#“Such a perfect opportunity to use your wings.”

[watchmewhirl]

Parents.

Masterpost

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks.  CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present. 

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things. 

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple. 

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas. 

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.” 

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things. 

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat. 

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.” 

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!” 

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.” 

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.” 

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean. 

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional. 

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.” 

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.” 

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough. 

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles. 

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.” 

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole. 

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror. 

But not JM. 

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility. 

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February. 

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home. 

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.  

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’. 

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that. 

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'. 

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome. 

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out. 

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?” 

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head. 

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.” 

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck? 

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed? 

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman. 

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone. 

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her. 

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip. 

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass. 

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft. 

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?” 

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you. 

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him. 

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.” 

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.” 

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning. 

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

��Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills. 

Next Chapter

[downbad4sylus]

“This mark is different”

(part 3 to “I killed you”)

synopsis: You and Sylus return to the base from the field of flowers where he shows you his horns.

content: NSFW; 18+ MDNI; smut with some plot; sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; soft!sylus; virgin!sylus (i am of the opinion that sylus wouldn’t so much as breathe near another woman who isn’t MC); virgin!reader; kissing; oral (fem receiving); p in v; soft sex; slightly rough sex; no protection (wrap it up kids); multiple orgasms; idk if this counts as monster fucking but sylus has horns and a tail; mostly proofread

word count: ~3.5k

tags: @travelerth; @midiplier; @satansdaughter123; @bookfreakk

a/n: massive thank you once again to everyone who’s read, liked, and reblogged parts 1 and 2, i genuinely can’t express how happy it makes me that so many of you have enjoyed these little stories :’) anywaayyy, in honor of the new banner and all the new spicy content (bless our game developer overlords) here is part 3 where things between you and Sylus get a little spiicccyyyy

Okay, so when Sylus asked if you wanted to go back to the base and see his horns, you might have taken him a little too literally.

What you thought was him innocently taking you to his bedroom—warning the twins on your way that he still didn’t want to be bothered—turned out to be far from that.

Which was how you found yourself currently pinned beneath him on his bed, tongues tangling and lungs screaming for air, no horns in sight. Or tail. Or wings.

You lightly pounded a fist against his chest. “Sylus…I need…to breathe…”

Sylus was loath to part from you, but did so regardless, taking the opportunity to marvel at the sight of you before him. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, chest heaving. You were beautiful, perfect, and his.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, making sure he had your consent before he continued.

You bit your lip, and he nearly lost control then and there. How many times did he have to tell you to stop doing that?

“How far are we going?” you asked softly.

“As far as you want, sweetie,” Sylus assured. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

“I, um, haven’t really done anything before,” you confessed, turning your face away so you didn��t have to look at him.

Sure, you had a few boyfriends throughout the years but you’d never had more than a heated makeout session, it was usually the reason why those relationships ended. You weren’t a prude or anything, you were just saving yourself for when someone really special came along. Or maybe you’d unknowingly been waiting for Sylus to come along.

Sylus pinched your chin and forced your eyes back to his. “Me neither.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’d never give myself to anyone but you.” He released your chin in favor of dragging a finger down your neck before wrapping his hand around it, careful not to choke you. “I do, however, have a very good memory.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. You wanted him. You needed him. And most importantly, you trusted him.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay what, sweetie? I need you to tell me exactly what you want,” Sylus said, his thumb rubbing soothingly along the length of your neck.

“I want you, Sylus, all of you,” you said. “I want you to make me feel good.”

“Oh, Y/N, I’ll do so much better than that.”

He released your neck, trailing his large hand over your chest and down your stomach until his fingers teased the hem of your shirt.

“May I?” he asked.

You nodded. “But I get to take off yours next.”

Sylus chuckled. “Are you trying to make a deal with me right now?”

You nodded again, smiling. “For every one thing you strip off of me, I get to strip something off of you.”

His ruby-red eyes sparkled. “And those are your terms?”

“Those are my terms.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

You eagerly sat up and held your arms above your head. Sylus huffed, clearly amused by your enthusiasm, and gripped the bottom of your shirt in both his hands. In one smooth motion, he removed it, tossing it aside as his gaze roved hungrily over your now-bare skin.

When you reached for his shirt, intent on running your hands all over his delicious abs, you suddenly found yourself back against the mattress, wrists pinned to the pillows.

You blinked to find Sylus hovering above you sporting a positively wicked smile.

“Sylus! What are you doing?” you exclaimed, fighting to free your wrists.

He cocked his head. “You never said when you got to rid me of my clothes,” he drawled in that infuriatingly smug tone of his. “You need to be more specific when setting your terms, sweetie.”

Your mouth popped open. This was what you got for trying to make a deal with the King of Deals himself.

“Now, let’s get rid of this next,” he mused, trailing his fingertips along the underwire of your bra.

“How are you—“

Black-red mist enveloped your bra, tickling the skin underneath. It took only a moment for Sylus’s Evol to make quick work of it, the undergarment reduced to black and red specks of dust, leaving your upper half fully exposed.

Sylus’s pupils dilated as his hand gently cupped your breast, and you whimpered when his thumb brushed over your nipple.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “And all mine.”

He was barely touching you yet your core had already gone molten and was beginning to throb with need. You needed more of him, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his co—

A jolt of pleasure shot straight to your core, tearing a loud moan from your lips as Sylus closed his own over your neglected nipple. He continued, tongue laving and teeth biting until he switched to your other breast, giving it an equal amount of attention.

You were panting by the time he lifted his head with a quiet smack of his lips.

But Sylus was far from finished.

He kissed his way up to your neck, where he licked and sucked at your sensitive skin. You wanted to touch him, thread your fingers through his hair but he still had your wrists pinned firmly above your head with seemingly no intention of releasing them.

You cried out, your back arching as Sylus sunk his teeth into your neck.

“This mark is different,” he breathed, lapping his tongue over it to soothe the sting. “This time, I want to count how many times I can make you come before it fades.”

“Fuck Sy,” you groaned.

He trailed down again until he reached the waistband of your pants. He looked at you, one brow raised, silently asking for your consent. You nodded, straining against his hold on your wrists, desperate to bury your hands in his hair.

You nearly cried with relief when he finally removed his hand, only to have your wrists bound by his Evol instead.

“Sylus,” you whined.

He chuckled. “Be a good girl and let me have my fun first,” he said. “You’re the one who asked me to make you feel good.”

“Then stop teasing me already!”

“Mmm, very well.”

Sylus yanked off your pants, leaving you in just your underwear, which were soaked through by this point. He made quick work taking them off as well, groaning at the sight of you finally naked before him.

“So, so beautiful,” he murmured reverently as he reached out, brushing his thumb over your clit. Your hips bucked at the contact, and it was all the reaction Sylus needed before descending on you like a man starved.

Spreading your legs wide, Sylus licked your slick entrance, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. Your back bowed off the bed, crying out in pleasure as he focused his efforts on your throbbing clit. He slung an arm across your waist and pushed you back down, keeping you locked in place, unable to escape the pleasure he was so eager to give you.

His unoccupied hand ghosted along your inner thigh, growing closer and closer to where his mouth was, until he reached your entrance and slipped a finger inside.

You moaned. “Please Sy,” you begged him. “Please let me touch you.”

Without parting from your core, Sylus’s Evol dissipated from your wrists, freeing you at last. Your hands immediately went to his head, burying your fingers in his hair.

Release tingled down your spine, the tension poised to snap. When Sylus added a second finger he nearly undid you then and there.

You grip his hair harder, moving your hips as much as his iron grip would allow, riding his face.

“Sylus,” you panted. “Sylus I’m gonna—ah.”

“Go ahead, sweetie,” Sylus said gruffly. “Come for me.”

And you did, the tension exploding as you came all over his mouth and fingers. He continued to lick and suck, his fingers pumping in and out while you rode out your high, stopping only when your body went limp beneath him.

“That’s one,” Sylus said proudly, straightening as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You stared at the slick covering his fingers, transfixed by the way it shined in the light. Sylus noticed.

“Want a taste for yourself?” he asked.

Heat flooded your cheeks but when your eyes met his, you nodded.

“Open,” he commanded. You obeyed and Sylus slid his fingers inside your mouth. When you closed your lips around them he said, “Now suck.”

You couldn’t feel any embarrassment you were so turned on, tasting yourself as you licked and sucked Sylus’s fingers clean.

“Good girl,” Sylus purred as his withdrew his fingers. “Would you like to uphold your end of our deal now?”

You pounced on him, almost knocking you both off the bed. You tore at Sylus’s shirt, bunching it up over his torso before ripping it off his head. Without stopping to admire his physique, you rose on your knees, positioned on either side of his legs, and unbuckled his belt. The bulge in his pants made your mouth water and you wanted nothing more than to wrap your hands around his cock and wring as much pleasure out from him as he did you.

“Lift your hips,” you told Sylus.

He raised them, his chest heaving with anticipation as he watched you. You hurriedly popped the button and pulled the zipper down, then with all your might, grabbed the waistband of his pants and underwear and yanked.

Sylus’s hard cock slapped against his abdomen and you nearly abandoned undressing him at the sight of it. He was long and thick, precum leaking from his slit and onto his stomach. You wanted to touch it, taste it, feel it inside of you.

“Don’t stop now, kitten,” Sylus encouraged, his voice breathless. “You can’t leave my pants like this.”

You blinked, realizing you’d be staring at his cock, hands still gripped tight on his pants, which were only halfway down his thighs. You mumbled an apology and managed to finish stripping him, tossing his clothes aside onto the floor somewhere.

Sylus groaned as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. “Kitten,” he panted. You dragged your hand up his length, gathering the precum at the tip before running it back down. “Hah—ah, that feels so good.”

But Sylus grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

You pouted. “I want to make you feel good too.”

He smirked. “You can do that some other time, right now, I need to be inside you.”

Sylus sat up, putting you at eye level.

Your breath caught. He was so beautiful, with his sharp, chiseled features, but what really took your breath away was the look in his eyes. He looked at you like you held his entire world in your hands. Like you were the only light shining in a life otherwise shrouded in darkness. You loved this man, and it was so heart achingly clear he loved you too.

Sylus cupped your cheek and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never been so sure about anything before,” you answered him with a smile. “I love you, Sylus.”

He smiled too, a real smile, not anything like his smug ones. “I love you too, Y/N.”

He kissed you, lips pressing softly on yours. It was slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world to just enjoy each other. Even when your tongues met, you didn’t rush, Sylus gently pushing you down onto the mattress.

He drew back when his cock teased your entrance. “I’m going to go slow, okay? If it hurts or you need me to stop, just let me know.”

Your hands flew up to his face. “Sylus wait.”

He didn’t move a muscle.

“You said I could see your horns.”

Sylus faltered. “Sweetie, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

You shook your head. “No, I want to see them, Sy, and your wings and tail. I said I wanted all of you and I meant all of you.”

Sylus’s heart thundered in his chest, unsure whether to give in to your demands. He was sure if he protested further, he’d be able to convince you to drop it for now. In truth, though, he was nervous. Yes you had remembered your past together but you’d never seen him in his dragon form in this life. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you. He’d never recover if you saw him as the monster he truly was, you were the only one who loved him despite that very fact.

“Sylus.”

Hearing his own name tore him from his thoughts, his gaze fixing on your face.

“I love you now just as much as I did then, dragon and all,” you said firmly. “Please, I want you to be able to be yourself with me.”

Sylus hung his head and sighed, resigning to your demands. “Fine, but no wings, they’re too big for the bed.”

“Okay, I can live with that.”

Sylus huffed and brought his lips back to yours. As you kissed, black-red mist swirled at the top of Sylus’s head and at the base of his spine, revealing his scaled, black horns and tail.

He held his breath as he parted from you, bracing himself for your reaction. But when you opened your eyes, they were not filled with fear. They were filled with awe.

You lifted a hand and brushed the bottom of one of Sylus’s horns. He shivered at your touch, his tail swishing back and forth behind him.

“Are they sensitive?” you asked, ghosting your fingers up the length.

“Yes,” Sylus breathed.

You hummed thoughtfully as you angled your head, peering at his tail, then looking back at him. “You really are beautiful, Sy.”

He swallowed against the lump in his throat, moved far more than he could ever express with words that you found him beautiful, even like this.

“May I continue now?” he asked, deflecting with his usual arrogance.

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Please.”

Sylus almost lost his self control at the relief that flooded through him. His cock was throbbing so hard it was painful, and the only way he could soothe it was to be buried deep inside your cunt.

Tail thrashing wildly, Sylus repositioned the head of his cock at your entrance, somehow even more soaked now than before. Coating himself first, he then began pushing past your folds.

You inhaled sharply at the burn as your walls stretched to accommodate his size.

“Relax, my love,” Sylus soothed, one hand trailing down toward your core. He gently circled your clit, encouraging your body to relax.

You whimpered, clenching around the head of his cock, desperate for him to fill you more despite the pain.

Taking his time, Sylus rocked his hips slowly, easing into you inch by inch all while rubbing your clit to keep you loose. By the time he bottomed out, the pain you’d felt had been long replaced by the pure pleasure of being filled with his cock.

Sylus trembled with the restraint it took to not start pounding into you, wanting your first time to be more loving and tender. There was plenty of time to take you hard and rough.

“I’m going to move now, okay?” he warned, breathing heavily.

“Yes, please,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He groaned and rocked his hips until just his tip was left inside you, before sliding back in. You both moaned as Sylus began thrusting in earnest, his pace slow and steady.

“You feel so good, Y/N,” Sylus panted. “Just like I remember.”

You were unable to respond, too consumed by the way he moved inside you, his cock hitting you in all the right places.

As though it had a mind of its own, Sylus’s tail snaked around one of your legs, keeping it locked to his waist.

Tension building already, your nails dug into Sylus’s back as each thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge. Sylus could fell your walls fluttering around his cock, and while he wanted nothing more than to lose himself right along with you, he was determined to rip as many orgasms out of you as he could.

He picked up the pace slightly and you responded in kind, tightening your grip on him as you cried out.

“Sylus, oh fuck, don’t stop, please please please don’t stop.”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He captured your lips in an impassioned kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth as you moaned. One hand cupped a breast, his fingers teasing your nipple before moving on the other.

His touch, his kiss, his cock, it was all too much.

Your back arched as you came, waves of pleasure washing over your body again and again with seemingly no end. Sylus kept moving through it, pausing when you finally slumped into the bed.

“That’s two, but we’re not finished yet, kitten,” Sylus growled.

You hardly registered his words before he was flipping you onto your stomach, a shocked oof breezing past your parted lips. He dragged your hips up so your ass was in the air, sliding his cock back into your cunt with ease. His tail slid along your ribs, then across your breasts, the hard scales rubbing on your sensitive nipples, and it pulled you flush to Sylus’s chest. On instinct, you reached back and grabbed onto both of his horns. The groan he let out was purely animalistic.

“You better hold on tight,” he whispered in your ear, the only warning you got before his cock started slamming into you.

You moaned at the delicious new angle, your body already working toward another orgasm. Admittedly, you’d been a bit nervous that Sylus was relying solely on memory from another lifetime in order to please you, and truly you would’ve been happy with whatever he’d be able to give you. But this? This was not at all what you expected.

“I won’t last much longer, kitten,” Sylus warned, his thrusts growing sloppy, “and I fully intend on bringing you with me.”

His hand slid down your abdomen, two fingers finding your clit and rubbing in quick, tight circles.

Your cunt clenched hard around his cock as you pulled on his horns, your mouth popping open in a silent cry. Sylus groaned, doubling his efforts both with his cock and his fingers.

“Sylus!” you yelled, body tensing. “Sylus, oh please.”

“Give me one more, Y/N,” he muttered. “Be a good girl and give me one more.”

Your climax slammed into you, your vision going white as the pleasure rocked your body harder than the last two. It drove Sylus straight off the cliff edge, chasing his high right alongside you, filling your cunt to the brim.

When you were both spent, Sylus collapsed on top of you, but you were too fucked out of your mind to care about his weight crushing you.

He didn’t linger on you too long though, rolling over onto his side, taking you with him as his tail was still wound around your breasts. He peppered kisses on your neck and shoulder, making you smile.

You twisted in his hold to face him, placing a chaste kiss of your own right on his lips. “I love you, Sy,” you murmured.

“I love you too, sweetie,” he replied quietly.

“Does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?” you asked, the picture of innocence.

Sylus scoffed. “I was under the impression I was much more than just your boyfriend.”

“You are, but I can’t introduce you to people as my soul-bound lover,” you protested. “We need a socially acceptable label, Sy.”

“You want to introduce me to all your little Hunter friends?”

“Yeah, as my small-business-owner-slash-fruit-stall-vendor boyfriend, Skye!”

He gave you an incredulous look, as if he couldn’t believe you were having this conversation right now. But, he’d never deny you anything. “Fine, I’ll be your boyfriend as long as you get to be my girlfriend.”

“You have to ask me first.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You have to ask me to be your girlfriend first.”

Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Y/N, my love, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

You grinned and smacked your lips against his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Little did you know that Sylus had much bigger plans in mind than you being just his girlfriend. Fiancé was good, but wife was even better. You know, for the sake of socially acceptable labels, of course.

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

VICTORIA'S SECRET — carlos sainz (fluff)

pairing; victoria's secret angel!reader x carlos sainz summary: when carlos sainz gets the chance to meet his crush at the victoria's secret show, he shoots his shot. warnings: fluff, carlos being an adorable idiot a/n: i feel like whenever carlos has a crush, he's the typa guy to be really nervous and shy around her, so that kinda explains cute awkward carlos in this one.

to say that carlos sainz was jittering with nerves would be an understatement.

he was so nervous that he felt like he might throw up right then and there, and the mere thought of that embarrassment terrified him even more.

although he had met quite a few models in the past, he had never been this nervous around them.

but this time was different.

because this time, it wasn't just a model; it was you.

you—the woman he had always admired from a distance.

the woman of his dreams.

he had had a massive crush on you for the longest time, but he had always been too shy to act on it.

and now, his agent had gotten him a ticket to the first victoria's secret fashion show after the 6-year hiatus, and this time, carlos was determined to shoot his shot.

but now, his agent had gotten him a ticket to the first victoria's secret fashion show after their 6-year hiatus, and this time, carlos was determined to shoot his shot.

he knew you were going to be a part of it. after all, you were considered one of the best supermodels of the current generation.

sp, he had his plan of action written down in his notepad.

step 1: look good.

he wore his best outfit, a simple black tuxedo that made his shoulders look broad and put his biceps on display. his hair looked just like the always did, only a bit curlier (he used lando's curl cream).

step 2: find the perfect opportunity.

he knew that after the show, there would be a party hosted by some models where he planned on 'accidentally' crashing into you.

step 3: talk to you.

this would be the hardest part. obviously, he couldn't just walk onto the stage and kiss you in front of everyone. so, charles helped him write a questionnaire.

he would approach you and ask you questions from the list, which was scribbled on the 12th page of his notepad. then, he would just hope for the best.

step 4: if all else fails, lando.

if things went horribly wrong, carlos could always go cry to him.

however, unbeknownst to the spaniard, he wouldn't have to go through step 4.

you had always fancied the f1 driver; ever since his redbull days, he was your celebrity crush, and seeing him sitting right there in the audience was enough to make you blush a deep crimson red.

the backstage area of the show was buzzing with excitement, with models walking up and down as they put on their outfits and got their makeup done.

you were standing sandwiched between irina shayk and behati prinsloo, fanning yourself as you gave yourself a mental prep talk for your walk.

a designer adjusted the black wings attached to your shoulders as cher's voice echoed through the venue.

behati stepped forward, her presence commanding as she took to the runway. you watched her, admiring her confidence and elegance, and you couldn’t help but feel a little jittery yourself.

you took a deep breath, reminding yourself of the countless hours of practice that had led to this moment.

"three, two, one."

and then you stepped out onto the runway.

you looked straight ahead, walking your signature walk as you followed behind behati.

the lights flashed brightly, temporarily blinding you, but the roar of the crowd washed over you like a wave.

your feet were in sync with the beat of cher's song, the drums matching your steps as you stalked down the runway.

your eyes shifted to the left, and then, among the crowd, you spotted him.

gaze focused solely on you, hair styled perfectly, hands folded in his lap.

carlos sainz was far more beautiful in real life than in any of the paparazzi photos.

your eyes met, and carlos' breath caught in his throat.

smiling to yourself, you winked at him.

and that was enough to make carlos sainz almost faint.

he looked to his left and then to his right. surely, he was dreaming. there was no way the girl of his dreams had winked at him.

and yet, you were still looking at him, your eyes crinkling from a smile as you continued walking.

he cleared his throat and pinched his hand.

yeah, this was not a dream.

you looked away, blowing a kiss to the audience ahead of you.

carlos' phone dinged.

lando getting laid tonight or no?

the room was loud, filled with excited chatter as everyone got their drinks and praised each other about the show. the heavy bass of the music vibrated through the floor, colourful lights reflecting off the walls, casting everything in shades of neon. the scent of expensive perfume, alcohol, and sweat mingled in the air.

carlos stood in the middle of the crowded room, heart pounding in his chest. his mind was racing, every thought crashing into the next. he had waited so long for this moment, and yet now that it was happening, he felt like his legs were made of lead.

each second stretched longer than the last as he scanned the room, hoping to spot you.

every time he spotted hair that looked like yours, he would squint his eyes and do a double take. then, he'd turn back around with a disappointed sigh.

his hand instinctively went to his phone. he wasn’t sure if it was to call lando for a pep talk or simply to distract himself from the anxiety curling in his stomach. his phone dinged again.

lando status update?

carlos rolled his eyes, putting his phone back into his pocket. he didn't have time for this. he had one job, and he was determined to see it through.

"you alright?"

the man stopped in his tracks, eyes wide as he recognised the voice.

he turned around, letting out a small yelp as his eyes met yours.

carlos stood frozen, his mouth slightly open as you smiled at him. he shook his head, realising he hadn't answered your question. he had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, but now that it was here, all the cool lines vanished.

"i-yeah," he stammered, clearing his throat and trying to regain some composure. "just tired, yeah. the show was...incredible."

his voice sounded small, even to himself. great start, carlos, really smooth.

you chuckled, amused by how flustered he was. "thanks, i'm glad you enjoyed it."

he nodded vigorously, feeling the heat rise to his face. "i-uh-yeah, you were incredible. i couldn’t look away."

he immediately regretted how intense that sounded, but your eyes softened, and you smiled at him.

