Apparently, her hideout was somewhere in the forest, but Caleb was having trouble locating it.

Suddenly, in the corner of his brown eye, the blonde caught a flicker of red dart past him with lightning speed.

A cloak was worn by the fast-moving figure as they hurried away.

They seemed oddly familiar to Caleb, and without hesitation, he pursued the person.

As he chased the figure, he soon saw it run into a clearing and finally caught up with it, causing the person to pause as they turned to face him.

Caleb halted as well.

He was taken aback when the hooded figure raised her carrot-colored fluffy bangs that covered the entirety of her eyes with her hand, which were widened with surprise and shimmered, in order to get a better look at him.

She also wore a double-bitted key around her neck with a skull-shaped button on its bow.

Her eyes...

Caleb has never witnessed a color this brilliant inside someone's irises before.

The gold was shiny and... looked oddly gorgeous on her.

As Caleb continued to stare, somewhat in awe at the girl, she shined him a small, uncomfortable smile, pointing a finger at his pitchfork, silently asking him to please put it down.

Quickly obliging, Caleb placed the pitchfork on the ground and gave the girl an apologetic grin while scratching the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

The girl, seemingly amazed that this human boy had heeded her request, flashed Caleb a mischievous grin as she pushed back her hood enough to reveal her ears, which wiggled adorably.

Caleb's eyes widened with wonder as he saw the pointed tips of her ears.

His eyes followed her hands as she created a small, glowing circle from which a flame sprang to life, dancing on her palm, which spelled the name '******' before vanishing.

Caleb let out a small gasp. He couldn't believe it, his eyes shining with amazement and disbelief. This was no regular girl. This was a witch, and her name was ******.

After the shock of speaking to an actual witch faded away, the blonde finally spoke, giving ****** his name.

Suddenly, Caleb felt a sense of guilt rise in his stomach, his face growing somewhat pale.

****** didn't look anything like the witches he would help condemn at the pyre.

Did that mean...?

Caleb shook the dreadful thought away.

No, that can't be the case.

****** must be an advanced witch of some sort.

It's probable that the others were ordinary witches.

Just as Caleb was about to tell ****** that he was a witch hunter, she gave him a knowing, yet kind smile.

She already knew that he was one (his pitchfork was a dead giveaway), but something about Caleb in particular seemed different and not like the other hunters.

The children where she came from were much more scarier than him and could make one break down in tears with their words alone.

No, Caleb seemed soft.

Not weak per se, but soft-hearted.

Besides, if he were like the other humans, he would have either killed or captured her by now, but she was still there with him.

With a somewhat flirtatious but also still really friendly smile, ****** decided to give Caleb a wink, which caused him to blush before letting out a chuckle.

Caleb then decides to shoot ****** with some flirty finger guns and blinks both of his eyes in an attempt to wink one.

This results in the witch snorting into her hand.

Poking its head out of ******'s hood was a black bird, soon revealing itself to be a raven as it flew towards Caleb before making a landing on his shoulder.

Both Caleb and ******'s eyes twinkled in amusement at the bird, mainly ******'s.

Her Little Rascal, quite literally his name, didn't like anyone except for her.

She watched Little Rascal rub affectionately against Caleb's face as he outstretched his finger for the raven to hop onto, which he did so without the slightest bit of hesitation in his eyes.

Both boys began to stare fondly at each other, with Little Rascal letting out a cheerful croak at Caleb.

He let out a laugh.

****** found herself smiling tenderly at this adorable interaction, her bile-sac skipping a beat within her chest.

Caleb truly was different.

Wondering where ****** found such a terrific raven from Caleb learns that ******'s raven, quite like herself, wasn't ordinary.

He was her palisman, and he soon flew back into his owner's hood after she whistled for him to return.

Just as Caleb was beginning to wonder what a palisman was, it was time for ****** and Little Rascal to leave as neither wanted to be spotted by any other humans.

However, ****** saw the eager expression on the blonde's face, and with a sly smirk, she expressed for Caleb to meet her in the exact same location tomorrow night.

She planned to teach him more about palismen, as well as a few other things from her world.

With one last wink and a small wave, ****** ran further into the forest.

While waving goodbye to his new friend, Caleb felt a soft smile start to brighten his face.

Caleb's dopey grin remained on his face throughout the rest of the day as he eagerly awaited for tomorrow night while doing his daily activities, and Philip couldn't comprehend the reason for his brother's overly merry and upbeat demeanor.

The next day, as evening turned into night, Caleb anticipated Philip going to bed so that he could see her again. Ah, ******. Like a breath of fresh air in his lungs. What a wonderful name for a girl. Caleb kept repeating it over and over again in his mind.

After receiving a good night from Caleb, Philip went straight to sleep, which gave the eldest the opportunity to quietly slip out of the house and race outside in the woods, his heart pounding with excitement as he got closer to the forest.

Finally arriving at the clearing, Caleb saw ****** waiting for him.

With a sly smirk, she motioned for the human to sit beside her in the grass.

As soon as he happily did, ****** twirled her finger, and in a flash of colorful light, images started appearing over their heads.

As Caleb watched, his eyes widening in wonder, ****** showed him illusion after illusion of her life.

She showed him how witches conjured up magic and where magic came from, what palismen were and their purpose, strange plants, her favorite shops in Bonesborough, a town in the Demon Realm that she lived in, and the spot in the garden that she loved to use for naps when she was a little witchlet.

****** then showed Caleb a few images of the massive library she worked in, and then she showed him a scene of her winning some sort of magical battle with a demon who had tried to pick a fight with the wrong witch, and then some scenes of her with a small but boisterous family, and finally, she showed him her most treasured memory...

The time her father had flown her and her little sister high into the air to show them a beautiful sunset over a corpse-shaped island, the corpse of the Titan.

Caleb stared at the images, his imagination running completely wild.

Once ****** had finished telling her story, it was time for Caleb to share about his life.

He did so but only mentioned the parts he was most comfortable with.

He spoke about his and Philip's childhood but did not linger on the passing of their parents.

After learning about each other's lives, Caleb and ****** continued to gaze into each other's eyes, warm smiles making their way on their lips as they slowly reached to hold hands. They then shifted their gaze to the star-filled night sky.

Caleb, with his peaceful visage brightened under the moon and stars, asks ****** if she'd be willing to take him on a trip to the Demon Realm someday as it was a place bursting with beauty and culture that he wanted to witness and experience himself.

Turning to Caleb with lidded eyes and a soft look, ****** answers him with a nod and the two continue to view the colors of the bright night sky.

Since meeting her, she has only been a nuisance and a major inconvenience...

In a recap of chapter 5, Philip walks home after the book signing event at sunset...

He steps inside his home and hears giggling in the kitchen...

Philip freezes in shock upon seeing Caleb cooking in the kitchen with a witch girl...

The brunette goes to charge at her in an attempt to attack her, but Caleb prevents it.

This girl, who looks to be the same age as Caleb, is introduced by the blonde as ******...

... And is clearly leading my brother down a path of deceit and damnation.

Later in the evening, after ensuring that Philip was fast asleep and snoring in his room, Caleb silently joined ****** by the fire with a smile as the two shared a comfortable blanket together and sighed in unison.

As the fire slowly burned down, Caleb drifted to sleep, curled up next to a sleeping ****** as their peaceful faces were illuminated by the flickering light of the fireplace.

Meanwhile, eerie, bright blue eyes that glowed with anger slowly disappeared behind Philip's bedroom door as it silently closed.

I don't even want to go into the specifics of what I witnessed Caleb and the witch doing tonight for my own sake. It was utterly horrific.

When Philip returned home, he observed how dim the interior was, which puzzled him since he believed ****** would come over for a visit.

The fireplace was not on, nor were there any candles lit or any signs of a shared supper made for two on the table.

Philip found himself smirking in triumph as he let out a 'hmph!'.

Perhaps the witch had opted to disappear forever and never return to their (his and Caleb's) home or lives.

As Philip continued to reflect on the nice thought, he noted the dead silence of the house but assumed it was because Caleb was asleep.

He would be if ****** wasn't there, after all.

After letting his hair down, he went upstairs and opened his room door, only to discover that Caleb was not there.

A sudden rush of panic swept through Philip's mind.

He knew Caleb was drifting further and further away ever since ****** came into the picture, a lingering fear that he couldn't let go of.

He was going to lose Caleb. Caleb was going to abandon him. Or worse, the witch would take Caleb away, and he would be powerless to stop her.

An uncontrollable rage rose within Philip.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

He wouldn't.

And so, with a surge of determination and adrenaline, Philip dashed down the stairs and out the door into the woods to reach the forest.

The brunette had a hunch that Caleb and ****** would be at the clearing since he had observed them there several times before while spying on them from inside bushes and shrubs.

While running, Philip focused his enraged gaze on the floating lights in the distance between trees.

'Magic', he thought to himself.

And he knew exactly who was responsible for it.

As they stepped onto the last light glyph, Caleb and ****** lost themselves in the slow dance they were sharing under the stars at the clearing.

The world remained silent as they held each other in a moment that felt like an eternity.

Caleb, with the help of a delicate yet shaking hand, gently brushed a lock of ******'s hair behind her ear, and as if guided by a force greater than theirs in a sudden moment, their lips pressed together in a breathless and beautiful kiss as a tidal wave of teenage emotions washed over them.

The kiss was a symbol of both defiance and love.

And although the love between a winsome witch and a happy human could lead to their demise if discovered, it didn't matter at this moment.

The only thing that mattered was them and their emotions.

However, Caleb and ****** were unaware of the shadow lurking behind them.

As he stood still and horrified, Philip's eyes were filled with an unimaginable amount of hurt, concern, betrayal, and fear.

As Caleb held that witch in his arms, his sole focus was on her and only her.

He and the wench were smiling.

Caleb was... smiling …

Philip wanted badly to call out to him, to keep Caleb safe and prevent him from making, in his eyes, the biggest mistake of his life.

But it was too late.

As he watched the soon-to-be couple move their faces closer to each other, he couldn't think of a single word to say.

As their lips met, Philip felt the heavy weight of reality descend upon him, shattering his fragile heart into tiny fragments as if it were made of glass.

It had all been right there in front of him this entire time.

Why was he unable to see the most obvious signs before?

Caleb Wittebane, his beloved older brother, was in love... and not just with anyone... with a witch.

As Philip sniffled, a tear slipped down on his parchment page before more quickly followed suit.

Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Philip continued writing with a heavy heart while trying his best to control his crying, his nose now stuffy.

... I need her gone. Out of our lives. For good. I will do what I need to protect Caleb. To protect Gravesfield. I am certain that the next gathering at the pyre will be an eventful one. One that will be remembered for a considerable amount of time. All I need to do is reach out to--

Matthew Hopkins took a suave stroll down the busy town market the next day, his confidence evident in every step he took while wearing his brand new coat along with a new pair of boots and breeches.

The witchfinder figured some new clothes would turn a lot of heads in town since he was undeniably attractive, which was, of course, a factual opinion.

Other townsfolk seemed to agree with this truth as just about everyone who Hopkins quietly passed by quickly placed their focus on his fine features that were framed by the afternoon sun.

The men wanted to be like him, the single women wanted to be with him and run their hands through his hair, and most of the married women had thoughts about him while bathing, but never told their husbands.

Hopkins slipped on a smirk as he witnessed the sizeable sight of flushed admirers gazing at him as a small chuckle emerged from his throat.

He then turns his attention to the male quail that was settled on his shoulder.

Watson, Matthew's pet and feathered companion, shifted his eyes to his owner as he soon began to bob his head.

"You'll have your feed once we arrive home," Hopkins promised quietly to the quail in a reassuring voice.

"You have my word."

Hopkins never faltered in his honesty towards Watson, always keeping his word to the bird.

For a long time, the two had been together, and their bond was unbreakable.

Watson, chirping with understanding, stopped bobbing and continued to observe the marketgoers focusing on his owner.

...

'I have to save Caleb. I have to save Caleb. I must. I will. Caleb, I will save you,' were the purposeful words that Philip repeated in his head as he arrived at his destination, a small doorstep.

After knocking on the door, his blue eyes glittered with glee as the door swung open, but luckily, he was swift enough to take a step back without being hit.

Philip found himself under the "heroic" gaze of his hero.

"Mr. Hopkins!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"That's me...," Hopkins slowly replied as he raised a confused brow at the boy.

Although he appreciated the youth, he didn't usually receive knocks on his door from them.

Typically, when he answered his door, he expected to see either the town minister paying him a visit or one of the various women from town coming to sing their praises for him or gift him with bird seed for Watson.

What did this teenage boy whom he's never met before in his entire life want from him?

"Look, if you want my signed signature, can it not wait until tomorrow?" Hopkins requested, assuming that's what the boy wanted.

"I was just about to feed my pet quail, Watson."

Upon hearing his name from inside, Watson let out a chirp.

"Who's at the door?" Hopkins turned to answer him before looking back at Philip.

"Oh, just some boy from town. And he's ... clearly got an eye problem."

Those last five words were muttered out by the witchfinder, referring to the visible sparkles of elation shining in Philip's eyes.

They were far too big and bright as he squinted.

"I do apologize for the disturbance, Mr. Hopkins," Philip said, his eyes returning to their normal state as he took on a mature demeanor. "But I didn't come here for your signature. I came for a more serious matter. A witch matter."

"A witch matter?" This got Matthew's attention, his eyes flickering with interest in what the boy had to say.

"That does sound quite serious. Very well then. Come inside, young...?" Hopkins paused, not knowing the boy's name.

"Philip!" Philip quickly answered, his enthusiasm shining once more.

"Philip Wittebane! Mr. Hopkins, I'm not sure if you remember, but we've met before," the brunette politely informed.

"We have?" Hopkins tilted his head some, taking in the boy's appearance.

Did he seem familiar?

Philip nodded. "Yes, at the library! Your book signing event was held there! I approached your table!"

Hopkins proceeded to blink. Tons of people approached his table that day.

"You... sighed my book?" Philip quietly stated, hoping that would jog Mr. Hopkins' memory.

However, it didn't as the general continued to stand there with a puzzled expression.

"Oh!" In a swift motion, Philip quickly whipped out his copy of "The Ways of a Witch Hunter" from behind his back and opened the book to its title page.

He pointed to the poorly drawn horse next to Matthew's initials.

"You drew this for me!"

Hopkins studied the artwork beside his name, slowly recalling it.

"Ah, I see. Now I remember..." His memory was primarily of drawing the horse, with a brief memory of speaking to Philip. "Very well then, young Philip."

When Hopkins said his name, Philip was close to exploding, but he held it together.

"Come inside."

Philip nodded as he stepped inside Mr. Hopkins' home.

...

After Hopkins had given Watson his feed of food, as he had previously promised during their stroll, he walked over to the table where he had instructed Philip to sit at.

The general couldn't help but smirk when he saw the boy's captivated reaction to his interior walls.

"Impressive collection, isn't it?" Hopkins asked with a chuckle, taking a seat at the table.

Philip, taking his gaze off of the display of mounted 'witch' skulls on the walls, looked to Mr. Hopkins.

He nodded. "It is," Philip agreed. "Are they... real?"

Hopkins let out a boisterous laugh, a prideful smile playing on his lips.

"Of course they are! I certainly wouldn't have them if they weren't. I've preserved the skulls of every witch I've condemned as a way to show the devil that I mean business. I refuse to let him or his followers poison our great town with their treachery."

Aspiration to be just like Mr. Hopkins shined in Philip's eyes, his smile growing immensely at every word the general said.

He, too, wouldn't allow the devil or his followers to poison Gravesfield.

After chuckling inwardly at the dark thought in his mind of one of the heads on the wall being ******'s, Philip beamed out, "Mr. Hopkins, you truly are a godly man."

Hopkins chuckled outwardly at the compliment. "I have to agree," he said.

"Now, about the witch matter, if I may ask what made you decide to come to me about it? I'd assume the first person you'd want to discuss this with would be the town minister."

"Well," Philip began. "You are the greatest witch hunter in Gravesfield," he told Hopkins.

"And the greatest who ever lived," Hopkins quickly added with a conceited look on his face.

Philip gave a nod at that fact.

"Yes, and I know Mr. Town Minister has been awfully busy writing the extra copies of this week's sermon for the hard-of-hearing members of the congregation..." Bless his soul. "So I didn't wish to bother him."

"I see... So, about the witch matter?" Hopkins desired to know every juicy detail about it.

"Yes, about that...," Philip mumbled, trying to think of what to say. He knew that he had to be wary of his words to prevent getting Caleb in trouble.

The blonde would probably still face minor consequences, but Philip needed to make sure that ****** the witch was the one to face death and meet her maker, Satan, in the afterlife by the end of all of this.

"Well?" Matthew asked, crossing his arms as his raised an impatient brow. "Out with it already."

Philip took a deep breath. "Do you know about the witch who's been running around town in a hood?"

"I do," Hopkins replied.

"Well, Caleb, my brother, h--"

Hopkins' eyes broadened as he suddenly slammed both his hands down harshly on the table, startling Philip as he flinched and quickly zipped his lips.

"Is he the witch?!" Hopkins demanded to know in an aggressive tone.

"Huh?!" Philip quickly shook his head, shaking his hands sideways. "N-No, sir!" he said, quickly rejecting the idea.

"Oh...," Hopkins quietly went, settling down some. "My apologies then." He cleared his voice, motioning for Philip to continue.

