#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹eaten with desire.⊹ — desires

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

n. interlude: benedict

it was not love at first sight, of course. when he first met her, she was just a child—an extremely annoying one at that.

lady bridgerton invited the silvas for dinner, bringing their youngest for the first time since they arrived in the square a year ago. they all settled on the dining room, the girl sitting far away with francesca on her right. the youngest sat with each other. everyone engaged in a lively conversation while they were eating. the girl and francesca were sharing their interests when the second eldest son arrived—quite late for dinner.

he sat on the left of the youngest silva as it is the only free chair. a servant placed his utensils as he took his own share of food. benedict's spoon was halfway to his mouth when he noticed the five-year-old beside him staring intently.

"what?" he asked with cross eyebrows, eating the spoonful at once.

she monotonously said, "i do not like vegetables."

the bridgerton son chuckled, failing to see the connection, "and?"

"take it from my plate." she pushed her plate to his way discreetly.

"what do you mean?"

"fast before mother sees." her voice hurried as she saw her mother turning her way. she gave a wide smile before lady silva turned back to her conversation with lady bridgerton.

"now, hold on—"

benedict was not able to continue whatever he was going to say when the girl already placed the vegetables from her plate to his swiftly. as she took a look at his plate, she turned to him again.

"do you like chicken?" he only nodded at that, still processing the doubled number of vegetables on his plate.

"do you eat its meat?" she continued to push.

he turned to her with a blank look, "yes, why?"

"let us trade then. i only eat the crisp of the skin." she pushed her plate to his once again, offering the fried drumstick with no skin.

his pitch went high as he grimaced by the already eaten food of the girl, "no, i also like the skin."

"please?" she tried to pout as she always did with her parents and find it working all the time.

"no."

seeing as it did not work, her voice went monotone again, "let us exchange chicken."

he chuckled at her unrelenting desire to swap food, placing his spoon down to free his palms. he placed his hand between them in a greeting gesture, "i am benedict."

"okay, benedict. let us exchange please."

benedict could do nothing but laugh wholeheartedly, both completely oblivious on the looks that were sent their way as he gave her his dish.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the bridgertons are visiting the silvas this time, the families growing closer immediately in two years.

the young silva neared benedict after seeing him at a distant place from the rest, trying to sketch the landscape as well as the family. she sat beside him, peeking on the pad curiously.

"you draw?" he nodded simply, eyes raising to see the picture and down to his pad again.

"artsy," she commented with a pout, clicking her tongue in envy, "i cannot."

he turned to her in jest, snickering as he teased, "you do not have even a bone of artistry in you."

"bones do not dictate your traits and talents. it is the genetics." she looked at him like he is an idiot, which was only right considering his jest.

"how do you even know that?"

"i read books."

"shocking." he mocked, exaggerating his reaction.

she narrowed her eyes at him in irritation, "i am six. everyone can read by then."

"you are not three?" he placed his pad and pen down, mouth quite ajar in genuine shock this time. alright, three is perhaps an overstatement, but he really thought she was younger—the height did not help.

the young silva gritted her teeth at his surprised look which she mistook as mockery once again, "damn you."

as the words fell from her mouth, he instantly turned to her mother, "lady silva!"

she scrambled to him, putting her hands on top of his mouth in panic as her mother turned to them, "nothing, mama!"

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

another fine day in the bridgerton's household when the youngest silva ran, once again, in panic to the first person she saw—which in this case is the second eldest daughter.

"eloise, you are ben's favorite sibling, right?" she asked, breathing heavily from all the running.

"i mean," the girl smiled at the question as she rolled her eyes to shrug it off, "they are all fond of me."

"great!" the eight-year-old exclaimed with a clap, going behind the girl and taking her blanket from the picnic set up she had, "hide me."

"what? why—" her question was muted when a louder voice bellowed close to them.

"loraine! you little—have you seen her, eloise?" he inquired with irritation, taking notice of the way his sister smiled awkwardly before answering.

"...no?"

"okay." he nodded with strange calmness, inhaling deeply. it did not help at all that the girl's foot was poking out of the blanket, "if you see her, tell her to be a lady enough and face me."

"what did she do?" eloise asked curiously as to what would warrant her brother's anger.

"she broke my pens!"

"it was an accident!"

raine took off the blanket from herself and stood as she clarified her side of the story. benedict's irritation resurfaced at the sight of the silva.

"four pens?!"

"i thought they were anthony's!

he scoffed at the thought of anthony touching a pen other than for his official papers, "my brother does not lift a pen. he only has one!"

she got off of eloise's picnic set up and neared the man, "how am i supposed to know that?! he is not the one i like!"

"oh, do not use what your father said." he rolled his eyes, remembering armand snitching his own daughter to him.

"it was true!" raine pouted in annoyance at him not taking it seriously, "i like you, okay? i apologise i broke your pens. i will buy some for you."

she ammended with crossed arms and brows. benedict looked at her for a moment, replying before turning to go back inside the house, "good."

she turned away herself, settling to stay with whatever eloise was doing and chatted with her, not noticing the time passed as the moon rised.

just a day later, loraine arrived at their home once again, poking the man who was sketching with anthony's only pen, "go change, let us buy your pens."

"ask your servants to buy it." he replied with indifference, focusing on his pad.

"let us just go," the girl insisted, lightly grabbing a pinch of his clothing, "you know what to pick."

benedict turned to her with narrowed eyes, "you are really taking what your father said seriously?"

"it is serious." she stressed. his eyes glistening turned from suspicion to curiosity of her agenda, placing the pen down again.

"are you asking me to promenade with you?"

her brows raised at the mention of the unknown word, "what does that mean?"

the bridgerton's lips morphed into a smile, laughing at nothing in particular but her cluelessness apparently. he put down his legs from the chair's armrest, standing up as he ruffled her hair with excitement.

"wait for me."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the now fourteen-year-old lady has been spending an awful lot of time with the viscount bridgerton. the death of her older brother changed their dynamics. it was probably because she no longer has the freedom of being a second born. and although she was a girl, the weight of the family now rests on her shoulders after her father.

benedict did not like this change one bit.

while she was still annoying and exciting him at the same time to no end, she was maturing in an insane rate. although he would not say it out loud, he knew he was craving for her presence.

and so, he neared the two who were sitting peacefully and talking about random things in the garden. they turned to his sudden arrival as he wasted no time to offer.

"there is a pleasure garden opening. let us go."

raine's lips formed a smile at the invitation, the man beside her snickering, "just call it a fair. she is getting ideas in her head."

"i am not!" she strongly disagreed, slapping anthony's arm at his implications.

at her reply, benedict turned to her curiously as she got what his brother meant, "how do you even know such things?"

she rolled her eyes as if the answer was evident, "i am spending my days with three rakes. what did you expect for me to learn?"

he shook his head dismissively at that, returning his proposition, "are you coming or not?"

"yes!" she replied with all excitement, standing up in an instant as she linked her arms with his.

the eldest raised his head to them with jest, "does the invitation extend to me?"

the pair turned to him at once, yelling in chorus, "no!"

anthony laughed at the two before they bid their farewells, reminding the young silva of her assignments to review for the role of a viscountess. that was when benedict realised something about the two of them and he felt like an idiot.

his brother and loraine were not in love with each other, of course, but there was love—and benedict could not be more thankful that they have each other for certain things in life that only the two of them can understand.

arriving at the fair, they did not waste a single second in exploring all the plays—more like raine dragging him forcefully everywhere but who cares. the man himself certainly did not care.

they played with a lot of things—her winning almost every time she touches a game. as the night went deeper, the moon higher, the young silva hopped her way to the carousel, inviting the man to join her.

he should have known really, that although there was a proper seat similar to those in carriages, she would choose to mount the horses. and so, they did, side by side with each other. and he thinks, it must have been that moment.

it was not love at first sight, of course. he has known her already and they simply happened to want to spend the night in great fun. yet, somehow, in the moment he was watching her smile serenely, genuinely... he suddenly realised he was incredibly taken by her.

yes, it was not love at first sight.

it was something more magical.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

her first season came, and that meant her first-ever ball. benedict did not want to leave her side. for the lady in front of him, the place was crawling with old crocodiles. there were men worse than him present.

but, he needed to leave. everyone's eyes have been on them even before they began dancing. if he stayed with her more tonight, they would be named as the match by the queen. she was one of the most sought-after debutante of the season, for god's sake. what was he doing? and so, he left her and strayed far away from her presence.

fate, however, had other plans. because when he entered the gentlemen's club to fetch his brother, there sat the young silva with the biggest grin ever. he did not know how it happened, actually, but he just found himself already playing cards with the girl and now on the verge of losing in the presence of other lords who have witnessed their bet. then, benedict saw it clearly. raine shifted her cards and placed a losing pair.

she purposely lost against him.

he was not insulted. he appreciated the girl's gesture, and so he followed her when she was fleeing from her father.

in the next following days, the girl invited herself to his trip to the art exhibit. he found her company fun even though she has always been a critic of his works. when he caught wind of the news that there was going to be a medical convention on that day, he quickly excused himself from the promenade with his family.

benedict went to the convention and was looking for her. he found it strange that she did not invite him, considering how pushy she was to join him last time. his thoughts were interrupted when he finally caught sight of the girl in a close conversation with a man he did not recognise. the whole time, he walked around the convention, keeping his distance from them. that was how he spent his day and immediately bolting out as soon as he saw the girl finally exiting the place. he did not plan for her to see him across the street though and invite her for a late lunch.

benedict did not go to a brothel that day.