"thank you, that means a lot. i noticed you too. you were hard to miss in the crowd."

you mentally slapped yourself, realising how stupid you sounded.

carlos' heart raced. maybe this was his chance. he could skip straight to step 3.

"well, i’m not sure if you knew, but i’ve been a fan for a long time," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. you wanted to sound cool, not like the nervous wreck you felt inside. "you're amazing on the track."

carlos blinked, surprised by the compliment. his ego grew just a little. "i could say the same about you on the runway. you were—you are amazing."

he swallowed hard, his mind racing. the party was loud around you both, but it felt like time had slowed, the noise fading into the background. he could smell the soft scent of your perfume, the warmth of your body so close to his that it felt hard to concentrate.

was he hyperventilating?

he looked around, feeling the panic rise in his chest.

"do you want to get a drink?" you asked, noticing how uncomfortable he seemed.

"yeah," carlos nodded, taking a deep breath. "yes, please."

"i've always wanted to meet you," carlos said.

"yeah?" you turned your head towards him, smiling. "why?"

he blushed, his mouth opening and closing, unable to think of anything to say. "i, uh-i don't know."

he looked at the ground, embarrassed by his lack of composure. he felt like a teenager again, stumbling through his words as he tried to impress his crush. his hand instinctively moved to straighten his jacket, as if trying to shield himself from how exposed he felt. his fingers twitched nervously by his sides. he could feel beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck. he took a deep breath, waiting for his heart to slow down, but his body betrayed him.

you smiled at him. "you're cute."

carlos let out a breathy chuckle, looking at you in disbelief.

"you're cute, too," he said.

"i'll take a cosmopolitan, please," you said to the bartender.

"vodka and coke, please," carlos said, looking at the man who nodded and moved away to prepare your drinks.

"so, how has your night been so far?" you asked, leaning against the bar as you looked at carlos.

he smiled at you. "better than expected. you?"

"the same," you said.

"so..." carlos started, taking a deep breath. as soon as the drinks arrived in front of him, he took three large gulps of it. he felt the alcohol kick in, giving him the courage he needed to talk to you, properly.

something unsaid was hanging in the air between you two, something fragile and breakable. his fingers brushed against the edge of his pocket, where the notepad containing his carefully crafted questions sat. he couldn't bring it out without looking like a fool.

suddenly, he was worried about saying something wrong, about ruining the moment.

"do you want to dance?" you asked, biting your lip.

he paused, looking at you. "yes, yes, absolutely."

you led him onto the dance floor, where the music was louder and the people were drunker.

the drinks were abandoned too soon, he thought.

he offered his hand to you, and when you grabbed it, his touch sent a shiver down your spine, skin warm and rough against yours.

and then, he started swaying to the beats of the music.

"i didn't know you liked dancing," you said, laughing.

"i don't, but i like you."

that was cheesy, he thought.

but you grinned, looking away. carlos smiled at the sight of your pink cheeks.

"i like you, too," you replied.

"oh, really?" he teased, spinning you around.

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. his hands settled on your hips, and you couldn't help but notice the way his thumb rubbed small circles against your waist.

you leaned in slightly, your hair brushing against his arm, and carlos swore he felt actually electricity shoot through him. your proximity set every nerve in his body alight.

the two of you were so close now, it felt like nothing else existed, like you were the only two people in the room.

his breath hitched. he wasn’t sure how this was happening, but it felt like a dream. the woman he’d admired for so long, the same woman he couldn’t stop thinking about, was standing so close he could feel the warmth of her body, hear the soft nervousness in her voice.

carlos had no clue what was going to happen, but he was sure of one thing: whatever did happen, it was going to be incredible.

and lando needed updates.

taking a slight breath in, you mustered courage and gave yourself another prep talk.

and then the distance between you both vanished.

your lips crashed against his, the softness of his mouth catching you by surprise.

carlos felt like his brain short-circuited. his grip on your waist tightened, and he pulled you closer, kissing you back. he had spent so many times imagining kissing you, but never had he expected you to be the one to make the first move.

his hand came up to cup your face, tilting your head slightly, as he deepened the kiss.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering as the two of you moved in sync.

the kiss was everything he had imagined—and more. It was perfect. almost too perfect.

when the two of you pulled apart, the only sounds you could hear were the music and the pounding of your hearts. you stared at him, the world spinning slightly from adrenaline and disbelief.

"i wasn't expecting that," he finally said, his voice soft, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

"me neither," you replied, voice cracking slightly.

you wanted to say something, anything, to keep the moment alive. you opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

"do you want to get out of here?" carlos asked, looking at you through his lashes.

you looked around, the room spinning from the alcohol and noise overwhelming your ears. "i'd like that."

he smiled and held out his hand, and you took it, following him through the crowd.

carlos sainz swore he was going to die a happy man right then and there.

[etclouie]

kinktober day twenty five - uniform sex

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 summary: two of your childhood friends owing you a favor helps out when they stop you for speeding (Shane Walsh and Rick Grimes x fem!reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 setting: pre apocalypse 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie(it’s shane), handjob, oral (rick receiving), no lori or carl😶, reader is described as to be the same age as rick and shane/was in the same year of school as them, shane and rick are lowk dirty cops here (they bang reader to let her off), readers described to be wearing a dress, pretty sure that’s it

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 word count: 1.9k

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a/n: no comments

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you were on your way home from work, hitting all the quieter roads and failing to stay at the speed limit. 

on any other day, you wouldn’t have been stopped but today was different. everything that could’ve went wrong today did, just like now. 

you seen the sirens flash behind you, and pulled over with a sigh. rolling down your window and waiting for the cop to walk up to your car, but the look that crossed your face as you met his eyes had a sigh of relief leaving you. 

“Shane?”

you questioned, eyes flicking from his face and then down to the badge pinned to his chest. the gold pin reading ‘Walsh’, a last name you’d grown overly familiar with. 

“mhm you know how fast you were going?”

he asked, his elbow resting lightly on your wing mirror. his eyes flicking from you and the back towards his partner still in their patrol car, unaware of who the other man was; but the feeling in your stomach had your mind racing to your other old best friend— Rick Grimes. 

“was ten over the limit, max”

pleading your case, which made him chuckle. his head shaking from side to side as he moved to cross his arms in your open window, his face inches from yours. 

the minty scent from his gum filling your senses from your closeness, eyes flicking down to his lips before his voice was pulling your attention back to him. 

“still over the limit sweetheart”

a shiver going down your spine at the nickname, eyes finding his again and meeting the gleam in his eyes. 

a pool of warmth setting in your belly under his gaze, leaning closer to him and murmuring out softly. 

“remember that favor you owe me?”

another chuckle pushed past his lips, watching his head shake as he stood upright again, motioning towards his patrol car towards Rick. 

the older of the two moving over to your car, a telling smirk across Shane’s face as he nodded his head towards you. Ricks hands resting on his hips as his eyes met yours, for the first time in years. 

“hm you remember that favor we owe her Rick?”

the favor that you’d brought up was dismal, something from your last year of high school. you’d done both boys a big favor, helping them get out of school for the day while they done something you don’t quite remember. but they both said they owed you one, and now felt as if the perfect opportunity to use up that favor. 

“from high school?”

Shane nodded in response, smirk broad across his face as his eyes skimmed down your body. his right hand reaching for the door handle and pulling open your door, arms crossing over the top of it as both men peered down at you. 

“and how exactly do you want us to repay that favor for you?”

the innuendo was there, all three of you felt it. gulping as you unbuckled your seatbelt before slowly climbing out of your car, heat shooting through your body. 

the road you were on was hardly used by people, so the chance of someone driving by and seeing the three of you was unlikely. 

“you know how Walsh, don’t be dim”

he huffed out a laugh at your words, eyes flicking over to meet Rick’s while he shut your car door. 

sandwiched between both men, your back to Shane’s chest while you faced Rick. 

“gonna let us have fun with you sweetheart?”

Shane’s persistent talking left Rick quiet, not that he minded. it allowed his eyes to rake down your body, stopping at the hem of your dress that Shane was now eagerly pushing up. 

“you’re stunning”

Rick drawled out, his hands lifting to grope at your boobs. his thumbs swiping over your hardening nipples through the fabric of your dress. 

letting out a breathy moan at his touch, back arching towards him while Shane grounded his hips against the swell of your ass. the bulge in his slacks prominent and throbbing in his boxers. 

“reckon she’s soaked for us Rick?”

the words barely registered in your head before one of Shane’s big hands were snaking into the front of your panties to swipe two thick fingers through your folds, pulling more moans from your chest. 

“oh fuck”

you and Shane breathed out simultaneously, yours needier than his. 

whining as his hand pulled away from your cunt to show Rick his now soaked fingers, that smirk still across his face. 

“shit sweetheart”

Rick’s voice dropped an octave, one of his hands keeping your left boob in his hold while the other cradled your jaw. pulling you into a deep, heated kiss— all teeth and tongue while your hips pushed back onto Shane. 

the pool of heat in your belly deepened, warmth settling through your body while both men lavished you with their undivided attention. 

Shane fumbled with his belt, the clank of it sounding as he got it open. breaking the kiss with Rick to glance back at him, his fingers tugging down his zipper while he spat his gum out to the side. 

“ain’t gonna keep you waiting much longer, promise you tha’”

he told before leaning in to kiss you as best he could, hands leaving his slacks to pull your panties down to your knees. the fabric drenched in your arousal. 

“can’t leave Rick without any pleasure darlin’, ain’t fair tha’”

he broke the kiss to mumble against your lips, pulling back enough to meet his gaze. nodding slowly, the words formulating in your head in little coherency. 

turning back to Rick, missing the way he worked open his belt and pushed his slacks down to his mid thigh. practically ogling at the sight of his cock, hot and hard and standing to attention. 

the look on your face must’ve shown your surprise, stood still in place— mind reeling and trying to make sense of what your current situation actually was. 

Rick must’ve sensed your hesitation, big hands cradling your face while pulling you into a softer kiss than before. 

“you sure you wanna do this?”

his soft questioning made your heart warm, almost swooning at his care. 

“want this— want both of you”

those words were all Shane needed to push himself into your warmth in one smooth thrust, his chest flush against your back as he buried himself to the hilt. his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured out lowly to you. 

“c’mon sweetheart, take care of Ricky”

your left hand grabbed at Ricks shoulder, helping him move closer before he was kissing you again. tongue licking its way into your mouth and tangling with yours, while your right hand took hold of his cock. 

the tip of him leaking beads of precum, his hips rocking into your touch while Shane slowly started moving his hips against yours. 

“there we go”

his voice came out hoarse against your ear, hearing the smirk across his lips and breaking the kiss with Rick to glare back at Shane. 

“easy darlin’, we’re paying back that favor we owe you”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, his hold on your hips growing tighter as he continued to roll his hips into you. 

each drag of his cock against your walls making you moan lewdly, hand squeezing around Ricks cock and pulling a shaky groan from him. 

your hand moving slow and almost teasingly along Ricks length, twisting your wrist on the upstroke to pull more and more groans from his chest. his hips rocked into your touch and the head of his cock continued to leak, his precum helping to lubricate your strokes. 

“like that darlin’ fuck, yeah just like tha’”

the lilt in his voice grew thicker, hips chasing your hand while Shane continued to thrust into you. his left hand shaking around to your front and pressing two thigh fingers to your clit, drawing tight firm circles against you and drawing whinier moans from your lips. 

the whole scene was lewd, but you felt as if you were in paradise. 

old feelings for both of them resurfacing and feeling as if you were playing out your fantasies. 

“Rick-“

words failed you, but the way your eyes flicked between his and his lips gave away what you wanted. another kiss. 

he was leaning in to press his lips to yours again, your hand continuing along his cock while Shane continued to play with your clit. 

your walls fluttering and squeezing around him had a groan falling from his lips, his forehead dipping to rest on your shoulder before he was mumbling out. 

“shit sweetheart, squeezing me real tight”

the pool of warmth in the pit of your stomach was at its boiling point, ready to tip you over the edge. 

and with the way both men’s hips were canting desperately into your touch, you knew they were close too. 

continuing to pump Ricks cock, his breath hitching while his cock throbbed in your hand. teetering on the edge, but they both wanted you to cum first. 

“close, fuck ‘m close”

your admission had Shane’s hips moving quicker against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin pulling your focus back to the man behind you. 

each drag of his cock felt too good, the head of him hitting the one spot over and over again that had you seeing stars. his fingers pressing tighter circles against your clit had you toppling over the edge. 

cunt spasming around him as your climax hit, the force of your release had your slumping against Ricks chest. face in against his throat and your hand squeezing around his cock as you tried steadying yourself. 

“there we go, atta fucking girl”

Shane’s praise hit your ears like a familiar melody, his hand soothing across your hip while continuing to rock into you. 

fighting off his climax as best he could, but your walls fluttering around him again had him toppling over. whining against Ricks throat at the feeling of Shane’s cum shooting into your warmth, each stutter thrust he gave spilling more of him into you. 

“jesus you’re perfect”

he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, both of hands softer now across your hips. keeping himself buried to the hilt, and keeping his cum stuffed in your pussy. 

Ricks hands cradled your face to pull you back from his neck, nodding his head as you met his gaze. 

on the pinnacle of his release, wanting to spill his load down your throat. his hands gently moved your head towards his cock. 

your mouth warm and welcoming, and your lips wrapped securely around his cock. 

he only had to give a couple bucks of his hips until he was groaning out your name, his climax hitting him and his cum shooting into your mouth. rope after rope of white filling the warm cavern of your mouth before pulling out to let you swallow. 

“shit— gonna let me fuck you now angel?”

swallowing down his release, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and standing upright against Shane again. 

readying yourself to answer when a call came over both of their radios, both of them groaning in annoyance. 

Shane reluctantly pulling out of your warmth and pressing another kiss to your shoulder while a pout worked its way into your face. 

“shit, we gotta go darlin’. think we can let you off with a warning now”

he told as they both tucked themselves back into their pants, Rick even helping to pull your panties back into place as Shane’s cum started to seep out of your cunt. 

Rick placing a kiss to your temple before they were both walking back to their car, calling out to them as they both opened their doors. 

“call me sometime”

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Romance Headcanons

Some very random and very silly little headcanons about being in a relationship with the King of Hell, and likely the beginning of many more as I learn how to write for this darling cartoon that has consumed my entire brain.

- He's one of the greatest flirts of all time, but with one enormous caveat: he has no ability to consciously flirt with anyone he's interested in. Quips and charming smiles come easy when he wants to banter with friends or taunt a foe, but when he starts to get feelings for you and actually attempts to be smooth, everything falls apart. All traces of his grace, power, and quick wit evaporate the instant he pulls his first move, and it only worsens the more flustered he becomes. His first attempt goes so badly that by the end more than a few things are on fire, and neither of you is entirely sure how. Thankfully, your receptiveness despite the disasters will build his confidence; and while he's never quite as smooth as when he's not trying, he does learn to make use of his charms whenever the moment calls for it.

- While at first he'll keep your relationship on the extreme down low, to the point of avoiding public dates and shows of affection, this is only so he can take the time to be sure you know and can fully agree to what you're getting into. Dating Lucifer Morningstar comes with a great many risks that don't ever go away, and he needs you to understand that while he'll do anything to keep you safe, your life will change forever once word gets out. The people of Hell are going to want to know all about their King's new lover, and he has more than a few enemies on multiple planes of existence you'll have to be wary of. As soon as he's convinced you're aware of the risks and accept them regardless, be prepared for him to make up for lost time and then some. He wants to take you on dates to Hell's most premier establishments, to have you on his arm for every single public appearance, and to proudly and boldly declare you to be his love whenever the opportunity presents itself.

- Genuine compliments go a long way with this man. Though he's got a very healthy sense of pride, he still very much enjoys praise, to the point of nearly giddy delight if he gets it from someone he's crushing on. This goes double if you catch him off guard. Expressing your awe when he unceremoniously summons a mundane item out of thin air will fluster him far more readily than even the most lascivious of flirtations, and he'll be riding the emotional high for the better part of a week. Praising his appearance has an even greater impact, and nothing puts a spring in his step quite like hearing how much you like his hair.

- Touch is one of his preferred love languages, second only to gifts and song. He likes to give as much as he does to receive, but as he's a little starved for affection, you'll find him very disproportionately affected by even the most chaste contact. The first time you try looping your arm through his, laying a hand on his shoulder, and even brushing up to his side he'll be deliriously happy. Once the gates are open, however, you can expect him to start initiating and upping the ante quite rapidly. He'll start taking your hand when it's available, cupping the small of your back as you walk at his side, and even pulling you in with his wings for a feathery embrace, and he doesn't stop there. Eventually, if you're amicable, he'll gladly offer his lap anytime you need a seat. This goes double if you're in public.

- Giving gifts is one of his favorite ways to express affection, but he doesn't just do so willy nilly, even if anything you could ask for will be provided in a heartbeat. Rather, he likes to surprise you by gifting something that you didn't even know you needed, and will spend a great deal of time noting what you need help with and drafting ideas to meet that need until he has the perfect solution. Being a craftsman with eons of experience and angelic powers means he can construct anything in the realm of imagination, and he'll use his skills to tune his creation to your particular tastes. All of this is done in secret to ensure you're surprised when he finally presents his creation. No matter how many hours he spends laboring over these gifts, your surprise and joy always makes it all worth it in the end.

[flawseer]

In your last ask, you mentioned misgivings with Book 10's ending, and especially how it pertains to Winter. I absolutely agree, and I know why, but I wanna hear your thoughts on it, too: What's up with Book 10?

The following is a (very long) examination of my personal feelings with regards to the WoF second story arc finale. While it is based on what is in the text, this analysis will be interpretive and fill in blanks with my own thoughts. Keep that in mind.

Hahhhh... okay. Since mentioning it in my last post I’ve gotten several requests to talk about my feelings regarding the second arc finale. There’s probably no way around it then.

If you haven’t read that last post (it was admittedly very long, and so will this one be), I talked briefly about why I didn’t like that part of the story. I have to warn you now, this will likely be the most negative and dour post in the history of this blog. In a few parts it will sound like I hate Wings of Fire, and I want to say now, while I still have the chance, that I don’t. I love this series, thinking about its setting and characters brings me joy.

I also—very emphatically—want to make it clear that I have no ill will against Tui T. Sutherland. I’ve looked around other people’s stuff a bit and there are a huge number of posts wishing violence upon her or threatening her for doing things to her series that people don’t agree with. That is NOT what I am doing here, shit like that is NOT okay! While I will be critical of her choices, I still respect her effort of bringing this vibrant, wonderful world of dragons to all of us.

Also, obligatory last disclaimer: If you liked the finale, that is okay. You are valid for feeling that way. I’m here to share my point of view, not to demand people agree with everything I say. Just be warned that you most likely won’t enjoy what I have to say. If you don’t think you can handle that kind of criticism, this is your guilt-free opportunity to stop reading.

Otherwise, let's get into it.

CW: Discussion of parental abuse, depression, disease, and extreme acts of violence.

In defense of the finale

Before I start to systematically disassemble this narrative and get lost in a quagmire of negativity, let’s talk a bit about the circumstances that brought forth this part of the story. The plot of this arc was a mess from the moment animus magic was unshackled from the restrictions it had in the first arc, and from then on there was no longer any conceivable way to end this story in a clean way. Sutherland had created an invincible, unbeatable, omnipotent villain; he could read minds, see the future with perfect clarity, and anything he could imagine he could conjure into existence at any time with no cost to himself and no drawbacks. She was likely wracking her brain about how to resolve this impossible conundrum. What we got wasn’t good, but I believe nothing could have been. The foundation was rotting and by the fifth book it couldn’t bear the weight of the plot anymore.

The thing about animus magic in arc 2 is that it is so potent, so all-powerful, and so free of restraint that everyone who uses it also HAS to be a simpleton, or they would be able to break the plot immediately and become god. From the moment Darkstalker broke out of that mountain, he could have said “Any and all spells that are cast with the intention to harm me, interfere with my plans, or do something I don’t consent to will not work, from now on until forever”, and he would have instantly won. The strawberry would have fizzled out. The Darkstalker-blocking earrings would not have been created, and no one could have saved the Icewings. On the flipside, Turtle or Anemone could have said “I enchant the concept of animus magic itself to no longer obey Darkstalker”, and his threat would have been neutered. Point is, powers as potent and easy to use as this really need limitations, or they will quickly eat your plot alive.

I don’t envy the situation Sutherland was in at the time at all. If you’re an author, that kind of thing is a nightmare. It really is no wonder she decided to blow up animus magic for good in her next arc, even if I would have preferred it to get more healthy restrictions instead of killing it outright.

The Darkstalker age regression thing

Everyone has talked this part to death already, but if I am to write a thorough analysis of my feelings regarding this finale, I’m going to have to talk about it as well. I’m sorry if I end up repeating a lot of things you’ve already heard.

This final fate of Darkstalker, to have his memories wiped and be reset to an infant, is really uncomfortable. As far as I am aware, though correct me if I’m wrong, Sutherland said in an interview that she didn’t want Darkstalker to die because, in her view, he did not deserve to. We can debate here about the philosophical question of whether anyone is truly deserving of death, and the merits of “justice” and “punishment”, but in general, Wings of Fire did not seem to have any issues killing off its villains prior if they committed suitably terrible acts. That makes this moment stand out as noteworthy.

Who is Darkstalker then--and if we assume villains can be “deserving” and “not deserving” of death--what about him speaks in his favor, or against? The guy had a pretty crappy childhood, coming from a broken home (there is that inadequate parent theme again). He genuinely loved his sister and felt protective of her, and whenever he liked someone he wanted them to be happy and feel affirmed. The thing that Queen Diamond does to his mother is awful and he is justified in hating her for it. He is also portrayed as rather sympathetic in Moon Rising. When he asks Moon to find his scroll for him and not to leave him, he is not manipulating her, he is sincerely begging for her help. He is stuck somewhere underground, trapped in darkness, in a space so tiny that he can’t move. He remains that way for months, lonely and sad. If you just focus on these aspects, it’s easy to understand why he has so many fans who want him to see healthy and happy.

On the flipside, while he is dedicated to the happiness of his friends, he doesn’t always go for the most ethical way to achieve it. He tries to brainwash said friends without their consent whenever they exhibit behaviors he doesn’t like, or when he thinks he knows better and wants to “fix” them. He has very little regard for other people’s autonomy, lies to his loved ones with alarming frequency, and is unhealthily attached to the idea of power. Those things are certainly not good, but they are his character flaws. These are his demons; everyone has them and they make him a person. If this was all there was to it, he might still be a villain, but I’d argue he’d not be wholly irredeemable.