"Caleb is... having relations with her," Philip confessed.

"Oh, he is, is he?"

Philip felt instantly frightened by the dangerous glare on Matthew Hopkins' face and began to defend his brother the best he could.

"He is, but please, Mr. Hopkins, it's not Caleb's fault! The witch was the one who committed immoral acts! Caleb was charmed by her! Bewitched! Bewitched by a pointy-eared temptress who--"

"Stop."

"Huh?" Philip stopped speaking after being told to do so.

"Did you just say that this witch that Cain--"

"A-Actually, it's Caleb, Mr. Hopkins," Philip gently corrected, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it.

"Yes, Christopher. That's what I said. The witch that he's been seeing... her ears are... pointed?" Hopkins asked, wanting a confirmation.

"Yes, sir. They are," Philip confirmed.

"I see...," Hopkins said with an intrigued expression. "Witches with pointy ears are far more dangerous than ones with so-called human ears."

"They are?!" Philip questioned with a shocked expression upon learning this.

Hopkins nodded. "They are."

'I knew it!' Philip thought to himself.

His brother truly was in grave danger.

"Young Philip, how's about we make a deal?"

"A deal?"

"Yes. A court date for this pointy-eared sorceress will be set for October 25th."

'That's the end of this week,' Philip noted inwardly.

"If you're somehow able to convince your brother to bring her to court, I'll have a talk with the minister. At the very least, his punishment will involve unpleasant questioning along with public repentance in order for him to rebuild his reputation. It's also probable that he'll have to spend a night or two locked in the manure pit."

As a sight gag, the scene pauses to display a set of blackletter words on screen that state: 'Side note: the manure pit is not an actual pit but rather a very old outhouse in Gravesfield that no one in town goes near due to the horrendous stench.'

Once the gag ends, the story continues.

"As long as we can break him out of his spell, Caesar will certainly keep his life."

Philip sighed, slouching a bit in relief.

At least Caleb would get to live.

A hand then clasped Philip's shoulder.

He looked to see Matthew Hopkins now standing beside him.

Silently, he gazed at the man he looked up to like a son would his father, his eyes gleaming once more.

"You are being very brave, young Philip," Matthew told him.

Philip's chest swelled at the praise.

"R-Really?" he managed to stammer out, slight flush appearing on his features. "You really think so?"

"Oh, I know so. Now, do we have a deal?" Hopkins proceeded to hold out his hand for Philip to shake.

Philip looked at the hand for a bit, then at Mr. Hopkins. His face brightened immediately as he stood up from his seat.

"Deal!" The brunette vigorously shook Hopkins' hand.

"Wonderful. Now, before you take off, I'd like for you to have this." Matthew Hopkins reached a hand down his holder and retrieved a dagger.

The weapon's blade was unusually sharp and had a crooked appearance.

Philip gasped. "M-Mr. Hopkins! You're giving me--"

"Yes. A gift from me to you." Hopkins handed the dagger to Philip.

He had plenty of other daggers that looked exactly the same on the wall of his room.

"Protect yourself against any wild witches you might come in contact with," Hopkins spoke passionately, putting on a bit of a show as he clenched his fist.

He smiled a cocksure smile seeing Philip eat his behavior up.

Philip held the hilt of the weapon, admiring it fully.

Matthew Hopkins, the greatest witch hunter of all time, was giving him his dagger... as a gift?!

Philip could faint.

He wasn't going to, but he could have.

The brunette swiftly nodded. "I will! Oh, Mr. Hopkins, I am truly honored to have this!"

Hopkins chuckled.

This kid was something else.

"You should be," Matthew said, his lips curling into a smug smirk.

After waving Philip off, Hopkins went over to Watson, who had just cleaned out his small bowl of bird food.

"Did you hear that, Watson? A witch with pointed ears," Matthew stated as he took the empty bowl.

Watson chirped before flapping his wings to move up, landing on Hopkins' shoulder.

The general chuckled briefly at his companion's response, stroking beneath his neck with care.

"I know, I know," he spoke gently. "It's been forever since we've last seen one..."

A sense that one could describe as nostalgia trailed in Hopkins' voice.

...

As Philip traveled down the center of town, he was in a state of contemplation, thinking of ways to persuade Caleb to take his beloved (bleh) witch to court.

He knew his brother was far too deep in a state of bewitchment by her love spell to do it willingly. So what ways could he employ to convince him to do the right thing?

While continuing to ponder, within the bustling crowd of townsfolk moving to and fro, Philip quickly spotted a hooded figure heading forward... and she wasn't alone, nor was she with Caleb.

She was with--

A small gasp escaped Philip, his blue eyes widening slightly.

Swiftly shifting his direction to an empty stall so that his back was turned as ****** and the human boy she was holding hands with passed by, Philip slowly turned his head to watch them.

'That's Miss. Doughberry's son...,' he whispered inside his head in genuine surprise.

'What's he doing with that witch?'

Philip took note of the fluttering looks the two gave each other as they approached the storefront door of the bakery.

As the son of Miss. Doughberry gently lifted ******'s hood down, he revealed the set of human ears that she now had.

Philip narrowed his eyes at the sight of this.

'She clearly used magic to fake those ears. Those aren't really hers,' he spat out in his mind.

'Conniving witch...,' he growled, continuing to view the interaction.

With a glowing look of love in her eyes and a soft smile, ****** leaned in close to the son.

A gentle grin crept onto his lips as the two shared a short but meaningful kiss before stepping inside the bakery together.

Witnessing the display of affection caused Philip to feel a surge of unbridled anger, accompanied by a scowl of disgust on his face.

'THAT DEPLORABLE WENCH!!' his internal self literally roared out, Internal Philip's head growing and his mouth opening to expose several rows of deadly sharp teeth in a fearsome sight gag.

He was just about ready to rip ******'s head off.

With a sharp turn, Philip quickly darted in the direction of home.

'Caleb has to know about this,' he told himself in a steely tone.

...

As the evening progressed to night, Caleb gave a suave twirl, turning to face the full-body mirror in his bedroom with a smashing smile.

Holding a simple wood carving of two swans with their necks craned together like a heart, the blonde took a breath before smiling and saying with confidence, "Oh, hello, love! I didn't see you there! You're looking quite divine tonight."

Caleb proceeded to hold up his carving to the mirror. "What's this? It's a swan carving! I made it for you."

Pretending as if ****** had wordlessly complimented his carving, Caleb gave a bashful chuckle. "It's beautiful? Why, thank you! I don't think it rivals your beauty, though. Nothing in this world ever could."

After another light-hearted chuckle, Caleb rubbed the back of his neck shyly. "Um, love? I have a question. Is it alright to... kiss you?"

The blonde smiled softly, pretending to have received a silent yes from ******.

"Very well then." Slowly, Caleb leaned forward, pressing his puckered lips against the mirror's glass.

Upon pulling away, a warm sensation of true love was felt in his stomach.

"Oh, beloved, your lips are as soft as rose petals," Caleb told no one with softened eyes.

With a motivated grin on his face, he took another breath and nodded. "Alright," Caleb told himself. "I think I'm ready for my date."

"Are you?" asked a familiar voice.

"Eee!" squealed a surprised Caleb as he jumped, his swan carving nearly slipping from his grasp.

Turning swiftly, he saw his younger brother standing at the entryway of their room with an unamused expression on his face.

"Ph-Philip!" Caleb squeaked, his cheeks flushing dark red. "H-How... how much did you... see?" the blonde quietly asked.

"Oh, only all of it," Philip answered in a monotonous tone as he entered the room.

Caleb noticed the gruff and bothered expression on his brother's face, a look of concern soon crossing his own.

"You look troubled, Pip," the eldest reached out, placing a hand on Philip's shoulder before continuing. "Is something the matter?"

After remaining silent for a while, the youngest exhaled a sigh. "It's that witch...," Philip muttered out. "I saw her in town today. She's..."

The brunette paused, searching for the right words to convey the news to his brother.

"She was with Miss. Doughberry's son. They held hands and..." Philip took a breath.

"Caleb, there's no easy way to say this, but... they shared a kiss. That witch is being unfaithful."

Hearing out his brother and taking in his words, Caleb frowned.

"Philip," the eldest began, a sense of firmness in his voice. "I understand that you don't like ******, but it's not acceptable for you to fabricate tales about her."

Fabricate? That word struck a nerve within Philip. "Are you implying that I'm a liar?" Philip growled lowly, lowering his brows at his brother.

"No, but I'm certainly not calling you a truther, either," Caleb simply stated, lowering his brows as well.

Philip stomped his foot, harshly hissing out, "YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN BE HAVING ANY RELATIONS WITH HER AT ALL!"

"Shh, Philip!" Caleb quietly and quickly hissed out sternly, placing a finger on his lips. "No shouting in the house! You'll wake up the neighbors!"

Philip stomped his foot for a second time. "WE DON'T HAVE NEIGHBORS!"

"We do, too," Caleb calmly argued, referring to Mr. Kookman and his wife.

A frustrated groan escaped Philip. "It's all that witch's fault. She's the reason why we're even having this argument. Vile snake. This is precisely why I told Mr. Hopkins about her!"

"Oh, you did?" Caleb rolled his eyes. "Wow, Philip, I'm so surprised."

Philip's face displayed a great deal of irritation at his brother's sarcastic tongue.

"I have a question, Philip. This Matthew Hopkins. You hold him in high regard, but how do you know that he isn't a witch himself? I mean, have you ever seen his ears before?"

Philip's blood started boiling. "Shut up!" the brunette shouted.

"Don't talk about him like that! He's not a witch, ****** is! You're just jealous because Mr. Hopkins is more of a man than you'll ever be!"

"You're right, Philip. I'm not a man," Caleb stated flatly. "I'm an exhausted teenage boy who's been caring for you for years and works his tail off every day to ensure we have enough food and money to live a decent life."

Philip huffed. "Don't tell me what I already know."

Caleb narrowed his eyes. "Then don't yell at me," he told Philip.

"I can yell at you if I want to!" Philip barked.

Not appreciating the tone of voice that Philip was using to speak to him, Caleb sighed and rolled his eyes once more.

"I don't have time for this," he said, deciding to walk past his brother and head downstairs to the front door.

Frowning, Philip followed after him.

Upon his arrival at the door, he opened it and witnessed his brother already heading in the direction of the forest.

Philip felt his body shake with an unfettered rage as tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

With venom in his voice, he viciously shouted, "You're a terrible brother!" before slamming the door with all his might.

Caleb halted and looked back at the house, sadness starting to fill his stomach.

He couldn't deny how hearing those words from Philip's mouth had a negative impact on his soul.

It genuinely broke his heart.

He would have to patch things up with Pip once he returned home, but right now, he had a date waiting for him in the clearing to get to, and he was already so late.

Sighing deeply, Caleb continued forward.

...

The next morning, Caleb struggled to shake off the memory of the fight he had with Philip last night, the words 'You're a terrible brother', still ringing nonstop in his head.

Was Philip's statement a result of frustration, or was he truly a bad older brother?

Did simply falling in love with a witch as kind and faithful as ****** make him a monster?

Caleb thought about it for a bit before breathing out a saddened sigh. He was unsure at this point as he got up to get ready for the day.

...

Making his way downstairs in his work attire, which consisted of a pair of brown overalls over a white top with brown boots, Caleb turned into the hallway before entering the dining room.

Upon seeing Philip, his lips curled up in a proud smile.

"Wow, Pip! You made those on your own?" Caleb asked, referring to the scrambled eggs sitting on the frying pan that Philip slid onto his plate. "They look good!"

"I only made enough for one," Philip answered coldly as he took a seat.

"Oh..." Caleb could detect the hurt that Philip was trying to mask in his voice, taking a seat as well.

The blonde smiled sadly. "That's fine! I wasn't really hungry anyways."

Silence reigned at the table between the two brothers for a bit, with neither speaking to the other.

The only sound that could be heard was Philip chewing his food.

Caleb sighed, being the first to break the silence by asking with a low-spirited smile, "So, Pip, I was wondering, after I return home from work today, would you perhaps want to play a game of witch--"

The chair that Philip sat in suddenly screeched.

"I have to go," were the only words that Philip said as he stood up and walked toward the front door.

"Oh? Leaving so soon? You hardly touched your breakfast. Where are you going, Pip?" Caleb tried his best to hide the pain in his voice as he asked this.

"Anywhere but here," Philip spat out as he left, closing the door behind him.

"O-Oh...," Caleb utterly out quietly, turning his saddened gaze to the barely eaten plate of eggs.

He sighed once more, taking the plate to finish the food himself.

...

After completing his day's work and receiving payment from the herder who he had helped herd his various dopey kids (baby goats) down a fertile grassland, Caleb expressed gratitude, said goodbye to the herder, and headed towards town.

While walking, the eldest went into a train of thought, trying to think of ways to make his brother happy with him once more and repair their relationship.

Initiating an apology would be a good start, but Philip would always breathe out a vex huff and walk away sharply before Caleb could even get one out.

Still thinking, Caleb took a downcast gaze at the small, bronze-colored pouch of coins he had in his pocket.

Although not much, it was certainly enough to buy a...

The blonde then began to notice that he was nearing the bakery before smiling, his eyes gleaming with an idea.

Philip Wittebane had the biggest sweet tooth known to man, and his brother could confirm this, which meant that not even he could say no to a sweet baked treat.

Stopping at the shop's window, Caleb began to view the various pies on display.

Apple, pumpkin, sugar cream custard, meat pies, pear pies, ah-ha!

Caleb's brown eyes spot his and Philip's favorite flavor of pie sitting prominently in the center of the display, with a label beside it that reads 'Maple Buttermilk Pie'.

A wave of nostalgia hits Caleb instantly, as he recalls with great fondness his mother always preparing maple buttermilk pie in the kitchen along with the meal for the evening.

The dessert was a family favorite in the Wittebane household, and every time Patience Wittebane presented it to her husband and two boys at the table, she would do so with a tender smile of a loving mother.

Caleb's thoughts drifted back more and more to his mother and father, his smile slowly going down as he sighed.

Their disappointment would be evident if they were to see him and Philip in the present day, given that their relationship seemed to be hanging on its last thread.

Being the caring parents that they were, Cadman and Patience would want nothing more than their boys to come together and reach a compromise, and Caleb knew this.

The blonde kept his gaze fixed on the pie while pondering.

Perhaps buying Philip a piece would help him realize that as well, even if the pie probably won't have the same maternal sweetness as their mother's.

Just before Caleb could make his way into the shop, he saw a familiar figure whom he loved dearly in the reflection of the window.

She walked past without noticing him with her hood down, her ears round and human, as she held hands with one of the boys who assisted some of the merchants and tradesmen in town.

This freckled face boy had short brown hair, along with a white top, cream-colored breeches, dark brown boots, and a big flirtatious smile dancing on his lips.

****** and the boy seemed to be leaving town as they headed towards the woods.

Now, unlike his brother, Caleb was not one to jump straight to conclusions, but he did raise a confused brow at this.

'That witch is being unfaithful,' Philip said in Caleb's mind, his words echoing in his head.

Caleb quickly dismissed the thought.

Although he didn't want to believe what his brother had previously said, it... also wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on the two.

Walking away from the bakery, Caleb secretly follows the pair out of town and into the woods, taking small steps while keeping quiet to avoid detection.

'You're not spying on them,' Caleb tried to convince himself, but guilt and worry were evident on his face as he continued.

'You're just...' He took a small breath. 'Keeping a watchful eye on them because you're curious, that's all.'

Once ****** and the boy reached the clearing together, Caleb quickly dove into the nearest, non-prickly bush, poking his head out to observe the two.

They took a seat together in the grass, the two face-to-face with their legs crossed, and the boy began to talk at length to ****** about his day as she regained her pointed ears once more with magic.

****** showed interest in the boy's story, especially when he added a sense of humor and a touch of good-hearted sarcasm to his words, as she smiled and giggled affectionately at him.

Once the boy had finished talking, ****** held out her index finger and whistled out to Little Rascal, who soon came gliding down from the sky, landing precisely on the boy's head.

This surprised both ****** and the boy, amused looks now crossing their faces as they watched Little Rascal open his curved beak before giving a light yank on a strand of the boy's hair, causing both him and ****** to laugh cordially at the raven's silly antics.

Once he felt at ease enough to do so, Little Rascal flapped down and settled himself in the small open space inside the boy's crossed legs.

The boy smiled at this as he began to give soothing rubs against the back of the black bird's neck with his hand.

Little Rascal opened and closed his beak in fondness at the soft touches, letting out light croaks.

****** viewed the tender interaction with a soft smile and decided it was the perfect opportunity to introduce the two to each other.

Upon witnessing ****** and the boy's friendly behavior towards one another, Caleb couldn't resist smiling along with them.

The sight of his beloved making friends with humans was truly a delight to see.

...

When Caleb gradually woke up from his sleep, he proceeded to let out a yawn and slowly noticed his right cheek resting against the green shrubbery of the bush he was still in.

As he turned his gaze towards the sky, he saw stars glowing against an inky, black abyss and soon realized that he had been asleep for quite some time.

Before he could step out of the bush, Caleb caught sight of a floating light passing through the leaves of a nearby tree.

With wide eyes, he quickly darted them in the direction of ****** and the boy... and the blonde's heart instantly dropped, his entire form frozen seeing... Caleb blinked twice, genuinely baffled.