then, hawkins balloon day came. he entered the scientific dome in hopes of catching sight of the girl. however, he saw another woman. he met lady arnold. he listened to her, and she was utterly similar to loraine. she was fun, exciting, challenging, and smart like her. the only distinction was that lady arnold was older, this time. it was the bridgerton boy's first crisis. he could not look at the young silva's eyes all throughout the rest of the day.

rightly so because the following day, completely unaware of everything that has happened to the young one, he went to lady arnold's home as a caller. he was enticed and he could not control himself. if you ask him now, benedict would answer. it was not him that day. it was the monster. one thing led to another and he found himself bare, body to body with the said lady—only to feel disgusted the second after her pure name slipped from his lips, his manhood in the mouth of another.

and so, the only thing that entered his mind was to go to her and convince her to stop the proposals—to let go of his loraine. he could not hold it for longer. he wanted to cling on his sanity. the silva's presence and passion have reached him so desperately. he resolutely took a step away from her, believing it to be the most logical thing to do in the situation.

yet again, fate pulled him to her. his sanity completely lost when the news of her being called to the parliament and queen for interrogation and not a formal trial reached his ears. it was a bliss—one that he would remember each movement. he touched her, void of innocent intentions for the first time, only to find out that there was no disgust at all. the revulsion came from the idea that it was not her he's been laying with this whole time.

she tasted like art, painting and poetry all together. she smelled like the color paints he often used, mixing black and white to find the neutral. she sounded like his favorite classical piece. she looked like his favorite scenery. she felt like his favorite brush, one that you would recognise by a single touch.

so, no. he did not love her. love was such a vague, weakened word. she was everything that he loved.

he loved through her, by her, and for her.

and if you think this has a happy ending, then you have not been paying attention.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @myo11 @idek-what-to-put @aysamuka

[asacredthebread]

Behind The Curtain

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Sub Jake x F!Reader - 18+

𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙹𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖?

Warnings/Themes: Sub Jake, Getting eaten out, Handjob, Begging, Edging, Instructions

wc; 6037

Standing backstage, you were enveloped by the energy of the arena, a living, breathing entity thrumming with excitement. The lights flooded the stage like a thousand stars igniting, casting an otherworldly glow that made everything seem more vivid—more real. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, a tight knot of anticipation lodged in your stomach as you focused all your attention on Jake.

There he was, your Jake, the embodiment of passion and charisma, projected larger than life. His fingers danced across the strings of his guitar, moving with an intimacy you had come to understand as a true reflection of who he was. In those moments, he was a sorcerer conjuring magic, the sound waves flowing through him like liquid fire. You couldn’t help but watch him closely, captivated by every tiny movement, from the way his brow furrowed in concentration to the electric manner in which he engaged with the audience.

He flung his head back, that wild mane of hair catching the spotlight as he let out a powerful note, his voice carrying effortlessly through the pulsating crowd. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he strutted across the stage, weaving effortlessly between the musicians, his brothers, who radiated an infectious joy that only intensified as they fed off each other’s energy. To them, the audience was the blood in their veins, and you were just grateful to be an unassuming observer, a witness to this euphoric spectacle.

But it wasn’t just the music that held your attention; it was Jake's flirtatious demeanor. He leaned toward the audience, his posture relaxed but charged, as if each woman—or man—holding up a phone was a personal invite for an intimate moment. He winked at a group of fans, eliciting squeals of delight, throwing guitar picks as though they were tiny treasures meant only for his most devoted followers. You could see the way their eyes lit up, but amid that sea of gratitude and awe, there was a fire igniting in your chest, a possessive desire to reclaim the attention that felt momentarily borrowed.

You weren’t jealous in the traditional sense; you understood the allure of a rock star, the magnetic energy he radiated. However, you couldn't shake the sense of longing, knowing that behind the spotlight was a man who was entirely and uniquely yours. You took a deep breath as you leaned closer to the edge of the stage, your heart racing as you tried to catch another glimpse of the man you knew so intimately—who, beneath all the bravado, was still the person you loved so fiercely.

As the music surged, you noticed a subtle shift in his demeanor. It was almost imperceptible at first, a fleeting moment when his gaze swept backstage. Then, your eyes met. Time seemed to slow, and everything around us blurred. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you felt that electrifying connection between you. He blinked, and his confident demeanor faltered for just a second, replaced by a flicker of shyness. It was a slight lowering of his gaze, a thread of vulnerability peeking through the walls he usually built on stage.

You watched him swallow hard, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he registered my presence. While the crowd cheered him on, youryour soul ignited at the sight of your usually unshakeable rock star suddenly almost bashful. It was a thrilling, unexpected dynamic that you you cherished: the strong, commanding figure who could sway thousands, but who could turn towards you and melt into something softer, something uniquely yours.

It was moments like these that you craved; his confidence, tempered by the warmth of your connection. You held his gaze, silently assuring him of my unwavering support, and in that instant, you could tell he felt it too. He straightened his posture and took a breath, but a touch of nervousness still danced in his demeanor, a playful tension edging between you. There was something intimate, almost secretive in the way he glanced at you, as if he was silently acknowledging that beneath the rock star exterior lay a man who just wanted to be loved.

Finally, as the last notes of the final song pierced the air, culminating in a crescendo that electrified the crowd, he bowed dramatically. The thunderous applause echoed in your ears, an affirmation of his brilliance. He raised his guitar high in a triumphant gesture, relishing the jubilation, and then, as if breaking free from a spell, he turned and sprinted off the stage, his face lit with a mix of exhilaration and relief.

“Jake!” You almost yelled as he emerged from the haze of bright lights. Relief washed over him, that same, contagious grin plastered across his face. You could see in those expressive eyes how fulfilled he felt, how ecstatic he was with the performance he had just delivered. Yet, you also observed the energy begin to shift; the high he had derived from the stage started to fade as the reality of your personal connection took center stage.

His hair clung to him, a sheen of sweat glistening under the dim backstage lights, and he looked overjoyed yet slightly dazed. There was a satisfying mix of triumph and warmth in his expression as he approached you, and, at that moment, you understood that he had left the explosive energy of the audience behind him.

“Did you see me out there?” he asked, cheeks flushed with adrenaline.

“I did,” you replied, a teasing smile curling on my lips. “You were fantastic.”

He let out a laugh, the sound infectious, as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I think I saw you cheering me on too,” he quipped, his playful bravado returning just a fraction.

Yet there was something in his eyes that revealed he was ready for what came next—something deeper that had been brewing the moment you first laid eyes on him on stage. This was merely the beginning, and you knew you had a world to navigate together, starting right here in this fleeting, stolen moment just before your connection shifted once more.

And then, he stepped closer, your energy converging, both of you aware that this was where the real magic began.

As Jake approached you, the electric air between us crackled, feeding the anticipation that made your heart race. He still radiated an aura of exhilaration, the remnants of the performance clinging to him like perfume, but beneath that rock star exterior was a man you cherished in ways that the crowd could never understand.

"That was some show, huh?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement, still misty from the stage lights. You leaned against the wall, crossing my arms with a playful smirk as you took a moment to appreciate him fully—a delightfully handsome, wild-eyed guitarist on the brink of exhilaration.

"It was impressive," you replied, tilting your head ever so slightly. "You were practically flirting with the entire audience out there. I half expected you to propose to a couple of them."

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, a slightly awkward gesture that you knew meant he was feeling a bit exposed. "It’s all part of the act. You know how it is, right? Gotta keep the crowd engaged. They love it."

"Engaged, huh?" You leaned a little closer, narrowing my gaze playfully. "Is that what you call it? Because it looks like you were just trying to pick up a few new fans in the front row."

His confidence faltered for a moment, a hint of blush creeping across his cheeks. “Come on,” he protested lightly, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I can’t help it if they love me. You know I have a reputation to uphold.”

"I know, love" you said softly, lowering your voice, letting the teasing tone linger. "But what about what happens when the stage lights dim? When the crowd thins out and it's just you and me? Because up there, you were commanding, dominant. But down here—you’re different."

He raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and challenge sparking in his gaze. "Oh? Different how?"

"Let’s just say,” you leaned in closer, allowing the space between us to shrink further, “the true Jake isn’t just the one who tosses out picks to adoring fans, flashing smiles and winks as if his life depended on it. The real Jake is the one who watches me intensely, waiting for me to give him permission to be himself."

A flicker of understanding crossed his features, and you could see the shift as he realized where you were going with this. “Oh really?” he replied, his voice dropping in pitch, teasing me back. “What are you trying to say—about the ‘real Jake’?”

“Let’s not pretend,” you shot back, your heart racing at our playful back-and-forth. “You bring that stage persona home, and it’s all very... strong. But when you're away from the audience, you’re the one who comes to my side, who craves my approval. You’re not as tough as you seem on stage, are you?”

You watched him squirm for a second, the corners of his mouth twitching into a crooked grin as he processed your words. “Maybe you know me better than anyone else,” he admitted finally, a note of challenge lacing his tone. “But there are two sides to this, you know? Maybe I like having both.”

“Of course you do,” you said, your voice low as you stepped even closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him. “You love the thrill of everyone adoring you, but you also love coming home to me where you can let that go, where you can be vulnerable. That’s the real magic of it all.”

Jake’s expression softened, a blend of admiration and something else flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. It was like a light bulb had gone off in that moment, and you reveled in the look of realization that crossed his features. “It’s always a game, isn’t it?” he mused. “The stage, the crowd, the flirtation. It’s all part of the show. And then it’s just us.”