But there are things about him that take him beyond the pale. Things that go beyond the realm of just being misunderstood, or easily excusable.

He is possessive. He wants Clearsight and Fathom for himself, and for them to listen to him primarily. When Indigo makes it clear she doesn’t like him and cautions Fathom against trusting him, he deceives his friends and traps Indigo in a wood carving, just so he can isolate Fathom from his support network and manipulate him easier. He alters Clearsight’s mind to make her more agreeable and stop her from holding him accountable for his actions; while he thinks he loves her, he only loves an idealized version of her that is wholly devoted to and unquestioning of him. This is why, when he later forcibly overwrites Fierceteeth’s existence to recreate her (which is another horrific thing), he tries to excise the parts he finds undesirable to create a perfect version of his lover. But this caricature he has created in his head is not and can never be Clearsight, which frustrates his attempts.

He is vengeful. Not against people who have actually wronged him, like Queen Diamond. That would be questionable, but understandable. What makes this unacceptable is his frequent targeting of innocent people who just happen to be related to the person who wronged him in some esoteric way. He enchants a secret murder knife that kills random Icewings regardless of who they are or what they think about the Queen, just because the one who took his mother from him happened to share their tribe. He hates Turtle and wishes death upon him in Moon Rising just because he is a green Seawing, like Fathom was. And then there is the big one: He tries to kill all the Icewings who are alive in the present day, where Queen Diamond is long dead and none of them have ever even met her. Even his mother, who suffered from Diamond’s actions the most and has the most reason to hate her, is horrified and calls him out on that one.

And lastly, he is sadistic. He revels in torturing those he hates. He forces his father to disembowel himself, while the latter is fully aware and powerless to resist AND the man’s traumatized daughter is watching. Later he sends a magical plague to kill every single living Icewing sans one.

It should be noted that Darkstalker possesses virtually infinite magical power; whatever he declares, with very few exceptions, will happen. Even if he wanted them dead, he had the power to prevent unnecessary suffering. He could have said “Arctic, fall dead instantaneously”, or “Every Icewing will fall asleep and pass away peacefully,” but he didn’t. He wanted them to feel pain and pass away in the most wretched, agonizing ways he could imagine.

So what he chose to do instead is—and I want you to picture this for a moment—Darkstalker sat down, calmly, and said “Henceforth every living Icewing, excepting Prince Winter and those of hybrid blood, will fall ill with an incurable disease. This disease will cause heavy internal bleeding and make its victims cough up blood and waste away for a few days, followed by certain death.”

This spell does not discriminate with regards to who its victims are. The book glosses over the implications, but imagine the ramifications. Young children are notoriously frail, how many newborns got infected and died because of this? How many families were torn apart because they couldn’t get the magic earrings fast enough? Or accidentally got one earring less than there were family members and had to decide who has to die?

Most of the Icewings were physically cured by the earrings, but an experience like that sticks with you for the rest of your life. Somewhere surely, a dragonet watched as his mother put the earring on him and then slowly wasted away because she didn’t have one for herself.

It’s really easy to overlook how horrific this spell is because it isn’t shown or dwelt on. But the trauma, grief, and suffering it caused must have been immeasurable.

And none of those victims have ever even met the person Darkstalker wanted to get revenge on. None of those deaths meant anything to anyone.

The attempted death toll and scale of the calamity here puts even Scarlet to shame. The ones who come closest to it were Queen Battlewinner and Morrowseer with their attempted Rainwing extermination. All three of those died for what they did. Gives you some food for thought for sure.

Peacemaker’s burden

Despite just airing all of his dirty laundry and declaring him an irredeemable villain, I actually do have a lot of sympathy for Darkstalker still. His story is really sad. He was a child born with an amount of power that nobody should possess, and it corrupted him to the point where it destroyed his life before it began. His parents were always fighting and no matter how good his intentions were, he was unable to understand why he couldn’t hold on to his friends and relationship. He kept making mistakes, then made bigger mistakes to fix those, until his hands were covered in blood and he couldn’t stop anymore. My belief is that, after he wakes up in the present and realizes Clearsight is dead, he loses his reason for living and becomes completely lost in his grief.

Therefore, my opinion is that it would have been appropriate for him to die. If not to punish him, then to finally grant him reprieve from all that rage and pain, and let him rest. I think that would have been a dignified end.

But instead he got turned into a baby. ... And then they decided to magically erase his father’s blood from him? I don’t know what it is, but something about that Icewing erasure makes my skin crawl?

The thing that turns this baby twist from weird into highly unsettling is the context. Darkstalker’s mind is erased, then modified into a new person via animus magic. This is the technique a lot of this arc’s villains used to victimize Hailstorm, Queen Ruby, Peril, Kinkajou, Fierceteeth, and Winter. The same technique is now used again, by the heroes, which is a dangerous thing to have your protagonists do if you want them to remain morally upright.

It is also very reckless, because in almost all of these instances, animus mind alteration has been shown to be very unreliable. The spells seem to wear down over time and are susceptible to partial breaking upon encountering certain strong stimuli. Hailstorm—while trapped as Pyrite—seems to retain trace amounts of his former memories, which is why Pyrite is subconsciously drawn to Winter and clings to him all the time. Ruby is able to ignore half of her conditioning because her familial love for her son partially overpowers the magic. Qibli is just straight up able to reason his way out of it.

The thing to note here is that spells of this nature require a very meticulous approach; you can’t half-ass your reprogramming or the victim will just think their way past it. If you alter someone’s mind, the wording of the spell must be ironclad, lest you risk it wearing down over time and even break.

Luckily we have nothing to fear in that regard, because the spell that created Peacemaker was written by a Rainwing with a total of four days of literacy training. No one better mention the name Clearsight to the new baby Nightwing, or next month is going to be rather interesting.

But that’s just speculation on my part. Let’s assume that, somehow, this spell isn’t as unstable as all the others. Somehow Kinkajou threaded all the needles, and masterfully dodged every conceivable pitfall to pen the perfect incantation, despite having been illiterate just a few weeks prior. This one is built to last and Darkstalker is sealed away really thoroughly, for good.

That is still absolutely terrible and morally dubious, because now you have Peacemaker, who for all intents and purposes is a COMPLETELY innocent little kid, saddled with this huge burden of being the certifiable reincarnation of a genocidal ancient wizard. He’s gonna grow up thinking things like “Mommy gets real quiet whenever the topic of the Icewing tragedy is brought up,” and “Why does Auntie Moon look at me like that? One time she accidentally called me a weird name, who is Darkstalker?” “What is this ‘Clearsight’ name my mind-reading friends from the village found in Mommy’s mind?”

In a village that will be full of mind-readers soon, eventually the secret will come out, and Peacemaker is going to learn what was done to him. A huge, messy load of undeserved baggage was forced onto this completely separate, innocent entity. He will be devastated. Whether he then chooses to forgive them for this remains to be seen. To be honest, he would be well within his right not to, and turn resentful.

Poor kid.

Qibli’s callousness

I love Qibli, he is one of my favorite characters. This happens to be his book, and the fact that I fundamentally dislike half of it makes me rather sad. If anything, I hope this tells you that I’m not just hating on it for my personal amusement. I really wanted to like this. I tried to, and I couldn’t.

Qibli is really weird in this one, to be honest. He is suddenly made to be co-dependent on Moonwatcher, fawning over her every third paragraph, saying how much he loves her, how he is an incomplete and dysfunctional wreck without her, how it physically pains him to be apart from her, oh if only the stars would grant his wish and split the mountains apart so that he may fly to his princess, his muse, his goddess of ebony wit. It gets so old.

And it’s not Qibli. He never acted this clingy towards Moonwatcher. It’s more intense than even Winter gets about Moon, and Winter was actually depicted with a crush on her in book 6. Qibli was always just a supportive element, eager to befriend Moon but never desperate, like he is going to keel over if he is separated from his true love five minutes longer. These very frequent love declarations feel so forced coming out of him. It strikes me like it was just written in service of the love triangle. Maybe if we make him confess his love every four seconds readers will overlook the fact that they had no proper romantic build-up.

You might rightly accuse me of bias. I have previously admitted I am fond of Qibli/Winter as a romantic pairing, on the surface this seems like I am just not happy with my pet ship being blocked by Moonwatcher. But I assure you, I am actually pretty flexible and accommodating even towards pairings that contradict my preferences. I have no issues with Winter/Moonwatcher, for example, because the possibility was properly established and they have good romantic chemistry in Winter Turning. In theory, I would have no problem with Qibli/Moonwatcher either if it was ever set up as an interesting romantic dynamic. But to me, it seems like Qibli is written as a good, supportive friend to Moon for four books, only to pivot hard into “Moon moon moon moon moon moon swoon” at the last second, and it just reads to me as obnoxious.

I got distracted. This section is called “Qibli’s callousness”, and I haven’t even talked about the main part.

Qibli and Winter have excellent chemstry together, whether you read it as romantic or platonic—both of these interpretations have merit and are set up. They’re always the highlight of any scene they’re in. Throughout the story arc you get the impression that these two really get on each other’s nerves, but they bond and grow into really strong friends who bicker a lot but have each other’s backs when it counts.

Then there is a scene where Qibli casually tells Winter that he wouldn’t object if someone wanted to mind-control away some of Winter’s more objectionable traits.

This is genuinely a terrible thing to say to your friend. Like, it crosses a line and ceases to be harmless banter; you’re just telling them that there is something you hate about them so much that you wish they were someone else. Winter actually WAS mind-controlled earlier and felt (and proably still feels) guilty about having attacked Qibli in that state. And now Qibli says “Hey, I wouldn’t mind if someone did that to you again! Hue hue!”

It is awful, BUT I don’t necessarily object to Qibli saying this here. Qibli is in the middle of his character arc at this moment, so he is expected to be flawed. He is making a mistake by thoughtlessly telling Winter this horrid thing, and it seems like a believable continuation of his current character track. This is a reasonable development as long as the plot acknowledges that it’s a mistake.

Spoilers: The plot doesn’t acknowledge that it’s a mistake. Qibli never has a scene after where he reflects upon what he said and apologizes to Winter. When Darkstalker has Qibli trapped in his mountain jail and mind-wipes Qibli’s grandfather into a toddler (hey, wait a minute), Qibli gets visibly disturbed. Like, this is so off-putting to him that he gets queasy and Darkstalker hastily changes the spell. That could have been a great way to bring this back. Like in the epilogue, have Qibli track down Winter and tell him about disturbing baby grandpa theater and how he realized that wiping people’s minds is actually messed up and should have never said that to him.

But he doesn’t. He just lets Winter go, allowing him to believe he is broken and needs magical intervention to be tolerable. It leaves me to think that maybe he’s still okay with it, and fantasizing about rewriting his friend’s mind. Great.

Moonwatcher’s character death

You will find as this goes on that, I get the impression that the second half of this book takes all of the wonderful, endearing characters I have learned to love throughout the story and replaces them with really mean, or stupid, or otherwise inaccurate caricatures.

Moonwatcher’s relationship with Darkstalker gets plenty of setup and development in Moon Rising. You get the sense that these two could be great friends if their circumstances were a little different. It does a great job at making you think maybe Darkstalker is just misunderstood; maybe Moon should free him from his predicament.

Then at the end of Escaping Peril comes the emotional gut punch. Darkstalker actually IS a villain. He callously admits to Moonwatcher that he used his magic to make his own father gruesomely disembowel himself. Moonwatcher is horrified and disgusted that he would do that. There is no circumstance in which something like that would ever be okay. She ends the scene awash in tears because the person she thought was her friend is a murderer and a sadist. This is good, that is a natural reaction to what she was just told.

A few hours from there, in Talons of Power, Turtle finds Moon again and she is completely cool with Darkstalker walking free, despite crying her eyes out after feeling so betrayed earlier. That may seem strange, but this is still good because later, Darkstalker’s mind control plot is discovered. This scene was obviously written to set that up, Moon is mind-controlled into forgetting that Darkstalker could do something that morally reprehensible, and thus forgives him. This is also completely in line with his characterization in Legends: Darkstalker. It’s a kind of stunt he would pull to get Clearsight to shut up about him slipping into villainy.

In my earlier post I alluded to a moment where Moon is set to narrative auto-pilot and says something so rampantly off-kilter that it does irreversible, permanent damage to her character. It happens here, in the second half of book 10. Qibli gives Moon the Darkstalker protection earring, and Moon, somehow, says “I’m not being mind-controlled, Darkstalker really is my friend.”

I get what the plot tries to do here. It’s taking this concept of mind-control and adding a nuance, in an attempt to flesh out Darkstalker and give his character depth. He is ready to control everyone in the world, but for Moon, who is his best friend in this era, he wants her to remain herself. Perhaps this is his attempt at attonement for playing with Clearsight’s mind and driving her away from him. It is very touching in a way, viewed in isolation.

Unfortunately, it does not work with the full context of all the books. Because Moon is in auto-pilot mode right now, her main character trait is “Darkstalker=Friend,” so naturally she would speak in support of him. But this revelation has devastating retroactive consequences. The earlier scene that was written with Moon under mind-control is now altered into her having been in her right mind! She is completely okay with Darkstalker’s admittance to cold-blooded torture and evisceration, within hours of being so shocked by it that it made her cry and ready to denounce him. That is such a quick turnaround it’s giving me whiplash. And what’s more it turns Moon from a principled, upstanding girl into a sociopath who casually accepts gruesome torture and murder if it is committed by someone she likes.

Did Sutherland forget about the scene two books ago, where Darkstalker’s actions were so inconceivably horrid for Moon to learn of that she started crying? It baffles me that this made it into the final version. Her saying she was never mind-controlled makes Moon come off as so awful. This torture-excusing lunatic is not the same kind-hearted and insightful character I followed in all the other books.

Kinkajou’s character derailment

The world is a sad place when I have to question the way Kinjajou is written. Fortunately she is mostly fine, despite her having the biggest excuse to act out-of-character since she’s the victim of a mind-altering spell. Her only real moment of “what!?” comes at the end.

I already talked about her role in casting the spell that regresses Darkstalker into an infant. But I didn’t mention how her being the source of it is questionable in itself.

The clue is in the first paragraph of this section: She herself has experienced the effects of invasive mind-alteration. She was cursed by Anemone in the previous book to be in love with Turtle, and kind of half-struggles kind of not with it, it’s really strange. Turtle is appropriately horrified and acts like really awful things are happening, but then it’s mostly played lightly for some reason. My assumption is that Sutherland introduced this plot point, but then realized how uncomfortable this premise really is and tried to downplay it until the story got to a point where it could get done away with.

But I think the takeaway is still supposed to be that this was a horrid thing to do (which it absolutely is), and that Kinkajou will have to spend a lot of time trying to untangle her real emotions from the fake ones the spell created.

The point is: Kinkajou knows first-hand how awful it is to do something like that to another person. Ideally she should never even conceive of the idea to cast a spell like that, but if we’re really set on this Darkstalker baby thing and it has to happen, she should at least be a bit hesitant about it. And afterwards she should struggle with the guilt of having resorted to it. Not celebrate it and be proud, like it’s funny.

The assassination of Winter’s future

Now we come to the part I’ve alluded to previously; the part where all of these threads converge to utterly destroy one character and drive him to the brink of ruin. Let’s talk about Winter.

Prince Winter is the son of Tundra and Prince Narwhal, hatching in the same clutch as his sister Icicle. He spent his formative years being unfavorably compared to said sister—who easily took to traits that Icewing royalty considers desirable—whereas Winter struggled greatly to embody those same ideals. He was just a little too kind, too merciful, too gentle. As a result he often had to endure abuse from his parents, who made him feel like he was defective.

Because he was young and didn’t have any other frame of reference, he embraced this abusive narrative and began to drive himself with a vigor unreasonable for someone of his age. He scraped and cloyed for every bit of credit he could get, obsessing over advancing up the circle rankings in an attempt to “purge” the wrongness out of himself. To make his parents as proud of him as they were of Icicle.

This never worked. He was always seen as the runt, poised to embarrass the family name. Whatever he did, no matter how hard he strived, there was always something he could have done better.

The only real source of love and affirmation in his life was his older brother, Hailstorm. Where everyone else only saw what Winter wasn’t, Hailstorm embraced his brother despite of his “failings” and was openly affectionate with him. When Winter was with him, it was okay to not think about rankings all the time, and just be himself for a bit. I assume Hailstorm fulfilled a similar role for Icicle as well, which is why both of them love him dearly, and Icicle destroys her own life to bring him back.

Winter also has a fascination with scavengers, possibly because they are small and perceived as useless, like he himself is. He likely feels a kinship with them and observes them being craftier and more adept than everyone else sees them. This is therapeutic for him, to see that a thing can have merit even if no one wants to see it.

One day, he and Hailstorm sneak into Skywing territory so Winter can catch a scavenger as a pet. This excursion turns hostile when they are discovered by a roaming Skywing troop and faced with the prospect of capture, possibly execution. In a gambit to save Winter from this fate, Hailstorm mirrors the words of his parents, calling Winter pathetic and useless, so the Skywings will not think of him as a threat and show mercy. His act succeeds in convincing the Skywings, but it also convinces Winter, who does not understand Hailstorm only said these things to save his life. He returns home—believing his brother hated him all along—to face the wrath of his furious family for losing them “the desirable son”.

For all of his life, these themes have repeated themselves and haunted him. “I was born wrong and defective,” “I am unlovable,” “No one wants me.”

A few months after the war ends, Winter is one of the five Icewings enrolled in the newly founded Jade Mountain Academy. Shortly after departing, he unexpectedly returns home, having successfully rescued his older brother and bringing him back. He is made to believe that this erases his mistakes, his mother even pays him a backhanded compliment, an uncharacteristically “nice” gesture. He is promoted to the top of the rankings, finally his parents are proud of him.

But of course it is all a trick. The “adoration” afforded to him was all a ploy. Secretly, his parents abused power and tradition to arrange for Winter’s death. They force him into a lethal trial they intentionally rigged against him, all to finally erase that stain on their family’s honor.

Winter finally realizes the true nature of his parents’ opinion of him. Even when he succeeds, and does everything right, he is still defective, unlovable, and unwanted. He will never be anything else to his family. And so he leaves his homeland, pretending he is dead, resigned to live in hiding forever.

During this time, while at the brink of despair, Winter is able to draw strength from one source: His new friends from the academy. He vocalizes that, for all the abuse he suffered at the hands of his birth family, he fervently believes that THEY would never do anything like that to him. They chose to stuck with him, even when he was awful, and told him he was not hopeless. He was not a mistake; he could be deserving of love.

So naturally, he returns to them; they accept him readily, are willing to be his new surrogate family. When he almost burns to death at a later point, they fear and weep for him. When Qibli sets out to confront his own abusive family, Winter, despite being mind-controlled into a placid potato at the time, feels concerned enough for his friend’s safety to insist to come along (returning the favor of them accompanying him in his time of need in book 7). When Darkstalker’s mind control forces Winter to attack Qibli, he is shown ashamed and guilty of it once the control wears off again.

They bicker and struggle, and make mistakes, they break up but always come back together again. Time and time again the one thing that is always reinforced: When the cards are down, Winter loves his friends, and they love him. They would never intentionally hurt each other, or give up on each other.

I want you to keep in mind how wholesome, and loving, and mutually supportive this ramshackle band of misfits has been portrayed to this point... Because we’re moving on to the arc 2 finale, and it will do everything it can to corrupt all of it and consign Winter to a life of misery.

We arrive at aforementioned scene, where Moonwatcher receives her earring. Just a little bit prior, Winter had learned that Darkstalker unleashed a magical plague onto his people in an attempt to wipe them out. Now here is Moonwatcher, revealing that she is not under any spell, and has aligned herself with this guy willingly, speaking fondly of him as if he was a dear friend who never did any wrong. Winter takes this badly and accidentally breaks a vase; the narrative lingers on this moment and really tries to sell us on how unreasonable Winter’s reaction is, how he is overreacting, but let’s examine that interpretation for a moment.

Moonwatcher doesn’t yet know about the attempted Icewing genocide, but she DOES know about Darkstalker being okay with casting spells to inflict immeasurable torture upon those he hates. WE know that she knows this, so her stance here is already suspect. Yet she goes on to praise Darkstalker and refer to him as a friend. Look at this from Winter’s perspective. This “friend” of Moonwatcher just tried to kill his entire tribe, and he actually succeeded in killing his aunt, Queen Glacier, a person Winter greatly respects. Winter is currently unable to return to his homeland for fear of being branded a traitor. Even if he could return, he knows his obstinate and spiteful family would prevent him from attending the funeral, meaning he is not even afforded the basic dignity of saying farewell to his aunt. The aunt whom Darkstalker murdered by making her vomit her own blood until she withered away in her bed. And here is Moon, absolving the person who did this to Glacier from his appalling actions, despite knowing full well what Darkstalker is capable of and choosing to look away.

I don’t know about you, but I think I can forgive the grieving, emotionally overwhelmed boy for shattering a little pottery after hearing his trusted friend—who held his hand when he was dying—say that the guy who makes people disembowel themselves and wipes out entire countries may be misunderstood and not so bad. I think I would have a similar reaction. In fact, I would never want to talk to her ever again.

There is no way I can read this scene in which Moon doesn’t come off as either an absolute lunatic, or critically stupid and callous. In fact, based on her earlier behavior I half-expect her to get over the news of the attempted Icewing massacre in a couple hours, saying “Eh, it’s kinda bad, but you just have to do these kinds of things sometimes, you know? I’m sure he had his reasons.”

Then there is the part where Qibli makes his off-color comment about how Winter’s brain could really use a good wash. I already went into how it could have worked but didn’t. But with the timing here, we’ve already had Moon spit on their friendship, so as Winter’s other closest friend, it naturally follows that Qibli also craps on his feelings.

Consider the context: Winter comes from an abusive household where his parents forcibly tried to change him away from who he was to purge the “wrongness” from him. When they betray him and he narrowly escapes their attempt on his life, he re-affirms his belief in his friends, and the knowledge that they wouldn’t treat him like that gives him the strength he needs to keep going. But now, Qibli asserts that Winter DOES need to be altered, thereby AGREEING with Winter’s abusive parents, rendering Winter’s affirmation from book 7 erroneous. Qibli WOULD treat him like that if it made Winter less “intolerable”.

Neither Moonwatcher nor Qibli ever make an attempt to repair this rift. Winter is left betrayed and alone.