His gaze laid on the sight of ****** and the boy being close. Their hands were on each other's backs as their cheeks flushed bright red. They moved slowly to the rhythm that only they could hear in their heads as they stepped on light glyphs with each spin of their dance.

The light glyphs surrounding them took on the shape of a large heart and ****** and the boy felt their smiles grow. They grew closer to each other.

"No...," Caleb whispered in pure shock, blinking back the tears that were forming inside his ducts.

Before he knew it, he witnessed the two slowly lean in towards each other before sharing a breathless kiss.

A small gasp escaped from Caleb, the blonde covering his mouth with both hands as he shook his head in disbelief, tears pouring down his cheeks.

The pain he felt was indescribable and something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He couldn't believe it... His brother was right... ****** truly was unfaithful to him.

Caleb took a few steps back, not paying attention as he nearly tripped on a vine before taking off through the forest, silently sobbing to himself.

Both ****** and the boy's dance were interrupted as they heard the rustling of a bush along with the crunch of footsteps on the forest floor, but when they both turned around, whatever had been there was gone.

...

"Her eyes... shared the same color as copper ...," Philip narrated to himself in a gentle tone, noting that very significant detail as he began to add it to a blank parchment page in his journal using a quill with brown ink.

The brunette was sitting at the dining room table, with an oil lamp sitting on top of it, the lamp illuminating the area enough for him to see his work.

He also had an assortment of colored ink bottles on the table that were gifted to him by his brother on his birthday, but he hadn't found the time to use them until today.

Philip felt the need to provide more detail about these stunning copper eyes.

He soon said, "They were like infinite pools of beauty, and undoubtedly warm and inviting."

Recently, Philip had been dreaming about a girl whom he had developed feelings for and thought that she was the most exquisite girl in the world.

In his dreams, the girl would appear to him like an angel from heaven.

Her smile was pure and kind, and she would always offer him her hand to take, but whenever Philip reached out to take it, she suddenly dissipated, and the dream abruptly ended soon after.

Luckily, Philip was able to capture and remember enough of the angelic girl's appearance before she vanished.

He wished that he had been able to learn her name, though, so that he could properly address her.

As he continued his narration, he sketched and colored what he described as his heart skipped a beat, with his words being vivid and flowery.

"Her skin tone was sun-kissed by the sun and heavens. Her glasses were rectangular and fit her adorable, round face perfectly. Her figure..."

Philip gave thought to it for a bit, heat quickly rushing up to his entire his face as his stomach rolled.

"Full and unique." There weren't any girls his age in Gravesfield with such a pretty body shape.

"Her hair was long, dark, and had waves like those of the ocean. Her lips were full, and her smile..."

It made Philip grow a soft one of his own. "Was unforgettable."

After completing the details of the girl's wedding dress, Philip looked at his finalized work with a glow in his eyes.

If he could and was old enough, he would definitely make her his betrothed, and as her loving husband, he would always love and cherish her for the rest of their days together.

He would kiss and hug her non-stop and would always be there for her and act as a provider for both her and their lovely little family (he was already turning beet red at the thought of them having many children together).

He would also make her soothing tea on sick days and lean over and kiss her forehead and...

Philip's mind was filled with a multitude of sweet and wholesome thoughts. He's never felt such happiness before.

His parents made him very happy when they were alive, and so does Caleb... for the most part, but this happiness was on a whole other level.

It was different... and very special.

As he picked up his journal, Philip held it in front of his face, his attention still on the girl of his dreams.

Despite already knowing, he looked to his left and right to ensure he wasn't being watched.

Philip soon shut his eyes and puckered his lips, trembling slightly as he began to lean forward.

His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were merely centimeters away from touching the page.

Suddenly, a faint knock came from the front door.

Philip squeaked, dropping his journal immediately as flush covered the entirety of his face.

After taking a few breaths, calming his racing heart down, Philip soon frowned, knowing exactly who was on the other side of the door.

Walking over to the front door, he swung it open.

Philip huffed, crossing his arms together.

"I'm still not talking to y--" Philip went immediately silent as his eyes fell upon his brother standing there, his entire being seemingly consumed by an overwhelming amount of sadness and heartbreak.

The youngest also took notice of the eldest's wet eyes, which were red from a relentless amount of crying and held a great deal of pain in them.

"C-Caleb...?" Philip whispered in surprised, genuinely concerned for his brother as he tried his best not to panic, though it was evident in his visage.

In response, Caleb's lip began to quiver as he quickly rushed up to Philip, collapsing into the brunette's arms, as he began to sob violently, his entire body shaking with emotion.

"Oh, Philip," Caleb began woefully, his tone broken. "Y-You were right about her. I-I'm..." He stopped to sniffle intensely before continuing.

"I'm so sorry for ever doubting your words when you told me the truth that day. I'm... I'm just so sorry for being such a terrible older brother in general, Pip. W-Would you ever be willing to forgive me?" Caleb pleaded desperately, unsure if forgiveness was something he even deserved at this point.

Philip's heart shattered into pieces at the sound of his older brother's voice.

He was sad, yes, but also very scared.

While it's true that he has seen Caleb cry and be sad before, it was never to this extent.

This vulnerability of Caleb's was new to him.

As Philip, still stunned, began to wrap protective arms around his brother, he couldn't lie.

His inner self was displaying the greatest smug smile on his face.

Inner Philip urged his outer self to tell his brother that he told him so.

That he was silly and naive for even thinking that a witch of all things could ever be faithful, but Philip had to suppress that inner voice, as such words would only heighten Caleb's hurt.

Right now, what Caleb needed was strength, and Philip would provide that strength for him to the best of his ability.

"That's not even a question, Caleb," Philip expressed in a gentle murmur, holding his brother. "Of course I forgive you."

Caleb's sins were never a factor in Philip's willingness to forgive him repeatedly.

The eldest has forgiven him plenty of times before, so it was only fair for him to do the same.

After all, neither brother was perfect, and they both had a lot to work on.

"I'm sorry for calling you a terrible brother. That's not true at all. You're a wonderful brother who does his best every day." Philip wouldn't trade Caleb for anyone in the entire the world.

"Also, you are not to blame for this plight, Caleb. You were simply bewitched. Bewitched by..." Philip's brows furrowed as he scowled. "Her...," he mentioned, grumbling angrily under his breath as he thought about ******.

"I hate her...," Philip growled lowly. "I hate her so much. She needs to be taught a harsh lesson and face cruel judgment."

Philip gave his brother some intense eye contact, his cold, blue eyes burning with vengeance. "Caleb, you must turn her in."

"Turn her in?" Caleb sniffled as he looked at his brother with an uncertain gaze. "I mean, I could, but..." The blonde paused, thinking a bit before sighing. "I don't know, Philip...," he spoke, his tone tentative.

"But Caleb." Philip's lips formed a small frown.

"She betrayed and hurt you without any concern. She took your trust and discarded it for her own personal pleasure. She's vile, an unfaithful wench. The feelings she had for you were false and all a part of her hex. She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will."

This cold, hard truth hit Caleb like a hurricane, his thoughts drifting to the times that he and ****** spent together.

...

The first time they met in the clearing and formed an unlikely friendship soon after.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

Their first night together. ****** showed Caleb illusions about her life, while Caleb shared a bit about his life afterward.

They then gazed at the star-filled sky together while holding hands.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

The evening when Caleb curled up and slept next to ******'s side as the fireplace flickered with light and warmth.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

The slow dance they shared that fateful night... and the kiss they share--

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

...

Caleb soon shuts his eyes, tears slipping down from them.

Those memories, while dear to him, are now in the past.

Suddenly, Caleb heard a dark chuckle escape him, and a slowly but surely malice smile played on his lips.

"Fine, I will."

"It's what she deserves, dear brother." A cold chuckle escaped Philip, the younger pleased by his older brother's decision.

Meanwhile, his inner Philip was brimming with excitement as his eyes shimmered.

He was quite literally bouncing off the walls in his mind because of how cool Outer Caleb now appeared.

Perhaps he should be thankful that ****** chose to be unfaithful since it awoke the vindictive witch hunter in his brother.

"And I know exactly how you can do so."

While whispering in Caleb's ear, Philip shared his plan for how Caleb could turn ****** in before revealing the deal he made with Mr. Hopkins.

As he listened, Caleb nodded along to what he heard, grinning darkly.

...

The next day dawned warmer and brighter for ****** the witch as she, with her hood up, spent her morning near the forest's lake, happily hunting for the sparkliest stone she could find in the water.

Rumors have been swirling in her world that human stones may contain garnets.

Suddenly, ******'s eyes were shielded from behind by warm hands.

"Hmph?" she hummed faintly in confusion, a question mark appearing above her head as a sight gag.

"Guess who?" chimed a cheery voice with a British accent that ****** was all too familiar with as she giggled.

Once the hands were taken from her eyes, ****** turned around and saw a smiling Caleb standing before her.

"Hello, my love," he greeted as an elated ****** beamed, attempting to give Caleb a kiss on the cheek, only for the blonde to take a swift step back.

"Hmph?" ****** tilted her head at her beloved's decision to back away from her.

"Uh, love," Caleb began, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

He tried his best to keep eye contact with ****** as he asked, "I have a question. Have you perhaps..."

A hand reached up to scratch the back of his head as he continued. "Oh, I don't know, met with any other humans besides my brother and I? Any at all?"

Brown eyes shifted swiftly to the right before looking back at ******.

Caleb's smile weakened when she shook her head and smiled innocently at him. "A-Are you sure?" he asked again, his tone uneasy, almost heartbroken.

After ****** gave him another shake of her head, Caleb sighed and shut his eyes, deciding to proceed with what he had planned to do. "Very well then."

****** continued to smile.

She wanted to keep the other two humans she met a surprise and have them meet Caleb later today.

After shooting ****** an unreadable look, Caleb reached behind his back, retrieving a black blindfold as he soon tied it around ******'s head to cover her eyes.

The witch hummed a second time in confusion, tilting her head once more.

"Oh, why are you blindfolded, you ask?"

Caleb chuckled calmly, almost too calmly.

"Simple, love. I wish to take you somewhere special. It's a surprise, though. You like surprises, right?"

****** gasped. A surprise? For her? Eee! She vigorously nodded.

"Splendid! Let's get going then. I'll be your eyes and lead you there safety. You have my word."

Taking ******'s hand, Caleb took lead, treading through the forest.

During their walk, they pass a tall tree that Little Rascal is perched on a branch of as the raven watches them from above.

He doesn't think much of seeing Caleb enter the woods with his owner since they are on good terms.

After a small croak comes out of him, he decides to shut his eyes and drift into a small nap, half asleep and half awake.

...

With each step she took, ****** heard the crunching of twigs and plant debris cease as she now walked down a fresh new path.

Despite being unable to see it, her feet felt the familiarity of it.

"We're getting closer, love," Caleb informed her as he led her into town, ****** letting out a quiet squeal of excitement.

A sudden roar of applause came from the various townspeople in the marketplace as Caleb walked down with, from their standpoint, the guilty temptress who's been wreaking havoc in their sacred town.

Shining an anxious smile, Caleb kindly gestured with one hand for them to bring their cheers down a bit.

After all, he wanted ****** to be unaware of the fact that he was essentially leading her towards her death.

Her death.

****** ... dead.

'Turn back,' a soft voice of reason that sounded much like his own pleaded in the back of Caleb's head. 'Turn around. Don't go through with this. Please. It's not right. This isn't you. ****** doesn't deserve it.'

Caleb bit his lip but quickly shook the voice away, trying to shift his high anxiety into something more austere.

That voice was incorrect. This was indeed him. He was a witch hunter, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

...

"... You can sit down now," Caleb instructed in an unfriendly grumble to ****** as she abided, having a seat at... wherever she was.

Where was she exactly?

A shop? A store? Inside a home?

Regardless of where she was, she knew that she and Caleb were not the only ones present, as the atmosphere was filled with the tension of others.

****** heard whispers and hushed voices coming from all angles of, she assumed, the room.

She also felt not one, not two, not even three, but several sets of eyes on her.

****** soon sensed her blindfold being untied, and when the piece of black cloth fell, she opened her squeezed eyes and blinked, taking in... they immediately widened in disbelief.

She tried to feel her hands, only to see that they were bound.

The witch's form turned frozen as she was now stuck in a state of shock at what she saw, dread and panic rushing through her veins.

She felt her upper belly grow sore and her pale face got even paler.

****** slowly stood up.

She was... in the center of... a human courtroom? Yes, a courtroom. But... why? Why would Caleb take her to here of all places? Was... was this the "surprise" location that he was talking about?

****** felt her heart break.

Her nerves were causing her bile sac to not work despite her desperate desire to disappear and escape the room.

As she slowly viewed the court, ****** observed Caleb sitting with his brother at a round table to her right.

To her left, she saw a human man with a hat and beard who had the biggest look of triumph on his face.

His ears were also tucked and hidden beneath his hair.

Mr. Town Minister, sitting on the judge's bench, began to speak, his voice loud and commanding as he asked, "Witch, state your name for the court--"

Matthew Hopkins acted quickly, wasting no time in briskly standing from his seat to intervene.

"Objection, your highness!" The general crossed his arms, frowning a childish frown. "We don't care."

The gallery was filled with whispers of agreement, with some nodding in line with Hopkins' statement.

"Hmm...," hummed the minister in thought for a second before agreeing. "He's right," he said, taking Hopkins' side as he continued. "We don't care."

Hopkins sent an antagonizing smirk towards ****** as he stuck his tongue out at her.

The witch wasn't afraid to send him a glare, fiercely furrowing her brows at him.

Mr. Town Minister turned his gaze to Caleb.

"Caleb Wittebane, please step forward."

Caleb slowly stood, walking towards the center with a pacing heart and a head filled with certainties and uncertainties.

One part of his mind argued that he had to proceed with this. The opposing side asserted that he didn't.

The townsfolk in the gallery watched as the blonde stood next to the accused.

Caleb adjusted his gaze slightly to concentrate on her and started to stare.

'Wow,' he thought to himself, his inner self flushing some.

'Even when she's likely to come face-to-face with death today, she still looks so pretty and radiant.'

Wait... why was he thinking that?!

When ****** looked at Caleb briefly, their communication was silent.

His stare turned sour meeting hers, his gaze mixed with anger and hurt, meanwhile ******'s gaze was shattered, silently questioning Caleb why he was doing this.

His look huffed, 'Don't play dumb. You know precisely why.'

Mr. Town Minister cleared his voice before speaking. "You have been summoned to speak about this witch who has been consorting with the Devil's work throughout our great town. Is it true that she not only bewitched you but is also an advanced witch?"

Caleb looked over to Philip, who smiled encouragingly while his eyes looked worried, pleading for the oldest to say the right thing.

He then looked to Matthew Hopkins, eagerly awaiting the exposure of the witch.

Finally, Caleb gave once last glance to ******.

With tears nearing her eyes, she wordlessly begged the blonde not to do this.

This isn't you, spoke her eyes under her bangs.

Caleb sighed as his gaze returned to the minister.

Despite his guilt, he stood firm, refusing to let his emotions dictate his decision.

He's not sorry.

Taking a breath, Caleb revealed, "Yes, Mr. Minister. That is true. She... did bewitch me. And..."

Caleb looked to Philip again, who gestured for him to pull ******'s hood down.

He sighed once more. "And... she is..." Caleb's hand went to yank ******'s hood off her head, exposing her pointed ears to the court. "An advanced witch."

An audible gasp escaped those in the gallery as they directed their shocked eyes at ******'s ears.

Fathers were forced to cover their children's eyes (although they tried to peek), as mothers had to soothe their crying babies.

Matthew Hopkins also gasped, in the most overdramatic way, of course, pretending to be shocked by the reveal. "And a collective gasp fills the courtroom," he narrates with a sly smirk.

The Minister's nose scrunched up immediately in disgust at the sight of the unnatural shape of the witch's ears.

"You may be seated," he told Caleb, who nodded before walking back to his seat.

Sitting down, he tried not to give any attention to the tears rolling down ******'s cheeks as regret clawed at his chest.

After a loud bang from his gavel, Mr. Town Minister said sternly, with not a hint of empathy in his voice, "Nameless witch, based on the reactions of today's trial, this court finds you..."

The minister held his words in the air for about 20 seconds, even though everyone knew what he was going to say.

"Guilty for the crimes of witchcraft and being an advanced witch, as well as causing the infants in the courtroom to cry. You are condemned to be burned at the stake. May your soul slowly decay in Heck with your creator."

The trial comes to a close as the minister hits his gavel again.

...

Present day sees Philip approach his brother's bedside, standing there with a sad, sympathetic expression on his face.

"Caleb," Philip spoke, a sense of gentle care and worry in his voice. "You must stop being sad about that witch. It's not beneficial for you."

...

Upon the last faint glow of the sun over the horizon, the entire town gathered in the square with eager anticipation of the death that was about to occur.

The crowd roared with cheers as three townsmen led the guilty ****** to the wooden platform, some shouting insults towards the teen witch.

Standing on said platform, Caleb was alongside Matthew Hopkins and other witch hunters, with the town minister coming to take a stand.

As he watched ****** being tied to the stake, the blonde made an effort to suppress any sympathy he felt.

Following the minister's proclamation and Hopkins' self-absorbed speech, Caleb was presented with a torch by the minister, who honored him with the task of sending the temptress where she belonged.