“Exactly,” you replied, emboldened, knowing you had struck a chord that had him thinking deeply. “You’re like a lion up there, commanding your audience’s attention. But down here, away from the flashing lights, you’re my playful kitten, waiting for me to pet you.”

He fidgeted slightly, laughing nervously as the teasing intensified. “So, what are you saying? That I’m not the king of the stage anymore?”

“Not just yet,” you countered, relishing the way his energy shifted at your words. “You still have the swagger and charm, but when it’s just us, I want you to remember who really gets to call the shots. You’ve convinced thousands of fans you’re in control, but we both know I have that special privilege backstage.”

“Privileged, huh?” he echoed, a playful glint lighting his eyes, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his stance. “And what kind of privilege are we talking about?”

“Let’s play with it, shall we? You strut around here like you own the place, but you can’t forget that I get to pull the strings when it’s just the two of us. You might be a rock star out there, but you’re my love—and that means we have our own rules.”

He shifted slightly, his confidence wavering but a smile still creeping onto his lips. “You think you can just use that against me? You know I have to put on this show every night—or else how will they remember me?”

“Does it really matter what they remember?” You challenged, my voice sharpening with playful defiance. “What matters is who you are when the lights go out and the crowd settles into silence. You can command their attention all you want, but what about my attention?”

"Okay, okay," he said, shaking his head, laughter bubbling at the edges of his words. “You’ve got me—caught between being this person up there and being... whatever this is down here.”

“And I love both sides of you,” you asserted, moving even closer, letting the air buzz with unspoken tension. “But I have to remind you that the charming rock god on stage isn’t nearly as convincing as the guitar-playing boyfriend who loves to succumb to my whims when it’s just the two of us.”

Jake's expression turned contemplative, realizing the weight and reality of your words. Here he was, the brilliant performer that lit up a crowd, and yet, in this moment, you could sense his innate softness, the way he let the masks of performance slip away in your presence. His breath caught ever so slightly, a hint of vulnerability dawning in his eyes as he processed how far your connection ran—how deep the layers of your relationship truly went.

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” he relented, that familiar crooked grin replacing the uncertainty that had edge-driven moments before. “Now what? How do you think I should behave when I step off that stage? Should I just bow down to you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of that,” you said smoothly, your heartbeat quickening, “unless you want to. But maybe we can start with you just listening to me, the way you do on stage, but instead of entertaining an audience, you’ll be entertaining... me.”

The suggestion hung in the air between you, a promise of something deeper to come, and you could feel the weight of colors swirling around you—his playful yet dominant stage energy still vibrant and alive, yet beautifully intertwined with the gentle whispers of vulnerability that always surfaced when it was just you two. He had played the rock god for the crowd, but now, your teasing words beckoned the man I adored to reveal himself fully, shadowed by an aching desire to explore every inch of the dynamic you had created.

As you stood there, waiting for his response, you could feel the simmering excitement—the thrill of discovering more about the true Jake who thrived in the aftermath of his powerful stage presence, ready to unfold perfectly in your hands.

The anticipation hung thickly in the air, electric with unspoken tension as you stood before Jake, the gleam of mischief dancing in your eyes. You could see how the playful teasing had fanned the flames between you and that your words had stirred something deep within him. He was your rock star, yet here, in this intimate setting beyond the bright lights, he was simply yours.

“Come on," you said softly, gesturing for him to follow you as you turned to walk deeper into the backstage area. The energy pulsing between you made you feel like you were floating, and you could sense that Jake was entirely willing to follow. He took a breath, clearly still riding the high of the performance.

“Where are we going?” he asked, practically bounding after you, his voice full of eagerness tinged with curiosity and something more. You shot a glance back over my shoulder, and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered—sent sparks racing through your veins.

“To a place where it’s just you and me,” you teased, picking up your pace as I led him further away from the chaos of the stage and the cheering crowd. You snaked through narrow corridors lined with band posters, the sound of distant applause still echoing in your ears. As you rounded a corner, you opened a door to a small dressing room, dimly lit and quiet, a world away from the lights and noise.

“Wow,” he marveled, stepping inside and letting out a laugh, but you could see the slight quiver in his excitement. The room was littered with guitars and amplifiers, and the walls were adorned with personal mementos. Yet, it felt entirely yours in that moment.

Once inside, you closed the door behind us, shutting out the world and letting the atmosphere shift into something intimate and charged. It was time to explore the dynamic you had teased at earlier.

“Okay, then," you said, your voice steady as you turned to face him fully. "Stand there. I want to see how my rock god behaves when he’s not in front of an audience.”

He cocked his head to the side, intrigue flashing in his eyes. “Oh? And what exactly do you mean by that?”

A grin curled your lips, and you beckoned him with a subtle nod. “Right there against the wall. Lean against it, just like you did on stage, showing everyone your perfect angle. Let me see that side of you.”

His expression shifted to one of pure thrill, and without hesitation, he moved to comply, finding his place against the wall with an almost palpable eagerness. “Like this?” he asked, his voice embodying that familiar charm, but there was something deeper beneath it—a hungry anticipation that made my heart race.

“Exactly like that,” you said, relishing the sight of him, tall and confident yet waiting for your command. “Now, I want you to look at me the same way you looked out at the crowd, like I’m the only one who matters. Can you do that?”

He swallowed hard, his fingers curling into the wall as he focused solely on you, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “I can do that,” he murmured, the controlled vulnerability in his tone driving you wild with excitement.

“Good. Now, I want you to remember that while you were up there charming them, I was the one that held your heart. So how do you feel knowing I’m going to tease you just a little?”

He let out a shaky breath, and you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes deepen. “You can’t tease me and just leave me hanging, though,” he breathed, urgency spilling into his voice. “I swear, I’m begging you—please, just let me feel something. You have no idea how much I want you to touch me right now.”

There was a rawness to his plea that sent shivers down your spine. “Is that so?” You said airily, your playful teasing intensifying as you stepped closer, your body just a whisper away from his. “I seem to recall you having all that confidence on stage. How is it that my sweet rock star can beg so easily when it’s just the two of us?”

Jake tightened his grip on the wall, his mouth forming a frustrated line as you remained tantalizingly close but just out of reach. The tension radiated between you, a potent mixture of need and wanting. “I didn’t know it would feel like this, being so close yet too far away,” he admitted, his breath catching, longing evident in his gaze. “Please, just... touch me. I’ll do anything you want.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his words, watching as his pulse quickened. There was something almost intoxicating about the way he transformed in front of you. The flirty performer had slipped away, leaving behind a vulnerable, yearning man who craved not just a touch but something deeper, something that was yours alone.

“Anything, huh?” You pressed, enjoying the way his breathing grew heavier, feeling that lovely tension swell. “You have a reputation for being a king on stage, yet here you are, keen to submit to me. Tell me what you want and I might just see fit to give it to you.”

“Don’t, don’t tease me like this,” he begged again, his voice tipping dangerously close to pleading. “I want you to touch me, feel me—please.”

You could see the way he fought against the playful pull of the night, caught beautifully between who he was on stage and who he could be in this sanctuary you had created. And you ached to reach out, to close that distance, to remind him that he was safe with you, far away from the scrutiny of a crowd.

“Well then,” you said, a wicked smile spreading across your lips, “you better keep looking at me like that. Show me just how eager you are to have me touch you.”

Jake’s eyes widened a little, that familiar intensity sparking again, and you could almost see the battle waging within him between restraint and desire. “I’m yours,” he replied, his voice dropping to a whisper, rife with urgency, a certainty that brought a wave of exhilaration over you.

“Then let’s see just how obedient you can be. But I think you’ll find that I might have a little fun with this,” you warned, watching the determination ignite behind his eyes, and knowing this was just the beginning of exploring the extraordinary layers of your connection.

In that moment, you took in the sight of him completely—your Jake—as he stood, powerful yet yearning, the embodiment of devotion and desire. You both knew this playful dance would lead us to further depths, and as you moved closer, a daring spark ignited between us, waiting to explode into something utterly beautiful.

The atmosphere in the dressing room shifted, charged with an intensity that made my heart pound. You stood before Jake, reveling in the power you had over him in this moment. The rock star façade had shifted, leaving behind a yearning man who was absolutely at your mercy, and you intended to take full advantage of it.

“Jake,” you said softly, your voice laced with honeyed authority, “I want you to kneel for me.”

The request seemed to hang in the air, suspended between you, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. You watched as his breath caught for a moment, those expressive eyes of his filled with a mix of surprise and excitement. Slowly, he sank to his knees, the floor beneath him a stark contrast to the lofty heights of a stage.

“Good boy,” you murmured, the rush of satisfaction swirling in your chest as he settled, looking up at you with a blend of eagerness and longing. “But don’t think you can earn anything just yet. You see, tonight, you’re going to have to work for it.”

His anticipation was palpable as he shifted slightly on his knees, fingers curling into the fabric of the floor, eyes locked onto yours. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice a soft whisper like a secret just shared between us.

“I want you to remember that you need to earn my touch,” you replied, deliberately drawing out each word to heighten the tension. “And if you want to feel me—that soft, electrifying feeling of my hands on you—then you’re going to need to do exactly as I say.”

Jake’s gaze darkened, a spark igniting deep within those expressive eyes of his. “Anything,” he echoed, conviction dripping from each syllable.

“Good. Now, I want you to see just how much pleasure you can give me.” You stepped closer, feeling the heat radiating off his body, and relished the way he trembled with uncontained desire beneath your gaze. “Kneel here, and I want you to do what you’re told. But remember, if you rush it or don’t follow my commands perfectly, you won’t get what you want. You have to show me just how devoted you can be.”

