The Witchwood Boys

They tricked me into a dark and unholy union. Three bastards in witch hats, leather pants, and iron masks. These supernatural stalkers have claimed me for their coven. They won't go away. These assholes will. not. leave. All because I fell for an urban legend: touch the Witch's Tree on a moonless night and discover magic. Wholesome magic like: kinky rituals, blood sacrifice, and jizz potions. Oh, and a forest god who eats people—while they're still alive and screaming. Send help, and I'll send cupcakes.

I accidentally married three witch stalkers. They've escaped perpetual hell, courtesy of yours truly. They've also gone viral with their annoying thirst trap asses in leather. #theWitchwoodBoys Fine. The power of magic is worth the price.

These forgotten witches aren't too wicked to fall for. A coven of shadows with a curse on my heart and my house. They bake f*cked-up cupcakes in my kitchen and unalive influencers in my front yard. These men make zombies out of their own relatives, and a panting mess out of their own wife. The Witchwoods are a violent stain on the world. Eradicating that blight is worth the dirty, rotten things we do. With a second coven's sacrifice, we can close the gate. Locking the Hag Wytch in her supernatural prison has to be easier with more witches.