Fingers closed around the torch's handle hesitantly as Caleb turned to face ******, appearing cold and unsympathetic.

Tears streamed down the witch's face as she silently begged Caleb to show her mercy.

She did not wish for him to do this.

She loved him.

'Her tears are deceitful,' Caleb told himself. 'Just like her.'

His mind screamed at him to light the pyre and end this, but his body refused to comply.

At this point, Caleb was uncertain about what to do.

Is it better for him to listen to his head... or his heart?

"Oh, give it here!" Matthew Hopkins snatched the torch out of Caleb's hand, who was too occupied with glaring daggers at ****** to react.

He huffed. "You're taking far too long, Caius."

Hopkins lowered the torch and ignited the wood beneath ******'s feet in a matter of seconds.

Afterward, the flames roared, consuming the witch completely, and she screamed an agonizing scream from the burning fire.

As the fire rose, ****** felt herself cook in the flames.

During her last moments of life, she saw the boy who brought so much happiness and joy into her life look at her with anger and tears.

The human beside him just smirked, bidding her goodbye with a small wave of his hand.

Philip stuck out in the crowd like a sore thumb to ****** as he stared directly at her.

As her eyes slowly closed, she witnessed the brunette giving her a chilling smile, his blue eyes bright and glowing with contentment.

...

"Oh, Philip," Caleb quietly choked out, still faced away from his brother as he was unable to fight back the tears that soon poured down his eyes.

He sniffled. "You just don't understand..."

Philip furrowed his brows at Caleb's statement.

"And what is it that I don't understand, dear brother?" the brunette questioned in a smart aleck tone, sounding almost offended. "That you played a role in the witch's death? Because I do, Caleb Wittebane. Caleb bane of witches."

Caleb's anger started to rise as he swiftly rose up in bed, staring at Philip.

"You take that back right now!" Caleb growled.

Philip only smiled darkly and shook his head, refusing to take back his words.

"No," he retorted, making Caleb visibly more upset as he sighed.

"Oh, Caleb. Talking about that witch always brings out the worst in you, doesn't it?"

Caleb swiftly jumps out of bed.

"Hey! What are you...?" Philip watches Caleb rush over to his bed and swipe his journal.

"Oh, Philip, lookie what I have!" Caleb taunted with a massive grin, wiggling the book in a teasing manner.

Philip clenched his teeth. "Put my journal down now, you dumb witch lover!"

"Then take back what you said," Caleb commanded as he started flipping through pages.

"Never!" Philip shouted.

His older brother stopped at a particular page in his journal and stared at it for a bit.

It expanded his smug grin.

He showed it off to Philip. "Ooo, who's this, Pip?" he asked, referring to the drawing of his dream girl. "Your imaginary girlfriend, I assume?"

Philip's face immediately burned red with rage and embarrassment.

"At least I have one!" he spat. "Unlike you...," he mumbled with a huff.

"I'll give you one last chance to take back what you said, Philip, otherwise..."

Caleb shined a bold, playful grin. "She'll be mine."

He held the dream girl near his lips to show that he was serious with his threat.

"No. she. won't!" Philip hissed out in unbridled anger.

Caleb noticed that Philip had something in his hand and turned his attention to his left hand to see a crooked dagger that was tightly gripped.

The blonde's eyes widened as he lowered the journal and took a step back, alarm on his face.

"A dagger?" Caleb took a cautious step back, keeping a close eye on the weapon.

He gently set the journal back on Philip's bed.

"Philip, what are you doing with a dagger?"

He usually saw Philip with one of his old carving knives, but never a dagger.

Philip was taken aback when he saw the dagger in his left hand.

He hadn't even realized that he had instinctively pulled it out.

Putting it away, he mumbled out, "It was a gift."

"A gift? From who?"

"None of your business, that's who!"

Caleb shook his head with a tired and heavy sigh, pressing his fingers against his temples.

He was far too distraught about ******'s death to even contemplate the knife his brother had.

Trudging to bed, he stood near his bedside and collapsed over it.

His sadness quite literally weighed him down as his sulking began.

"******...," Caleb whispered her name regretfully, his face pressing into his bed, making him sound muffled as he continued his mourning.

Philip merely rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatics, his face dour.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry." Caleb shook his head in despair, his voice trembling.

"Your infectious smile, your wonderful laughter, all gone. It's all gone... because of me. Unfaithful or not, you didn't deserve the faith that was dealt to you. I... I..."

He sobbed. "I didn't even get to see the Demon Realm with you."

"Demon... Realm?" Philip raised a confused brow at what his brother was whining about. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's where ****** lives. Well, used to live now," Caleb sadly explained with a sniffle.

"To get there, she used a special key, the one she always wore around her neck, that unlocks a magical door. Although I was never able to witness her use the key, she told me that's how it worked."

Caleb began to ponder whether or not he should have revealed that information to his brother.

Demon Realm...? Special keys...? Magical doors...?

Philip narrowed his brows at his griping brother, speaking sharply to him.

"Caleb Wittebane... this entire time, you knew of a realm filled with advanced witches existed... and yet you didn't decide to tell me?"

"Well, now you know!" Caleb cried out, his voice cracking with emotion as he tried to cease his shaking.

Philip rolled his eyes once more.

"Furthermore, what did you mean by when you said you didn't get to see the Demon Realm with her? What? Were you going to leave me here forever to go be with her?" Philip hoarsely asked.

"Leave you forever?" Caleb lifted his face from his mattress to look at Philip. "Of course not," he answered truthfully. "My sole intention was to visit for a day."

Philip did not appear to accept Caleb's claim.

"Caleb...," Philip began, his voice so gruff and serious that it made a shiver run up the eldest's spine as he listened.

Blue eyes suddenly flashed in a blaze of excitement.

"We have to go find that key! We simply must! Imagine if we did!? We'd look for that magical door next and open it. Once we're in the Demon Realm, we would go on a witch massacre, obliterating every witch in sight. I even say we should wipe the realm in its entirety. Once we do, we'd return home and show everyone in town our accomplishment! We'll be heroes, Caleb! Heroes!" Philip cheered.

The brunette swiftly rushed over to the closet door, opening it as he grabbed his most favorite jacket.

"I'm certain ****** still has that silly key around her neck."

Philip continued.

"She was probably tossed and buried in some unmarked grave in the town burial ground."

A twisted chuckle left Philip at the thought, slipping his jacket on.

The very thought made Caleb's stomach drop.

Philip soon began tying up his hair before suggesting determinedly, "Let's go dig her up and rip that key right off her neck! It'll be fun, Caleb, and it might even make you feel better."

Caleb highly doubted that would fix his heartache as he sighed. "Philip," the blonde began as he stood up, walking over to the closed window curtains.

"You know what happens every October 31st in Gravesfield," Caleb informed with gentle sternness, opening the curtains while still looking at Philip, not reacting to the two pale-ish green specters that used to be humans, accused of witchcraft, shambling by.

Their eyes glowed red, their skin was ashen and blotchy, and a deep bruise radiated out from their throats.

A sight gag commences, the scene pausing to display a set of blackletter words being written on screen in ink that reads:

'Every October 31st, during the night, the Puritans who were accused of witchcraft and hanged for their 'crimes' come back from the dead to seek revenge on the living. This is a curse that has a negative impact on the town of Gravesfield. Everyone is told to stay indoors until the next morning during the invasion, as that's when it ends.'

"It's too dangerous to go out there," Caleb frowned.

Philip simply chuckled in overconfidence, his brave face being genuine.

"The undead don't frighten me, Caleb. And besides, I have this!" Philip whipped out his dagger before dashing out of the room.

His footsteps were heard as he ran downstairs.

"Hey!" Caleb exclaimed, rushing to the closet to grab his jacket as he attempted to put it on while chasing after Philip.

"Don't leave the house without me!"

...

Philip and Caleb cautiously walked through the town burial ground, carrying shovels in their hands and keeping their distance from the undead that staggered around.

Caleb experienced a feeling of numbness as he inhaled the cold air before exhaling with a sigh.

Was this a horrible idea?

Of course it was, Caleb acknowledged in his head, yet the oldest Wittebane would continue onward with his brother.

"We've already dug up four unmarked graves so far, but ******'s body wasn't in any of them," Philip whispered to Caleb in slight frustration.

"Where could that witch be?" he wondered aloud.

Caleb sighed once more, his brown eyes surveying the area for more headstones without names.

Suddenly, gazing forward, he spotted a familiar black bird clinging to a stone that had no name on it.

The raven's posture was drooping, and it seemed to be mourning for the person who was below the ground.

Little Rascal...

"She's there." Caleb pointed to the bird and tombstone.

"What?" Philip glanced in that direction before returning his gaze to his brother. "Caleb, how do you know?"

"I...," Caleb paused before sighing. "I just have a gut feeling she's there," he explained before grinning mischievously.

"Let's take a look." He made an effort to show enthusiasm and interest for his brother.

Grinning back at Caleb, Philip nodded and followed his brother to the tombstone.

Little Rascal, taking note of the two human boys who were approaching, adjusted his posture and took a defensive position as he produced a harsh sound at them.

He was aware that both of these wicked witch hunters were responsible for his owner's demise as he witnessed her last moments from the sky, and he would not permit either of them to come near her.

The aggressiveness of Little Rascal's trill brought Caleb to a halt, as he felt horrible, guilt written all over face while ******'s death replayed in his mind.

Her pain-filled eyes, her excruciating screams, the sight of her burning away...

"Shoo, shoo!" Philip swung his shovel wildly at Little Rascal but missed several times as the bird managed to evade his attempts to harm him.

As he continued to miss, Philip produced irritated grunts. He once again raised his shovel over his shoulder. "Stand still so I can kill you already, you stupid bird!" Philip screamed.

Bringing his shovel down, Philip managed to strike Little Rascal with the back of the blade, knocking him down.

Caleb let out a small gasp, covering his mouth with his hand as he watched in shock the raven slowly taking in air, a green essence leaking from the small crack in his body.

When their eyes met, a pang of pain throbbed in Caleb's heart as Little Rascal gazed sadly and weakly at the blonde, disappointed in the human.

Rising slowly to his feet, wincing slightly at the pain, the raven gently spread his wings, flapping them as if he were a fledgling, as he took flight into the night sky.

"Caleb!" Caleb took his guilt-ridden gaze off of Little Rascal to look at Philip.

"I can't do this alone. Help me dig!" Philip was casually smiling as if he hadn't just injured an innocent animal.

"Oh! ... R-Right," Caleb replied with a weak smile as he began to help his brother shovel out the soil of ******'s grave.

Following the removal of all the dirt, the brothers saw ****** sleeping eternally in the hole that was made for her.

Philip grimaced at her appearance, pinching his nose with his index and thumb, while Caleb gazed softly at her with a melancholic expression on his face.

Her pale skin was now a sickly, blotchy green color, with scars and blisters from her burns covering her from head to toe.

'Even in death, ******...,' Caleb spoke softly to himself, words of genuine love and deep regret spilling out in his tone.

His hands slowly reached towards ******'s neck. 'You still look like an angel...,' Caleb said, removing her key necklace from off of her.

Slipping it into his pocket, he smiled a faint yet gentle smile down at the corpse.

Wherever ****** was, be it Heaven, Heck, or in-between, Caleb hoped that she was at peace and the happiest she's ever been.

Happy...

If only he could--

Whack!

The blonde jolted at the impact sound, turning to look at Philip.

His brother had just delivered a sharp blow to ******'s face with the back of his shovel.

Caleb's eyes narrowed at the youngest. "Philip!" he angrily hissed.

"What?" Philip chuckled with an innocent smile, shrugging his shoulders. "She's already dead," he tried to justify.

Caleb huffed as he gave a roll of his eyes, shaking his head as annoyance started to consume him.

With his shovel, Caleb removed some dirt from the pile that he and Philip had created and deposited it back into ******'s grave, ultimately returning all of it.

She was completely concealed as Caleb sighed out a little white cloud.

"Alright, Pip. Let's go h--"

"Uhhhhggghhh..."

Caleb swiftly turned his gaze to Philip, shooting him the stink eye. "Philip, that's not funny," he sternly stated.

"Uh, C-Caleb...," Philip stuttered in fear, pointing a trembling finger behind his brother.

"Th-Th-That wasn't me!"

"Huh?"

"Uhhhhggghhh..."

"Uhhhhggghhh...!"

"UHHHGGGHHHH!!!"

Caleb froze. He didn't dare look behind him, but when he slowly did, he saw...

His pupils dilated.

"AAAAAA!!!" screamed both Caleb and Philip in unison, waves of cold adrenaline flushing their bodies as they clinged to each other for dear life.

Now surrounding the Brothers Wittebane were a horde of the undead, the rotting beings releasing horrible hisses from their throats, craving human flesh.

The zombie in front of and closest to the boys opened his mouth, his yellow and decaying teeth on full display.

"AAAAA!!!" cried the boys once more, their grip tightening as they shut their eyes.

The zombie mob stumbled ahead, eager to savor their prey.

The nearest zombie leaned forward towards Philip and Caleb, opening his mouth wider as blood dripped down his non-existent lips, ready to take a significant bite out of the siblings.

That is until...

(Oh) I am the Candyman

(Oh) Comin' from Bountyland

(Oh) I am the Candyman

(Oh) Comin' from Bountyland

The unexpected, bubblegum dance-pop song ["Lollipop (Candyman)"] playing so suddenly and without warning in the background as a random gag acts as head shots to the zombies, with them moaning and groaning in pain, covering their ears.

Some even fall to their knees.

Sensing the absence of zombie bites on their bodies, Philip and Caleb slowly opened their eyes to see the zombies being physically enfeebled by... the strange music playing out of the blue?

I wish that you were my lollipop

Sweet things, I will never get enough

If you show me to the sugar tree

Will you give me a soda pop for free

Hearing it, they were equally confused as they slowly turned to look at each other.

However, they noticed that the song impeded the zombies from attacking them, and a knowing grin soon crept onto their faces.

Instinct kicked in as they formed a wordless plan and nodded in agreement to it.

Come with me, honey

I'm your sweet sugar Candyman

Run like the wind

Fly with me to Bountyland

Bite me, I'm yours

If you're hungry, please understand

This is the end of

The sweet sugar candyman

Both brothers proceeded at the same time, with Caleb moving to handle the zombies on the right and Philip moving to take care of the undead on the left.

One zombie was met with the back of Caleb's shovel to the face, his head being knocked clear off of his body as a colorful and dazzling explosion of hearts, rainbows, glitter, and blood shoots out the top of the zombie's headless neck.

Philip's shovel came crushing down on a zombie's head, and the same colorful and bloody essence came forth from her as she fell.

Oh, my love, I know you are my Candyman

And oh, my love, your word is my command

Oh, my love, I know you are my Candyman

And oh, my love, let us fly to Bountyland

Caleb and Philip's shovels remained effective in striking and bashing the undead, their strikes timing with the beat.

Caleb turned his gaze as he spotted a feral grin on Philip's face.

His clothes were stained with blood and rainbow glitter, blood splatter smeared across his cheeks.

Caleb, noting that his clothes and cheeks were in a similar state, smiled broadly at his brother, who smiled back at him.

Philip's glee was impossibly contagious, Caleb thought.

It's been a while since the two of them had such genuine fun like this.

...

The light of early morning was brought into the sky by dawn as it rose.

The undead, similar to the night, began to die down, resulting in the moving corpses becoming motionless once again.

One zombie, quite literally hoping around on its last leg as it faltered, was swiftly brought to an end with one powerful down strike to the head by both boys' shovels, with the song ending.

Caleb, looking to Philip, who shared the same smile and mischievous gleam in his eyes as him, gave his brother a playful ruffle to his hair.

Philip absorbs the affection, his aura brimming with confidence.

After a freeze frame captures the two brothers, the show transitions to an art nouveau style and displays Caleb and Philip's list of hobbies alongside them in blackletter.

At the end of their list of hobbies, another hobby is added with an invisible pen, this hobby being 'dismembering the undead'.

...

As they were walking home, Caleb and Philip reminisced and joked about the zombie battle, sharing their favorite parts with each other.

Upon reaching the front door, Caleb opened it, and both him and Philip stepped inside before freezing.

They were taken aback, even though they shouldn't be at this point, by the person they saw in their sitting room.

"Oh, hello!" Mr. Kookman turned to greet the boys with his usual smile, waving a hand at them that held a bar of soap.

His attire and some of his face were covered with the same blood and glitter that came from the zombies.

Henrietta let out a cluck, giving her feathers a gentle flap as she fluttered in the barrel bucket filled with soapy water.

"I hope you boys don't mind me giving my Henrietta a bath in here. She doesn't enjoy receiving baths during the invasion," Mr. Kookman told them.

Henrietta proceeded to cluck again.

That was Mr. Kookman's cue to lather her feathers. He turned back around to do so, even adding salt to the bathwater.

"Uh...," Caleb blinked twice. "N-Not at all," he answered politely, attempting not to sound befuddled as he motioned for Philip to follow him upstairs. "Just make sure to close the door on your way out."

The two were terribly tired after last night and needed some shut-eye.

They would clean themselves off after a long nap.

...

A boisterous family of witches hurry into their cottage, making it just in time before the boiling rain starts pouring down.

All of them sigh with relief, but sad looks soon appear on their faces.