He nodded, eagerness shining in his expression. “Yes, I’ll be good,” he promised, the trembling edge of desperation creeping into his plea.

“Then show me,” you directed, spreading your legs slightly and drawing him nearer, relishing the way he hung on your every word. You could see him swallowing hard, the reality of the moment settling in as he positioned himself right before you, nervous energy crackling in the space between you.

“Start slow,” you instructed, your voice low and sultry. “I want you to kiss and tease your way up my thighs first. Build the anticipation. Make me feel every inch of your devotion.”

He immediately obeyed, leaning forward and planting soft, tentative kisses along the inside of your thighs. You could feel the warmth of his breath sending shivers coursing through you. Each gentle caress of his lips ignited your skin, drawing moans from your lips that escaped before you could contain them.

“Use your tongue,” you urged as he continued to kiss, pressing deeper into his tasks. “Let your tongue trace along the contours of my thighs, tease me just enough to make me want more, but don’t rush. Make every movement deliberate, like a promise.”

Jake’s eyes met yours, a fierce determination gleaming within him as he leaned in closer, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, sending jolts of pleasure ricocheting from your core. You watched with fascination as he focused entirely on his task, weaving intricate patterns of lingering kisses and teasing licks, every touch igniting a fire within you.

“That’s it,” you whispered encouragingly, coaxing him to keep going. “Feel how much I’m responding to you. Savor it. You want me to take you in hand, to feel those sweet touches against you—then you need to earn it by giving me everything you’ve got.”

He nodded, absolutely enthralled, clearly eager to keep provoking that pleasure, with each kiss growing bolder, and the smoldering desperation evident in his gaze evident. “I want you,” he murmured against your skin, the words vibrating gently between you. “I’ll do anything, just don’t stop.”

You felt my breath hitch in response, and that rush of desire only amplified the connection you shared. “You want me to give in and give you what you crave? Then keep going just like this,” you commanded, your words leaving no room for disobedience. “Focus on my pleasure, let it guide you.

As he ventured further up, his warm mouth trailing closer to the apex of your thighs, you could see him absorbing the heat and softness before him. “Now, start to tease me with your tongue,” you commanded, firm yet filled with passion, “and remember, the more patient you are, the more rewards you’ll reap. Take your time, Jake. I want to watch you work to please me.”

And with that, he dove into his task, his tongue gliding deliciously against your skin, teasing and tempting as he followed every directive. You could see the determination fueling him, drawing him closer to your core, your breath catching as he begged without words with each lingering touch. He ate you out like he hungered for your very essence, and you revelled in the delicious mixture of the command you had over him and the way he craved your validation.

“Keep your movements soft and slow,” you directed, soaking in the intensity of the moment as he continued to lick and kiss with exquisite vulnerability. “I want you to learn just how to push my buttons. Build the pleasure. Show me how much you can make me squirm and beg without giving me what I want. Let me watch you.”

His response was a gentle groan of frustration—the very essence of a man caught between desperation and the pleasure he craved to give you. “Please,” he begged again, drenched in need, the vulnerability in his voice like music to your ears. “I’ll do anything—I want to feel you close.”

The desperation tugged at you, and you felt myself teetering on the edge of giving in. I could tell he was pushing himself, working to follow your commands flawlessly, a mix of urgency and devotion guiding his every movement. You smiled at him, the pleasure building within your sending waves of heat coursing through your body as he continued, his need palpable.

“Just a little more, Jake,” you encouraged, your voice like a gentle caress, yet filled with undeniable authority. “Let me feel you earn this moment.”

With those words, you could feel him pushing himself further, his tongue expertly gliding with every flick and tease, coaxing you closer to the edge. In that dim light, as you watched him kneel before you, you knew that this was only the beginning of your dance—a promise of a deeper connection waiting to unravel in ways neither of you could fully imagine. As you took in the sight of Jake before you, kneeling between your thighs, a rush of desire washed over me. His gaze remained locked on yours, filled with yearning and a hint of desperation that ignited a fire deep within. The way he devoted himself to his task was intoxicating, and you knew it was time to reward him for his efforts.

“Alright, baby,” you said, your voice low and sultry, laced with authority. “You’ve been such a good boy, and now it’s time for you to feel just how much I appreciate your devotion.”

As you leaned down, your heart raced with anticipation, feeling the magnetic pull between you intensify. You slowly wrapped your hand around him, feeling the warmth emanating from your body. The firm yet gentle grip was like a spark that connected you on a deeper level, sending shivers of electricity through both of you.

You began to stroke him slowly, maintaining a deliberate rhythm that matched the lingering tension of your earlier exchanges. Your palm glided over him, each stroke firm yet tender, giving him an exquisite taste of what was to come. Jake let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes widening as pleasure flickered across his features.

“Just like that,” you encouraged, relishing the way he responded to your touch, his body instinctively leaning into your hand. “Feel how good it is to be worshiped, to be shown the same devotion you’ve given me.”

He nodded, breaths hitching as you picked up the pace, teasing him with just the right amount of pressure. Your fingers moved in a steady cadence, exploring every contour as you found the perfect rhythm that drove him wild. You noticed his hips instinctively pressing forward, seeking more of that delicious contact, and it only spurred you on.

“Keep your focus on pleasing me,” you instructed, my voice dropping even lower as you maintained eye contact, wanting to see every flicker of pleasure dance across his face. “You’ve earned this, Jake. Answer me with your body. Let me feel how much you crave my touch.”

The way he responded to your commands sent waves of pleasure through you. He kept his gaze locked on yours, every bit of his attention devoted to the flow of sensation between you. “I’m yours,” he breathed, each word heavy with longing. “Just… don’t stop.”

With each stroke, you felt the tension building within him, the urgency of his desire practically palpable in the air around you. You leaned in closer, lowering your voice to a whisper, “That’s right. Let that pleasure wash over you. I want to see you lose yourself in this moment.”

The heat radiating from him amplified as you continued to stroke him, feeding off the escalating rhythm. You could see the dance of emotions flickering behind those expressive eyes of his—passion, vulnerability, need—all beautifully interwoven.

With each movement of my hand, you slowly guided him along, allowing him to feel the intensity of the connection you shared. “Now,” you said, teasingly, “I want you to remember what it feels like to crave—how it feels to want something so deeply that you’d do anything for it.”

He swallowed hard, a mix of pleasure and desperate need evident in the way his body responded to your touch. “I’m… I’m going to lose myself,” he gasped, the words spilling from him like a confession.

“Good,” you murmured, my own desire flaring brighter. “Let it happen. Just give in to it. But don’t forget—you have to keep your focus on me. Only when I say you’ve earned it will you have what you truly want.”

The air between you thickened as you quickened my strokes, coaxing him higher, feeling him inching closer to that precipice of pleasure. You leaned even closer, your lips brushing lightly against his ear as you whispered, “Show me how badly you want to earn my touch.”

The soft pressure of your hand, combined with his pleas and the way he moved to meet you, created an intoxicating blend of lust and control. Every stroke seemed to bring him closer, and you found delight in the way he surrendered to all those delicious sensations. Your hand moved with purpose, guiding him, enthralling him, all while reveling in the exquisite power you held over him in this moment.

“Almost there,” you teased, your voice thick with sensual promise. “Keep giving me everything you’ve got. Show me the depth of your need, and let it push you to that edge.”

His breaths turned into soft gasps, each one pulled from the depths of his being as he rode the wave of pleasure you were granting him, a mix of desperation etched into every fiber of his being. And as you continued to stroke him, you could feel both of you teetering on the brink, as if the world outside had faded away, leaving just the two of you consumed by this extraordinary connection.

As the pleasure radiated between you, your touches continued to coax Jake closer to the edge. You felt the tension building, his body responding eagerly to your every movement. Finally, as you sensed him teetering on the brink of release, you slowed your pace just enough to draw out his pleasure, wanting to heighten the anticipation.

“Not yet, Jake,” you whispered, leaning closer, your breath warm against his ear. “I want you to feel every moment before you let go. But first…”

With deliberate slowness, you pulled your hand away from him, relishing the way his body instinctively leaned forward, chasing that fleeting contact. You brought your fingers to your lips, wetting them lightly before lowering your hand down to him once more.

“Open.” You instructed, and his eyes widened with a mix of surprise and eagerness. He complied immediately, parting his lips, and you slid my fingers past them, feeling the soft warmth of his mouth envelop you.

You could see the way his eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he began to taste you. You guided him gently, urging him to take your fingers deeper, allowing him to savor the essence of your connection. “That’s it,” you murmured, your voice just above a whisper. “Feel how good it is to submit to me, to be enveloped in desire.”

He sucked on your fingers with a fervor, clearly lost in the moment, each flick of his tongue sending waves of heat flowing through you. You relished the sweet sight of him, so completely devoted, and felt a rush of satisfaction surge within you.

After a moment, you withdrew your fingers slowly, the slickness trailing as you pulled away, watching him with a smirk as he opened his eyes, a mix of longing and disbelief painted across his features.

“Get ready, Jake,” you said, standing up and brushing your hands down the front of your outfit, smoothing out the lingering tension from your exchange. A playful glimmer danced in your eyes as you looked down at him. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

His response was an adorable whimper, pure need etched into his expression. You could almost hear the unspoken plea—his desire for more palpable in the air. His chest heaved with breaths that were unsteady, the aftermath of pleasure evident in every flicker of his gaze.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” you added, playful yet commanding, feeling the delicious power you held in this moment. You traced a finger along his jawline, lingering just a moment longer before stepping away.