Stuff happens, and the forces of the Nightwings and Icewings come to blows over Jade Mountain. With his two closest friends having written him off and his support network eroded, Winter relapses into thinking he is worthless, seeks validation in unquestioning patriotism, and realigns himself with his abusive family by throwing himself into the battle. Nobody wants him to, in fact his parents still hate him for it, but whatever. His father dies and his mother blames him for it.

Meanwhile Turtle, Anemone, and Qibli are cooking up a solution to the battle problem. They have the idea to make everyone’s minds connect in a huge empathy wave for a few moments, which I think is a pretty interesting idea for what it’s worth. But then they teleport both armies back to their homes, and the spell sweeps Winter up with them, taking him out of the rest of the finale and bringing him to the Ice Kingdom. The characters say “whoops” but aren’t further concerned with the situation. It’s all a big laugh.

Let me remind you that Winter is currently considered not welcome on Icewing territory. His family, whom he was sent back with, is extremely abusive and vindictive. His friends know this. Said parents have previously arranged for him to be killed, and are still on record as wanting him dead. His friends KNOW this. And now he is alone with them and a gaggle of other royal Icewings who all are extremely pissed off at him for ruining their sacred trial site.

It is very possible that he is being torn apart and mauled by an enraged mob right now. He could be forced into captivity and flayed. Maybe the interim regent is sentencing him to death and getting the rope ready. There is a million different horrible things that could be happening to Winter right now, while he is trapped alone with people who hate him, things his friends would be reasonably able to anticipate. And nobody is doing anything to get him out of there, to suggest bringing him back, even though it would only take a single spoken sentence to do so! They aren’t even concerned!

Then the climax happens, strawberry thing and all, and we get the coup de grâce. After all is said and done, the group decides that Winter is untrustworthy, and that they must protect the secret of Darkstalker’s fate from him, because they fear if he knew he would kill Peacemaker.

Moon, who read Winter’s mind in book 6 and reached out to him about how the “ruthless Icewing warrior” persona in his head is a facade and how she sees he has a gentle and good heart... Moon, who in book 7 finds out about Winter’s secret deal to kill Glory and STILL trusts him, who calls out his bullshit to his face because she KNOWS how kind-hearted Winter is and that he would never resort to murder... Moon who, again, held his hand while he was dying... thinks that the dragon she has reminded of his compassionate nature time and time again would kill an innocent child.

This is disgusting. Moon believing that is so far off the mark with regards to anything this group has embodied or done for any of the last 4 books, that my only conclusion can be that these are different characters. Maybe the Nightwing library collapsed on top of original Moon, and when Darkstalker magiced her back to health she came back wrong or something. I don’t know.

So after all of this, Winter is left alone. He somehow escaped from the Ice Kingdom; luckily there is a timeskip so we can just gloss over the horrible situation he was put in by his friends. He thinks about Jade Mountain. He reflects on everything that happened, how his parents never really loved him... How they hated him so much they tried to kill him... How he despaired, but found solace in his friends who loved him for who he was.... How those friends then betrayed him too and magiced him away... How they didn’t care about what happened to him... And he decides he is done. He won’t bother going back. A few people, probably Sunny, reach out to tell him he is welcome back, but he says “it wouldn’t be fair to other Icewings if an exile took up a bed”. The decision isn’t hard to make, after all there is nothing left for him there. Everyone has written him off, moved on and left him behind.

Kinkajou visits sometimes, tries to stay in touch, but that’s just how she is. Maybe the others sent her to check on whether he’s going to become troublesome. They don’t trust him. Better to keep an eye on him, he might kill the baby.

With nowhere else to go, Winter moves to Sanctuary, a place for rejects like him. I picture him standing there, at the edge of a cliff staring blankly into the distance. He is completely alone; no one wants to go near him or talk to him beyond the bare necessities. He could probably make new friends with the Talons of Peace if he tried, but there is no point. Why should someone like him have friends? It wouldn’t work. They’d just decide he is too inconvenient to be around. Sooner or later they would just tell him to leave anyway. It's better not to try, so he doesn't get hurt again.

And slowly it dawns on him. His parents had been right all along. It was never them, or the others, it was him. He is the problem. The Icewings said it, Qibli said it, Moonwatcher said it. There is just something fundamentally wrong with him.

He is defective. He is unlovable. Nobody wants him. He will never be anything, or have anyone. And so he stands at the cliff, looking over the broken vase fragments of his life... This is who he is. Prince Winter. A mistake.

And quietly, where no one knows or cares, he does the only thing he has left to do... he begins to weep.

As it is written, the tale of Winter is the story of a boy who is told he is wrong for being alive. He closes his ears and tries to keep walking forward, desperate to prove that he is not an error, that he has merit. But this book comes out and it unmistakably says that he doesn’t. He is nothing, and he deserves to have nothing.

And I just cannot accept that.

Why did this have to happen?

I think that the author was really struggling with the ending of this book. I’ve said before how much of a corner she wrote herself into with such an invincible villain. I think she came up with the strawberry idea as a solution to this problem. But as she was writing it, the characters kept fighting her. It was not a natural solution, not a decision the characters—as they were established—would ever make.

So concessions had to be made to force the issue. Established traits had to be bent slightly to make this plot work. The farther she went, the worse it got. The concessions piled up and turned into contrivances. Eventually the characters were no longer acting like themselves. Their bonds got stretched too far and some snapped. It’s a very tragic pitfall that occurs with long-running series.

I think Sutherland must have also been tired. Writing an entire book is a monumental task, and writing 6 connected ones even moreso. She also comes out with these things really quickly. Maybe she was burnt out? Maybe she wanted to be done and her attention lapsed. Maybe that’s why she forgot that Moon knew about the disemboweling. It seems reasonable to believe when you consider that the next story arc would make a relatively clean break from the problems of this arc, especially with regards to the magic system.

But I don’t know what ultimately happened, so I can only speculate. I reiterate, I bear no ill will against Sutherland for writing this. Even if I kind of hate everything about this finale, and very vocally wish it would be different, I don’t want this examination to generate (or reawaken) any hatred towards her, or to attack her personally. I understand the pain of an artist who gets trapped with something for too long and has to find the means, any means, to see it through to the end. I criticize the story, but I could never hate anyone for that.

But for me, I do not consider this half of the book as part of the story. The characters act too unnaturally for it to have happened. So to me, it didn’t. We don’t know what happened, maybe Darkstalker is still out there. Maybe they dealt with him. Maybe what actually happened is my crappy and self-indulgent rewrite of the ending which I will never show to anyone because it would be really embarrassing.

But whatever actually ended up happening, I am sure Winter never ended up at that cliff, pondering how worthless and meaningless his life was. He is currently at Jade Mountain, surrounded by friends who love him, and bickering with Qibli about the correct solution to their advanced calculus assignment that is due tomorrow.

Is there anything left to say?

Probably.

I didn’t talk about Anemone yet. You know, in the epilogue she enchants herself a bracelet that makes her “not be so mean all the time”. I find that creepy. To me it reads as Anemone voluntarily brainwashing herself with magic to erase her negative traits instead of growing past them naturally because she finds them undesirable and wants to work to change for the better. I would ordinarily assume that this is an overreaction on my part, and I’m just reading the scene wrong. But no, we just got through a part where the heroes brainwashing someone is treated as an unequivocal good and worthy of celebration, so I think my reading may actually be spot on. Why are we letting the little kid alter her own brain without supervision? Hello? Tsunami? Someone intervene maybe? This cannot be healthy.

Turtle stands out to me as the one bright spot in all of this. He (and Peril, but she’s mostly out of focus) remain as the only main characters of this arc who don’t have any mind-boggling out-of-character moments or sudden streaks of uncharacteristic callousness. I really like the part where Qibli goes to free Turtle from his captivity and plans to give him an earful about the comically unhelpful messages he’s been sending him. But when Turtle asks if what he did was helpful, Qibli sees how beaten down and exhausted Turtle is, and wordlessly drops his frustration to tell him “Yeah, they were helpful.” That is the true Qibli shining through for a moment, showing that he cares about the well-being of his friends.

Do I hate the pairing of Qibli/Moonwatcher? No. Well, I DO hate how it happened in the book, and how the story tried to assassinate Winter’s character to resolve the love triangle and make it happen. I don’t hate it on principle though. If you are a fan of Qibli/Moonwatcher and want to write fanfics about it, please do! I absolutely encourage you to do that! Maybe you can fix this mess and turn it into something that’s actually properly handled!

Mightyclaws keeps the power that Darkstalker granted him past the finale. That means all the spells that Darkstalker cast are technically still active. Does that mean the Icewings have to wear earrings for the rest of their lives? Do they get sick again if they take them off? Is Peril forever cursed to think of Darkstalker as a cool old uncle and has to somehow reconcile how everyone else thinks of him? How did the Nightwings relinquishing their powers work, do they have to wear the earrings forever too now?

And there is one more thing to mention.

My confession

You may have already intuited this, if you’ve been following the content of my blog. It is very heavily skewed towards the first and second arcs of the series. I would now like to confess something.

When I read the second half of book 10, I found it so disillusioning, Winter’s fate so upsetting... that I put down the series then and there. And I haven’t picked it back up since.

That’s right, I have not read arc 3. I don’t know if that makes me a fake fan. I know pretty much everything that happens in it, the controversial twist at the end, Pyrrhia coming back into the story later, Snowfall getting brainwashed by a piece of jewelry until she cares about a plot that had nothing to do with her or the fate of the Icewings, etc..

It’s not out of malice, or because it’s a new continent. The opposite in fact; I would have greatly prefered a clean break with a new setting—Bug-themed dragons in a slightly more contemporary, developed environment sounds fascinating and full of potential. I don’t hate Pantala or the new characters.

I just... I can’t really do this again. I can’t handle the thought of Pyrrhia coming back post-Darkstalker, with Winter showing up and talking to these guys again like nothing happened, seeming like a different person, joking around with them like his entire character wasn’t dragged through a mountain of manure to make the plot bend a certain way. I think as long as this is the ending that the story is continuing from, seeing that would just make me miserable.