One of the members of their close family has gone missing, and they've been looking all over the Boiling Isles for her for months.

She was a good daughter, a sweet sister, a fantastic student, and a wonderful witchlet.

She was ******.

[chillentertainer]

an interlude (to my john wick au)

thomas is seventeen—a quiet lad, thoughtful. bright, too. and uncommonly beautiful. angelic, his mother’s friend once drunkenly called him. he has his mother’s roman nose and his father’s pensive blue eyes. pretty like a girl, his classmate henry anglteton, sneers at him.

angleton, who holds a particular hatred for thomas and is built like goliath, frightens thomas. he would never admit it, no, but angleton could easily pummel thomas into a paste. in fact, thomas had witnessed him beat another poor boy until his face was a mass of blood and bruises. then angleton turned around, spotted thomas hiding behind the trees, and smiled. 

thomas knew in that moment he was next. and he knew that this was god’s punishment for his fear and inaction. he had stood by and watched as this horror had been committed, and now he had been condemned to experiencing the same. 

still, he prayed for god’s guidance. he asked Him for the wisdom and courage to face angleton, for a way thomas could stop his reign of terror. he asked forgiveness for what he had done to gregory, for penance. he asked Him for mercy. he begged for it. 

and god could be merciful, yes, but sometimes he could be cruel. it was all for our own good in the end, though His actions might be inscrutable. 

it is a rainy night when thomas returns from another failed confession with father samuel. another night of stammering and half-complete sentences finally petering out into an oppressive silence. 

“what it is it, my child,” father samuel had said, impatience underlying his gentle tone. 

thomas could not say. 

thunder roars above him. a hundred years ago, they would’ve said, god is angry. now thomas knows better. (but does he?) the trail through the countryside is quiet. there is no one there except for a figure leaning against a tree. thomas nears him, his steps quickening. a nonsensical string of words pour from his lips, the world’s most pathetic prayer. please god, please god, please god. not today. let it not be today that i am punished. i am not ready, i am afraid—

“hey pretty boy,” angleton calls out and waves a hand. “was waitin’ for you to come by.” lightning flashes and his brass knuckles are illuminated. 

god’s will be done. 

—

the beating is bad enough that thomas is hospitalized for a week and a half. his left eye is sealed shut. his ribs are bruised. the doctors, his parents, and police all ask, who and why? thomas does not answer. 

god did this, he wants to say, which sounds ridiculous but is true. god placed angleton in my path, as both punishment and lesson. 

they would take him to a mental facility if he said all this. he keeps his lips clamped shut. 

his uncle, an SAS officer who has just returned home from service in Afghanistan, enters and sits at his bedside. thomas ignored uncle marcus. they sit in silence. thomas is always sitting in silence lately. finally uncle marcus nods at the crucifix necklace hanging around thomas’s neck. “how much did that help you?” he says. “because it looks to me like your god did jack shit.” he leans forward. “tommy, god can’t save you. he won’t help you. but with some training and a gun? the same bastards who did this to you will be begging for mercy at your feet.”

thomas turns his head to meet his uncle’s gaze. “i don’t want that,” he whispers. “i just want to make sure they don’t do that to anyone else ever again.” 

“and you can,” uncle marcus responds. “there are bullies and evil everywhere in the world. someone needs to go and clean it up. that could be you.” 

he squeezes thomas’s shoulder before he stands. “think about it. get better soon, tommy, i’m tired of your mum crying over the phone to me about your condition.” 

—

the next month, thomas graduates, and instead of entering a seminary like he had always planned, he joins the army. he picks up a gun for the first time in his life, aims, and pulls the trigger. this is how he finds out he is a crack shot. this is also how he falls further from god’s grace. 

—

he hasn’t been considered pretty in many decades now. but grown men flinch when he steps near them. this is called a trade-off. you make many trade-offs in life. you trade in your kindness for evil, your god for a gun, your collar and cassock for camos and dress uniforms. by the time you’ve realized you’ve made a mistake, it’s too late. there is no return. 

[lukeynewtssimp]

When Nic is out and about with her bf all I see from Lukolas is pure hate and disdain for them both. It’s only now that the man brought out his gf that suddenly everyone is okay with it. Does that seem like equal treatment to you? Where was your defense before this?

You’re happy and proud of him for finally claiming her but where is the happiness for Nic? I’m still talking about Lukolas in general.

Do you not see the people saying he’s finally with someone well matched with him? And when people said the same hateful things after premiere night because of that stunt where was the support for Nic? You think his choices didn’t affect her, whether it was intentional or not?

This side of the fandom is extremely male-centered and you just don’t want to admit it. I am still very much hoping to be proved wrong in the future.

Wow okay there is a lot to unpack here.

Let me start by saying that my blog is very new. I only started posting like a month or so ago so excuse me for my lack of defence back when Nic apparently “needed” it.

Neither of them “need” anybody to defend them lol. We don’t get brownie points for proving we are their number one fan. They literally have no fucking clue who I am and don’t care to find out either. I just use my platform to express my love for the people I am a fan of and the things I am passionate about and to express my frustration at things and behaviours that annoy me. That’s the point of having a personal blog.

idk how to make it any clearer. Like it’s literally in my username, yea I am a fan of Nicola too but I’m a bigger fan of Luke. We all have our faves so I don’t get why you’re so angry that Luke is mine.

Yes I see the very small number of people making comments like that about Antonia looking good next to Luke or whatever. I choose to ignore it because I have seen a very small number of these comments and me talking about it would only amplify these pathetic people’s voices. I obviously do not agree with this take. It is rooted in fatphobia and those people can say whatever they want but they do not speak for Luke or Nic.

Nic is not some self conscious young girl waiting for a man to notice how beautiful she is. The fact that you think Luke’s decisions about who he’s dating affected her, then you’re the problem. You’re the one painting Nicola as this desperate girl crying for attention. Nic is a confident and very sexy woman and she fucking owns it and knows it. She literally ruled 2024 and has gained so much popularity last year as she deserves. And you know what? Luke knows it too and that man, unlike what you and other people think, is not and was never ashamed to show that he’s attracted to her and finds her beautiful and sexy and smart and talented. He’s not the most talkative when it comes to that stuff, that man literally blushes at everything. But his actions speak louder than his words. Just because he is dating a woman who doesn’t look like Nic does not mean he does not find Nic attractive and it also does not mean he rejected Nic by doing so.

As @jenhack beautifully put in the comments: Nic is not bothered! She is busy talking to other SAG nominees and being lauded by her peers. She does not need to, or have to be defined by any man she is connected with.

Crazy Lukolas do not only hate on Jake and Nic but they also hate on Luke and Antonia. Have you seen all the nasty stuff they have called this poor girl?

Sorry this has been very long but I just need everybody to stop projecting their hurt feelings and traumas on Nicola and Luke PLEASE!

PS: the “you” is not just aimed at you specifically anon, but everybody who agrees with that discourse of Luke hurting Nic by dating another woman and taking her to the premieres that I am tired of hearing about. And let’s not forget Nic took Jake to that premiere too…

[krilati]

They will always hate drugs.

Jason was just about to establish himself as the Red Hood when a new gang released a powerful gaseous drug onto the streets of Gotham. Robin was grounded for something, Nightwing was out of town, and Batman couldn’t handle everything alone. Only a limited number of people were affected, but it was enough to cause chaos in the streets.

For the first time, the Red Hood was seen helping Batman and then disappearing after a fight with the gang.

But here’s the thing—when Jason got home, he took off his helmet, which had been filtering out the drug, and collapsed onto the couch, still in his gear, which was covered in traces of the substance. Batman did almost the same—he removed his rebreather in the Batmobile, and once in the Batcave, he accidentally fell asleep at the Batcomputer.

Neither of them realized they were still under the influence of the drug.

The next morning, Bruce had to hold a press conference for the opening of the Jason Todd Memorial Library. Normally, his behavior could be brushed off as "Brucie" being eccentric. But this was a live broadcast, and Jason—just waking up and still high—saw it. He vaguely remembered he had some elaborate plan to get revenge on his father and kill the Joker. But why bother when he could just go to Bruce right now and say everything to his face in front of the whole city?

Time skip.

B: – You are not my son! How dare you pretend to be him!? J: – I can prove it! I remember how we met—when I was trying to steal the tires off your car! Who else would know that!? B (let’s remember he’s still drugged): – Someone must know because Jason never called me "Dad"!

(Scene where Bruce starts crying, occasionally sobbing things like "Chum" or "My little boy," while Jason—who has dug himself out of his own grave, been hit by a car, fallen into a coma, been revived in the Lazarus Pit, and is now high—desperately tries to count something on his fingers.)

Time skip.

J: – You replaced me! B: – I would never! J: – I saw you! The kid from Bristol! Was the street rat from Crime Alley not good enough for you!? B (suddenly recalling an image of Jack threatening him with a gun and forbidding him from approaching his son): – But Tim is not my son. J: – …What? B: – He’s Jack’s son. J: – Who the hell is Jack? B: – Tim’s father.

(Awkward pause as they just stare at each other.)

J: – So… you’re not raising this Tim? B (barely holding back his emotions, trying not to cry): – I can’t! Jack threatened that if I ever so much as looked at his son again, he’d shoot me! How dare he!? Who does he think tucked Tim into bed!? Who checked his grades!? Who knows his friends!?

(The audience and reporters assume these are rhetorical questions. But Jason’s brain is only half-functioning today, so…)

J: – Who? B (now tearless and suddenly looking a little embarrassed, trying to count something on his fingers): – Actually, I don’t know. Tim was usually the one putting me to bed whenever I was blackout drunk or stuck at my computer. He definitely keeps a schedule of my mental breakdowns somewhere. He’s the one who knows my best friends and helped me make new ones to build a support network.

(All of Gotham, as well as the growing number of viewers tuning in, is in shock. But Jason is fixated on something else.)

J: – So the kid has parents, and they are the ones raising him, not you. Right? B: – Yes—wait, no. Yes, I’m not raising him. No, his parents aren’t raising him, they’re dead. J (now a little thrown off, because he’s confused): – Then… who is raising him? B: – His uncle. J: – You never mentioned an uncle. B: – Because he doesn’t exist. J: – …What??? B (breaking into tears again): – I KNOOOWWW!!! He doesn’t want to be adopted so badly that he invented a fake guardian! I checked! The guy he brought to court—it was an actor! J (awkwardly patting Bruce’s shoulder): – That’s rough, dude. Time skip.

B: – What do I have to do to make him feel wanted??? J: – Well, I don’t know about that kid, but I would have come back if you had killed the Joker. B (crying even harder): – I tried!!! I shot him multiple times and threw him out of a helicopter into the ocean! He swam baaaack!!! J (tearing up as well): – You really did that, old man? B (reacting to the nickname—lunges at Jason in a hug): – Jay, lad, my son!!!

(Dick walks onto the stage, ready to drag both of them back to the cave and deal with this mess in private. The reporters, realizing they’re about to be kicked out, start shouting their questions.)

[arrowthrewme]

Hello Arow how are you? First of all I love your page. There are really few soft yandere posts and seeing your posts made me very happy. Especially when it is written so beautifully. I would like to make a request. Yandere with a mute who likes physical contact × reader or yandere mute × reader, whatever suits you. Thanks in advance. I am eagerly waiting for your posts. I wish you a good day.

Hello! I'm doing quite well considering that school is kicking my ass :D

I'm so happy to hear that my silly little posts make you happy and yeah, there are so little yanderes that aren't "alpha male, protec my omega". But that's exactly why I made this blog!

(and I am eagerly awaiting your judgement. I wish you a good day)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, male reader intended

Tell me why your hands are cold?

"Be my voice, and I'll be yours only."

Yan Mute, who you meet at your new office job.

Yan Mute, who is weirdly quiet. Only nodding in greeting anf going back to work. You learn his name, not from himself but from another coworker. Dimitri. Oh, and he's mute!

Yan Mute, who, after you kept bringing him coffee every morning and a little treat (hoping he'll open up and actually talk to you), starts sticking to you like a barnacle

Yan Mute, who sits next to you during every meeting, stands next to you during every break, even walks you home (if you walk home, if you don't, he'll try to carpool)

Yan Mute, who quickly becomes a regular in your life. Texting, chatting (which consists of you talking and him writing his responses) and always touching you as much as he can

Yan Mute, who just can't help himself but touch you every day at least 50 times! You're the only one who actually tried to get to know him and not treated him as just some annoyance

Yan Mute, who holds your hand and plays with your fingers whenever he's overwhelmed

Yan Mute, who will cry if you tell him to loosen his hold (it's practically a death sentence for him)

Yan Mute, who if you learn sign language, will marry you on the spot (not like he wouldn't anyway. You could give him a piece of paper and he'd be rushing to the nearest church.)

Yan Mute, who practically melts if you kiss him. Your lips are definitely his favourite part of you

Yan Mute, who, when jealous, gets pouty and clingy. He's an insecure guy, so he always thinks that you'll figure out that you're too good for him and leave him. So the sight of you being affectionate (aka polite) with someone makes him want to cling to you like a whiny puppy

Yan Mute, who sighs "I love you" every time he can because no one else in your department knows sign

Yan Mute, who wants kids. Wants to start a family where he would be loved. Where you and him would be together forever.

Yan Mute, who has you talk to everyone if you're together since it's both the most reasonable thing and because he suffers from horrible anxiety

Yan Mute, who doesn't really care if he's the little or big spoon. He loves holding you and loves you holding him just as much

Yan Mute, who though doesn't have a voice, will make sure you know just how much he loves you <3

[kryptznnn]

♛/♡ -Tragedy II

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

➸ INTERESTS; - aged up!neteyam x omatikayan f!reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - Love at first sight doesn’t exist, everyone knows that. There’s attraction, reaction, and understanding someone to call something love. Neteyam wasn’t sure what it was that he felt for you, but whatever it was, he didn’t want it to end.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc.6.5k, mentions of heat cycles, rejection, one sided love, unrequited affection, kissing, fluff, smut, p in v, fingering, ejaculation consumption, teasing, dominant fem lead, clouded judgement, mating, biting, blood mentions, etc.

➸a.i; - whoo!! finished this up i hope you guys enjoy it, sorry it took me so long it’s been a really bad week! but im working on other fics and reqs in my inbox (i’ve had since nov-dec) trying to get all the old stuff out first to get to new ideas!! thank u so much for the love! also this lowkey isn't proofread

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

♛/♡ Tragedy I

Neteyam was a good man, a good brother, a good if not great son. Which is why it was so surprising hearing and witnessing him speaking back to his parents for the first time ever. His father complained how worried his mother and grandmother have been about finding a mate for him in order to pass the responsibility Jake had been harboring for over two decades to the next, and Neteyam had simply responded how he didn't care.

He was lying their actions.

As soon as he had mentioned he found someone his father was quick to take his side, smiling at him softly before whispering with his wife to the side, who only shook her head. Her mother had already decided what needed to be done, with or without his approval, the average time of courting would naturally take months, and it was months they didn't have.

The people needed a strong ruler with an even stronger woman by his side. The position of tsahik wasn't a problem, Kiri could always fill it, as she's had the best and most practices from her grandmother, but Neteyam's situation was more complicated. Even as he watched his parents speak to one another he wasn't sure what kind of power his father had over his mother.

He would always give her some look, like a pleading look almost or just a caress to her face in order to swoon her, and it always worked. Maybe it was love, it had to be, his grandmother had spoken to him about how love comes in many shapes or forms but can never be denied. Somehow watching his parents interact before his father placed a kiss on his mother's forehead reminded him of you, and your interaction from earlier in the afternoon on the beach.

It was night now, the sky was bleak and cloudy, the stars hadn't shined as bright as they usually had, almost as if the night sky was mourning as he was. Mourning the loss of love, he was so close to having you to himself and now he felt as if he was going back to square one. It hurt him, but he didn't feel like crying, or getting upset to the point he'd lash out at others around him, he just sat on the cold wooded floors and propped his knees to his chest.

His back was now facing his parents as he watched the sky, asking himself what you were probably doing by this time. Maybe bathing or eating with your family, helping clean up the aftermath or reading to your younger sister. You could've been sewing or beading clothing together for you to wear on special occasions as he watched you do a few months ago.

Or maybe your family was all out and busy for the night and you were all alone at home, waiting for some company. He was sure he could provide you more than just company, making his time with you highly worthwhile, but yet again it would probably be better to talk things out about what happened earlier. Or maybe you two didn't need too talk anything out, when things happen between two people who can't help themselves it's meant to be.

The two of you were meant to be, that sounded satisfactory, it definitely pleased him, bringing a smile to his face. He was so used to growing up and sacrificing things for his sibling's happiness or just too tired to fight for it. He was grateful for that actually, listening to the way his father was raised and the life he lived on the stars from above pained him, no one should live a life like that, but his father always reminded him if he hadn't gone through any of that he wouldn't be blessed in the future to be reborn.

Maybe his father was right, thankfully to him he was grown into a responsible young man, athletic, intelligent, and handsome, there was nothing but greatness in him. He felt more than responsible about you though and just wasn't sure as to why. It was something like a craving or poison in his mind that was stuck there forever.

It would make his insides itch and his outsides hot; it's almost like when you sit out in the sun for too long with dry skin and start to feel discomfort. But the sun feels so nice when you've been in the cold for so long and have nothing else to turn too, that's how he felt about you. You haunted his mind in such an eerie way, and at first, he had even had his grandmother check him for illness 'just because', sure you had done something to him, but nothing came back.