As you walked toward the door, you threw a last glance over your shoulder, casting him a knowing smile. The sight of him, still kneeling and visibly eager for what was to come, sent a thrill racing through you. You could see the storm of emotion churning inside him—a blend of anticipation, excitement, and that hint of desperation.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, your voice smooth as silk. And with that, you stepped out into the night, leaving him to linger on the edge of his desires, ready for whatever was to unfold next.

[snowberrycherry]

Your fic about sucking könig off? EXCUSE ME??? HES SO FUCKING HOT AND BIG AND SHY I WANT TO CORRUPT HIM please could you write something for that? Like a reader who’s a dominant badass and he just wants her to fuck him up?

Up to equal

parings: könig x fem!reader

warnings: smut, hes a virgin, facesitting, edging, unprotected sex, everything is consensual, mdni

[a/n] we r editing this tmr morning and to the angel that requested rhis im so eo soso sorry this took so long lovvve u best frienf💋🐵

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾

He had no idea how he had gotten himself into this .

Over the most pathetic mistake too.

The constant staring had been enough to push you over the edge, so you decided to say something. You had practically dragged him back to your room. As he kept up with your fast pace, he knew what you were going to say. Even he knew it was obvious, blatantly looking at you, only daring to look away when you met his longing gaze. demanding an explanation as to why. how was he going to admit how he truly felt? Not even 24 hours ago, not a full day had passed where he was perfectly fine gazing at you whenever the chance was presented. He was okay with using just his hand to get himself off every once in a while, not minding he hadn't been with anyone. Sometimes he would even imagine it was you whom he was with late at night teaching him everything and anything. Taking his virginity in the best way viable, however you wanted him, König couldn’t care less.

But never in a million years could he have imagined this. The slam of the door shook him back to reality, “Do you have a problem with me?” Your eyes narrowed as he paused, scrambling to find the right words. “No I don’t …can I ask why?” The warmth on his neck worsened with guilt by the second. “Your always fucking staring it me and it’s getting really creepy”.

König looked down at his shoes, ashamed, but something felt different. This was the longest conversation he had ever had with you and it was so dangerously thrilling. He could feel his pants to become tighter, blood rushing right down to his crotch. He awkwardly placed his hands right in front of himself, figuring it wouldn’t be too noticeable yet.

Never was he more wrong, his heart dropped when he heard your next words, “No way”. His eyes shot wide open as you pushed his hands away, revealing his noticeable aching cock. Words weren’t even able to come out as he hastily turned to leave, on the verge of crying from the humiliation. His finger tips just barley grazed the handle, ready to run and hide when you spoke up, “You should stay”.

He froze in place, not even sure if he had heard your correctly. “What?” his voice was weaker than he intended it to be. “Stay.” He spun back around to face you, rather bewildered, “Why?” He watched in dismay as you confidently walked over to him, standing right in front of him. “Because you have the prettiest lips and I want to feel them on me”.

He had never eaten someone out, but he knew he would try his hardest to make you feel good. “Please god yes” he frantically whined. You took his one of his rough hands and led him over to your bed. Cautiously, he laid back and watched incredulity as you peeled off your pants along with your soaked panties, and gradually started to crawl up his body, hovering right over his lips. His breath got stuck in his throat when he finally realized how close you truly were, your pussy so close to his mouth that if he really desired to, he could lean up and finally taste you, something he had fantasized about for so long.

“Be good for me?” you whispered feeling his hot breath all over you as he eagerly waited for you to sit down right on his face. He moaned a shallow ‘yes’ moving his hands towards his dick, impatiently waiting to relieve the tension in his pants. “Good” you plainly said, pressing your cunt right onto his mouth. A noise escaped from him in shock at your sudden movement but quickly came to reality when he cautiously stuck his tongue out to take his first lick. In another universe he was definitely crying with how sweet you tasted, it took every bit of energy to not do so in this dimension. His laps were a bit inexperienced and timid at first, not fully firm enough to emit any sort of pleasure, but he quickly got the memo when you pushed down even further onto his wet mouth. He greedily hummed into you circling messy patterns all over your cunt. He looked up to see your face hazed with lust that told him he was doing a good job. He shook his face faster into you, juices smearing all over his chin, his nose hitting your clit at a delicious speed. He couldn't control his hands anymore as they traveled down to his cock, palming at it so desperately that he started to softly moan. He could tell you were close by your hips grinding faster onto his tongue and the grip you had on his hair, guiding his mouth right at your hole was a definite sign. He had never made someone cum before let alone just with his tongue… he wanted it so bad. Just when he envisioned what you would taste like you pulled your hips away from his impatient face.

He sobbed at the missing sensation,but he could feel his lower stomach muscles tense, seeing bright stars as he reached his climax in pure ecstasy. His cum flowed out, making the fabric a deep blue color. His cheeks went immediately bright red when he fully comprehended what he had done.

He came just by eating pussy and his now stained jeans were authentic proof. He covered his face with his hands, dreading to face the consequences. Was he a virgin? you thought, it was that or he hadn’t been laid in quite some time. “Is this your first time?”. He hummed a swift yes, still strung off of mortification. However, it faded away fast when he felt your body mover off of his upper half, down towards his lower section. He quickly uncovered his eyes and watched as you slid down so your sopping cunt was right on his clothed leaking cock. “Can I?” you asked trailing your fingers over the band of his pants, batting your eyelashes at him so innocently for such a filthy act. And it only turned him on more.

He shook his head up and down once, internally fulfilled that you would be the first person ever to truly ruin him. You smiled practically tearing his pants off along with his underwear revealing his throbbing cock. König watched as your mouth gaped open in shock when you saw how big he was. It only made him more elated. His hips stuttered when your hand came in contact with him gently jerking him up and down. “Aw, you gonna come again?” the fake pout on your lips drove him crazy. No, he promised to himself, but the precum that glistened on his tip refuted his vow. You swiftly straddled his hips lining him up at your dripping entrance, causing him to cry out while gripping at the blankets so tight his knuckles turned white. He felt your hand slap down over his mouth followed by a faint ‘Shh’. Your voice seems deeper, covered in lust and arousal. He let out a shaky groan as you slowly sunk down on him, filling you up to the fullest you had ever been. Biting your lip the pain slowly ebbed into bliss and you began to rock back and forth on him.

He was in paradise. As much as he tried to cry out, your hand muffled the sounds causing you to try not to giggle. “You’ll be quiet?” you lightly questioned . He shook his head again, eyes widened with exhilaration. You removed your hand and his voice trembled, “I promise just keep f-fucking me”. The sinful and dirty saying only edged you on. You grinding faster on him while you watched the man crumble beneath you brought a never-ending satisfaction. “I think I’m going to cum again i’m so sorry” he whined, attempting to thrust into you at a faster speed, touching wherever his hands could reach, memorizing your body at this moment. He was so close to the edge, so close to falling apart underneath you when all movement froze, entirely ceasing, cutting off his source of euphoria. He let out a wail, hot tears streaming down his face, “What?” You leaned forward closer to his face, “Do you think you earned it?” So many thoughts raced through his head, it was a yes or no question but which one? Unsure and hesitant, he decided to answer with what his selfish soul was persuading him to do. “Yes”. he whispered, hoping to his lucky stars he made the correct choice. He watched intently at your facial expression change into a sweet grin.

“Good boy” and you sat back down on him. He moaned at your warm cunt enveloping him once more. His entire body was sensitive, his skin beaded with sweat, eyes puffy and red, but König never felt more alive.

[chunkypossum]

I guess I'm working on this too... someone stop me from starting things before I've finished other things...

Snippet from Wildfire

Azriel X Eris Modern AU

Summary:

Azriel wants out of the crime life and finds the perfect opportunity to leave after a tragedy leaves the fate of his family unknown. He tries to pick up the pieces and live a quiet life. The only problem? After his brothers fled the leader of a rival family takes special interest in Azriel and the skills he is famous for. Tarquin claims Azriel is on the hook for a debt his brothers owed and Harasses Azriel at every turn.

Will a job that sends him into the dense woods of Alabama finally mean the escape he is looking for or will his past come back to haunt him in a new way?

Eris is am avian expert at a local wildlife refuge. Rising quickly to become head of his department, his colleagues respect him but don't know a lot about him. He is careful to protect himself and his past, working hard to create a new life for himself after finally escaping his father. It took a terrible tragedy to do it, but he finally managed to find a safe place to build a new life, or so he thought. The arrival of someone new in town challenges not only the peace he has carved out for himself but his desire to run from the past at all.

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Azriel may have taken last night's cheap fuck for granted. The guy cleaned up after himself and had quietly disappeared before Azriel even stirred, leaving a plate of food behind on the counter.  Smiling to himself, Azriel tore off a bit of buttered toast with his teeth. It was clear that he had left Azriel’s apartment pretty early. The toast was slightly soggy and cold by the time he had woken up but that didn’t matter much. If it hadn’t been there, Azriel probably wouldn’t have eaten anything at all. There was a note pinned to the counter by the plate. Azriel slid his fingers over the surface of it as he read the short sentence.  To soak up that whiskey.  Complete with a small winking smiley face scribbled in the corner. Simple, sweet and entirely too close to something real. Azriel’s smile slowly faded until the spark of that amusement had died completely. He crumpled the note in his hands before tossing it in the trash can and started to tip the paper plate into the trash too before stopping himself. The frown on his face deepened and a sigh blew past his lips, mocking the absurdity of the urge to toss the food just because some guy wrote a note. Azriel stood at the counter for a few more minutes, forcing himself to finish every crumb. Surprising himself further, washed it down with a glass of room temperature tap water instead of bourbon.