Maybe I will just stay in the parts of the story that I fell in love with. And imagine a version of reality in which Pantala is allowed to exist on its own, where Swordtail was the fourth POV character of arc 3, where Queen Wasp stayed the villain throughout, and Snowfall got her own legends book about how she reformed Icewing society and fixed all the shit that poisoned Winter’s life, so future generations don’t have to suffer through the same stuff he did.

~~~~~

If you’re still with me, thank you for reading this far. I think this is everything I ever thought about the finale of the second story arc, so now I never have to talk about it again. Writing this was difficult. I found it crushing at times. This will probably stand as the only overtly negative post I have ever made on this blog. I love Wings of Fire, and I want to celebrate it. To add to it, not tear it down.

I hope this wasn’t too boring, or painful, or frustrating, or soul-crushing to read through. I’ll see you later, hopefully with a more constructive post.

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Fix You (Azriel x healer!reader)

summary: Azriel falls for the healer and finds new random reasons to see her, but he never let’s her help when he’s truly hurt.

wc: 3.8k

a/n: warnings: mentions injuries and blood

Never in a million years would you have dreamed of such an opportunity presenting itself to you, but after the battle of Velaris, your healing magic became rather well known among the locals. Eventually, word of your abilities reached the high lord, and he requested to meet with you. Now, ten months later, you are learning about tonics, salves, the anatomy of illyrian wings, and so much more to use along side your magic.

“One last thing. Rhysand said that Azriel is requesting assistance. Could you go tend to his injuries before you go home?”

You hide your laugh and agree to go. This is the fifth time this month that Azriel has requested a healer. It would make sense that the spymaster of the night court would need healing after missions, but he never asks for help with that. Most recently, he came by the infirmary to ask you for a cream that will help with sore muscles. Sometimes he asks for healing after training when Cassian roughs him up a bit too much, but even then, its minor injuries. One time he even used Cassian as an excuse, claiming the general needed some medicine for a cold, but later that day Cassian seemed perfectly fine to you.

Your friends think Azriel must have a crush on you and that’s why he always seeks you out, but that’s crazy. And besides, you heard a rumor that he has feelings for the high lady’s sister, Elain. But who could blame him, she's perfect.

You arrive at the House of Wind and head for the shadowsinger’s room. The house was quiet, meaning Cassian and Nesta must be gone. As you walk towards his room, you see a shadow dart across the floor, brushing against your ankle as it flies by and making you giggle. Before you can even knock, Azriel opens his door, apparently alerted by the shadow.

“Good evening. You requested a healer?” He nods and opens the door wider to invite you in and sits on the corner of his bed.

“Cassian accidentally cut me with his sword when we were sparring this morning. The skin has healed, but it’s still hurting. I figured you could use some of that fancy healing magic on it so I’m not slacking at training tomorrow.” He extends his arm, and just like he said, theres a jagged pink scar running up the length of his tan, muscular forearm.

You agree and sit next to him, taking hold of his arm and placing your hand over the scar. A warm sensation spreads from your palm to his arm, and moments later, the raised scar is nothing more than a faint line. You hold on for a few moments longer than necessary, your eyes fixated on his hands. There was something you found so beautiful and alluring about the scars, you didn’t even notice your fingertips slowly trailing towards his hands. As soon as your fingertips brush against the edge of the scarred skin, Azriel jerks his arm away and stands up.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ you trail off.

“It’s fine.” He snaps, avoiding your gaze to look at the wall behind you. “Thanks for the help.” His voice is softer now, but you can tell he’s upset. You hesitate, trying to figure out how to resolve this uncomfortable situation, but inevitably, you decide it’s best to leave.

“Happy to help. Have a good night.” You leave quickly, trying to avoid making things more awkward.

The entire way home, you berate yourself for doing something so foolish. One of the first things you learned about healing is to not make your patient more uncomfortable when you heal them. And there you were, touching something that obviously would make him uncomfortable. You don’t know the details about how his hands got so scarred, but with his fae healing, it can’t have been pretty. It reminds you of a patient you had a few years back with similar burns. You were constantly making cream to soothe the residual pain for them. You wonder if Azriel’s hands still hurt from time to time…

———

Azriel’s POV

“Do you plan to injure yourself again during training today, brother?” Cassian teases. “I see yesterday’s cut has healed already. Did a certain healer come by your room last night?”

“Shut up. It doesn’t matter.” I say gruffly and continue eating my breakfast.

“Why won’t you just ask her out?” He speaks with a mouth full of food, earning an annoyed look from Nesta.

“Because there’s no way that someone like her… it doesn’t matter. I’m over her now. Moving on.” I keep my gaze locked on the plate in front of me.

Last night, I tried to work up the courage to say something—anything, really. But when she touched me and I felt that magic run through me, I couldn’t think of anything but how beautiful she looked. I can’t help but remember the feeling of her hands on me, warm and comforting. And then, when she touched my hand, every horrible thought and insecurity ran through my head. How could someone so perfect ever want to be with someone so… damaged?

That’s also why I never seek her out when I return from missions. I don’t want her to see who I really am when I leave Velaris. One look at me with enemy blood on my hands and my own blood on my body, and she will run scared just like everyone else does. I’m just not ready for that rejection yet.

“I don’t believe that for a damn second, Az. You’re just scared. Take a chance, it could work out.” Nesta tries to be supportive, but she doesn’t get it. None of my friends do. I pretend to agree, but only to end the conversation quicker and move on to a new topic. Cassian gives a skeptical look, but moves on to discussing the evening’s plans.

———

Your POV

Two weeks pass, and you haven’t seen or heard from Azriel. It shouldn’t bother you this much, but you can’t help but miss his occasional visits, the way his shadows swirl around your ankles, the sound of his voice, the way he towers over you. Maybe you should find a reason to visit him. After all, he’s spent months coming up with ridiculous reasons to see you, you can do the same, right?

You look around your workstation at the various creams, tonics, and salves, eventually finding some that he would maybe find useful. Heading to the House of Wind, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous.

When you arrive, you see the High Lady’s sister, Nesta, walking through the foyer. “Hello. I was wondering if you could help me find Azriel. I have something for him.” You try to sound confident, but her smirk tells you she sees right through you.

“He’s at the training ring. The Valkyries and I just finished training, so it’s probably just him and Cassian up there.” You thank her and head that way.

When you arrive at the training ring, you are immediately stopped in your tracks by the sight of Azriel and Cassian sparring. You had always known the general had a nice body; you had healed it several times before. But Azriel… you have never seen such a glorious sight. The way the corded muscles of his back ripple when he moves and the way his wings, which were much larger than Cassian’s, were spread wide, you couldn’t help but stare. Eventually, Cassian notices you. He smirked, and then immediately moved to disarm Azriel, nicking him with the tip of the blade.

“What the hell, Cass? Why did you-“ Azriel turns and sees you. He turns back to Cassian, who has a shit eating grin on his face.

“Good thing your favorite healer is here to help.” You can’t help but blush at his words. Did Azriel talk about you to Cassian? “I’ll leave you two to it.” He saunters off, leaving you alone with Azriel. Azriel stands quietly for a moment, just staring at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but the silence is killing you, and it’s taking all of your strength to not stare at the sweat dripping down his muscular body.

“I brought you something. You had mentioned once that you get headaches a lot. I have this tonic that can help with that. I figured I would bring it by.” You awkwardly fumble through your bag for the bottle, handing it to him. He looks at the bottle, then at you, a confused expression on his face. “Did you want me to help with that cut or…” you trail off, unsure of how to proceed.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks. And thanks for the tonic. I’ll be sure to try it next time I get a headache.” He sits on a nearby bench, and you sit next to him. Reaching towards the cut, you realize you need to avoid what happened last time and ask for permission to touch him.

“May I?” He nods, and you place your hand over the small cut on his jaw. You feel his shadows swirling around your hand, almost curious about your actions. Your fingers trail over his sharp jaw line in admiration. “All done.” You stand and step away, waiting to see if he will say anything. You were about to leave, but you apparently can’t leave well enough alone, so you dig through your bag again.

“I have this other stuff you might want.” You find the soothing cream. “I had a patient a few years ago with burns similar to yours. She told me her scars would hurt occasionally, so I would make this cream for her. I don’t know if that happens to you as well, but if you want it, it’s yours.” You reach out to hand him the cream, but he just stares at you.

After a few moments, you awkwardly set it on the bench next to him. “Okay then. I’ll see you around.” You turn to leave, eager to end this train wreck of an interaction. You hurried out so quickly, that you didn’t hear the faint “thank you” coming from Azriel.

———

Several days pass without seeing Azriel. Gods, you were definitely so out of line with the cream. He probably doesn’t like to talk about the scars. You shouldn’t have gone to find him in the first place. He was obviously avoiding you. The bell above the door rings, indicating a patient has entered.

“One moment!” You call from the back of the workstation. When you make your way to the front room, you are surprised to see Azriel.

“What are you doing here?” You ask softly.

“I’m sorry for my rude behavior the other day. I didn’t know how to respond to your kind gesture. No one has ever…” he trails off, setting the empty container of hand cream on the counter. “It helped a lot. I was wondering if you had any more?” Your face lights up, causing him to smile as well.

“Of course! Wait right here, I’ll go grab it.” You rush excitedly to the storeroom. It was always such a wonderful feeling to help a patient feel better, but having been right about this made you feel so happy. You return with three containers of cream. “This one is the same as the one I gave you. This one is infused with lavender. And this one is infused with eucalyptus.” You explain excitedly. He chuckles at your eagerness.

“Thank you. I’ll let you know which smell I like best.” He smiles softly. “And thank you for before. For noticing. No one has ever taken notice like that before. People usually don’t like to even look at my hands, nonetheless, ask about it.” You blush.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get the burns? It may help me formulate a more customized soothing cream for you in the future if I know how you got them. Only if you’re comfortable sharing.” Azriel sucks in a deep breath and looks at his hands.

“The details are… unpleasant.“ He hesitates. “Oil was poured over my hands and lit on fire. My bro-“ he pauses. “The people who did this ensured that I healed as they burned, so that the scarring was worse. Now I’m stuck with these ugly scars.” You try to hold back the tears in your eyes. How could somebody be so cruel and vicious as to do that to someone? “The pain is usually a sharp ache around my knuckles and fingers, if that helps.” He mutters quietly, avoiding your gaze. You hesitantly reach for his hand. He looks surprised by this, but lets you. You hold his large hand in both of yours and look deep into his eyes.

“I’m very sorry that happened to you. No one deserves such treatment. And your scars are not ugly, they represent what you have overcome.” Azriel blushes. A small shadow glides over your hands as you hold his, pulling a giggle from you. “The shadows are kinda cute.”

Azriel looks at you with surprise again. “Most people are afraid of them.” You watch a shadow weave between your fingers, letting go of Azriel’s hand to play with the shadow.

The two of you talk for a while longer before he eventually leaves. A smile stays on your face for the rest of the evening.

———

A week later.

You’re awoken late in the night by a chilly feeling across your skin. Assuming you forgot to shut your window, you groggily open your eyes to stand, but when you do, you see several shadows swirling around you and your room.

Panic immediately sets in. You have never seen Azriel’s shadows move in such a way, almost frantic. And the shadowsinger himself is nowhere near Velaris, supposedly on a mission, according to what Cassian said days ago. The shadows swirl around you, tugging you to stand. You throw on your coat and follow the shadows, praying to the gods that you don’t find what you think you will.

Upon arrival at the House of Wind, you hear panicked voices and yelling. You rush towards the commotion, finding a bloody mess when you arrive. You run towards Cassian and Nesta, trying to see what’s wrong, but when you look down, you see it.

Azriel. Covered in blood. Several arrows sticking out of his abdomen and wings, reeking of faebane. You immediately crouch and begin to inspect the damage.

“Cauldron, what happened? How long has he been hurt? Where is Madja?” You fire off a string of questions, not bothering to wait for an answer. Azriel groans in pain, barely conscious, with his eyes shut.

“He just winnowed here like this. We don’t know what happened, he pretty much passed out as soon as he got here.” Cassian looks at you nervously. “I tried to pull one of the arrows out, but the wounds won’t heal. The arrows are dipped in faebane.”

“Go get a bucket of water, a washcloth, and bandages.” You order to no one in particular before assessing the best plan for removal. When Nesta returns with the materials, you begin to remove the first arrow from his abdomen. Luckily, it didn’t hit any vital organs. When the arrow finally is removed, Azriel yells in pain.

“I know, I’m sorry. Just stay still and it will be over soon.” You try your best to use a soothing voice, but the shakiness is still evident. You get the second arrow out of his abdomen and begin to clean the wounds, working your healing magic as you go. Cassian and Nesta are standing over you, watching nervously, which only makes you more anxious.

“I got the worst of the injuries handled, he’s going to be fine. I still need to work on his wings, which may take a while and won’t be pretty. You two may want to go for now.” You say, not looking away from Azriel. Cassian and Nesta reluctantly leave, promising to return with the others in a bit.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.” You warn Azriel, who’s still unconscious, while you grip the arrow in his upper left wing and work to remove it. As soon as the arrow moves slightly through his wing, his eyes open wide and he howls in pain. He looks at you, just now noticing that it’s you tending to his injuries, and looks panicked.

“Wh-what… how are you here?” He rasps, wincing as the arrow is fully removed. He tries to sit up, but you force him to remain laying down.

“Your shadows found me. I figured you sent them.”

“No. They’re supposed to find Madja or Feyre if I get badly injured. I don’t know why they went to you.” He says gruffly. You try not to get upset by his words as you begin to stitch and heal the wound. Something about his demeanor is vastly different from how he usually acts, colder even.

"Well, you got me instead. Sorry to disappoint.” You mutter, trying to hide the hurt in your voice. You can tell he wants to say something else, but as soon as you grab ahold of the second arrow, all he can manage is groans and curses.

After you remove the third and final arrow, Azriel speaks. “You’re not supposed to be the one who handles my major injuries.” You can’t hide the pain in your eyes, so you look away to focus on working your healing magic on the final wound and bandaging it.

“I can handle more than basic tonics and minor injuries, you know.” You say quietly, cleaning away some of the blood with a washcloth. You gather the bloodied cloths and arrows, moving quickly to dispose of them.

“I know you can. I just don’t want-“ his words are cut short by the high lord rushing in, immediately requesting a status update. Azriel didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to know what he was about to say. He doesn’t want you here. You turn from Azriel to give Rhysand a full briefing on the injuries and the expected recovery process. After calming a bit, he begins to help Azriel up and to his room.

“It looks like you’re in good hands. I’m going to go update Madja on the situation so she can manage your recovery.” You say softly, avoiding eye contact. Before he can say anything else, you’re gone.

———

You avoid Azriel for a couple weeks. Every time he tries to come to the infirmary, you send another healer to take care of him. You couldn’t help asking Madja how his recovery was progressing, but she refused to tell you, stating that you were perfectly capable of asking him yourself. You know that you aren’t as skilled as Madja in some aspects of being a healer, but you never thought that Azriel would doubt your abilities. You guess that’s why he never asked for your help after missions. Maybe those months of ridiculous requests were just a joke to him, something to laugh about with his friends.

The sun goes down, signaling that it’s time for you to head home. You say goodbye to Madja and leave out the front door.

“Y/n.” You immediately turn toward the voice. Waiting by the door, you find Azriel. You look him up and down, assessing for injuries and observing his healing progress. The scars on his wings are only faint marks now.

“You look like you’re healing well. If you need medical attention, I suggest asking a more skilled healer, like Madja.” You say bitterly, walking past him. He sighs heavily.

“I didn’t mean to upset you that night. You weren’t supposed to see me like that.” He follows behind you, catching up quickly due to his long legs.

"Yes, you made that very clear. You didn’t want me there, you don’t trust me to handle your manor healing. I heard you loud and clear.” You refuse to look at him.

"No, that’s not-“ You turn down a side road suddenly, trying to evade him. “I know you can handle healing my more serious injuries, I just didn’t want you there.” You stop and stare at him, slightly in disbelief at his words. Is he really this cruel, or is he just really this bad at speaking to people? He reads your expression and backtracks.

“No, it’s not that I don’t want you around, I just don’t want you there.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Gods, I’m just making this worse. Can I start over?” You don’t respond, but he takes the fact that you aren’t walking away as a yes.

“I didn’t want you to handle my major injuries because, when I’m focused on my missions, I am a completely different person. I hate who I am outside of this city. I hate what I have to do, but I do it to protect my court and protect my family. When I get back, it sometimes takes me a while to get back to normal. I didn’t want you to see me like that, so I wouldn’t scare you off. It seems I managed to do that anyway, so I guess I was right to stay away.” You finally look at him. Who treated him so poorly to make him think so low of himself?

You take a step closer to him and look into his eyes. “I wasn’t scared of you that night. I was scared that you could’ve died. I was scared of the way you pushed me away. But never of you. I’ve healed fae from all over with horrible histories, grusome wounds, and severe PTSD. You’re job is hard, but you shouldn’t handle that burden alone.”

“You spend enough of your time fixing people, I don’t want to be another person you feel like you need to fix.” He says in a self loathing tone.

“You aren’t broken, Azriel. You don’t need fixing, just support.” You take his hand. “Let me be there for you. Let me be your friend. Please.” He stares at your hand holding his for a few moments.

“What if I don’t want you as my friend?” You frown, and he immediately realizes how that must have come across as you attempt to pull your hand away. He tightens his grip on your hand. “What I mean is, will you go to dinner with me? Like, on a date?” You look at him surprised, blushing hard. “Cmon, y/n. I thought I was pretty obvious that I have feelings for you with my dozens of ridiculous injuries and requests.” He chuckles.

“I would love to get dinner, Azriel.” He gives you a wide smile. The two of you begin to walk side by side down the street. After a few moments of silence, Azriel speaks.

“Now that you’re no longer mad at me, can I have more of that soothing cream? I’ve been out for like a week, but I’ve been too afraid to ask you for more.” You laugh.

“Of course you can.”

Have a great weekend everyone!!

[uracutieraka]

When did you get pretty?

Keigo x Younger!f!reader

Pt.1//Pt.2

slight smut warning, nothing too serious.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

synopsis: you are a UA graduate who just turned 19. Youve known Hawks since he was 20. After 2 years, youre starting to feel differently about the older boy who always seems to conveniently be around you. ◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

”You know that I dont think your ideas are stupid!” “Well then how come my fifth idea has been rejected this year!”

youre going back and forth with your boss, well friend who happens to be your boss, Hawks. youve been at his hero agency since you were 17, when he personally invited you to do a work study under him, only to find out he really just wanted to slack off all day and use you for your ideas.

“Keigo, come on dude. You can totally just tell them to listen to me and to trust me! Honestly i dont understand why you dont come to these pitch meetings with me, you know they wont listen to me!”

“Y/n, i cant go because i dont want to!” “Gah you are such a smartass, honestly im not doing this anymore!”

you get up from your seat across from the witty blond infront of you, sending a pointed and stern look his way.

You had just had yet another unsuccessful meeting with his investors, they didnt trust a 19 year old girl could come up with actually successful business plans. Keigo knew this, but he didnt really care.

“What? Youre not quitting on me, are you?” His eyes grew worried as well as the rest of his face. With an obvious sigh you tell him no. “Im relieved. I love you too much to lose you!”

a strong heat spreads across your body, starting in your cheeks. You werent unfamiliar with the cutesy words he spoke, but that doesnt mean they dont affect you. In fact, they more than affect you. Youve been harboring a dark, dark secret for over 2 years now. ever since you were 16 you had the biggest crush on pro hero Hawks. You even had posters in your room as if he were a member from some boyband. He was only a few years older than you too, so it wasnt unreasonable to like him. “Yeah yeah, i know im so perfect and amazing, who wouldnt?” You shoot a witty and sly smile his way. You normally just counter act any romantic feelings and thoughts with a sassy remark.

“Yeah, i know, i know,” he trails off, looking back up to you he opens his mouth again “But on that topic! Theres this hero-party-but actually work-gala happening tomorrow and i figured it would be a good opportunity for you to mingle with the rest of the pro hero world so i put you down as my plus one.”

You roll your eyes at the lack of respect for your own personal schedule. “Were you even going to check that i didnt have anything going on?” You grumbled out to him. “Uhm, no because i know you dont. You never do. Im your only friend really.” “Well first off, youre not my only friend, second off, i did have plans this weekend but no dont worry, ill cancel them for you, again.” “Again?” The winged man quickly looks at you. “Yeah this is like the fourth time I’ve cancelled on my friend” you already had your phone out typing away on your keyboard. “Wait really? Im so sorry, you dont have to come!” Hes giving you sad eyes, you know he doesnt really mean that. with another loud sigh and eye roll you look at him, “Keigo, its fine, id much rather spend a weekend with you meeting pros than go shopping and see some lame ass movie, if i had an issue id tell you.”

keigo hadnt even thought about the possibility that you still had a life outside of the hero agency, or him really, the more he thought about it, he realized there probably hadnt been a full 24 hours where you hadnt been with him since you graduated almost a year ago.

He was in a fight? You were there helping him. He needed help with extra paperwork? You were there, at the opposite side of his desk doing paperwork with him silently. Hes in the shower? You’re in the bathroom chatting his ear off about some stupid internet drama. He needs help grocery shopping? You’re writing the list for him. Anything he needs, you do. He didnt really take time to appreciate you at all now that he thinks about it.

“Listen, i know you do a lot for me, and i just wanted to say thank you.” Hes looking away from you now with a hand on the back of his neck, his whole demeanor has changed.

“Dude, honestly its fine, you dont have to thank me, i like being with you. Honestly you are my best friend.” You also were looking away from him, down at the boots for your hero costume.

“Youre mine too.” you look up to see him now giving you a soft smile.

“So about this, what did you say it was?” “gala”

“yeah yeah, what do i wear?” “i dont know something nice? You know its a fancy event, suit n tie for me type thing.” “ah i see, i see, uhm ok yeah thatll work” youre in your head mumbling to yourself about it at this point. “Okay….” He drags out the word obviously to drag you back into the present. “Ok well im going home now!” You hurriedly grab your bags and make a break for it, if you stay any longer you wont be able to get home to clean up and get ready for tomorrow.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

its 6:30 on the dot when you get a call.

“yello?” You say quickly

“hey, im uh, here.” A quiet voice says. “You said 7! What the hell keigo!?!” “yeah yeah just let me up”

You buzz him up to your small, but homey, apartment.

as you hear him knock on your front door you slide your dress up your body holding onto the top as it has yet to be zipped.

You answer the door to see your best friend standing there in a very nice, expensive looking suit. He looked great.

“hey! Come in, its small but it does what its supposed to do!” You say motioning him inside with your free arm.

Keigo realized he had never been to your place, yet you were constantly at his. Like constantly. Honestly he had never even thought about you having your own. You always slept on his couch. He didnt mind though. It was nice not feeling so alone all the time. He liked having you in his life, you treated him normally.

his eyes did a scan over your place

“its cute. Its super you.” He said now looking back at you. He had never seen you soooo… done up? You were honestly such a different person outside of your hero costume, or even your messy buns and large baggy clothes that you always wore at his place. (They had a found a home in a spare drawer in his dresser.)

“Anyways theres only a few things i have left then I’ll be ready,” you had broken the moment of silence, and his intense stare on you. “Can you help me zip this? I thought i could get it on my own but i cant.” you now had your back turned towards him, shutting the door as you did. He hitched his breath, he hadnt ever seen you like this, you were so… calm? And collected? You always seemed so stressed, but he now came to the conclusion that was because of work and his lack of energy for said job.

“sure, yeah.” He said as he stepped towards you to zip your dress. He took you in, in all your glory. You looked so different than normal. Your hair was curled to one side, makeup was light but had the perfect amount of shine, and your dress, well your body looked stunning. How come he had never noticed you like this before?

Your hero costume was tip-toeing the line of scandalous, he knew because he had seen the headlines when he first debuted you at his agency, but he honestly didnt care because he didnt think it really mattered.

But now, here you are in a strapless dress, with a dropped neckline, the fabric is hugging your waist and hips perfectly, the color made your eyes pop and was perfect on you. You looked elegant. So grown up compared to the restless 17 year old he first met.

You had thought the same about him the past few years, he had been turning out to be quite a decent man, he was no longer the hot-shot teen hero you once fangirled over, but the handsome and charismatic man you had grown to be friends with.

turning back towards him you dismissed yourself to finish getting ready in your bathroom.

He now had time to look around your tiny apartment. He walked around looking at all your knick-nacks in the living room until he caught a glimpse of your bedroom door open roughly 10 feet away from where he was standing.

he shouldnt. hes going to anyways.

he made his way to the door peeking inside, it was what he expected, a few clothes scattered on your floor but other than that it was clean. he was scanning your walls when he noticed a very familiar, yet very haunting photo on your wall.

it was a poster he did when he was 17 and freshly debuted in the prohero world. How long had you had this? Have you even been a fan of him for that long?

his thoughts rushed around his head for a brief moment until a devious one creeped up in his head.

you were putting your earrings in, finishing up the last few little things you needed before leaving, when you caught a glimpse of the red wings you became so familiar with at the doorway. You looked over to see Keigo standing there with a mischievous look on his face.

“Uhm, do you need something?” You raised a brow at him. “How long have you loved me? Be honest? Was it when i did my first magazine shoot for that teen magazine?” oh no. He did not seriously look in your room. of course he did. You know him. “DID YOU SERIOUSLY LOOK IN MY ROOM WHAT ARE YOU A PERVERT?”

His face dropped. Oh my god was he really a pervert? “NO I SWEAR, YOUR DOOR WAS OPEN AND I WAS JUST CURIOUS!” “Ugh you are such a brat Keigo! Seriously! Why would you go snooping in a 19 year old girls room! Youre such a douche!” Hes known you long enough to know youre messing with him but you are obviously a bit upset.

“Look, i couldnt help myself i just peeked in and saw that poster! Its cute that you have that is all!” “Honestly, why do you think i was so excited to join your agency? I was obviously a fan.” Another smirk graces his face. “You said ‘was’ sooo are you still or now you know me and think im the worst?” you give him a dirty look and shove past him with a sarcastic huff towards your bedroom. “The ladder!” You sass out to him. He chuckles and makes his way back towards your living room.