He yearned and grieved for your affection as if you had passed away, like a ghost he could only breath in whenever he closed his eyes. He was sure if anyone was able to hear or read his mind, they'd call him crazy, but he didn't feel that way, he felt free. Soon enough, snapping him out of his trance was a woman walking beside him, one he hadn't seen before.

Or maybe he had seen her before, he just hadn't remembered. His head followed her movements as she made her way behind him, walking towards his parents and taking her side beside them. This immediately made Neteyam spring to his feet and follow behind, raising a brow.

His father introduced the two of them to one another, speaking of their affiliations and granting Neteyam the choice to at least keep their new guest busy and grow fond of her before making a solid decision of his future. He knew his father well, his voice was laced with responsibility and seriousness, but in all honesty, it was mainly code for 'be nice to her and go court whoever it is you wanted'.

He was listening, his ears flicked slightly listening to the woman introduce herself and pronounce her name. 'Fa'nyma', strange name, completely different from yours, but it seemed to suit her somewhat. She was shorter than you, he took notice of her hair was much longer on some part, and she wore lots of jewelry. Maybe it was to impress him, but he could only think of how those jewels would've looked against your skin, your smile.

He smiled to himself and nodded, quickly changing his face into a stir of a frown and turned his attention back to his parents in order for Fa'nyma to not get the wrong idea. He knew better than to be rude, especially to a woman, it's not the way he was raised to be at all, so he would be cordial with her, that he agreed on.

But that kind of promise became difficult to keep when it came to the fact that she practically followed him everywhere. He had planned to come and see you in your kelku, only for her to be right behind him. It would be very problematic to explain the fact that a woman is following him around the entire village as she's now his responsibility.

It had been three days since then, Neteyam had always thought to himself what was an easy way to say, "Leave me the fuck alone", not a nice way, he didn't want to be nice with her. He wanted to sound easy on the ears, but harsh enough for the conversation to get no farther than her understanding and leaving.

Then again, he's sure she wouldn't even understand what the word "fuck" means. It was a sky people term, and his parents had only used it whenever they hit their toe against something or messed up badly or were just upset beyond the point of explanation. His brother cursed often too, practically being more fluent in cursing than his mother's tongue. This is ridiculous, why is it that whenever he's so ready to get something for himself obstacles just throw themselves in his way.

"Fa'nyma" he spoke, placing his bow and arrow down in his hut before removing his headpiece, letting his braids rest on the side of his face before tying them back. She hummed in response, turning to him from the entrance of his kelku and smiling at him. "I'm going out somewhere now, so I'll need you to leave." He spoke solidly, turning his attention away from her when he noticed her cheeky look.

"Don't you want me to accompany you to wherever you're going?" She spoke, Neteyam sucked his teeth lightly before rolling his eyes. She must be one of the stupidest people he's ever met, even his youngest sister Tuk would know if he had said something like that, he would want to be alone. Did it genuinely look like he wanted her company? Or that he enjoyed her company so much he would've said yes?

"I don't enjoy your company, and I won't need it anymore." He said with an attitude, grabbing a small bag in the corner of his room and placing it over his shoulder with a clunk. He soon ushered her out of his room and hut before leaving himself, not even looking behind him to see her.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

"Y/n" he spoke with a smile, standing in the middle of the tree of voices. He had spent nearly all afternoon looking for you, now being nightfall as he saw you. Your back was facing him, but he knew it was you, he could tell by your scent, your hair, everything.

After spending nearly all of his time with Fa'nyma it was refreshing to see you, to breath you, and to touch you. He was quick to reach a hand out to your shoulder, watching as you spun around slightly for his hand to fall off your shoulder and back up slightly. You weren't smiling, which worried him, he wasn't sure what look you were giving him, but it wasn't one he was expecting.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, definitely taken aback wearing a confused but more hurt look on your face. After having such a passionate moment with a man, you weren’t surprised for it to end so quickly, what you didn’t expect was for him to leave you, especially for three days.

“I’m here to see you of course, I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you aga-“

“It’s been three days Neteyam.” You cut him off harshly, now beginning to become upset, he spoke as if no time had passed. “You kissed me and left me for three days, but it’s easy for you to walk around with Fa’nyma.” You said, earning a flared look from him at your last words.

He was quick to place the bag he was holding down, now holding both of your hands with his own hands. He looked at you with a look of desperation, pledging with you almost to hear him out.

“I don’t like her; it wasn’t up to me I swear it. I told her off this morning, I want nothing to do with her, only with you.” He said, smiling somewhat softly as you again to see you smile as well. He knew something like this would happen, he was ready for it of course, but he knew no matter how things would’ve ended he wouldn’t let you go.

He would apologize anyway he had to, such as bringing you gifts or flowers and fruits, maybe kneeling and pleading with you. He knew you well enough to know you had a soft spot for him, for everyone mostly. Maybe it was childish to feel a pang of jealousy broil in his chest over that topic, but he couldn’t help it.

He liked you, he really liked you, liked you so much he wasn’t sure what to do with himself and he would practically fuck himself over again and again. Maybe it was love, maybe he loved you, he had always had the perfect example of it growing now and all he cares about is making it a reality with you.

And he did just that, apologizing to you over and over and sitting you down on the glowing floor beneath the two of you as he gave you everything from his bag. He practically showered you in gifts you hadn’t seen before, small jewels and crystals from the star above as you had a wide smile on your face.

He had told you he wanted to court you, earn you the right way, in order to bring you towards his family, the proper way. He even slid in a joke about how if things had escalated on the beach everything would be entirely different now, making you laugh.

You were so beautiful, everything about you was so beautiful, your laugh, the way you fluttered your lashes at him as you listened to him speak, or maybe how you kept your skin in contact with his no matter where the two of you were. You weren't afraid to show him off or hint there was something between the two of you and it drove him mad.

He was so quick to mention your name to his family so often that they had no other choice but to force Fa’nyma out of the picture. He thought of himself as a bad person for a short while, purposely flaunting your capabilities and beauty in front of the other woman to watch her face stir with jealousy as he had a sinister smirk plastered on his face.

He must’ve been crazy, in both good and bad ways, but it’s deemed excused because he’s crazy in love, crazy in love for you. So crazy that now after just a few weeks of courting he’s itching to bring things to another level.

He was patient, everyone knew it. He was trained to be at such a young age, like when catching fish with his father, those lessons taught him nothing more than the importance of time. Good things come to those who wait, he had you, but to fully tie the bond between you two he had to be patient.

Love is something that can’t be rushed, patience is a large factor between two people, almost like a test to see what’ll happen under pressure. Sadly, as of right now it felt as if Neteyam was losing, if not losing his mind in the process. Laying on his bedside within his empty kelku, listening to the cold winds outside blow around it and pick up on the small, piped chimes outside his hut entrance his youngest sister made for him.

He couldn’t sleep, his mind was racing, and he felt so empty, and the thought of you was just making up upset. It stirred something inside him he couldn’t entirely understand, all he could think of now was wanting you.

No,

He needed you.

Attached to your affection and presence like a newborn to its mother or father’s skin in order to thrive and feel their love. He wasn’t sure why tonight was so different from the rest, but he couldn’t stay here, something felt off, so he did the only thing he could do and set out into the forests.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

A simple way of remembering people is by their scent, which Neteyam was familiar with. What he hadn’t been familiar with was your scent being so strong to the point where he paused in his steps and shielded his face, squinting.

It was strange he was able to pick up your scent here of all places, it was in the complete opposite direction of your home. So of course, he did none other than follow it to find you, but what he saw was nothing of what he expected.

“Y/n” he called out, removing his arm from his face to take in your state, hunched over on the floor by a tree whimpering. You hadn’t answered his call, and when he came to you and placed a hand on your skin you hissed at him, slapping his hand away.

He was appalled to say the least, your skin was burning, and your behavior was erratic, since when were you so defensive? A click quickly came to mind, you must’ve been uncomfortable, or afraid, especially to react that way with him of all people.

He was quick to scan the surroundings of the two of you to emphasize the fact that you weren’t alone, someone had definitely been here before he came towards you, lurking. Neteyam was quick to suck his teeth, already piecing together the situation playing out before reaching out to you again.

You were in heat, he felt so stupid letting it slide over his head as he had originally had it calculated. Usually within the middle of every month you disappear for only a handful of days before returning, only this time it seems to have come a little earlier than expected.

You had a shawl sprawled out to your side as you stayed huddled into a ball, fidgeting around as Neteyam made his way behind you, hugging you and rubbing circles into your back. Maybe it was because you weren’t in your best mind, but right now you felt like biting him.

Not in a bad way, in a good way, to draw blood and pleasure yourself, not necessarily to harm him. There was something about how soothing his scent felt that the scent of the other navi man lurking in the woods prior seemed to gently fade away. You paid no mind to him as you turned into Neteyam’s embrace, snuggling into his chest with a slight purr and whine.

You felt so hot, and itchy, the cool night breeze hadn’t helped you quick enough, but Neteyam’s body had. His chest was firm and cool, like how the ponds or lakes underneath the waterfalls felt, making you smile softly.

It wasn’t enough to stop your pain and itch, but it was just enough to calm you to a certain extent, his words slurring in your brain as he spoke. You had only responded with slight hums, not sure you’d be capable of responding back in sentences.

He was quick to pick you up to your feet, caressing your face and asking you something. Whatever it was he was quick to take your groan as an answer, now holding you hand in hand as he made his way through the forests, occasionally turning back to take in your ill state.

You weren’t sure what path he was taking, it certainly wasn’t the path to your home, or the main village, but the trees you two passed by before coming to a halt smelled similar to Neteyam. He was gentle, letting you climb up into an unfamiliar place before following right after you, his hand locking right back with yours as his other held your shawl.

He spoke to you again, but your ears remained out of focus, now picking up on the small sound of pattering coming from behind you. You turned slowly, your head hurting as you watched the rain fall. You turned back slowly, placing each hand on the sides of your head, feeling as if someone had taken a bone and hit the sides of your head repeatedly.

You only groaned, slumping over slightly before feeling Neteyam’s hands grab onto your side, ushering you further into the room and sitting you down somewhere comfortably. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, feeling his firm hands leave your body you shot them open, taking in your surroundings as you lowered your hands.

You placed your hands down at the bedside you sat on, dragging your fingers across the woven blankets. This must’ve been his home, the entire place was drenched in his scent, it seemed vacant and cold, it must’ve been the way he liked it. You were quick to bring the edge of the blanket to your nose, inhaling its scent with a slight moan, feeling a rush of adrenaline rush through your body and down to your core.

You lowered the blanket as you heard him returning shortly, crossing your legs and angling them in a position to give you pleasure. Biting back a moan as you clenched around nothing you watched as he came over, giving you a small bowl filled with water for you to drink. You smiled softly at him, taking the bowl into your shaky hands before he covered your hands with his before helping you drink it.

His hands are so large, just like you had remembered about him initially the first time he helped you pick out the fruits from the trees. They practically covered yours if not entirely in length, nearly striking a wave of embarrassment in you. As you finished you were sure he had told some sort of joke, pointing to outside before chuckling back at you.

You only batted your eyes and smiled even wider, nodding at him. You were sure that it had done something to him because he looked away and swallowed hard before leaving the room again. As he made his time quick he came to your side, now sitting beside you and taking your hands into his, speaking again, as your heat grew stronger another wave coursed through your body.

And of course you wasted no time turning to his side, resting your head on his collarbone and inhaling his scent. If you had some sort of shame left before your heat had stripped it from you there would be a possibility you’d have pulled back or apologized, but right now you just didn’t care.

His scent was driving you insane, practically flooding your mind as you caressed yourself into his skin with soft mewls and moans that echoed in his ears. He was more than flustered to say the least, but he had come to a decision on how to help you in any way possible. He simply brushed your hair away from your face to get your attention, which worked before he spoke in sure of you to hear him.

“Use me how you seem fit.” He said sternly, flashing you a toothy smile afterwards. He watched as your pupils blew out nearly full wide, no longer seeing the color of your irises before you turned your head back into his collarbone. You were quick with your actions, licking and nipping at his skin before making your way up to his neck.

A soft kiss was applied to a sweet spot before you licked it, prepping your canines into his flesh before sinking them in slowly. If it hurt it harsh enough you were sure that when you had sense again you’d apologize for it, just not now, not while you enjoyed lapping up the small trickles of blood that dribbled down his warm skin.

Not while you suddenly leap a leg over him, now straddling him as you continued to kiss him. He had barely moved as much as he wanted to, only following your lead and placing his hands on your back as support. He was quick to pull your head in for a kiss to your lips once you finished with his neck of course, this time being more forceful and sinister than the kiss you two had shared previously.

There was a small part of Neteyam that knew this wasn’t the right thing to do, at least some of it. You weren’t in your right mind and the two of you hadn’t been mated, well at least not yet. If anything, that small feeling quickly went away when he too felt himself slipping into the dizzy and foggy feeling of your heat now affecting him.

He had heard stories of something like this before, heats being able to spread towards one another to a certain extent. Things like that could only happen if that individual wanted to share it, and that seemed to be happening at this moment.

You wanted him to feel how you felt, understand how good it felt to be in this situation, as much as you itched or your skin burned, nothing could have been better than easing the pain with someone that made you feel so good.

You liked Neteyam, you were sure of it. Your family liked him too, he was considerate, gentle, humorous, and well put. He made you feel loved, cherished, and satisfactory; he could never say no to you and spoiled you with anything you wanted. Spoiling the one you love comes to a certain extent and giving them whatever they want comes with a price, like as of now when you began to untie your top and loincloth, attempting to untie his as well.

He was quick to grab both of your arms, bringing you to a short halt. You were completely nude now, watching as he took in your full appearance before looking up into your eyes. He was quick to shake his head, a signal of rejection to you, making you frown heavily and whine, tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

He spoke, not sure entirely what he was speaking of, but you were sure he muttered along the lines of ‘being responsible’ when reading his lips, the tears now rolling down your cheeks as you shook your head. There was no way he would leave you in a time like this after escalating the situation so far for the night, you yanked your arms from his grasp before wrapping your arms around his shoulders, whining.

“Please, please, please teyam, hurts so bad, need you, need you here.” You mumbled, grinding against his painful bulge from his shifted loincloth, taking his hand into yours and placing it over your lower pelvis. You watched as he groaned softly, turning his head as his ears flickered around, as if contemplating his next move. You were quick to turn your head in the direction his was turned too, kissing him first this time, wasting no time in forcing your tongue into his mouth.

He only melted at the action, quickly obliging and letting his hands roam your body. He was quick to squeeze you and tease you, letting his fingertips graze over your nipples as you moaned into his mouth, and he moans back. He kept his right hand over your breast, swirling small circles around your nipple and tugging on it every now and again as his left hand followed its way down between your legs.

Your moans now grew louder, more bass coming from them as they rumbled in your chest and throat, breaking the kiss with Neteyam as a small string of saliva was split between you too. You rested your head on the side of his cheek as your moans continued, rumbling directly into his ear, making his breath heavier than before. He only took notice to quicken his actions, his thumb circling your clit gently as his fingers thrusted inside of you.

This much arousal was getting painful in his case, he was sure he had never been this whipped ever no matter what woman he was with. You were so beautiful, your voice, your body, your movements had him captivated, if anything he wished he could stop time just for this moment. He could hardly even feel his fingers, the way they were coated if not dripping in your arousal he slipped in and out so easily it was insane.

What was even more foolish was the fact for just a split second he became jealous of his own fingers, wanting to be inside you himself with his tongue instead, but the way you fidgeted on his lap and begged for more he knew that was something to wait for another time. So, he continued, now drawing his full attention to your face as he watched your body shudder when he curved his fingers, his fingertips grazing against your insides.

He took his hand away from your breasts, now grabbing the side of your face and watching your expression, your skin was still hot, but that hadn’t bothered him. He was more focused on trying to not cum by just the sight of you. Your hair was a mess, your face was flushed and hot, saliva dripping down your lips wasn’t helping, especially when you were panting heavily like an animal with your hooded eyes.

And there it was, that cheeky little smile you do whenever you know you’ve got his attention, batting your lashes at him. He hated that you knew how to get to him so easily, especially at a time like this, it’s as if even though he’s the one pleasuring you, you were doing the same in his favor, and he was definitely right when he watched you come undone on his lap, practically shouting his name as your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails digging into him as your body jerked forward, shuddering harshly as your orgasm washed over you.

You had no time to catch your breath as Neteyam kissed you sloppily, pulling his fingers out of you as you whimpered into his mouth at the feeling of the emptiness, clenching around nothing. You hadn’t pleaded or begged like before, only finishing your previous work and untying the rest of his loincloth before picking it up, watching as he sucked on his fingers with a small smirk.

You looked away nervously at his actions, placing his loincloth up to your nose and inhaling its scent, kissing it and tossing it behind you as you made sure Neteyam watched you. He only shook his head with a smile, his face flushed as he watched you, grazing his fingertips over your breasts yet again.

“Not satisfied?” He asked, cocking his head slightly to the side as he watched you, your eyes locked onto his body, trailing down until seeing what was hidden underneath his loincloth, making you shudder. After your intense orgasm prior, the heavy cloud of your heat wasn’t as thick as before, now you had at least a little bit of your mind left, now asking yourself if the size was too much to bear.