[3starhurricane]

•:•.•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.

Greed from the Lambs

Hateful, hunger, hysteria, hatred, happiness, and hope. He loved and hated those words, the type of words that would follow him around everywhere even in his dreams, the dreams that he thought he had freedom, but he could never run away from them. Screams, echoing through the walls, the scratching of nails along the padded wallpaper. The crunch of floorboards, the ticking of the old chime at the end of the hall, the sounds of death slithering in each crevice of the wall. They were doomed by all but also doomed by none. Food was a meal to be eaten with family and loved ones, something to be enjoyed, when was the last time he had that? To be around the table looking at everyone, but now he can’t remember their faces? Blurry blobs of faces around the table, he often dreams of that moment but he can’t remember. Why can’t he remember?

“His light will shine on us all!”, so his hands reached out to the god, not for a wish but for the hope that the god would truly be the salvation the village was looking for, to see if the god would accept his vulnerable hands. The god reached out and took his hand, the cycle then began then.

Happiness. The joy in the village's faces was one he loved, the boy deeply cared for all, his family and even the ones that came out their huts with nothing but selfish desires swaying in their eyes. Because the boy wished for everyone to be happy, to smile at the countless clouds in the sky and find another joy in the path they walk. Laughter, playing, and joyful talking can be heard throughout the game as children gather around, he sees the village’s people gather around. Some plead to the god for their wishes, the boy finds his hands clutching around his wavering heart, he knew the people just wanted the best for everyone but what if this magic was too tainted for even the god to handle? The god that seemed to hold no ill will to them, granting their wishes on a whim but who was to decide what they could receive and take as payment? Everyday the doubtful whispers found refuge in his mind, cutting and sawing his soul until only hesitation remained. His family unaware of his soul turning instead turned to the god for solace once more, the village ever growing with gifts, oblivious to the gold-poisoned gifts they received instead. The hope they held in their hearts was more pure than anything they could wish for, the tainted hands at best but what the boy wished was for their happiness without chains.

Hope. Light is what he promised among other things, he promised love, hope, and gifts. But, the showers of gifts were few to none, sprinkled with gold and praise to please the others. He wanted to believe but the man’s layered smiles gave him doubt, the doubt that his family never shared with him, they all believed the benevolent god that promised all. “His light will shine on us all!”, so his hands reached out to the god, not for a wish but for the hope that the god would truly be the salvation the village was looking for, to see if the god would accept his vulnerable hands. The god reached out and took his hand, the cycle began then.

Happiness. The joy in the village's faces was one he loved, the boy deeply cared for all, his family and even the ones that came out their huts with nothing but selfish desires swaying in their eyes. Because the boy wished for everyone to be happy, to smile at the countless clouds in the sky and find another joy in the path they walk. Laughter, playing, and joyful talking can be heard throughout the game as children gather around, he sees the village’s people gather around. Some plead to the god for their wishes, the boy finds his hands clutching around his wavering heart, he knew the people just wanted the best for everyone but what if this magic was too tainted for even the god to handle? The god that seemed to hold no ill will to them, granting their wishes on a whim but who was to decide what they could receive and take as payment? Everyday the doubtful whispers found refuge in his mind, cutting and sawing his soul until only hesitation remained. His family unaware of his soul turning instead turned to the god for solace once more, the village ever growing with gifts, oblivious to the gold-poisoned gifts they received instead. The hope they held in their hearts was more pure than anything they could wish for, the tainted hands at best but what the boy wished was for their happiness without chains. Money, power, love was given with the understanding that they were to keep this joy, the twisting of morals for their desires but they would never strive too far from the path, they were the lambs to a herd afterall, they wouldn’t abandon their path now; at least the boy hoped so.

Hunger. They were starved for more, whether it be their wishes for more or the desire of food settling into the village, the boy’s mother always told him these were the hardest season due to the crops being unable to blossom in this condition. But the boy had hope, he believed the town could just as they did before, so with his hands he ventured forth to the fields to offer help to the people. The fields he arrived at were empty; empty of people and crops, it saddened the boy, so with a deep sigh he started to work on the lonely soil with his bare hands. His hands felt barred with soil while he skipped home, he was eager to tell his family about the hard work he had done, he wanted his family’s approval as always because he was a child that always admired the people around, his eyes wishing to be just like them. That's why the boy refused the wish from the benevolent being, he believed his wish already was true, the wish to be loved by the village.

Hunger. His dreams were starting to morph like a spider twisting its web into a home now the strings were invading his peace, once he was dreaming of flying through the clouds before it started to tint red then he no longer was flying but falling down until he splattered along the crops, just like the crows he's seen the hunters shoot down countless of times. His hands traced the blood seeping out his wounds, marking the petals of the crops with his ichorous blood, drawing his family with little stick figures until his blood no longer weep from his gaping wound; that's when he found himself waking up from his dream and back to the confines of his bed. The boy’s feet carried him downstairs until he found his mother nervously swaying in her rocking chair, an unfamiliar sight to the child. He reached his hands out to comfort his mother like any good child would, like how he believed he to be but his mother wide-eyed slapped him away, he fell back against the harsh floor; feeling the wooden texture under the boy’s palms. He searched his mind for a reason, did he do something wrong? Did he wrong her by asking for her comfort? Was he no longer the pure boy she saw? Her mouth moved but he could not find the words she was saying. That's when he noticed her arm, how frail it was, how it differed from the strong mother he's been used to seeing. Then he noticed more, the hunger in her eyes, the twitching in her limbs, the venom in every word she spoke, and the way she approached him differently. For once the boy was scared of his mother and it terrified him to the deepest parts of his soul, who was his mother now? And if this was truly his mother, what would become of the villagers? But he knew the screams of the outside world wasn’t the love and joy they used to express, not now that the god has twisted them into something he no longer recognized as the same people he once shared a meal with. Yet he knew only one thing, this was a cycle and none could save them from the cycle they’ve subjected themselves to, not even a god.

Hysteria. The gods' doomed them, he thought, the god they believed to be their salvation, the god they turned to for acceptance had abandoned them when they needed him the most. From hope turned into cries, from cries turned into screams, then screams turned into twisted and it made the boy afraid for what had become of his beloved village. The emptiness in their souls have deteriorated them into desperate souls that would claw for anything to gain back the approval of the god that once granted their every wish, but the god was said to have taken pity on them, how kind of them… The villagers had grown hope that the deity had given them gifts once more, but the boy knew, he knew that was never the case. The boy didn’t want to take from the people he loved so he went to the divine being and used his wish, the wish he first refused for his own consciousness, but if he were to sacrifice his being for someone he would gladly do so for his village. The immortal laughed at his simple words but made no movement to decline his wish. So with a handshake, his wish was granted by the very god that led the lambs to their underlying death with nothing, but his honeyed words.

Hatred. The villagers awoke to the sound of their normal lives, the starvation withering away with remnants of words, the boy found his mother beyond relieved for their prayers being answered. The villagers rejoiced, crying in joy as they cheered. Seeing the happiness back on their faces brought him joy like never before, he wants to see every joy they have to experience, every victory they have to achieve to be successful. As he lifts his hands in a greeting, before his chest starts to feel heavy, too heavy for him to carry. The son finds his hands grasp at the strings of life before he sees it, it. The fact he's dying but no ones helping him instead they watch on, until he hears that deafening crunch then suddenly his bones feel itchy, they bend unnaturally as if trying to escape from this fate hes been casted to, but they stay, stay as he feels the flesh of his body slowly tear at the seams. The lamb is being devoured by the same lambs that he once saw as family, only to be seen as wolves as the deity watches on with a smiling mask on his glowing face. The wish of a child that only wanted to feed the village that sheltered has been twisted into something darker, darker as the feeling of knives digging into every crevice of his skin; tears through his smooth skin but he no longer can make a move to protest. Hand tightening for a moment to show the last remnants of the same child that wanted to be loved, he could hear his mothers voice while warmth enveloped his body once more, yet he wasn’t sure if that's his desperation speaking or the hallucinations. The boy found himself smiling in his last moments, answering his mothers calls for dinner as he opened his eyes once more to an awaiting dinner with his family, the sun on his skin, or the dog barking for scraps of his meals.

•:•.•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.