A few moments later you emerge from your room and motion for him to head out the front.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

Its been a long night, youve talked to so many people youve lost track, youre a bit more than tipsy from stealing the ends of keigos drinks all night.

Keigos drunk and has been consistently introducing you to new people as “The future hottest hero of the year!” Or “His right hand lady, y/n”

You two have finally found a moment of peace as you had forced him to sit down a table towards the back of the venue. You lean over to him resting your hand on his knee for balance. “Keigo,” he leans his head towards you and give you a ‘hum’ of acknowledgment, “Im ready to go home.” This brings the man to fully look at you. “Yeah, ok, me too.”

Hes looking at you in the dim lighting of the room, how could he not have ever noticed the way your eyes glitter all the time? Or the softness of your features, they look so good together. He fumbled with his phone and called for his car so you guys could leave.

“Alright lets get going.” He says, standing up wobbling a bit before reaching a hand out to you. You grab it and also stumble a bit when you stand up. before you walk away you lean up to him and whisper in his ear,

“Ive been stealing a bit of your drinks tonight…dont be mad at me, s’wear didnt mean to get like this…” your words are ever so slightly slurred together.

He looks at you and whispers back

“Its ok, i know you have.” a moment of silence goes by before you both start giggling about the situation. after a moment of giggling you decided it was time to make your way down to the car. Pulling the blond behind you, you finally make your exit.

❝ ❞ ✧ ೃ༄

In the car the driver asks Keigo where to go, he looks at you and you look at him and shrug.

“Back to y/n’s place i think. Ill stay there tonight so you can het home finally!” He gives the driver a big close eyed smile. “Of course sir.” and with that you make your way back to your tiny apartment.”

★。＼｜／。★

Youre finally back in your own place after a few minutes of struggling with your keys at the door, it didnt help you had Keigo standing over your shoulder making jokes causing you guys to laugh every 20 seconds.

“UGH! FINALLY!” You say kicking off your heels and locking your front door. “Did you not have fun or something?” Keigo asks, hes already shed his coat and loosened his tie from around his neck. Damn did he look good.

You look back up at him and can feel the blush creep up your face. “Yeah, I did, i like being your plus one, we should do it more often.” You blurt out, not really realizing what you said for a quick beat. “I mean like you know, youre my best friend and were always together, so nothing weird, haha….” that was not confident of you at all. Way to go y/n.

Hes staring at you, your hair is slightly messy, lips are plumped up from the alcohol, makeup is messy, and keigo feels like a predator almost. a desire is stirring inside him. this is bad. Very very bad. Keigos staring at you. Its different than any stare youve felt before from anyone. You feel something stirring inside you. Something bad, very very bad.

“Keigo, uhm look, I like you. And have for a while.” Words are falling out of your mouth faster than you can stop them.

“Y/n, i dont know, what will people think? Youre my trainee.” Hes giving you a serious look, youve never seen him more serious than this (other than when youre fighting villains of course).

you deflate in on yourself and your heart drops. what did you just do.

“but…,” he speaks again “When have i ever cared what people think.”

A few moments go by and suddenly youre grabbing his face and pulling him into yours.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Your dress is long gone, lost somewhere in your apartment, youll worry about it tomorrow, keigos clothes are littering your floor, mixing with the ones that have already been there of yours. your on his lap on your bed kissing him.

how did you get here?

oh yeah, you were kissing him in the living room then he was pulling your dress off and you were pulling him towards your room. And now youre here.

you stop and look at him, holding his face. “Do you want this? Or are you drunk?” Youre looking into his eyes and studying deeply, you need to know before you make your next move.

“Yes, please, ive never wanted anything more than this right now.” Hes shaking his head, hes begging for you.

“yeah me too.,” youre back to kissing him this time moving your hips since hes perched his hands on them and begun moving you.

theres 2 layers between the two of you. Your underwear, and his. this is it. Everything youve ever wanted is happening right now. The Hawks, is sitting under you begging to have you.

A call suddenly breaks the heavy silence of the room. you know that ringtone. Its the ‘emergency’ ringtone you suggested he set so he never missed one.

you quickly get up snatching his phone out of his pocket and handing it to him.

a few minutes go by with his occasional ‘mhms’

eventually he ends the call. “Yeah, just call me if you need back up.” He turns back at you and begins apologizing, over and over.

Youre telling him its ok and you understand. That youre just happy he doesnt have to go yet.

“Im just happy youre still here Keigo.” “Yeah but i totally just ruined the vibe.” “I dont care, just wanna hangout with you.” “ok, promise youre not mad?” “Yes, i promise im not mad.”

Keigo then hands you a shirt off your floor and puts his button up on over his shoulders, hes too lazy to button it.

“So uh, wanna order a pizza? That food earlier sucked.” He says pointing his thumb back behind him. “yeah, im down.” You say getting up to grab your phone.

pt 2

[theemporium]

love your work congrats on 10k!!! from the ❤️ list could i request 6 w/ max?

i took the max x teammate!reader concept that had been driving me and @scuderiahoney crazy over the last few days and used it for this prompt so🤠thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

6. “I’m going to fuck every last thought out of this pretty, little head."

.

The race was close. 

In fact, the whole fucking season had been close, like a game of cat and mouse where the two of you had been chasing after each other race after race. With a car that was dominating the rest of the grid, it made sense that the only real competition the two of you faced were each other. 

But that didn’t make it any easier. 

Team orders didn’t mean shit when it came to you and Max. You both had the urge to fight, to push, to test the limits. And it didn’t matter what the team said or did, the second you put those helmets on and got in those cars, it didn’t matter that you two were a team fighting for the Constructors’ championship too. 

It was always you and Max at each other’s throats, on each other’s rear wings, ready for a fight. 

And the race had been Max’s. He was the one who had been fastest all weekend. He was the one who had put his car on pole. He was the one who had led the first half of the race. And then you were there and you two were switching positions for the remaining laps and it was a risky move on your part that let you take the lead and steal the win from him.

He was seething. He didn’t make it hidden to anyone who looked at him. Not in the cool down room, not on the podium and certainly not in the team debrief after the race. He was angry and he was pissed off and the little smirks you kept flashing him were starting to make his skin prickle. 

“Not so cocky now, huh?” 

The whine you let out was pathetic, muffled and garbled with your face pressed into the pillow. Tears were streaming down your face from pleasure, cum leaking down thighs onto the sheets below you and bruises the shape of his hands beginning to form on your hips.

 But Max wasn’t done.

“What would the world say if they could see you now?” He grunted, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through his hotel room. Your clothes were laying somewhere on the floor next to his, ripped and ruined. You would probably have to sneak out in his clothes again, like you had done a few weeks earlier in Spain. 

He fucked you harder at the thought.

“You’re—” A gasp cut you off, your eyes fighting to stay open as he smacked the side of your thigh. “Such a sore loser, Verstappen.” 

“And you’re a fucking brat,” he hissed, crowding over you and leaning down until his chest was pressed against your back. His dick slid in deeper, hitting spots inside you that left you reeling and shaking and whining underneath him. “A fucking slut for me, aren’t you, princess?” 

“Asshole,” you muttered out, but it was breathless and whiny and not as convincing when your hands were clawing at the sheets beneath you. 

“I’m going to fuck every last thought out of this pretty, little head,” Max muttered, his lips brushing against your temple as he slowly pulled out before thrusting back in, deep and hard. “And then we will see how that ego of yours is doing, yeah? See if my little slut can even remember her own fucking name.”

“Max,” you breathed out, your lips parting and giving him the perfect opportunity to slide two fingers inside and lightly press down against your tongue. 

“That’s right, princess,” he mused, something almost patronising in the smile he gave you. “Gonna have you chanting my name like you’re one of my fans.”

.

[longingforrotkehlchen]

My 2024 Top 10 Favourites.

On Melancholy Hill Tumblr's and my absolute favourite. There isn't much to say. I just remember turning around while counting geese, and there it was - an idyllic scene. A crow extraordinarily relaxed, loafing on a nice spring afternoon. I came a bit closer thinking I *really* hope it stays. Then I crouched fearing the same, but the crow, watched me attentively and stayed. I was blessed - the luck of photographing birds more used to people. The slope gave me the perfect height for the shot, and the crow just chilled there, looking like something was occupying its mind. I got what I wanted and left. The crow stayed there, but it also stayed with me forever.

Sweet mommy's love It was Graugansito season and fortunately I was right in time to see the very little ones. This scene was beautiful, and obviously the geese just chill by the lake and all you need is a perfect moment to capture. This one stood out for me. And I can neither confirm nor deny whether there were more goslings hidden under mommy's wing.

Europe's angriest bird This picture was taking by cheating. So call me a cheat. It is nice, but I cheated. And even worse, I made a little guy angry. Yes, I did play playback (even though I believe that's wrong) in this one because I had seen a pair of goldcrests here the previous week and I was very curious to see if they were genuinely staying and breeding in this place. The male came and sang immediately –that's how I got him nicely close to me–, but the best thing about this encounter wasn't the pictures - it was realizing that the bird seemed to know there wasn't another bird. That I was the source of the goldcrest song. That I was his enemy. I haven't managed to make a bird love me, but that day, I managed to make one hate me.

The light of duckling This pond lends itself to high contrasts and you can play a little with that. I didn't have much time, and the ducklings were all over the place, but I got lucky (otherwise, this post wouldn't exist). As I was leaving I took one last shot with the settings I had for a different spot - and it turned out well. Some of my favourite photos are those that transmit emotions when you look at them. I think this is also one of them.

Spring has arrived It's easy to forget you don't have to be very close to the bird to get a nice photo. In any case, here I was taking a photo out of excitement at seeing Hausrotschwanzkehlchen back, before getting closer to the bird. I never intended it to be anything more than a 'proof' shot, but sometimes those turn out way better than expected.

Is this fluff real? It was peak migration, sunny late afternoon, Schwanzmeise flock and there I was, trying to capture this so-called product of my imagination. It was difficult to get the right angle as the sun was behind them and I had to avoid the backlight, but the good thing about them is that they don't seem to care much about your presence. I got this one really really nicely, and right after they left, I saw my first black storks in the sky. Last September was good.

One more shot As I focus on birding and photography comes second, sometimes I might just leave with zero nice photos to post. That day was no different, but that day I was also thinking: "I'm running out of current photos to post." So I gave it an extra shot, overstayed, and tried to find a subject. A big Blaumeise bunch showed up, many of them, busy foraging, and (I think it was always the same) one came so close that allowed me to take some cute photos.

The pose There's little challenge in taking photos of the coots in this pond. If that wasn't enough, the light was nice that day and someone had thrown a pallet in it. The coot was standing on it and I thought the opportunity was too nice to ignore. Then it even started stretching, giving me the chance to capture this nice pose. The poop is just extra.

The babiest Wacholderdrossel As I was leaving the S-Bahn station, coming up the stairs, I saw this baby perched on a handrail. I could barely believe it, so I emerged, went there, and took my camera out. The baby was going nowhere despite people walking right in front of it. I took some photos, in awe, and I don't know what everybody else contemplating us thought, but I thought that I was so damn lucky to have such a cute photo without even having started.

Just a moment If you're learning photography, nobody is going to tell you "just shoot at whatever you see," but that seems to work sometimes. It's not my intention, mind, because here I saw a little bird perching above my head and I really needed this shot to indeed confirm I was seeing Fitis and not Zilpzalp. But look at that little face, that smoothness... I guess when you take thousands of shots while going places, a few might also be nice. It's never easy to decide, but here's my selection with some background/behind the scenes. As usual there isn't much to it. Mostly just press the button. Let's hope 2025 brings us more bird joy to all of us!

[deadpresidents]

I just hope these next 4 years go by fast

This election isn't just about the next four years. With Trump in the White House and a Republican Senate at his side, the MAGA movement can pick up where they left off when it comes to packing the federal judiciary with right-wing judges who will control the Supreme Court and appellate courts throughout the country potentially for the rest of the lives of everyone reading this right now. It's the perfect recipe for them to continue stripping reproductive rights away from women nationwide and gives them the opportunity to turn their attention to the other issues that they have been dying to attack, from voting rights to gay marriage and every other extension of personal freedom that has been won by minorities and marginalized people in hard-fought battles over the past 60 years. This is the nightmare scenario that people have been warning folks about for the past few elections. It's here. And there isn't going to be a way to put the toothpaste back in the tube.

The consequences of this election will have a direct, negative impact on your life -- possibly on the entire remainder of your life. This country just re-elected a President with authoritarian tendencies who is the willing puppet of a dangerous Christian nationalist movement that figured out exactly how to manipulate him (through flattery) for their aims. They have created the perfect vehicle for a genuine cult of personality that they can use to achieve the goals they have been very clear about striving for over the past few years. And you can't blame anybody other than the American voters because they not only elected Trump, but they gave him a fucking mandate, with a Republican Senate and potentially a Republican House. They already have a right-wing dominated Supreme Court for the next few decades, and now they are going to ensure that the entire federal judiciary is in their control for years to come. And don't forget the fact that a few months ago, the Supreme Court handed down a decision that gave Presidents sweeping immunity for a broad (and conveniently undefined) range of "official" acts, so Trump is going to go into this second term knowing that not only does he not have to deal with the "guardrails" of responsible adults he had around him in his first term (Mattis, Tillerson, Kelly, General Milley, etc), but he knows he can get away with virtually anything and everything that he wants to do this time around. If you thought that Trump's first term was bad, just understand that they are prepared this time and now he's surrounded himself with people who will do his bidding -- people who are perfectly willing to let Trump be Donald Trump.

I wish there was a reason to cry foul, lodge protests, and challenge the election's results. But this wasn't a rigged election. There isn't any confusion about what the voters really wanted. The American people did this. People you know and care about and who say they care about you are the people who did this. We need to recognize that these elections aren't outliers anymore. Trump's supporters aren't simply chaos agents who got lucky on a bad day for the Democrats. That's the country we live in now and we have to find a way to resist it that actually makes a difference because now they have the keys to all the doors and all of the alarm codes. This country has normalized the conspiracy theories and nativism and racism that has powered the MAGA movement since the moment Trump came down the elevator at Trump Tower in 2015. He's given those people permission to be open with their hatred towards people who aren't like them, and it's actually become surprising to see how many Americans have been eager to take advantage of that. I didn't think I had any misconceptions about this country before Donald Trump because I recognized this nation's history, but I clearly had some misconceptions about people I thought I knew until I saw them wearing a red MAGA hat or noticed they had a gigantic flag with Trump's name hanging where their U.S. flag used to hang. Once that happened, it was like a switch went off with them and they started saying things in ways that I'd never heard them speak. I feel like that's happened to the entire country. It breaks my heart and it pisses me off.

For the past few years, I've been warning everybody about how elections have consequences. I imagine that there are hundreds of posts on this blog with that phrase in all caps listed with the tags. Now the elections have happened, and we have to live with real fucking consequences. And we're going to pass these consequences on to other generations because this is the one that you can't get a do-over on. When you give a movement like this the power and the mandate that this country just gave them, there is no easily rolling back the things that they end up doing. They are going to fundamentally change the lives of people in this nation and especially change the way the younger generations of Americans live and love and learn for years to come. And you have people in your life who made that happen. It's another disgusting day in America -- a prelude to another reprehensible four years (at the very least) -- and I'm ashamed of tens of millions of my fellow Americans because this one is on them. They know exactly who the man is that they voted for, and now we know exactly who they are, too.

[emmedoesntdomath]

we are too close to election day to be having these debates, so- a recap of the most asked questions in this race.

did harris do monumentally good things as vp? no, of course not. vps have very little power in real change. did trump do monumentally good things as president? debatable. better question. did trump do things so monumentally good that they outweighed the harm he did? no.

is harris cringey? does she make you roll your eyes? likely. is donald trump in any state to be president, now or eight years ago? absolutely not.

will harris totally fix the economy? maybe. probably not. will trump totally fix the economy? maybe. probably not. and yet, one of their economic plans is backed by 23 different nobel prize winners. hint- it’s not donald trump’s.

did harris really send thousands of black men to jail in her time as a prosecutor? no. the number was an overexaggeration promoted by right-wing media. was trump really convicted of 34 criminal charges? yes, with another 54 possible charges spanning in three different civil and criminal, state and federal cases looming on the horizon.

will harris fully return the rights overturned in roe v. wade? not likely. she can’t totally overrule the supreme court like that. will trump? no. in fact, he will just make things worse, and make no attempts to prevent the worst of the bans, or the resulting deaths.

is harris a spectacular public speaker? not really. is trump? not a day in his life. yes, the media doctors videos and speeches from both of them. there is still a clearly better speaker.

is tim walz truly god’s gift to america? considering that he’s a politician, doubtful. is jd vance better? nope.

will harris properly disavow israel? no, probably not. she will simply call for a ceasefire. if you think donald trump will do anything but supply israel with more arms power, you’re kidding yourself. it will be a switch from complacent to genocide to allying with it. no matter how bad you think it is already, I promise it will get worse.

harris is not perfect. not by a long shot. but here’s the thing- if she wins, you can vote her out in another four years. if trump does, you may not get the chance. now is not the time to be a moderate, or bipartisan. it is a wonderful sentiment, truly, but if we do not all vote together you will not get the opportunity again. vote for your friends. vote for your family. vote for your children. vote for the people who never got the chance, who never will. if some of us go down, we all do.

[seongwars]

𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 | 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Pairing: Viscount!Choi San x Countess!Reader AU: non-idol | regency Rating: T/NC-17 Summary: After falling prey to one of Choi San’s cruel games, you vowed yourself to a life of eternal spinsterhood. But when a fire leaves the Choi estate in ruins, the very man you swore you would never forgive re-enters your life. Word Count: 6.2K Warnings: one swear word, minor violence, use of firearms, inaccurate depictions of the era (sorry history buffs 😭)

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a/n: happy new year everyone! 2024 was certainly a tough year for a lot of us but i'm manifesting brighter days for us in the new year!

The late summer air felt stifling to San as the Choi family’s carriage approached the Kang estate. Even with the screens lowered, the faint breeze that slipped through offered little relief from the oppressive heat. He focused on the rhythmic clatter of the wheels, trying to drown out the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside him.

The fire that had left the Choi estate partially burned had started in the kitchen, but its cause remained a mystery. It had spread swiftly, destroying much of the west wing before the servants managed to bring it under control. Though the main manor was spared total ruin, the damage was extensive. Repairs would take months, leaving the family no choice but to seek refuge with anyone willing to take them in.

His parents sat across from him, speaking in hushed tones but he wasn’t listening. He had heard this conversation often enough in the past weeks to know where it would lead.

“Would this not be the perfect opportunity to get close to Y/N?” Viscountess Choi remarked, her voice deceptively light.

San felt a knot tighten in his stomach, realizing where this conversation was headed. The subtle shift in his mother’s demeanor, the way her lips curled into a knowing smile, made it clear that she had plans for him—plans that involved you. 

“Do you not find it inappropriate, mother, to discuss alliances when our home was nearly reduced to ash?” he replied, his voice laced with a bitterness he couldn’t entirely suppress. 

Viscountess Choi’s smile didn’t waver. “Precisely why this is the perfect time,” she replied smoothly, her words tinged with a maddening confidence. 

“The Kangs have graciously opened their home to us. It would be unwise not to show our gratitude.”

Gratitude. That’s what she was calling it now. San clenched his jaw, his gaze returning to the passing scenery outside the carriage window. He knew better than to argue when his mother’s mind was already made up. But the idea of using his family’s misfortune as a stepping stone for her ambitions made his stomach churn.

There had been something between you once, though calling it close now felt like a cruel twist of fate. San had always been someone who commanded attention, whether he sought it or not. His charm, once something he wielded effortlessly in your presence, was now a weapon that had turned against him. 

He had spent countless nights over the years replaying that moment in the garden, as if by thinking about it enough, he could somehow undo it. But no matter how many times he revisited it, the outcome was the same. You had trusted him, opened yourself to him in a way no one else had, and he had destroyed it all in a single reckless moment.

No matter how many letters he wrote, how many conversations he rehearsed in his mind, it was as though he had been erased from your world. And perhaps, in a way, he had.

Whenever you were near, it felt as though the air itself had grown colder. You would sweep past him at gatherings, head held high, never sparing him a second glance. You spoke to everyone but him, and when your gaze brushed over him, it was like staring through empty space.

He had done this to himself. He had betrayed your trust in the most humiliating, selfish way possible. And your brother made sure to remind him of that. Yeosang had come storming into the club the very next evening after the ball. 

San could still recall the moment vividly, every detail seared into his memory. 

“Where the fuck is he!?”

San only had a moment before Yeosang came bearing down on him, his fist connecting with his jaw. The impact was staggering, sending him reeling backward into a table, knocking over bottles and glasses in a chaotic crash.

“Of all the people in this world, you made a wager on my sister?”

San’s eyes darted between Yeosang and the crowd, his shock turning to regret as he slowly began to comprehend the magnitude of his actions.

“I never meant to hurt her.”

The regret in his expression was immediate, but it did nothing to quell the fire in Yeosang’s eyes. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper that was somehow more terrifying than his entrance.

“Did you think you could just make a fool out of her and walk away unscathed? That you could treat her like some plaything, and there wouldn’t be consequences?”

San swallowed hard, the reality of his actions finally crashing down on him. He had played the game too far, crossed a line he could never uncross. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice barely audible, the words tasting hollow and useless even as he spoke them.

“Sorry?” Yeosang repeated, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Do you really think a simple apology can undo the damage you’ve caused to her reputation?”

Yeosang leaned in, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper that was heard by everyone in the stunned crowd.

“Let me remind you of something,” he continued, his tone darkening with every syllable.

“Contrary to what the rest of your bastards think, my sister is not some wallflower you can toy with and discard. If I’d let her have her way, she’d have set the hounds on you and hunted you through the woods herself.”

Yeosang’s gaze remained fixed on San, his eyes blazing with an intensity that brooked no argument. 

“You’re lucky,” he hissed, “lucky that I’m the one standing here tonight and not her. Because if she were here, you’d be running for your life right now, and there wouldn’t be a soul in this room who could save you.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving San alone in the center of the room, the eyes of everyone upon him, the full weight of his actions bearing down on him like an unforgiving storm.

He had turned something precious, a genuine connection, into a game, a fleeting moment of amusement at the behest of his peers. And in doing so, had ruined any chance of earning your trust or your friendship, perhaps even more.

The Kang estate came into view, an impressive silhouette against the sky, and the knots in San’s stomach tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was the looming confrontation with your family or just the fact that you were inside, somewhere, plotting against him. 

As the carriage approached the gates, a commotion reached their ears. San squinted, his brows furrowing. The sound of your voice carried through the air, clear and indignant. 

San blinked. The footman hadn’t even opened the carriage door yet, but the clamor outside piqued his curiosity. He stepped out on his own, descending the steps cautiously as he tried to make sense of the chaos erupting from the grounds.

“Kang Y/N, stop this nonsense!”

The sharp voice rang out, unmistakably that of Lady Kang, her tone tinged with exasperation and disbelief. 

“You are not becoming a nun just because the Choi family is staying with us!”

San’s lips parted, but before he could question what was happening, a blur of movement caught his eye. Down the main path leading to the estate, he saw you, clutching a little sack in one hand and lifting your skirts with the other as you darted away. You whipped around, casting a glance over your shoulder as your mother pursued you, flanked by two bewildered servants.

“You’re asking me to endure the unspeakable horror of living under the same roof as Choi San!”

San felt his breath catch in his throat. Of all the ways to be greeted, this was not one he had anticipated. For a moment, all he could do was watch the spectacle unfold, half wondering if he should intervene or simply retreat back into the carriage and pretend he hadn’t witnessed any of this. 

But then your eyes snapped to him, and his breath hitched. You froze mid-step, staring at him as though his mere presence had upended all your carefully laid escape plans. Your hair was slightly mussed, your face flushed, and despite your obvious distress, there was a defiance burning within your eyes. 

You had changed. The sharp wit he remembered was still there, but the woman standing before him now was entirely different, a force to be reckoned with. In that moment, everything about you seemed to shine brighter, commanding his attention in a way that left him breathless. 

Was it too late? Or was there, against all odds, still a chance? Perhaps this would be the fateful encounter where you’d be reunited after four long years, and begin to rebuild the connection he’d so carelessly destroyed. Or–

“You!” you sputtered, your cheeks burning with equal parts humiliation and indignation. 

And just like that, his hopes were shattered. 

San straightened instinctively, his heart lurching as he grasped the carriage door for support as he blinked at you, confusion plain on his face. 

“Me?” he asked, pointing to himself as if there were any chance you were yelling at someone else.

“Mr. Choi!” Lady Kang’s voice rang out, skirts swishing with enough force to send a servant scuttling out of her path. 

“Mr. Choi, stop her!”

San blinked again, his gaze darting between you and your mother. Stop her? He glanced at the sack clutched tightly in your hands, then at the determined set of your jaw, and then back to your mother, who seemed moments away from fainting.

Your movements were sudden and sharp as you darted past the gates and onto the estate’s main road. San’s eyes widened, and without thinking, he took a hesitant step forward.