“Mm-mh” you muttered, shaking your head from side to side as you made your way to grab onto his sex, jolting slightly as you watched it bounce up to hit his lower abdomen. He only chuckled at you as he watched your actions, you had hardly paid any mind to him, now taking it into your hand and fisting it slightly, listening to his soft groans as the entirety of it was coated in precum.

You only smiled to yourself, raising your hips up high as you rubbed the tip onto your core, bucking your hips and moaning harshly as it flicked over your sensitive clit. As quick as the small cloud left your body it was just as quick to hit you, returning to your womb like a storm, making you chew down on your bottom lip out of frustration as you grunted.

Eywa, you felt so empty, as if you’ve been starving for days. Starving for a man to feed off of, starving for your man, your mate, to feed you. This was overwhelming, none of your heats had taken this much of an effect on you, and this physical connection wasn’t enough to share with him, you want him to see, hear, breath, and know you, not just feel you.

“Tsaheylu” you mumbled, reaching behind the back of your head to your kuru, bringing it over your shoulder as you looked down at him slightly. His reaction seemed to be one of surprise or understanding, you weren’t sure which to pick off of, no matter there were no words shared between the two of you in that moment, he only copied your movements.

Before the small tendrils of your kurus could fuse together, you sunk down onto him slowly, both of you breathy and sticky, moans mixing between the two of you. You hadn’t moved and neither had he, taking in one another before making tsaheylu, the same second of the bond between the two of you making you whimper as you rested your head on his shoulder, crying quietly.

It was so intense, as if flashing lights and music had been playing amongst the midst of everything already happening between the two of you. After a few seconds you could hear it, hear and feel how Neteyam felt for you, at first when you felt the warming in your chest you had initially expected it to be your heat, bubbling even harder now. That wasn’t the case, it was his feeling towards you, how his heart raced when he saw you or saw your smile, and how he felt now as he had you nestled on him.

It felt so nice, sharing this feeling and pain with another, lifting the burden off of yourself and having a mate to call your own. Before you were even able to speak Neteyam was quick to hoist himself up in a comfortable position, making you moan out softly.

“I know, I know tiwan. Gonna make you feel better yeah? Right here baby? I know what you need.” He spoke, placing his hand back over your pelvis and abdomen. The word he spoke prior sounded foreign to you, you could tell in the context it was a pet name, just not sure exactly what kind it could’ve been. Before you were able to pick up on that thought you felt Neteyam’s hands grab your behind in a firm manner before thrusting himself in and out of you at a kept pace.

You moaned into his shoulders now as he quickened his pace, making you clench around him. He didn’t like this position at all, don’t get him wrong you felt amazing, this moment was amazing, but he wanted to see you, see your face. He knew how you felt due to your bonding yes, but it wasn’t enough, he needs more.

Which is what led him to waste no time in standing up as he held onto you and turning around, laying you down as he towered over you, neither him leaving from inside you or your tsaheylu breaking. Cooing you as you whimpered and fidgeted against him, pulling him down onto you so you could inhale his scent from his side, but he wasn’t having it.

He rested in his knees now, thrusting into you painfully slow, listening to your groans and complaints with a grin. He liked being cocky, it felt good, especially if it got under your skin and he got to watch you react, it was amusing.

The longer the night continued the less amusing things became however, especially for the both of you. As of now Neteyam had lost track of time, and amount of positions the two of you had been in, but now you were on the floor, the room smelling like nothing but sex and sweat as you both moaned.

Neteyam had tried every other way to satisfy your needs without knotting you, but that’s all you had begged for at this time. None of your other orgasms being enough to get rid of the emptiness within you, he just hadn’t thought you were ready for it.

His last worries was getting you pregnant, it could only happen if he was also in rut, which wasn’t anytime soon, but knotting someone is dangerous (and also something he’s never done before). You were an animal, and that was no exaggeration, from the sweat and cum that had pooled on the bedside and floor your skin and fingertips had gotten wrinkly, along with Neteyam’s, but apparently you hadn’t even cared.

“Please, need it, so emptyyy” you whined, poking at the fat knot at the base of Neteyam’s cock that had been poking at your entrance for some time. Your face was wet with tears and sweat as you threw your fit, moaning as he postponed himself deeper in you to where his knot grazed against your clit.

In a matter of seconds, you were practically fucking him back, arching your back slightly as you pushed back with just as much force he thrusted into you. You could feel it, his knot was practically teasing you in a way you couldn’t explain, it felt like some sort of craze or rush that was driving you mad, mad in a way you drew a smile to your face, chanting praises over and over again before hearing a pop and a painful stretch.

Neteyam halted his movements, a loud moan escaping his lips as his knot had finally entered you. He had towered over you, his chest pressing against your back as you clawed at the floor in desperation. It wasn’t necessarily painful, more uncomfortable as it was a feeling you weren’t used too, and the cloud of your heat had covered most of it.

But oh how full you felt, the pain, tears, and cries from before all seemed to just vanish as you felt the knot lowering, now being filled with Neteyam’s cum at a quick pace. Now you felt full, and in the best way possible, it was all you had truly wanted and finally your needs were satisfied.

You sighed out in satisfaction, feeling him kiss on your neck and back softly before caressing your body. You purred back into him as you felt him move gently and slowly, picking the two of you up off the floor to his bedside, removing the dirty blanket from there before and laying there with you, still back to chest.

“Thank you” you said to him, taking his hand and kissing it with a smile as you felt him smile from behind you. He only played with your hair as he heard you yawn, taking in your small and tired state.

“Mm-hmm, so proud of you baby, did so good.” He spoke, placing a kiss onto your head as he drew faint circles in your back as he watched you drift off to sleep. He smiled to himself before remembering he was still stuck for a while, hopefully he wouldn’t wake you if he pulled out.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

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@bakugouswaif @hungrynessforfics @thisaintredwine @hello222sthings @crispynutella @rafslytherin @dayyzlol @lilyed777

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[redbo-and-simbo]

...

..Mm.

(Where am I? It's so cold..)

(shifting)

Huh?

(An IV drip? I'm..in the infirmary. How did I get here after...)

Holy crap, you're finally awake.

(chuckle)

I was worried, man.

...Forty-seven? How..long have I been out?

Uh..longer than I'm sure you wanted to be.

(sigh)

Right. Right..

I'm..sorry.

What? Oh- No, it's fine. I should be apologizing for snooping around-

No, not- not that, I-

(weak, shaky breath)

I keep getting further from my goal. I keep..getting sidetracked...carried away.

I'm a disappointment to the Creator. I know it. That's why he sent you, right? To be some- some crutch?

No, Red-

It's humiliating. Being like this. This isn't what he wants, right? Prophet, how many clones does it take to bury this- this sorry excuse of an Evbo? I can't do my one purpose. I can't stay focused. I'm doing everything I can.

Red-

I do everything I can to keep up this tedium, because one day it's going to be so...so worth it. I want him to see how hard I've worked to become the perfect Evbo, all for him. It's all been for him.

I've never- I've never felt like I did when my autonomy fell away to his will. I want that back. I want- I want him to choose me again. I don't care how many Evbos I have to go through, I just want it back.

But I keep screwing up! All the time! I keep slipping up and things keep going outside of my plans!

Red, hey-

I'm a failure- Just- Just a collection of flaws I just want to erase and replace so I can be someone else!

I'm sick of it!

...

(shaky breath)

It's alright. You don't need to push yourself so hard, okay? You're doing fine.

You work so hard. ..If the Creator could see you himself, he'd probably admire your dedication. I know I do. But you need to slow. Down.

You're not on a time limit. You don't need to spend every single second of your life living efficiently just to achieve your goal here. You're pushing yourself past your limits, sure, but you're doing it every single day. You're constantly functioning on bare minimum rest and self care, and it's affecting your work too.

..I'm sorry.

No, hey..don't be sorry. It's okay. I just don't want you to work yourself to death, and neither does the Creator. You've been out for a while because of your health, things are getting behind.

Then-

(shifting)

Then I need to-!

No, you don't need to do anything but stay here. Okay? Taking care of yourself is part of your work. You need to rest and recover after your crash.

...

(weak scoff)

(shifting back onto pillows)

Theeere you go. Things are still up and running. You don't need to worry. You set so many assignments that they trickle over into other shifts, there's a backlog, you don't need to do anything right now.

There's so much I need to do..

I know. But the first thing on the list is to recuperate. And hey, I've taken care of a lot for you.

(weight shifts down onto the medical bed)

I don't know how to assign things or do repairs, but..Seawatt needed to charge, so I helped plug him in. I made sure Widget was fed and had water so neither of you had to worry about it. And uh..your hoodie was..stained, so..I put it in the wash. Sheets too.

I don't understand..

Why?

Huh?

Why go through all that trouble when you didn't have to? You could've gotten someone else to take care of any of that. You know you don't need to lift a finger around this place.

(sigh)

Well, for one, it made the most sense. Even if Seawatt was in sleep mode for a while, he was still low battery. I wasn't going to make him do anything. And everything else, y'know..I'm around your room and workshop the most, only second to you. But- Besides that, I just-

I care about you, Red.

I knew it wasn't going to be easy to make up for lost time, and I knew it would stress you out having all these extra tasks to take care of. I wanted to make the workload easier on you.

...

(sniffle)

...You really are a gift from the Creator..

Aw, Red..

(shifting)

Hey..you don't need to cry. I'm happy to hurk-!

(Tight hugger-)

(soft chuckle)

(fingers move to comb through hair)

...You'll be alright, Evbo.

[snowseasonmademe]

Reminder

warning ‼️: smut !

word count: 4,258

paring: toxic situationship noni x black female reader

summary: as much as you tried to walk away from him, he always, always, pulled you back

note: a special request from my special @irishmanwhore . she requested this late at night a couple days ago, and i’m not the biggest lover of noni (for obvious reason🦷) buuuuttttt i had to cook up something for her. all i’m gonna say is, grab your plate because yall are about to eat gooooodddddd. as always, enjoy and tell me what you think !!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

London nights always felt heavier when you were alone. The streets, the clubs, even your own damn bed—nothing felt right anymore. Not since him.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

It had been months since you walked away. Months since you finally accepted that Noni would never call you his girlfriend, never give you the security you craved, never love you the way you needed him to.

You spent too many nights crying over him, replaying the same arguments, the same lies. I’m not cheating. I don’t even find them attractive like that. But who just casually has Rubi Rose’s number? Who texts other girls at 2 AM, only to turn his phone face down when you’re in the room?

You wanted to believe him. Every time he kissed your forehead, wrapped his arms around you, whispered, It’s not like that, you’re moving mad, you let yourself fall for it again. And every time, you regretted it.

Because the truth was, he never wanted you for anything more than convenience—sex, company, someone to show off when it suited him. He’d buy you gifts, take you on expensive dates, post half a picture of you on his story just to keep you quiet for a while. And for a moment, you’d let yourself believe it was real. That you were special. That you weren’t just another girl in rotation.

But then the cycle would repeat.

He’d disappear for hours—sometimes days—only to pop back up like nothing happened. You’d argue. He’d dodge every question, spin everything back on you, make you feel like you were crazy for even asking. Why do you always do this? You swear I’m some wasteman when I’ve done nothing wrong. And then, like clockwork, he’d find his way back into your bed. Because no matter how mad you were, how hurt you felt, one look from him, one touch, and your body betrayed you.

Everyone knew what it was. You weren’t his girlfriend, but you weren’t just some random. You were something in between, stuck in limbo, and no matter how much you wanted to walk away, you never could.

Until you did.

Yet every step you took away from him felt like you were being pulled back in.

And still, even now, even with Jessie waiting for you, you weren’t sure if you’d ever really left.

But you really like Jessie.

Jessie, with his safe hands and soft voice. Jessie, who planned dates and sent good morning texts and actually responded to messages on time. Jessie, who respected you. Jessie, who wasn’t him.

You liked Jessie. You really did. He was sweet, patient, the kind of guy who held doors open and kissed your forehead just because. He listened when you talked, remembered little details about your day, always made sure you finished first in bed.

But he didn’t make your heart race. He didn’t make your blood boil. He didn’t push you to the brink of madness, teetering between love and chaos the way Noni did.

Jessie didn’t know how to handle you when you had an attitude—he didn’t hit you with something slick and lowkey mean just to shut you up, to remind you exactly who you were dealing with. He didn’t grab your face with that rough grip, fingers digging into your skin, forcing you to look him in the eyes while he fucked the air from your lungs.

He didn’t choke you like you liked—like you needed. Didn’t know how to shut you up with one hand around your throat, making you gasp for breath just to prove a point. He didn’t slap your ass hard when you tried to ease how deep he was going, didn’t hold you down and make you take every inch.

Jessie was careful. Considerate. Gentle.

And it wasn’t enough.

And worst of all? He was a Chelsea fan.

You swore the universe was laughing at you. The first time you saw Jessie post a matchday photo in his blue jersey, you almost blocked him on sight. It felt like you were being haunted, constantly reminded of the man you were trying so damn hard to forget.

Jessie didn’t follow Rubi Rose. Jessie didn’t have to convince you he wasn’t cheating. Jessie didn’t gaslight the hell out of you and then send a designer bag as an apology.

Jessie was perfect.

And you were fucking miserable.

Tonight, you were supposed to go see him. He had been texting you all day, excited about some new restaurant he wanted to take you to.

But when you stepped outside, your heart stopped.

Noni was standing at the bottom of your steps.

His hands were tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, head tilted slightly, eyes watching you with that infuriating mix of amusement and ownership. Like he had always known you’d come back. Like he knew you never really left.

“You going somewhere?” he asked, his voice smooth, calm.

You sucked your teeth. “I’m going to see my man” you shot back, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing here? Don’t you have some Instagram hoes to lie to about not being with me? Or did you get me another Birkin to try and apologize?”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “You know you don’t want to go over there” he said, voice low, confident. “You don’t even like him” he said waking up the steps, to stand directly in front of you.

Your jaw clenched. “Get the hell out of my way Noni”

You stepped forward, placing your hands on his chest to push him aside, but he didn’t move.

He took a step closer instead.

His body heat, his scent—familiar, intoxicating—wrapped around you, making your head spin. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Turn around” he murmured, then paused. “And open the door”

Your breath caught in your throat. You swallowed hard.

This was the moment you had been dreading. The moment you had always known would come.

You should’ve walked away. Should’ve pushed past him, called Jessie, pretended you didn’t still crave the toxicity, the chaos, the him of it all.

But instead, your fingers curled around your keys.

And you turned around.

The key slides into the lock with a quiet click, and just as you’re about to turn it, you sigh, feeling the warmth of his body almost pressed against your back.

“Do you have to be that fucking close?” you murmur, eyes rolling as you focus on getting the damn door open.

Instead of stepping back, Noni moves even closer, his chest now fully against you, heat radiating through his hoodie. His voice is low, teasing. “Just open the door man”

Your breath hitches for a second, but you do as he says, pushing it open and stepping inside. You don’t even have to tell him to follow—he does anyway, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft click.

You walk into the living room, placing your purse and keys down on the table, slipping off your coat. The silence in the room is thick, charged. When you turn around, he’s just standing there a few feet away, eyes locked on you like he’s taking in every inch, every detail he’s missed.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing here?” you ask, folding your arms.

Noni exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he walks toward the open kitchen, still keeping direct eye contact with you.

“I know you miss me babes” he says smoothly, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. “And don’t try to lie—I know what my girl looks like when she misses me”

You scoff, stepping into the kitchen, resting your hip against the counter as you tilt your head. “Oh, I’m your girl now?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why couldn’t you call me that to your friends? Or your fucking parents?”

His jaw flexes for a moment before he sighs. “Come on man, don’t do this right now” he mutters, shaking his head as he steps closer.

One hand comes up to your chin, tilting it up so you have no choice but to look at him. His other hand finds your hip, fingers pressing into your skin as he turns you toward him, your body now flush against his.

“I missed you too” he murmurs, a slight smirk on his lips as he leans in, trying to kiss you.

You turn your head away, heart pounding in your chest. “Noni what are you on bro?” you say, voice sharp even as your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth. “My man is waiting for me you know”

Noni chuckles, the sound low and smug. “Your man” he repeats, like the words are a joke. His hand tightens on your hip. “Your man is a fan of mine. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I treat his girl how she really wants to be treated” He tilts his head slightly. “I’m doing him a favor”

His audacity almost makes you mad again—until his lips find your jaw.

He starts slow. Kissing down to that sensitive spot below your ear, then lower, down your neck, before coming back up again.

Your breath hitches, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it. His lips graze your ear, and then he whispers, voice thick with certainty, “You can’t find another me out there. Just come home.”

Your lips part, ready to say something—anything—but then your phone buzzes on the counter, just inches away.

The name Jessie Bear❤️‍🩹🐻 lights up the screen.

Noni doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your hips, keeping you locked in place.

“Go on, answer your man” he murmurs in a mocking tone, lips still grazing your skin.

You swallow, fingers shaking slightly as you pick up the phone. “Hey baby” you say, but your voice comes out unsteady, breathy.

“You almost here baby?” Jessie asks sweetly. “I know you’re late sometimes, just checking to see if you’re all good”

Before you can even process a response, Noni’s hands are moving—trailing up your waist, caressing your sides, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth graze your earlobe, and you feel a shiver roll down your spine.