[mysillysummerdiary]

tuesday, may 16th ☁︎｡⋆｡

i really need to start going to bed earlier. i woke up at like 10ish this morning (per my father's request), and spent the whole morning/early afternoon unpacking. it went pretty smoothly, and i'm definitely on track to be completely done by tomorrow. i'm also decorating a lot more, and i'm really excited to show you (basil) the finished product because it looks COOL. i took a shower for the first time in god knows when, so i actually felt like a real person too. i was supposed to tutor kupcake today at 5 (our time), but i realized that i had an optometrist appointment at 4:20, and probably wouldn't be able to make it on time. so i emailed mrs. walker the day before about it, asking if it would be possible for them to move up our session to an earlier hour. nothing—no response. so i send another email, this time a couple hours before our scheduled time and asked about her thoughts on the matter. NOTHING AGAIN. and i made the right call, cause i didn't get out of the eye doctor's office until 5:30, so i never would have been able to make it. i don't know if she saw the email and just didn't respond or what, but i was very much NOT impressed with her. love kupcake tho xoxo.

i went to walmart for some supplies (command strips, toothbrushes, bigger yarn, and a CHOPPED SALAD) for my decorating and otherwise summertime needs. luke and i went to go get boba (because i've been desiring some sticky balls in my mouth—i got strawberry tea :)), we chugged it, and then went for a walk around lake lowell. it was nice, because we were able to talk for a while about all kinds of loser things like books we've read and philosophy and predestination, but we also got eaten alive by the mosquitos and i am suffering big time. it was a gorgeous walk tho since it was at sunset.

we drove around for a little bit whilst listening to phoebe and screaming, and then he dropped me off at my house. i ate some pie with my pops, we talked about math and i told him i think he's autistic (he agreed with me after some explanation lmao). then i went upstairs, unpacked a little bit more, and now i'm fixing to head to sleep! thanks for listening, and i hope your day was incredible. i love you so much :)

a song i saved today: "40 Day Dream" by edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros

poem of the day: "casabianca" by elizabeth bishop

☾

[zoklaperzys]

"The   North   welcomes   you   and   harbour   you   as   much   as   you   desire.   It   is   rare   that   someone   finds   solace   in   the   cold."   Only   northern   folk   seem   to   enjoy   the   cold,   Jon   himself   had   never   felt   it   that   much,   and   rebirth   had   offered   him   a   small   fire   that   kept   him   inside.   Be   it   a   literal   one   from   the   red   priestess   or   the   rage   he   felt   at   the   betrayal   of   his   brothers   in   black,   it   was   of   no   mind.   Jon   was   of   the   North   and   of   Winterfell   now.   "I   hope   you   find   no   disrespect   in   being   received   by   a   bastard,   Your   Grace."   His   brother   was   busy   and   Jon   was   respected   enough   in   the   North.   He   keeps   Ghost   by   his   side,   who   looks   at   the   woman's   dragon   with   his   always   curious   red   eyes.   He   can   sense   the   curiousity,   one   he   shares.  

"The   castle   is   built   over   hot   springs   so   you   won't   feel   the   cold   inside.   And   I   believe   your   dragon   is   big   enough   to   find   solance   here   or   in   the   caves   near   Bear   Island,   as   long   as   not   too   much   stock   is   eaten."   Winter   reserves   needed   to   be   kept,   including   animals   and   wools   and   he   doesn't   know   what   dragons   eat   but   he   is   aware   that   sheep   might   be   the   best   bet.   Or   bears.   But   no   Lady   Mormont   would   be   pelased   with   that.   He   offers   a   gloved   hand   for   the   woman   to   dismount   of   the   dragon. ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽𓃦☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ heart this post for a starter from jon. @dreamtfyres

[lonetala]

—☽○☾ —

For a moment Tala stood there, dumbstruck. She had a sudden desire to get as far away from this woman as possible, to avoid trouble. But she stayed, and even she didn't know why. Maybe to give them a decent chance of knowing what they were getting themselves into.

"You're asking for trouble." A glance was given to those around them, the humans now looking like they had eaten something sour. "I suggest you get out of here before they think to call the authorities on you, or me."

lonetala​:

@moonlitsorceress liked for an encounter.

—☽○☾ —

“Why are your ears and tail showing…?” It was like the other was asking to be standing out, a red thumb in the middle of the town and people were taking notice. Glares aimed the stranger’s way, and indirectly Tala’s as well.

“People around here don’t like things like us.”

“Well that’s just too bad for them cause I have no control over these being out.” Saya said turning to look at the people glaring at her. With a smirk, she would simply bow like she was putting on a show. “And there’ is nothing they can do about how I look.”

[interitios]

basic tags 

∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹this isn’t the real caesar’s palace is it?⊹ — ooc ∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹support me or i’ll scream.⊹ — self promo ∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹wolfpack only!⊹ — promo ∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹that’s a nice plot.⊹ — wishlist ∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹rp stuff.⊹ — resources

∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹this is your captain speaking.⊹ — psa

∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹please specify and reblog from the source.⊹ — memes

∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹eaten with desire.⊹ — desires

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S DESIRE - CHAPTER 41

*Warning: Adult Content*   

Kit Montaine runs. With his heart on fire with fear, he flies down the ridge's steep slope. 

Gravity helps and in long leaps from the tops of rocks and fallen logs and several slides on soft soil, he reaches the bottom in less than two minutes. 

Then he races out across the open meadow-plain towards the line of trees on the other side. 

He has just reached it when a spine-tingling howl rises from the ridge behind and above him. 

It's Dire Ferrualt and a moment later the rest of his Wolves join in a discordant clamor. 

As each Wolf exhausts his breath, the howls cease. 

Then it's Alpha Dane Hunter's turn and his Pack join him, one by one. 

The last voice to join is low and sonorous and seems to reverberate in Kit’s chest and he stops to listen. It's the voice of his Mate, Montreal Hunter and as the others fall silent, leaving him to sing alone, Kit hears his whole heart in the sound.

Kit should not be wasting precious seconds standing still but he wants to hear every note. 

Monty draws it out as long as he can with his powerful lungs because when silence falls again, the Hunt begins. 

As the note fades, Kit looks down at his shadow, cast by the nearly risen moon. His nine tails swish like a fan and a thought strikes him. 

Nine against nine, Dire Ferrault had said and he’s got one tail for each pair. 

Noah Hinter had told him kitsune are masters of illusion and tricks of the mind and Kit had changed his appearance before but he'd never tried anything like this.

Holding the image clear in his mind, he acts on instinct and leap in the air, snapping at the moon as if he could catch and sever its beams in his jaws. 

Landing with splayed legs, he studies his shadow and wave his tail. 

Eight other shadow-foxes wave theirs, too.

Then the last note of Monty's Wolf-song fades, the moon slips free of the horizon and three sharp yips signal that the Hunt has begun. 

Kit turns and sprint for the trees. 

The shadow-foxes turn and sprint, too, in eight other directions, like arrows shot from the tips of a nine-pointed star.

                                                      ~ ☾ ~

In a chaos of snarls and snapping teeth, the Wolves descend the ridge. 

Gaining the advantage at the start of a Hunt can be the difference between victory and defeat and both Packs know it as each looks for opportunities to take a rival out. 

With his size, nobody gets in his way as Kit half-falls, half-runs down the steep slope, on the other hand, his size slows him down, too and before long only Ambrose Thorne is behind him. 

Being the only one of them with no more than human strength and speed, he takes the descent careful and slow. 

That was the plan, though, as they'd discussed on the way here. 

Ambrose, with his healing ability and fiery defenses, would bring up the rear and help any casualties he came across.

They had hoped there wouldn't be any but we knew better than to expect such luck. 

At the bottom, Kit reaches the level meadow and pick up speed, gaining ground quickly now that it's obstacle-free. 

Up ahead, he hears yips and barks of excitement and confusion, sees Freya, Martin, Sasha and Ophelia split off in various directions, each chasing one of Dire Ferrault's wolves. 

A darting shadow among the pines tells him Darius has spotted something, too and Kit stumbles to a halt, unsure which path to follow. 

A human voice startles him, the sound utterly unexpected in the middle of a Hunt.

"It's a kitsune trick," Noah gasps, the last of his fur melting back into skin as he Shifts, stumbling towards me from the brush. 

Shifting mid-run is disorienting, as the brain struggles to keep up with a drastic change and Noah holds himself up with handfuls of Kit’s fur, grasping either side of his head. 

"Dane's gone straight for the stones and Ferrault went after him. The rest of us are playing along to buy time."

Kit licks Noah’s face to show him he understands and to tell him to get back in wolf-form before he gets eaten.

"Good luck."

Noah nods and lets Kit go, Shifts and takes off after Freya's frantic barks. 

Monty turns his nose east, towards the place where their mother taught Dane how to contact the Fae and where Dane thinks Julian will have told Kit to go and takes off through the trees. 

Over level ground, Kit’s size lends him speed once he gets going and soon he reaches the other side of the swath of forest and break free into the broad stretch of scrubland filling a wide valley floor, crisscrossed by small streams. 

Another line of rocky ridges rise on the opposite side, at the base of which is the stony plateau where Monty had taken Kit to see the hot springs.

On the far side of the valley, a streak of white shoots across a low rise, then disappears on the other side.

 Monty’s heart leaps with hope that Kit has such a lead but an instant later, his hopes turns to dread. 

Two other figures,  one black and one white, race neck and neck after him. 

They've only reached the middle of the plain but Kit is headed for a box canyon. 

The plateau above the springs is guarded on three sides by high, sheer cliffs, a literal dead end. 

Racing down the slope of an embankment, Monty plows across a swift but shallow river. 

It's not as shallow as he thinks, though and halfway across he misses a step and splashes into deeper water. 

Snarls at Monty’s back give him just enough warning before two of Dire Ferrault's Wolves are on him, leaping at his momentary disadvantage. 

Monty turns and snaps at them, regaining his footing but he doesn't have time for a fight. 

He needs to get to Kit and...

Before He can form anything like a plan, another wolf launches itself from the bank above, directly onto the back of Monty’s larger opponent. 

It's Martin and with the element of surprise, he bowls the other wolf over in a thrash of foaming water. 

The other is on him in an instant though and there's no way he can take them both alone. 

His desperate yelp tells me he knows this, though and speaks more clearly than words, urging his brother to take the chance he's giving him and to go. 

For precious seconds, Monty is torn between helping his brother and going after his Mate and other snarls and barks in the distance tell him this is not the only scene of combat where he might make a difference in a fight. 