“M-Ms. Kang! Wait!” he called out, his voice rising in pitch as he tried, and failed, to process what was happening. 

You didn’t slow down. If anything, his call only seemed to spur you on, your legs pumping faster as your mother shouted from behind him.

“Is something the matter with Y/N?” Viscount Choi asked, poking his head out the carriage door. 

San turned halfway, floundering for words. “Uh, well–”

Lady Kang was practically in hysterics, still clutching at the folds of her skirts as she tried to regain her composure. She spun on her heel, a forced smile plastered on her face as she approached San's parents, who were now fully out of the carriage and observing the unfolding chaos with mild amusement.

"Viscount and Viscountess Choi," your mother greeted, her voice an octave higher than usual. 

She spread her arms as if trying to shield them from the scene of servants half-collapsed in exhaustion, Joe bent over with his hands on his knees, and you, a fast-disappearing figure on the horizon. 

“Is it always this lively here?” the viscount asked with a hearty chuckle. His footmen were unloading the trunks, seemingly unbothered by the commotion.

Lady Kang’s smile twitched dangerously, but she nodded in agreement, her fingers twisting anxiously in her skirts. 

“Oh, yes. Quite lively! It’s never dull here at our humble estate.”

“I can see that,” San’s mother remarked, her tone bordering on bemused as she exchanged a glance with her husband.

“It seems your daughter is rather…spirited this morning.”

“She’s just getting some fresh air! It’s been a long week preparing for your arrival, after all! Come, allow me to show you to your quarters. There’s plenty of room here for everyone!”

San barely registered their exchanges, his mind still reeling from the scene that had just unfolded. Your departure struck him as a sharp reminder of the pain he caused you years ago. Four years had passed since he had recklessly used you in a wager, and yet, here you were, fleeing from him and the mess he created.

He knew he had no right to feel this way, no right to want to make things right when he’d been the one to destroy everything between you. But the thought of you with your unrestrained fury made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t ignore.

This was supposed to be an opportunity for his family, a chance to rebuild after the fire that had brought them to the Kang estate. But for San, it already felt like a return to the very thing he’d been trying to escape—his own mistakes. 

⊹

The dining room was suffocating. Servants moved about, arranging dishes with care, the clink of silverware and the soft murmur of polite conversation filling the space. The voices of your mother, the Viscountess, and Yunho wove around you, their cheerful tones grating on your nerves. 

After Jason and your mother dragged you back to the manor, you’d barely had time to shake off the humiliation of your failed escape attempt. The skirt of your dress was dusty, littered with debris from the tree you had climbed, and your hair was a windswept disaster, complete with leaves that clung stubbornly despite your frantic attempts to smooth them away. Every inch of you felt like a spectacle, and you trudged up the steps, wishing the earth would swallow you whole before anyone, particularly him could catch sight of your current state.

Not that it mattered. The more displeasing you were to Choi San, the better. He was an intruder in your life, a thorn in your side, and you were determined to make him regret every second he spent on your family’s estate. 

That’s it! All you had to do was make yourself so insufferable that San would want to leave of his own accord. As you plotted against him, you mindlessly rounded the corner near the drawing room, only to find yourself face-to-face with none other than the man himself.

San stopped in his tracks. His dark eyes roamed over your disheveled state, taking in every humiliating detail. Yet his expression was uncharacteristically soft and curious, and the subtle rise of his brow suggested he wanted to say something, yet he remained silent, as if he, too, was caught off guard by the moment. 

Your face warmed under his attention and you stiffened, determined not to look flustered even as his gaze lingered. This was already humiliating enough without him turning it into an opportunity to tease you further. 

With your head held high, you brushed past him, ignoring the dust on your dress and the leaves tangled in your hair. His gaze followed you as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like he had been waiting years just to see you again and wasn’t sure if this moment was a dream.  

San sat across from you at dinner, his shoulders rigid, his hand hovering with uncertainty over his glass as if caught between drinking and fidgeting. You refused to look at him directly, though occasionally, you felt his gaze land on you. Each time it happened, your grip on the knife tightened, and you deliberately lifted it just enough to send a message.

His gaze flickered away immediately, his ears turning an alarming shade of red.

Beside you, Yeosang sat in silence, his brow furrowed as he cast you a sidelong glance. He had clearly noticed your little game and seemed torn between amusement and disapproval. Thankfully, he said nothing, though his lips twitched once or twice as if he was holding back a laugh.

“Before I forget,” Yunho announced suddenly, breaking through the polite murmur of conversation, “I’ll be hosting a hunt at my family’s estate in a few weeks.”

“Oh, how splendid!” your mother exclaimed, her voice overly bright.

“Y/N, you’ll attend, of course.”

Your knife paused mid-air, hovering over the roast pheasant on your plate. You shot your mother a pointed look, the corner of your mouth twitching in irritation. 

Your mother had always adored Yunho, he was your brother’s best friend, after all. Perhaps it was due to his boundless energy and unfaltering cheer, that mamas within the ton fawned over him more than their daughters did. 

“Worry not, Your Grace,” you replied, tone dripping with exaggerated sweetness. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

“And you, Mr. Choi? Will you be joining us? Or is hunting not your kind of sport?”

San stiffened slightly, his posture straightening as he met Yunho’s gaze. His jaw tensed, and for a heartbeat, he didn’t answer, his fingers tightening around the stem of his wine glass. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” San replied coolly, though the slight grit in his tone betrayed his irritation.

The viscountess chimed in with a lighthearted comment about the joys of hunting, but the tension between Yunho and San was palpable. You could feel it radiating across the table, an unspoken battle of wills that neither man seemed willing to concede.

Men, you scoffed, picking up your glass. Whatever ridiculous posturing or rivalry Yunho and San were engaged in, didn’t concern you. 

While your mother would likely fret over your attire and the chance to parade you before eligible bachelors, you had far more practical matters to attend to. Your hounds, loyal and eager, needed to be checked over, their training refreshed. You’d also have to inspect your firearms, ensuring they were polished and in proper working order.

If you were to endure the company of San and the Viscount for the hunt, you might as well have a little fun at their expense. Men were often so boastful about their skill with firearms, yet so easily unnerved when confronted with a woman who wielded them with confidence.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have rifles that need polishing and hounds that need training,” you announced, setting down your silverware. The murmurs of conversation around the dinner table faltered as heads turned your way, but you ignored the curious glances. 

“Viscount, if you are so much as interested, you are more than welcome to glance over my late father’s collection. It’s quite impressive, even if I say so myself.”

The Viscount’s eyes lit up, a gleeful grin spreading across his face. "I remember the first time I saw it," he said, gesturing animatedly with his hands. 

"I assumed he’d stolen half the royal armory! I’ve been wanting to get my hands on one of his French imports for years!"

"Father did have a fondness for Le Page pistols,” you added in an attempt to prolong the conversation just enough to needle your mother. But before the Viscount could say more, your mother cleared her throat delicately, her eyes narrowing in that way she always did when she sensed you veering off the path of propriety. 

“Y/N, it is hardly appropriate to abandon dinner so abruptly,” she chided softly, her tone laced with forced politeness.

You leaned back in your chair with an innocent smile, meeting her gaze with just enough defiance to make your intentions clear. 

“Apologies, mother, but preparations for the hunt cannot wait. Besides,” you added with a touch of nonchalance, “Norman hasn’t been let out of the kennels all day.”

“Norman?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly, her composure beginning to slip. Her expression shifted from mild disapproval to thinly veiled horror, and you had to suppress a laugh.

“You cannot possibly mean to bring that dog into the house!”

“He’s my best companion and hunter. Loyal, well behaved, and far less troublesome.” You let the words linger, then turned your eyes deliberately toward San, your glare sharp as you emphasized the last word.

San’s posture stiffened, the pointedness of your words cutting through any pretense of oblivion. He dropped his gaze to his wine glass, swirling the liquid as though it might offer an escape from your scrutiny. Beside him, Viscount Choi let out a nervous chuckle, his jovial demeanor faltering as he glanced between you, San, and your mother. 

“Ah, yes, a good hunting dog is worth its weight in gold,” he offered, attempting to steer the conversation into safer territory. “Your father was always fond of terriers.”

Your mother’s sharp intake of breath signaled her growing exasperation, but you ignored it, standing gracefully and excusing yourself with a polite nod. It wasn’t just about the dog, of course. 

Bringing Norman inside was your way of asserting a small act of rebellion, a reminder that you weren’t some pawn in your mother’s endless games of social maneuvering. Let her fume. 

You were your father’s child, and you’d honor his memory in your own way, even if it meant bringing your rowdy wire fox terrier to disrupt the order of the manor. 

San prided himself on many things: his charm and his uncanny ability to talk his way out of, or into, anything he pleased. Navigation, however, was not one of them. 

It was meant to be a simple task: find his father, Yeosang, and Yunho to discuss hunting plans over a game of billiards. Yet here he was, standing in an unfamiliar garden, surrounded by an expanse of hedges and flowerbeds that seemed to mock him with every meticulously arranged bloom.

He sighed, placing his hands on his hips, and turned in a slow circle, trying to piece together how he’d managed to stray so far. 

"This way?" he muttered under his breath, taking a tentative step toward a stone path before freezing. "No, absolutely not. I recognize that planter, I definitely passed it at least twice now."

San exhaled sharply, brushing a hand through his hair. The maze of hedges had successfully bested him, and he was now grappling with the humiliation of calling for help or wandering aimlessly until staff stumbled upon him.

Just as he was weighing the cost of his pride, a sharp bark rang out across the garden. He froze, his body going rigid.

Norman. 

The terrier with boundless energy and an uncanny knack for finding mischief. He was just one of the dozens of hunting dogs your family kept for the sport, but he was unquestionably your favorite. While he wasn’t the fastest or the strongest, he was clever, spirited, and utterly devoted to you. 

He rounded the hedge like a bullet, a streak of white and brown hurling straight toward San. His pulse quickened, and his mind raced. Had you trained the dog to attack him? He wouldn’t blame you if you did. He took an instinctive step back, hands darting to his side as if to ward off an incoming assault.

You crouched low by the hedges, furrowing your brow as you watched the scene unfold. Surely, the feisty terrier would bark San off the estate and send him running.

But no.

Norman skidded to a halt in front of him, tail wagging furiously and eyes alight with mischief. The dog let out an eager yip, crouching down with his front paws stretched forward in a playful bow.

You groaned inwardly as San’s lips curved into a soft smile, and he knelt to ruffle the dog’s fur. 

“You must be Norman,” he murmured, his tone warm and easy.

Norman, utterly delighted, barked again and darted in circles around him, pausing only to nudge San’s hand with his nose when the petting stopped.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath, sinking deeper behind the hedges. With a resigned sigh, you stood and dusted off your dress, forcing yourself to sound as casual as possible.

“Norman!” You called out, as if you hadn’t just been crouched behind the bushes plotting San’s demise. 

Norman, ever the opportunist, interpreted your call as the start of a game of chase. His ears perked, and with an enthusiastic bark, he darted out of your line of sight, his legs carrying him toward the fountain at full speed.

“Wait, no, no, no—Norman!” you shrieked, launching into a sprint after him. Your voice only spurred him on, his wagging tail disappearing behind a hedge before you caught sight of him again.

The terrier took a running leap and soared into the fountain, splashing around in its shallow pool. You stood frozen for a moment, watching the dog paddle gleefully in the water.

“Oh, fuck me,” you grumbled, running a hand down your face as Norman paused mid-paddle to taunt you. He splashed again, as if daring you to join him.

With a resigned huff, you approached the fountain, crouching slightly as you leaned over the edge. Carefully, you extended an arm toward the mischievous terrier.

“Kang Norman, come here,” you gritted.

Norman responded with a bark, kicking his little legs to paddle just beyond your reach. You let out a frustrated sigh, adjusting your position as you gathered the skirt of your dress to kneel against the stone ledge. The water brushed against your fingertips as you leaned in farther, your balance growing increasingly precarious.

“Y/N!”

Startled, you turned to face San, wide-eyed, just as your foot slipped on the damp stone edge. He lunged forward, his hand gripping your arm in an attempt to steady you, but your momentum carried you forward.

His grip faltered, and you slipped from his grasp, tumbling into the cold water with a loud, humiliating splash. As you began to fall, he leaped into the fountain after you, arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to catch you before you were fully submerged. Water sloshed over the edges as you flailed for a moment, finally sitting up in the fountain, thoroughly drenched and utterly defeated.

To add insult to injury, Norman waded over to you, barking cheerfully and wagging his soaked tail as though congratulating you for finally joining him.

“Are you alright?” San’s voice was breathless with concern as he knelt in the water, his arms still loosely around you from his attempt to break your fall. 

You blinked up at him, stunned. His shirt clung to him, dripping from his hasty attempt to save you. For a heartbeat, you forgot about your own disheveled state, captivated by how breathtakingly handsome he looked just then—his guard down, his focus entirely on you.

How dare he look at you like that? Like you mattered. Like he hadn’t shattered you and left you to piece yourself back together alone.

Then it hit you. You were in his arms.

With a startled flail, you shoved at his chest, splashing water everywhere as you squirmed to get free. 

“What are you doing?” you demanded sharply. 

“You fell headfirst into the fountain!” San replied, his words spilling out too quickly, flustered and breathless. His brow furrowed, cheeks flushed. 

“I noticed!” you snapped, scrambling to stand upright. 

“I thought you might have hurt yourself.”

The audacity! Did he think he could fool you again? That a moment of concern could undo everything? You knew better. You knew this was the same man who had used you to repair his broken ego, the same man who had tossed you aside the moment you weren’t convenient for him anymore.

But there was a softness to him that made your resolve waver. It was maddening how in this moment, he left you momentarily spellbound despite every fault you’d sworn to hold against him.

“I’m fine,” you huffed, turning away with as much dignity as you could muster in your sodden state. 

San cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly as he looked around, clearly unsure of what to do with himself now that he was standing knee-deep in the fountain with you. There was a beat of silence between you as you sat there, dripping wet and too close for comfort. You moved away slightly, crossing your arms against the water seeping into your clothes. 

“I should return to the manor,” you said, clearing your throat in an attempt to sound composed, though the reality was anything but. 

You scooped Norman into your arms, the terrier dripping and delightfully oblivious to the chaos he had caused. His tail wagged enthusiastically, sending water droplets flying in every direction.

“Before a scandal breaks,” you added.

“R-Right,” San stammered, nodding quickly. 

Water dripped from the hem of your soaked clothes, forming a trail on the garden path, and your sodden shoes let out a loud, humiliating squeak with every step you took. 

“My lady!” Anna’s voice rose in a shriek, her hands flying to her mouth. She hurried forward, her eyes darting between your drenched form and the steadily growing puddle beneath your feet.

“Oh, heavens!” she gasped, wringing her hands. “What happened? 

Several maids rushed forward, their concerned murmurs filling the air as they scrambled to retrieve towels.

“Someone fetch a blanket!”

“Quickly before she catches a cold!”

“This,” you replied flatly, hoisting Norman slightly higher in your arms. The fox terrier, blissfully unaware of the commotion he had caused, panted happily with his tongue lolling to the side.  

The flurry of activity came to an abrupt halt as San stepped through the doorway behind you, his boots squelching comically against the floor. His shirt clung to him, outlining his chest in a way that wasn’t exactly helping his drenched appearance. 

The maids froze, their arms full of towels, as they stared wide eyed and speechless.

The scene was entirely innocent—at least, it should have been. Yet, in that moment, with the dripping mess and the lingering tension, it felt anything but. Anna’s breath hitched audibly, and she glanced between you and San, her lips parting as if to speak but unable to form the words. 

“He was only assisting in catching Norman. That’s all.” 

You cleared your throat, breaking the awkward stillness. The others quickly snapped out of their daze, resuming their efforts to gather towels and muttering apologies as they darted around you.

San’s head shot up, his eyes widening in disbelief. Did you just…defend him? His heart raced but you remained cool and detached as you avoided his gaze. Not that it mattered.

That night, San tossed and turned in bed, unable to shake the day’s events. From the way you fled the estate that morning to your fiery encounter in the fountain, the encounters replayed on an endless loop in his mind.

In your anger, you looked…beautiful. More than beautiful. He groaned, dragging a pillow over his face, as if smothering himself could calm the relentless pounding of his heart. A soft, incredulous laugh escaped him, tinged with disbelief. 

“Idiot,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. “She hates you.”

Still, his lips curled into a wide, giddy smile as he rolled onto his side, clutching the pillow beneath him. You’d been near him, spoken to him, glared at him, shoved him, and somehow, that was enough to make him feel like the luckiest man alive.

⊹

The Jeong Estate was as magnificent as ever, its manicured lawns rolling in lush waves of green, punctuated by bursts of color from sprawling gardens that seemed to stretch endlessly around the grounds. But today, the beauty was secondary; your focus laid elsewhere as you prepared yourself for the day’s hunt.

You cocked the shotgun with a sharp, mechanical click, testing its weight. You turned, holding the weapon at the ready as your eyes landed squarely on San. For a moment, the world seemed to still. San’s eyes locked on to yours and his mouth went suddenly dry. His eyes flicked nervously between the barrel and your face, unsure whether to laugh it off or raise his hands in surrender, unsure if even the slightest movement would prompt you to pull the trigger.

“Y/N, put that thing down!” your mother chided, her voice pitched high with mortification. She skittered into view, her skirts swishing as she cast a tight, strained smile toward a group of ladies passing by. 

You lowered the shotgun a fraction, the barrel dipping just enough to avoid sending San into cardiac arrest. Still, your gaze remained fixed on him, your narrowed eyes making it clear he wasn’t off the hook yet. With a huff, you turned on your heel, striding toward the stables, the shotgun still in hand. Your boots crunched against the gravel, each step a sharp punctuation to your frustration.

"Pointing a gun at other guests is highly inappropriate, Ms. Kang.”

You turned to see Yunho striding toward you, his eyes sparkling with amusement, as if he had just caught you in the middle of some mischief he couldn’t wait to comment on.

"He’s lucky I didn’t pull the trigger.”

Yunho’s brow quirked and his grin widened. “You’ve certainly mastered the art of making a memorable impression within the ton. Though I have to wonder, were you aiming for him or his pride?”

You shot him a sideways glance, feigning exasperation. Yunho had always been this way—playful, quick-witted, and never one to miss an opportunity to tease you. Yet he was observant, capable of reading between the lines. It was part of the reason you found yourself oddly comfortable around him.

“I’m expediting his departure from the estate,” you replied dryly.

Yunho laughed, a rich and infectious sound that drew the attention of a few nearby guests. 

"Don’t you think you might be pushing him a little too hard? Poor Mr. Choi looked like he was about to faint."

You scoffed, though your lips twitched in a small smile, betraying the hint of amusement in your eyes. 

"He’s not that delicate, and you know it."

San stood a few paces away, watching the casual banter between you and Yunho, his jaw tightening involuntarily. He told himself it shouldn’t matter. Yunho was a close friend of your brother, someone you’d grown up with. Of course, you’d be close. It was all perfectly innocent. Rational, even but still—why did it bother him so much?

"I don’t blame her for fancying him," Wooyoung interrupted with a dreamy sigh. San shot him a pointed glance, his irritation clear, but Wooyoung just grinned, completely unapologetic.

“What? If I were her, I’d rather be a Duchess.” 

It’s not like that between them, San told himself firmly, trying to quell the unease rising in his gut. He wasn’t one to let Wooyoung’s jabs get to him, but somehow, this one lingered, leaving him uneasy and more unsettled than he cared to admit.

As you approached the stable yard, the familiar hum of the estate, murmurs, laughter, the soft clink of silver, faded into the distance. You were greeted by Darcy’s familiar silhouette, his ears flicking forward in recognition, as you reached out to scratch the spot just behind his ear. The stallion leaned into your touch, his head bowing in a gesture that felt almost like a hug. 

You slipped him a treat, his muzzle brushed your palm with a gentleness that made you smile.

“…A right mess that fire was, but he did what he was paid for.”

You froze in place. Your heart skipped a beat, as the clop of heavy boots and a murmur of voices approached. You edged closer to the shadows of the stable wall, ducking into Darcy’s stable, but before you could catch a breath, a soft snort sounded right by your ear, followed by a damp, insistent nudge against your shoulder. 

You tried to brush his nose away with a quick wave, but the horse was undeterred. His large, expressive eyes blinked innocently down at you as he pushed his head into your space once more, this time almost knocking you off balance.

“Thought it’d be small,” one of the voices continued, closer now, “but didn’t expect half the place to blow up like that!”

“Keep it down, would ya? You want the whole bloody place to hear?” a second voice said. 

They were talking about the fire. At the Choi’s estate. The stablehands didn’t sound remorseful, only wary, as though they knew they tread dangerous waters. 

“Aye, well,” the first man muttered, his voice lowering, “it’s not like he had much choice, did he? Poor sod got backed into a corner. When they’re waving that kind of coin, who’s gonna say no?”

A chill crawled up your spine. Paid for? The fire wasn’t an accident. Someone had set it deliberately—and whoever they were, they’d been bought off.

“Still,” the second voice added nervously, “don’t know if I’d call it clean work. You reckon they’ll figure it out?”

“No one’s gonna find out. Just keep your mouth shut, and it’ll be fine. Heard there’s another job coming for the Parks.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Another job. The Parks.

You stayed perfectly still as the voices faded, their owners disappearing around the corner. Once you were sure they were out of sight, you exhaled shakily, leaning against the stable wall for support. Your mind raced, trying to process what you had just overheard.

Paid off. Deliberate. Not clean work. The pieces clicked together, forming a picture more sinister than you’d imagine. The fire at the Choi estate hadn’t been an unfortunate accident—it had been orchestrated.

But why?

Whoever had set it in motion wasn’t some petty criminal. This was calculated, ruthless. This was someone willing to destroy lives to achieve their goals. And if the Chois had been a target, then the Parks were next.

A sick feeling churned in your stomach. What guarantee was there that your family’s home wouldn’t follow? What guarantee was there that anyone in the ton was safe?

The idea was unthinkable, but so was everything you’d just overheard. If there was even the slightest chance that your family could be in danger, you couldn’t let it go unanswered.

One | Three

taglist: @e3ellie @scuzmunkie @syubseokie @sunnysidesins @notevenheretbh1 @litolmochi @intowxnderland @etaerealboy @foxinnie8 @sanriomilk @kang-ulzzang @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @vcutparis @ishz @park-simphwa @moonsanshine @drinkingrumandcocacola @matzofficial @mushy-mushroom04 @monsta-x-jagi @amoryeonjun @innocygnet @jaeyunlvrs @hwashiningstar @rachmmb @ffenjoyerdazme @shanabtsarmy @granolabar3000 @kawaikisses @hehetmons-flwr @starryunho @hwalighters @plum-stxr @kaituyyn @santineez @amazaynaastha @grandlightcandy @soso59love-blog

[minnaci]

ushijima wakatoshi x reader · nsfw · wc: 0.9k

a dragon's breeding season can be a long, hard course. luckily, ushijima's found a willing partner to take his eggs...

contents: dragon!ushijima, OVIPOSITION, monsterfucking, ushijima has two cocks, unrealistic sex, ushijima-typical bluntness, in-depth descriptions of egg-laying

reader details: they/them pronouns used. reader's body parts are described as "clit", "cervix", "womb", "entrance", and "hole". reader is called "little one".

a/n: super excited to present my last entry for @ficsforgaza's kinktober! i haven't written ushijima (or any hq characters) for a long while now, so thank you for the opportunity to stretch my wings and fly high again! i hope you enjoy!! <3

The thing they never warn you about having a dragon boyfriend is— well, to be concise: cock big. And there are two of them, besides.

Well, technically, only one of them is a true penis. The other one…

"Wakatoshi," you gasp, back arching. His fingers dig into the soft of your hips, claws filed down to a manageable length. Still, the dull pinpricks of pain are enough to make heat bloom under your skin.

Ushijima growls your name in response, low and rumbling. His chest heaves with exertion; a bead of sweat trails down the generous curve of his pecs. He sheathes himself deep inside of you, grinding his hips in the way he knows you like the most.

Dragon cocks are notoriously big. And, if Ushijima is to be believed, he's considered below average. Not that you doubt him. It's just hard to believe that he could be considered small in any universe when he's so deep inside of you that you can nearly feel him in your lungs.

His lower cock— or, his fertilizer, as he explained to you— is big, thick, and heavy. Even in his more humanoid form, it retains some of his more draconic features. Namely, the protruding ridges that never fail to bully your insides until you're a mindless, babbling mess.

His upper cock— the ovipositor— is impossibly bigger, thicker, and heavier. Now, it rests against your tummy, occasionally rubbing against your clit as Ushijima thrusts into you with deep, overwhelming strokes.

“I need you to cum.” His hips stutter, and he adjusts his angle before returning to his punishing pace. The change in position allows him to slip just a bit deeper, and you moan as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix. He takes the sound as an encouragement to grind harder. The deep ache resonates through your whole body, enhancing the pleasure so much that your vision goes white. “Cum, little one.”

Ushijima hardly gives you a choice. There’s nothing you can do but lie back and let the heat rage through you as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Perfect,” he’s saying as you come back to yourself. “You should be ready now.”

The blissful haze of the afterglow fogs your mind, and a soft little whine slips from your lips as he pulls out. Distantly, you remember your discussions about his egg-laying season. He’d make you cum first to get you nice and loose, and then…

You whine again, and Ushijima pats a soothing hand over your flank. You’re so empty without him inside of you. The orgasm only served to stoke the flames of arousal in your core. Desperation claws at your ribs, and you writhe under Ushijima’s careful attention. You need him inside. You need him inside now.

“Patience,” Ushijima says. Despite his unflappable appearance, his hands tremble as he shifts, lining the tip of his ovipositor up against your entrance. “I’m coming in.”

He pushes forward in one smooth glide. Even with one orgasm under your belt, the sheer stretch almost has you cumming again.

"They’re here," he grunts, voice strained. Sure enough, there’s a bulge at the very base of his ovipositor. Your tummy flips with anticipation. "Brace yourself—"

He cuts himself off with a long, blissed-out moan. His hips rut against yours powerfully— once, twice— before he buries himself deep inside of you. The egg travels along the length of his ovipositor, and you both let out twin groans of pleasure as it slips out from his slit and settles against the mouth of your womb.

After the first egg is laid, it’s like the dam breaks. Ushijima’s ovipositor jerks and throbs as it spits egg after egg into your warm, willing hole. The growing stretch makes your tummy ache, sends your head spinning. You’re pretty sure you cum again, but you couldn’t be sure– the pleasure is overwhelming and unceasing in way that is indistinguishable from a constant orgasm.

Too soon, the insistent thrusts of Ushijima’s hips slow.

“Just one more,” he says, eyes trained at the place where your hole stretches around him. “I just have one left.”

“I wanna watch,” you say, blinking up at him through the fog of pleasure. Your stomach feels tight. There’s a slight swell to your belly that wasn’t there before. “Can I watch you lay the last one?”