Your breath catches. “Y-yeah, baby, um, I—”

Jessie’s voice softens with concern. “Are you okay darling? Do you need me to come over?”

Noni smirks against your skin.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to breathe. “N-no, baby, I’m just feeling a bit…sick” you lie, your voice weak. “Is it okay if we reschedule?”

“Yeah, that’s no problem babe” Jessie says, his voice filled with nothing but concern. “I’ll come by later with some medicine and food for you”

You barely hear him. The only thing you can focus on is Noni—his teeth, his hands, the way he’s completely unraveling you without even trying.

“Okay, thanks baby” you mumble, desperate to end the call. “Bye, I—I’ll see you later”

You hang up as fast as you can, barely able to process the guilt that should be hitting you right now.

But Noni doesn’t give you time to think.

His lips trail up to your jaw again, his grip on your hips tightening as he leans into your ear.

You shove him hard, smacking his chest with both hands. “What the fuck Noni?” you snap, heart still racing from what just happened. “Are you trying to get me caught up?”

He barely flinches, just catches your wrists with ease, his grip firm as he presses your hands against his chest, holding them there. His body is warm beneath your palms, his heartbeat steady—like he knew this was going to happen. Like he planned this.

“You got yourself caught up” he says smoothly, voice teasing, “when you unlocked the door like I told you to”

Your jaw clenches, anger bubbling to the surface as you remember everything—all the back and forth, the games, the manipulation, the way he kept you dangling on a string while acting like he was doing you a favor. “You don’t deserve to have me” Your voice is sharp, your chest rising and falling with frustration. “He does”

Noni just smirks, unbothered. “But I’m gonna have you” he says, his voice thick with certainty. “I’m the one you want, not him. You know that. And I’ve always known that”

You start to protest, but then he guides one of your hands downward—down to where his body is burning hot beneath his sweatpants, to the evidence of just how much he’s missed you. The moment your fingers graze the hard outline of him, your breath stutters, and his grip on your wrist tightens.

“You will always come back to me” he murmurs, like it’s a fact, like it’s inevitable.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingers trailing across your bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He moves to your back, then lower, down to your ass, squeezing firmly, possessively. The way he touches you, the way he knows your body—it has you biting your lip, fighting back a moan. But when his fingers dig into you just right, the sound slips out anyway, and your head tilts up instinctively, lips parting, searching for his.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours but not quite kissing you yet. He just stays there, breathing you in, his face so close you can feel the warmth of him, the tension stretching between you like a thin, fragile thread.

Then finally—finally—he crashes his lips onto yours, hard, almost bruising. He bites your lip, hands gripping you rough and firm, like he’s making up for all the time lost.

“You miss me?” he asks against your lips, his voice almost harsh, daring you to deny it.

Your hands are already at the hem of his hoodie, pushing it up, desperate to feel more. “Yes” you whisper breathlessly. “Yes I missed you”. You both continue to feverishly kiss and undress each other, gripping and kissing at any skin you could get your hands and lips on, until you’re both left in your underwear.

Without warning, he pulls away, spins you around, and bends you over the countertop with a force that knocks the air from your lungs.

“You feel how much I missed you, hmm?” His voice is low, gravelly, as he presses and grinds against you, his clothed hardness teasing against your covered, aching core. His hands roam your body, gripping, kneading, claiming.

Your hips move on instinct, grinding back against him, desperate for friction. He lifts he palm and lets down a sharp smack to you right ass cheek.

You gasp as his palm comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting sending heat rushing through you. “Did I tell you to move?” Another smack follows, making you whimper. “I asked you a question”

“No” you whisper, voice small.

Another sharp slap lands, making your breath hitch. The sting lingers, mixing with the growing heat between your legs.

“I can’t hear you. Where’s all that attitude now?” His voice is amused, darkly satisfied with your sudden silence. “Did I tell you to move?”

This time, you answer with your chest. “No”

Your fingers clutch at the cool countertop, your body burning, your mind clouded with need. “Just fuck me already Noni… please”

His hands tighten on your hips, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “Ahh there she is. My girl” he says with a satisfied toned.

Noni pulls out his rock-hard dick, one hand still gripping your hips to keep you in place. With his other, he slides your panties to the side and drags his sticky tip along your soaked folds, teasing you.

“Huh, looks like she misses me too” he chuckles.

You want to turn around and smack him—how can he joke at a time like this? When you’re dripping, aching, needing him inside you? The teasing is unbearable, every slow drag of his pulsing tip along your folds making your body twitch with anticipation.

Enough. You can’t take it anymore.

With a desperate whimper, you push yourself back onto him, forcing his dick past your entrance. The thick stretch steals the air from your lungs, your walls struggling to accommodate his size as you sink onto him. Nearly half of his length fills you in one motion, and the burn is delicious, sharp and perfect all at once.

Noni lets out a deep groan, voice strained. His dick twitches inside you, stretching you open, throbbing against your tight, fluttering walls. His fingers digging into your hips, like he’s holding himself back from slamming into you fully.

But you don’t care about his teasing anymore.

You just want him to fuck you.

“Ahh, fuuuck, Noni” you whimper, gripping the countertop as pleasure shoots through you.

He doesn’t ease into it. The moment he’s inside you, he sets a brutal pace, each thrust deep, stretching you open without mercy. The sheer size of him has you gasping, your body struggling to accommodate the thick length that fills you to the brim. The sting of the stretch quickly melts into pleasure, your walls clenching around him, desperate to hold him in place even as he drives into you relentlessly.

His hand trails up your spine, his fingers dragging over the dip of your back before settling at the base of your neck. Then, in one swift motion, he wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head swim. The lack of air only amplifies the sensation, making your moans come out in choked, desperate whimpers.

Your bare chest is flush against the cold countertop, the contrast of heat and chill making your nipples pebble as you claw at the surface for stability. The force of his thrusts pushes you forward, your body jolting with every deep stroke. Each wet slap of skin against skin echoes through the room, the sound mixing with his ragged breaths and your breathless moans.

He groans, his grip on your throat tightening just slightly before he releases it, letting you gasp for air only to slam into you even harder.

“Does Jessie fuck you like this?” Noni grits out, his breath hot against your skin. “Does he fuck you this good?”

“No—fuck—no, Jessie doesn’t fuck me like you do” you cry out.

Unfortunately for you, your phone is still sitting on the counter, screen glowing faintly as it rests just inches from your trembling fingers. In the heat of the moment, you don’t notice when Siri, always too damn nosy, registers Jessie’s name and dials him without hesitation.

You remain completely oblivious, too lost in the symphony of sin filling the room—the obscene wet sounds of Noni’s thick length plunging into you, the sharp slaps of skin meeting skin, the way your moans mix with his deep grunts. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, consuming. Your mind is drowning in pleasure, body pliant under his ruthless pace, your focus narrowing to nothing but the way he fills you, ruins you.

But then—a voice.

Soft at first, barely registering through the haze of lust. Then clearer, more distinct, like a sudden splash of ice water against burning skin.

“Hey baby, I was just about to be on my way over. Did you want the NyQuil tea or the liquid medicine? Because I got bo—”

Jessie.

Your stomach drops. The world tilts.

He stops mid-sentence. Silence hangs heavy, suffocating. And then you realize—he hears everything.

There’s silence on the line, but you know he hears everything. The way Noni is fucking you. The way you’re moaning. The wet, filthy sounds of your bodies colliding.

“Y/N… baby, what are you doing?” Jessie’s voice breaks.

You hear him start to cry. And still, you don’t care. Noni is fucking you too good for you to care.

He fucks you even harder, making sure you feel every inch of him. He lands three sharp smacks on your ass, his voice dark and taunting.

“This is how you like it right? Not that soft shit your man does?”

“Yes—fuck—you fuck me so good Noni. So fucking good” you whimper.

Jessie is still on the phone, his voice barely holding together.

“Y/N, why are you doing this to me? What the fuck man…”

Sniffling. A few more seconds of silence. Then— click.

Jessie hangs up.

Noni chuckles, gripping your waist tighter as he thrusts even deeper.

“Now we don’t have to worry about him interrupting us later.”

All you can do is lay there, moaning helplessly as Noni fucks you deep and hard. Every stroke leaves you breathless, your body arching into the overwhelming pleasure. Then, suddenly, he slows, dragging his thick length almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you gasp. His hands move to your lower back, thumbs pressing into the deep dimples there as he leans over you.

His voice is low, and calcualted, making sure you catch every single word.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, yeah? You won’t ever think about fucking another man again”

And then he does.

He picks up his pace, his strokes turning punishing—hard, fast, relentless. Each thrust forces you up onto your tiptoes, your body jolting with the sheer force of it. The sharp bite of pain from your hips being slammed into the unforgiving countertop sends a dull ache through your bones, but it only heightens the pleasure twisting in your core.

And fuck, the way his thick length drags along your walls, hitting deep, grazing that perfect spot inside you—it has your head spinning. But it’s the way his tip kisses your cervix, over and over again, that has you gasping, your legs trembling beneath you.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your body is caught in a beautiful contradiction—blazing heat and sharp sting, unbearable stretch and overwhelming pleasure, everything crashing down on you at once. Your nails dig into the countertop, searching for something, anything to anchor yourself as Noni fucks you deeper, harder, making sure you feel every inch of him.

“Ahh yes” he groans, his fingers pressing bruises into your hips. He’s relentless, chasing his own pleasure, determined to pull you apart in the process.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mixing with the lewd, wet noises of him plunging into your dripping core. Your moans are shameless, high-pitched and broken, filling the air as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside you, threatening to snap.

“Noni—please—keep going” you moan, your voice shaking. “You’re gonna make me cum right now”

“Keep going just like this?” he taunts, rolling his hips a little extra, making sure you feel every inch of him.

“Yess—yesss, just like that!” you cry out, gripping the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turn white.

For a split second, guilt seeps into your mind. Jessie. His broken voice. His pain. You know damn well you would’ve committed several crimes if the roles were reversed—if you had caught him, or worse, Noni, on the phone fucking someone else like this.

But the guilt doesn’t stand a chance.

It’s ripped away, shattered beneath the crashing waves of your orgasm.

“Oh my god—fuck—ahhh!” you cry out, your whole body trembling as pleasure tears through you, leaving you breathless, weak, undone.

Noni groans, his grip tightening on your hips. He wants to keep fucking you through it, wants to keep slamming you into the counter, but the way your pussy clenches around him—wet, tight, fucking perfect—it pushes him over the edge.

“Fuck—” His hips stutter, a deep, loud moan leaving his lips as he releases inside you, hot ropes of cum filling you up, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. His thrusts slow, but he stays buried inside for a moment, letting you both catch your breath.

Your legs are beyond weak, your heart hammering so fast you feel like you’ve just finished an intense Pilates class. When he finally pulls out, he smacks your ass one last time, making you jolt. Then, before you can even think about standing, he turns you around and crashes his lips against yours.

The kiss is rough, desperate, his hands gripping your waist to keep you upright. Then, effortlessly, he lifts you onto the countertop, his body still pressed against yours.

You rest your head on his shoulder, trying to steady your breathing, trying to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to clean this up—his cum dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. And worse, the emotional mess you just left in Jessie’s heart.

But Noni’s deep, raspy voice pulls you right back in.

“Let me know when you catch your breath darling” he murmurs, his tone dripping with confidence. “I need to make up for what your boy wasn’t doing while you were acting like you didn’t miss me”

You groan, shaking your head.

“I did miss you” you admit, voice still shaky. “But fuck Noni, did you have to fuck with him like that?”

He smirks, completely unbothered. “I’ve done nothing wrong. You’re the one who cheated on your little boyfriend”

He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Now, can we stop talking about him? We have some business to take care of.”

And with that, he picks you up effortlessly, carrying you to your bed.

By the time the sun rose, Jessie was nothing but a forgotten thought.

[boszbichblitzo]

As Blitz watched Stolas sink deeper and deeper into despair, guilt ate at him. He didn't want to make the owl cry, he didn't want to hurt him at all, but everything about this just felt so fucking wrong and unfair! And to have Stolas making him feel wrong for being upset by all of this seemed so fucking backwards.

He was torn on how to respond, anger flaring up right alongside his guilt. He'd been an ass that night at Ozzie's, he knew that. He'd invited Stolas out just to use him as a means of getting inside to spy on Moxxie and Millie and then he'd lashed out at the owl later that night, but Stolas had hurt him too! He'd acted fucking ashamed of being seen with Blitz after the imp had just begun to realize his own feelings and now he had the fucking gall to act like he'd ever cared about anything but his body? "I– .....probably should've been fucking clear about why I was inviting you out, I guess. But don't fuckin' act like you didn't do shit too, Stolas." Blitz started, his voice a little tight as he tried to fight off his own emotions and just hold onto anger. "You acted fucking embarrassed and ashamed when you got called out for fucking me. I might've been the asshole first, but if you really 'liked' me, why the fuck did you look like you wanted to crawl under a fucking rock as soon as someone pointed out we were together?"

Blitz's tail lashed behind him in annoyance and he let out a soft huff, turning his face away in a meager attempt at hiding the pain on his face, the tears beginning to well in his eyes. "You're wrong. Ozzie might not come to collect some kinda debt from me, but then again, he might. All you did was make me someone else's problem without even havin' a single conversation with me about it first." His guilt twisted a little harder as he saw the tears begin to fall, but he was already in too deep now to just stop at this point. "What the fuck was I supposed to think? All you ever do is act horny around me. All we've ever done together is fuck, and that's.... fine. I don't understand what's changed, why you wanna suddenly get rid of me. Was I not doin' a good enough job? You know you could just fucking tell me that instead of throwing me away, I can always do better." There was a touch of desperation mingling with the anger in his tone now. As much as he'd complained about the deal and the way Stolas tended to treat him and speak to him, he was comfortable with their arrangement. He knew what was expected of him and without getting any feelings involved, he'd been pretty confident he couldn't fuck it up, but it looked like he'd somehow managed to do just that anyway.

"I wanted to come here and fuck you like we agreed on." He answered, ignoring the actual intent behind Stolas' question. He wasn't ready to confront what he actually wanted just yet, because what he wanted and what he deserved were two totally different things and the owl would have to be crazy to actually want more from someone as fucked up and emotionally stunted as Blitz.... right? "I spent all day getting ready for tonight. I went out shopping for shit just to make you happy and you don't even wanna look at any of it! You just decided to spring this feelings bullshit on me outta nowhere and I don't fucking know how to talk about any of this! At least if you'd told me this is how you wanted to spend the night, I could'a fuckin' prepared a little!"

The prince watched as Blitz moved away from him ending the cuddling and sat up, perhaps Blitz was right... it was better to continue this face to face no matter how difficult it was to be looked at right now. Stolas shifted to sit up too and tucked his long legs under himself while clasping his talons together in his lap. "I know its a lot Blitz.... perhaps reading more books than I had conversations growing up may have stunted me in more ways than I realized... I sorry for laying all of this down at your feet without warning..." It was hard enough to ask Blitz to come to his home directly but he suspected that he would have lost his nerve if he had told him that they would be talking... or Blitz would have maybe not have come at all.

Stolas peered up at the imp through his lashes as he slide off the bed to face him with emotion the owl couldn't quite decipher beyond the anger he was familiar with. "Yes its because I like you... your different than anyone I've ever known but the first night you tried to steal the book, It was the first time in my life I didn't want to vomit and wash the feeling of hands off me... I wanted to see you again..to not feel numb again... so I offered the thing you wanted in exchange... it was selfish" He breathed and shifted to wrap his arms around his knees hugging them to his chest to give himself comfort as he continued. "It was Ozzie's... when you asked me out on that date, I wanted so badly for it to real but when I saw your employee get on the stage I realized that it wasn't...You weren't there for me... then with all those eyes on me suddenly in the spotlight without alcohol to numb the anxiety I hid." He tucked his face into his knees with a shudder before he spoke again. "You were right....'Don't act like what we have is anything other than you wanting me to fuck you' you saying that I realized that was all we would ever have with this deal... and I wanted more... I wanted to get to know you... I wanted to go on real dates. It's stupid, wishfully thinking of a lonely pathetic man" He chuckled wetly into his knees.

At the comments of tying Blitz down to some other royal he barely knew and being a glorified sex toy Stolas couldn't stop the hiccupped little sob that escaped his beak without his permission, well at least I know how Blitz feels now... how he had seen their nights together. "You would be no more tied to Asmodeus then anyone else who has legal businesses in Lust, if I continue to lend you the book someone will eventually learn about it... Stella could learn about it! she's already sent an assassin to kill me once if she knew what we were doing... we could be arrested, your business dissolved or worse." He pressed a talon to the still healing holy wound in his shoulder... though the doctors say that there will always be an ache, "Is that what you think about our nights together? that you were just a sex toy to me?" He looks up from his knees to look Blitz in the eyes tears freely steaming down his white face plate.

"What do you want Blitz? what do you want to happen tonight? what do you want to happen to the deal?..... what do you want to happen to us? what do you want?"

[somethingserious]

every player having a piece of the believe sign! some of them keeping it with things they value most, like Sam’s with his Nigeria national team photo, Jamie with the book Ted gave him in episode 3!!! And some of them keeping it with them hidden in their kit, so they can keep the feeling safe with them in their hearts while they leave everything they have out on the pitch!!!! unbelievable fucking writing