Then Martin breaks free of the others and dashes straight for the tumbling rapids further downstream. 

They're on him again as he reaches it and the three disappear in a foam of water flecked with blood but another pained yelp convinces Monty. 

Martin is not asking for help. 

He's asking Monty to honor his sacrifice and to make the most of it. So he does and though he leaves a piece of his heart in the bloodied river, Monty turns away and strikes out again after Kit.

                                                       ~ ☾ ~

Kit is about halfway across the open plain, headed in the direction Julian described, when a chorus of frenzied barks breaks out in the distance, coming from the edge of the woods. 

The last of those fooled by shadows have caught on to the trick and my illusion is undone.

 Nine-tailed once more, he risks a glance over his shoulder and a shock of adrenaline spears his heart. 

Two wolves run nearly even with one another, already halfway across the open ground and gaining fast. 

Dire Ferrault's terrible form stands out even in the moonlit distance, all muscle and sinew and unnatural proportions, a side effect of Hunting forbidden Prey, like humans and other Wolves. 

Mere paces behind him, Dane's darker, more elegant figure follows like a shadow, snapping at his heels but even as Kit watch Dire Ferrault starts to pull ahead. 

He'll reach him first and in very little time.

Turning again, Kit sprints up a steep slope, struggling over rough stones, until he gains the top of a long, level plateau, extending inward between two arms of the high, stony ridgeline. 

He’s near the place where Monty brought him to see the hot springs and he smells the faint odor of rotten eggs on the air, sulfur, Monty had told him about. 

He hesitates, losing precious seconds. 

Ahead of him, he can see the end of the narrow plateau, where the sharp slopes of scree rise to sheer rock on three sides. 

It looks like a trap but there's no other way to go and still follows Julian's direction. 

After a heartbeat of indecision, Kit runs on, straight into the narrow, flat-bottomed ravine.

Racing over smooth stone, polished by glaciers long ago, Kit skirts outcrops of scraggly trees and leap little rivulets running through gaps in the rock. 

All too soon, he runs straight up to the bottom of the broken scree, tall piles of rock shards shorn from the cliffs by the chisel of time and stare up at the sheer cliffs above. 

Foxes are better climbers than most canines but there's no way he can scale that in fox form. 

With the snarls of the Alpha and Dire drawing near, echoing from the far end of the plateau, Kit makes a desperate choice and Shifts. 

As a human, he can climb and if he has no other choice, he can end the Hunt himself from a great enough height. 

No Prey, no Prize.

The rocks are sharp and Kit hasn't taken two steps before he slips and cuts his foot on one as he scrambles up the steep piles of stone. 

It's high, maybe forty feet before he even reaches the cliff face and panting and a clatter of stone alerts him that the Wolves have caught up with him. 

He twists and looks down, and see Dire Ferrault attempting to scale the loose scree. 

It slows him down, though and then Dane is on him in a flash of snarling teeth and fur. 

Dane is strong but Dire Ferrault is a monster and as the two tear into each other, he gains the upper hand. 

Dane yelps as the other wolf's teeth sink into his shoulder, biting deep and twisting to tear through flesh. 

He breaks free and rounds on Ferrault, lips drawn back and a growl in his throat but his fur is wet with blood and he favors his wounded side.

The hackles rise on Dire Ferrault's back as he lowers his head, seeing his advantage and ready to go for the kill but he snaps up again as a deep howl reverberates down the canyon. 

Kit looks up, too, just in time to see Monty's enormous shape crest the far end of the plateau. 

He races towards them at a thunderous gallop, foam flecking his lips and sides heaving and doesn't slow down a fraction as he bowls right into Dire Ferrault and joins the fray. 

He's not coming to his Alpha's aid, though, he's defending his Mate and he'll defend Kit to the death. 

Between the two of them, Monty and Dane might have a chance but before Kit can get his hopes up, more barks and snarls announce the arrival of the rest of the Packs or what's left of them. 

Kit sees Freya and Noah, two of Dire Ferrault's wolves and his half-brother Stefan. 

As for the rest, the unknown possibilities make Kit’s blood run cold. He can't let anyone else get hurt.

"Hey. Ferrault." Kit screams at the top of his lungs and somehow the sound reaches the Wolves through the cacophony of snarls and growls. 

They break apart and turn up their bloodied snouts to look at him. 

"Is this a Hunt or a bar fight? You want me, come and get me."

Kit turns back to the cliff-face and begins to climb, though his limbs tremble and shake, his one foot is slick with blood and his hands with sweat. 

He’s only gained a few feet when another voice freezes him in place.

"Kit, don't. Please."

It's Monty, daring to Shift to his vulnerable human form while only yards from the most murderous Wolf alive. 

Kit’s heart seizes with fear and regret. Monty’s desperate idea, though done for his sake, is the worst thing his mate could do to him. 

Especially after he had told Kit what happened on his last job. In the meantime, Dire Ferrault has turned at the sound of his voice, too and sees his chance.

His muscles bunch for a spring and Monty's name leaves Kit’s lips on a scream and then something sparks off the stony ground at Dire Ferrault's feet. 

He takes a step back, surprised and a new voice calls down from above.

"Hold, Wolf. A move and the next shaft goes through your eye."

Three Fae warriors stand on the clifftop, aiming drawn bows at the Dire. 

Monty's mother, Astrid Hunter, stands at their side. 

Radiating outrage, Dire Ferrault Shifts with a rending crack and snap of bone, his spine fairly bursting from his skin as he morphs. 

Human again, he glares up at the newcomers, hands balled into fists. 

Dane Shifts as well, clamping a hand to his shoulder, from which blood flows in a steady stream.

"What is this interference? You dare bring Fae filth to a Hunt?" Dire Ferrault snarls, directing his words at Astrid.

"There is no Hunt," Astrid answers calmly. 

"This land is no longer Wolf territory. It is the protectorate of the Summer Queen. You have no right to challenge for it."

"What?" Dire Ferrault's eyes bug from his head and blood-flecked spittle flies from his lips as he stares up in rage. 

"You would cede your territory to Fae rather than lose it to a worthy Wolf? Traitorous bitch. Traitor to your own kind. No wonder your pack is degenerate filth. You..."

"Silence, wolf."

One of the Fae warriors speaks this, a woman, Kit thinks, though it's hard to judge gender from this distance, when they all have long hair and flowing clothes. 

Dire Ferrault glares but three drawn bows held by Fae is nothing to ignore. Meanwhile, the rest of the Packs hang back and Monty mounts to the base of the cliff, reaching to coax Kit down. 

He climbs down carefully and falls shivering into Monty’s arms. 

Together, they slip and slide down the scree, as Astrid Hunter and two of the Fae descend by a slim path I hadn't noticed before, covered by the remaining archer.

Everything about the Fae is beautiful, from their faces to the way they move. Julian is beautiful, too, Kit realizes but he veils himself most of the time without even meaning to. 

These Fae aren't interested in hiding. 

Even their weapons are lovely, Kit thinks, as he bends unconsciously and picks up the arrow that had struck the ground, admiring the filigree on the silver tip. 

To be slain by something so lovely might almost be a compliment. 

Monty tightens his hold on Kit and he lean into him, letting his solid warmth absorb his shivers. 

Drawing even with us, Astrid Hunter addresses Dire Ferrault again.

"You have a choice, Dire. Leave and give up all design on this land and its Wolves or perish as Prey yourself."

Dire Ferrault glares at her. 

"Give me the fox and I'll never trouble you again."

"Kit stays," Astrid Hunter says, before anyone even has time to protest. 

"He belongs to my son and my son to him. He is Pack.

Kit’s breathes catches in his chest. 

If Astrid Hunter didn't already have his eternal devotion, she has it now. 

A call echoes down the valley, drawing attention away from Dire Ferrault. 

At the end of the Plateau, more figures approach and relief floods Kit as he sees Ambrose supporting Sasha and Ophelia on either side and Darius carrying a limp wolf in his arms. 

A second wave of relief washes through his heart. 

It's Martin and if he were dead, he'd have regained his human form. 

Obviously as relieved as Kit is, Dane lets out a soft groan and falls to his knees. 

He's still losing a lot of blood and the Dire's bite won't heal on its own. 

Monty calls for Ambrose and releases Kit as he drops to his brother's side in concern. 

That's when Dire Ferrault strikes. Seeing his final chance, he seizes it and launches himself at Kit, Shifting in mid-air, jaws and teeth lengthening as they aim for his throat. 

Kit falls back with a cry and instinctively thrust the arrow at him, holding it like a tiny spear. 

Kit goes down beneath Dire Ferrault and his body jolts with the impact of multiple Fae shafts. 

It's the one through his heart, though, that gets him. 

Slowly, he morphs back to human shape, staring down at Kit with a bloodless face.

"I told you I wouldn't miss," Kit whispers. 

Though, to be fair, he hadn't really aimed.

The Dire makes a noise in his throat, as if to speak but only a wheezing groan escapes him. 

He collapses and Kit pushes him off him and rolls to the side. 

Dire Ferrault gasps twice and convulses with a shudder, the throes of death and then he lies still. 

In the meantime, Monty snatches Kit into his arms, trembling as badly as the young man is and murmurs senseless apologies.

"I got you Kit," Monty whispers, stroking Kit’s hair as he crushes him against his chest. 

"I got you, now. I got you and I won't ever let you go again."

Kit Montaine lets Montreal Hunter hold him and then he shuts his eyes. 

And so, the Kisune/Fox Spirit is caught and the Hunt ends.