To anyone else, the slight downturn of Ushijima’s lips wouldn’t be noticeable. To you, it’s a deep pout. Still, he acquiesces, pulling out with a lewd pop. The eggs shift around inside you, and you let out a long, loose moan.

“Eyes on me, then,” Ushijima says, wrapping a hand around his cock. “Don’t get distracted.”

Slowly, he strokes his ovipositor. He’s beautiful in his pleasure– a work of art. Your gaze flits over his face, drinking in the scrunch of his eyebrows, the way his jaw hangs slack after a particularly delicious twist of his wrist. A shudder travels down his spine, and you shiver in vicarious delight.

The last egg is a stubborn one. He fucks his fist, coaxing the egg through the sensitized channel of his ovipositor. Renewed sparks of lust burn in your core as you watch him tenderly milk his own cock. Finally, his slit stretches obscenely wide, and he lets loose an indulgent moan as he deposits the last egg onto the soft bedding between you.

“Beautiful,” you say, soft. His eyes snap to you.

“We’re not finished yet,” he says. “The eggs must be fertilized.”

Your hole pulses and the eggs jostle inside you, as if agreeing.

“Well, then,” you say, letting your thighs fall apart. His lower cock twitches with interest, and you swear you can see his balls throb. “You’d better get to it.”

tags: @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum @chigirisprincess @resibonin

[buckets-and-trees]

Huffily Ever After: A CindereLloyd Story [1/?]

Chapter One - The Masquerade Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 5k Summary: After paying your dues and working hard for a few years, you're finally invited to be part of the delegation Nexus PR is sending to the industries banner international conference. It's the opportunity you've been waiting for to fuel the next steps in your career. Over the coming days, you're eager to take every chance and make every connection you can and not waste a single moment. And it all starts with a pre-conference masquerade...

Content/Warnings: modern Cinderella adaptation, unknown identities (later enemies to lovers), mention of the past death of a parental figure in passing, toxic coworkers, eventual smut

Notes: Final week of my Countdown to Chris-mas! This is an idea I had a really really really really really really long time ago, but it's just sort of been waiting in the wings and biding its time with my muse. My intention was for this to be a longer fic between 8-10k, but ... when I got to the end of the first night, it was 5k, so ANOTHER CHAPTERED FIC, HERE WE GO! I know nobody asked for yet another WIP from me, but alas. It is what it is.

A/N 2: Credit to @stargazingfangirl18 for title inspiration!

Series Masterlist

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

This wasn’t only your first international conference, it was your first professional conference, period.

For it to be held in Paris was already a dream.

To be on your way to a masquerade at the chateaux of Versailles as a prelude to the conference was nothing short of magical.

Even if it was being sponsored by Hansen Global Digital Industries.

The company was a titan in the industry, both in size and in reputation. While they weren’t your direct competitors - the small firm you worked for was nowhere near the size - they were one of the top and used for benchmarking across the board by many. The Global, Digital, and International in their title basically meant they did everything.

While the masquerade was billed as a social, everyone knew it was also a thinly veiled and prime opportunity for networking that could lead to potential poaching. But since invitations for attendance were extended to everyone registered for the conference, it was more than just Hansen Global who planned to scope out prospects and sharpen their teeth among the masses tonight.

As the taxi wound its way through the streets of Paris and then out of the city, you nervously adjusted your mask. It was an elegant creation of black lace and gold filigree, a last-minute purchase from a boutique near your hotel. You hoped it would be enough to fit in with the crowd of industry elites. You'd spent more than you had wanted on the costume, but reasoned it was an investment. First impressions counted, especially in a crowd like this.

The taxi ahead of you turned a corner, and you caught a glimpse of Gus's laughing face through the window. Your stomach twisted with a pang of envy. In the chaos of trying to get everyone from your firm’s delegation into taxis at the same time, you’d been split from your work best friend Gus and instead landed in the last taxi with the last two people you wanted. Gus, with his easy charm and quick wit, would have made the perfect companion for the nerve-wracking journey to Versailles. Instead, you were wedged in the backseat between Anya and Holly, their silence as thick and suffocating as the heavy perfume they both wore.

Anya stared out the window, her crimson lips pursed in a permanent expression of boredom. Her mask, a stunning creation of peacock feathers and Swarovski crystals, probably cost more than your entire wardrobe - not just what you had on tonight, your entire wardrobe back home. Holly, on your other side, tapped away furiously on her phone, no doubt already networking before you'd even arrived.

The three of you worked together on the same team, and they treated you as an unwanted little step-sister, leaving you to catch most of the work for the projects as the rookie, so you could learn.

And learn, you did. As much as you knew and hated that you were given nearly everything while they did nearly nothing and blatantly shared and stole credit, you didn’t complain. You were no stranger to grinding and working for every scrap and opportunity that you could take. But you also didn’t complain because there was no one to complain to. Your team lead thought Anya and Holly could do no wrong and made it clear she felt put upon that you’d been shifted to her team when the team you had originally been hired to had been dissolved when your lead had been promoted within the company.

You could also put up with Anya and Holly as necessary on this trip because - by some blessed twist of fate - said leader of your team Amilla Tremaine had been unable to attend the conference this year. It was going to be a week without her needling, scrutiny, and constant disapproval.

The closer you got to Versailles, the more your stomach churned with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. You had practiced your elevator pitch countless times in the mirror, rehearsing the finer points of your latest project. But would anyone even care to listen to a newcomer from a small firm?

The taxi pulled up to the grand gates, and you all stepped out into the cool evening air. The château loomed before you, its windows aglow with warm light. Without a word, Holly and Anya immediately linked arms and caught up with some of the others while leaving you behind. A steady stream of masked figures made their way up the steps, their laughter and chatter carried on the breeze.

Then Gus was suddenly next to you, bumping your shoulder with his.

"Ready to make some magic happen?" He grinned, his eyes twinkling behind a mask adorned with silver swirls.

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling some of your tension ease. "As ready as I'll ever be. Though I think I might need a bit of liquid courage first."

"That can be arranged," Gus chuckled, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

Together, you ascended the grand staircase, your heart pounding with each step. The opulence of Versailles was overwhelming, even more breathtaking in person than in any photograph or film. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the sea of masked faces, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures swirling around you.

As you entered the main ballroom, a waiter appeared as if by magic, offering flutes of champagne. You gratefully accepted one, taking a sip to calm your nerves. The champagne was exquisite, far better than anything you'd ever tasted before. You savored the moment, trying to commit every detail to memory.

"So, what's our game plan?" Gus asked, scanning the room. "Should we divide and conquer, or stick together?"

Before you could answer, a tall figure in an elaborate Venetian mask approached. "Excuse me," he said, his accent unmistakably French. "I couldn't help but overhear. Are you two looking to make some connections tonight?"

You and Gus exchanged a quick glance. "We are," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "We're here representing Nexus PR."

The man's eyes lit up with interest. "Ah, Nexus! I've heard good things about your work in emerging markets. I'm Claude Dumont, head of international relations at Hansen Global."

Your heart skipped a beat. Hansen Global? Already? You forced yourself to maintain composure as you shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Dumont.” You introduced yourself and Gus to tis industry titan.

"Enchanté," Claude smiled, his eyes crinkling behind his mask. "I must say, I'm particularly intrigued by your recent campaign in Southeast Asia. The cultural nuances were masterfully handled."

You blinked in surprise. He knew about that? It had been a small project, but one you'd poured your heart into. "Thank you, that means a lot coming from you, sir.”

Claude was known for his keen eye for talent and innovative partnerships. This was exactly the kind of opportunity you'd hoped for, but never expected to actually happen.

“I keep a sharp eye out for just that kind of execution in our industry, especially when it’s happening outside of our company,” he says with a wink. “Now you really must let me steal you two away to my modest corner of this gathering,” he insists.

You and Gus exchanged another quick glance, this time of barely contained excitement. This was an opportunity you couldn't pass up.

"We'd be honored, Monsieur Dumont," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Claude gestured for you to follow him through the glittering crowd. As you weaved your way across the ballroom, you couldn't help but notice Anya and Holly watching from a corner, their eyes narrowing behind their ornate masks. You felt a small surge of satisfaction, quickly followed by a pang of guilt for feeling that way.

Claude's "modest corner" turned out to be a secluded alcove with plush velvet chairs and a stunning view of the gardens. A small group was already gathered there, their masks glinting in the soft lamplight. You recognized a few faces from industry magazines and conferences – these were some of the biggest names in global PR and marketing.

Claude introduced you to a couple of the figures closest to you, and then began to mingle elsewhere, drawn in by others.

After a few minutes, Gus leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't look now, but I think you've caught someone else's attention."

Despite his warning, you couldn't help but glance in the direction he subtly indicated. A tall figure in a striking black and gold mask was observing you from across the room. Even from this distance, you could feel the intensity of their gaze.

"Any idea who that might be?" you whispered to Gus.

He shook his head. "Can't tell, but whoever it is, it looks like they're interested in you."

Your pulse quickened, and you took another sip of champagne. “No need to worry about him when we’re here though,” you replied softly, and then the two of you re-engaged with the people you’re surrounded with.

You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but found your attention continually drawn back to the mysterious figure in black and gold. Their gaze never wavered, and you felt a mixture of intrigue and unease under their scrutiny.

As the night wore on, you found yourself growing more comfortable in this elite circle of what turned out to be a mix of new and seasoned professionals. The initial nervousness had faded, replaced by a heady mix of excitement and confidence. You were holding your own in conversations about global market trends and innovative campaign strategies, even offering insights that were met with nods of approval.

Gus, true to form, was charming everyone within earshot. You couldn't help but smile as you watched him work the room, his easy laugh and quick wit drawing people in like moths to a flame.

After about an hour, you excused yourself to find a bathroom, and on your way back, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. You turned to find yourself face-to-face with the enigmatic observer. Though he wore a mask covering his full face, his eyes were still visible through the mask's openings, a mesmerizing shade of ice blue that drew you in.

He stood tall and imposing, his presence commanding even in the opulent surroundings of Versailles. His tuxedo was impeccably tailored, the fabric so fine it seemed to absorb the light around it. A single red rose was pinned to his lapel, a vibrant splash of color against the monochrome ensemble.

When he spoke, his voice was a rich baritone that sent a shiver down your spine. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room, and I must insist that you dance with me."

You kept a polite smile on your face, but your eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that so?”

"Forgive me, that came out more presumptuous than it should have. Allow me to rephrase - may I have the honor of a dance?"

Something told you he didn’t care one bit about politeness or if you forgave him or not.

You hesitated, torn between curiosity about this mysterious, cavalier figure and the comfortable circle you’d already broken into for the evening. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm actually in the middle of some important conversations..."

"But isn't this entire evening about making new connections?" he countered smoothly. "You won't regret it."

There was something in his voice, a hint of challenge perhaps, that made you reconsider. Plus, you had to admit, you were intrigued.

"Alright," you conceded, "one dance."

He offered his arm, and you took it, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. As if on cue, the orchestra began to play a slow waltz.

As you began to glide across the dance floor together, you couldn't help but feel a mix of exhilaration and unease. The mysterious man's lead was strong and confident, guiding you effortlessly through the steps of the waltz. His hand on your waist felt both thrilling and dangerous, like touching a live wire.

The man towered over you, his tall frame exuding a commanding presence. His broad shoulders were wrapped in thick muscles that you could feel plainly beneath your hand as it rested on his shoulder. With each turn on the dance floor, you could feel his undeniable strength and power, and it ignited a fire began to smolder within you. He was a force to be reckoned with, and you were unquestionably caught in his alluring grasp.

After a minute of dancing without any conversation, you needed to break the silence, your curiosity too strong and needing to know more about him.

“Aren’t you going to ask my name?” you started, in hopes of getting to learn his.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the p on the end.

You turned your face up to look at him. “Because you already know who I am?” you pressed.

“Nope,” he said again, but with a more pronounced p and a tone of amusement in his voice.

“Then why don’t you want to know who I am?”

“It defeats the point of having a masquerade,” he answered. “Tonight should be an escape from the burden of our names and titles and expectations.” His voice expressed a deeper annoyance as he continued - not at you, but seemingly at the situation. “The conference will be consumed by nothing but that for the rest of the week. Can we not have just this one night of anonymous freedom?”

There was an exhaustion that bled through his words as well. It made you more curious to know who this man was to feel so jaded and desperate to escape his life for one night, but it also made you reel back that curiosity to a point. His words struck a chord you could relate to.

"I suppose there's some truth to that," you admitted.

The pressure not only of the conference, but of your fledgling career, of constantly having to prove yourself, had been weighing heavily on your mind. Had been a relentless driving force for years, especially since your mother died. The idea of a night free from expectations was alluring.

"But how can we make connections if we don't know who we're connecting with?"

"Sometimes the most meaningful connections are formed when we're free from the constraints of our usual identities. Don't you find it liberating?"

As you twirled across the dance floor, you had to admit there would be something freeing about the anonymity. Without the pressure of your name or position, you felt you could be bolder, more daring.

"Fine, I'll play along," you decided, a mischievous glint in your eye. "But only if at some points you’ll answer at least some of my questions."

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Only if I want to. You up for the challenge?”

You wanted to know what company he worked for, maybe even what part of the industry, but you knew he wouldn’t answer questions like that.

“Where did you go to school?” you asked.

“Boring!”

“Can I at least know where you’re from?”

“Nope, too specific.”

You huff.

“Come on, ask me something interesting,” he goads.

You pondered for a moment, trying to think of a question that might intrigue him enough to answer. "Alright, what's your biggest regret?"

He raised an eyebrow behind his mask, clearly not expecting such a personal question. "Ah, now that's more like it," he said, his voice a low rumble. "My biggest regret... is not taking more risks when I was younger."

You felt a small thrill at having gotten him to answer. "What kind of risks?"

He spun you out and then pulled you back in, closer than before. "The kind that make your heart race and your palms sweat. The kind that could change everything."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. "And now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Now?" He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Now I make it a point to take as many calculated risks as I can.”

His words sent a thrill through you, adding more heat to the fire he’d already sparked. You were acutely aware of how close he was, the warmth of his body, the strength in his arms as he guided you across the dance floor.

"And what about you?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "What's your biggest regret?"

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. It felt too personal, too raw to share with a stranger. But then again, of course he would ask something demanding of a deeper answer. Wasn't that the point of this masked encounter now? Deeper connection but with the anonymity and constraints of only one night.

"I regret not standing up for myself more," you admitted softly. "Always trying to please others, even at my own expense."

He nodded, as if he understood all too well. "And now?" he echoed your earlier follow up.

You took a deep breath, considering your answer. "Now... I'm learning to find my voice. To take up space. To demand what I deserve."

His grip on your waist tightened almost imperceptibly. "Good," he murmured, his approval sending a shiver down your spine. "The world has no use for those who shrink themselves."

You were both quiet for a beat then, but it wasn’t awkward.

"The necklace you're wearing," he said after another moment, his eyes dropping to your collarbone. "It's quite striking."

You felt a flush creep up your neck, suddenly self-conscious. The small round diamond on its simple chain seemed woefully inadequate in the opulence of Versailles, among the glittering jewels adorning the necks of some of the other attendees. You'd debated whether to wear it tonight, knowing it might look out of place at such a grand affair. “You don’t have to say that, it’s not much, especially for an event like this.”

He shook his head, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. "No, it's perfect precisely because it's not ostentatious. It speaks of history, of sentiment. I'd wager it means far more to you than any gaudy bauble could."

You were taken aback by his perception. “It’s… yes. It belonged to my gram who passed it on to my mom, and then to me. Gram said it would always bring good luck.”

His eyes softened behind the mask. "And has it? Brought you good luck?"

"I'd say it has," you replied with a small smile. “More good than bad, at least.” You built everything in your life on hard work, but your mother had always reminded you that hard work would sometimes be rewarded with the blessing of luck.

"Then it's doing its job," he said, his voice warm. "And it suits you."

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, touched by his insight and unexpected kindness.

As you continued to dance, the conversation flowed more freely. You discussed favorite books, debated the merits of various cuisines, and shared anecdotes from growing up. All the while, you were acutely aware of his presence, the strength in his arms, the intensity of his gaze behind that striking mask.

You didn’t realize you had danced so long until the orchestra paused to take a break. The absence of music brought you back to reality, and you moved away from the man who was only a partial stranger now. He’d released his hold from your waist, but he kept hold of your hand.

“Let’s go walk in the gardens,” he said.

You hesitated, glancing back towards the alcove where you'd left Gus and your newfound industry connections. "I should probably get back..."

"Aw, come on," he challenged, his voice low and persuasive. "The gardens of Versailles are breathtaking at night. It would be a shame to miss them."

You bit your lip, torn between duty and desire. The responsible part of you knew you should return to networking, to making the most of this rare opportunity. But another part of you, a part that had been dormant for far too long, yearned for adventure.

"Alright," you conceded, "but only for a little while."

Wasting no time, he led you towards the grand doors that opened onto the gardens. As you stepped outside, the cool night air caressed your skin, a welcome respite from the warmth of the ballroom. The gardens of Versailles stretched out before you, a labyrinth of manicured hedges and marble statues bathed in moonlight.

As you walked, your companion kept hold of your hand, his touch sending sparks through your body. The two of you dove easily back into conversation once more - the unconventional step away from the standard getting-to-know-yous and venturing through more things that mattered but that you rarely talked about with anyone.

"What do you think is the key to success?" you asked, curious about his perspective.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that reverberated through you. "Adaptability," he answered without hesitation. "The ability to change course quickly, to see opportunities where others see obstacles. And a bit of ruthlessness doesn't hurt either."

You raised an eyebrow. "Ruthlessness? That’s intense."

He shrugged, his shoulders moving elegantly under his tailored jacket. "The business world isn't for the faint of heart. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions, put your own interests first."

His words made you pause. They reminded you of the cutthroat atmosphere at your own firm, the way Anya and Holly seemed to thrive on competition and backstabbing. You'd always tried to rise above it, to succeed on your own merits without stepping on others. But sometimes you wondered if that approach was naive.

"And what about integrity?" you challenged. "Doesn't that count for something?"

He turned to face you, his eyes glinting behind his mask. "Integrity is admirable, but it won't always get you where you want to go. Sometimes you have to play the game to change it."

You frowned, not entirely convinced. "But at what cost? Doesn't it hollow out your success if you compromise your values to achieve it?"

He leaned in closer, his voice low and intense. "The world isn't black and white, my dear. Sometimes the ends justify the means. And sometimes, those who play by the rules get left behind."

His words sent a chill down your spine.

There was a hard edge to his voice that hadn't been there before, a glimpse of something darker beneath the charm and mystery.

"I don't believe that," you said firmly. "There's always a way to succeed without sacrificing your principles. It might be harder, it might take longer, but it's possible."

He studied you for a long moment, his head tilted slightly. "You're idealistic," he said finally. "It's... refreshing. But I wonder how long you can hold onto that idealism in this industry."

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze squarely. “I can’t abandon it. Ever.”

Even though you could not agree with him, there was something intoxicating about his confidence, his unapologetic pursuit of success.

You expected him to scoff or look at you as if you were perhaps a little less. But he only nodded, a pensive look remaining in his eyes, and then began to walk again, pulling you along to fall in step beside him.

"And what is it that you want?" he asked, his voice low and intimate.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the direction of his question. It was simple, but exposed you in a new way.

The question hung in the air between you, loaded with possibility. The intensity of the moment made your heart race.

"What I want..." you began, your voice softer than you intended. "I want to make a difference. To create campaigns that actually mean something, that have a positive impact on the world, not just make money for businesses."

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Admirable," he said, his tone unreadable. "And what do you want for yourself?"

What did you want for yourself? You'd been so focused on proving yourself, on climbing the ladder, on trying to make your father proud after all his own sacrifices to help put you through school, that you'd barely stopped to consider your own desires.

"I want to be recognized for my work. To be valued. To not have to fight for every scrap of credit or opportunity."

"Ah," he murmured, his voice tinged with understanding. His grip on your hand tightened slightly. "You're tired of being overlooked, of others taking credit for your hard work." His thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand. "I can relate to that feeling all too well."

You looked up at him, surprised by the hint of vulnerability in his voice. "You? But you seem so confident, so in control."

He chuckled, but there was a bitter edge to it. "Appearances can be deceiving, especially in our world. I've had my fair share of battles to get where I am."

As you walked deeper into the gardens, the sounds of the party faded away, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of fountains.

"And is that all you want?" he pressed, his voice low and smooth. "There’s gotta be something more that you want."

He stopped walking to turn to look at you. You felt a blush creep up your neck, grateful for the mask that hid part of your face. There was something in his tone, in the intensity of his gaze, that made you think he wasn't just talking about professional aspirations anymore.

"I want to feel alive," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "To experience passion and adventure. To take risks without fear of failure."

He stepped closer, closing the already small distance between you. "And what's stopping you?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "I don't know," you said honestly.

His free hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. "Maybe…”

Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your dress, and you gave a slight jump, breaking away from this man and the too-intense moment.

“Sorry,” you said.

“It’s fine,” he replied.

Your hand shot into the folds of your dress, and you pulled out the phone. It was a message from Gus, asking where you’d disappeared to. Your eyes flicked to the top corner, gasping when you saw what time it was - 11:47pm. You shot off a quick reply go Gus, even as your eyes flitted back up to the stranger. “I completely lost track of time! I have to get back before my group leaves without me.”

"No, of course," he said, his voice tinged with disappointment. "I suppose our little escape couldn't last forever."

You hesitated, torn between the desire to stay and the practical need to leave. "I should go," you said reluctantly.

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. “I’ll walk you back.”

Though he didn’t reach for your hand again, the walk back up to the castle was companionable enough, even if the conversation did taper off significantly. You imagined he must be feeling the spell of tonight’s escape dissipating as much as you.

It didn’t take long to walk back to the castle, but he stopped again once you were close and tugged you to face him.

“You could stay,” he said, “get a ride back with me.”

Your heart stuttered.

You wanted to.

But you couldn’t.

You didn’t want to say no though.

So instead, you said, “I don’t know. I can’t imagine disclosing something as pedestrian as which hotel I’m staying at,” calling back to the stubborn beginning of your true conversation, and by the time you’d finished, your face had split into an impish grin.

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his mask. "Let me guess - the headquarter hotel for the conference, right?"

You nodded, pretending to be impressed by his deduction. "You got me. But that's all you're prying out of me, mystery man."

He laughed again, the warm sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "I suppose I must concede defeat this time. But before you go..." He paused, his eyes searching yours behind his mask. "Will you do one thing for me?"

You hesitated, curiosity warring with caution. "What?"

"Close your eyes," he said softly. "Just for a moment."

You hesitated for a moment, torn between caution and curiosity. But something in his voice, in the way he'd looked at you all night, made you trust him. Slowly, you let your eyelids flutter shut.

You heard a rustle of fabric, then felt his warm breath on your face. One of his large hands, strong yet gentle, cupped your cheek. The scent of his cologne enveloped you – notes of sandalwood and something spicy you couldn't quite place.

Then his lips were on yours, insistent, hungry. The kiss was electric, sending sparks coursing through your body. His mouth moved against yours with a passion that left you breathless, his hand sliding to the nape of your neck to pull you closer. You melted into him, your hands gripping the lapels of his jacket as if to anchor yourself in this moment.

The world around you faded away - the sounds of the party, the cool night air, the scent of roses in the garden - all of it disappeared, leaving only the sensation of his lips on yours, his strong arms around you. You felt dizzy, intoxicated by his touch, by the passion that radiated between you.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing at the seam of your lips until you parted them with a soft gasp. He tasted of champagne and something darker, more intoxicating. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of your dress, the solid planes of his chest pressed against you. A small moan escaped your throat, swallowed by his eager mouth.

Just as you felt yourself getting lost in the kiss, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and dazed.

“Goodnight, Cinderella,” he murmured against your lips, then turned and swept away before your eyes fluttered open, only allowing you to see the back of him as he disappeared.

Though he had removed his mask to kiss you, you had never seen even a hint of his face, only his fierce blue eyes.

next chapter: Day One of the Conference

Shall we go with Monday updates for this one, my friends?

And what do you think? Are we ready for this asshole to be some kind of prince charming? Can he be? 🤭

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