#hi hello i'm obsessed with this

[novelconcepts]

💚 For Taivan please! Bonus points if it’s eerie and dark-fairy-tale-ish. Thanks!

💚 true love's kiss / magic kiss / healed

There's no way to set alarms out in the woods, so Taissa makes a deal with the thing inside her head. At night, the Other can roam. Do what she will. Find her trees and make her maps. In return, come dawn, she must wake Taissa. It is of the utmost importance.

She has to be awake before Van.

She's waiting now, sitting with her back to the wall. Van is curled in on herself in their shared bedroll, arms up as if to protect her face. Taissa's relieved when she sleeps like this. It's harder to see the worst of it, when Van conceals herself this way.

Harder to see what she knows is waiting for her.

The others have no idea, and it's critical they are kept in the dark. Taissa can't let herself think what they'd do, if they knew. If they had any idea what Van is. What Van would be, if Taissa weren't here, ready to stall her.

She looks toward the window. The sky is pink, birds beginning to sing. In the nest of blankets, Van twitches. A low rumble begins in her chest, the warning signal of a predator waking to find itself in imminent danger. Taissa grits her teeth.

Outside, the birds trill. The sun is almost high enough now. She can see it not in the sky, but in the flicker-tremble of Van's muscles. The way her head is starting to revolve against her pillow, her growls growing louder. Her skin, out of sight, is moon-pale; her wolf-wrought injuries, invisible behind the protective shield of her arms, glow.

Almost. Almost time. Taissa pushes off the wall, every muscle taut. She hasn't failed yet. This morning won't be the first.

Now. Van jolts upright, a snarl on her lips. Her eyes are blank, cold, gray fog obstructing her irises. Her jaw springs open, the teeth inside long and deadly-sharp. She's fast. So fucking fast.

Taissa is faster.

She catches Van around the waist, pushing her back into the blankets with a muted thud. Van thrashes, a keening sound peeling from her lips. In it, Taissa hears the tearing of flesh, the pulping of wolf skull, the punch of needle and thread. In it, Taissa hears Van's death, her death, her death and the hard-won rebirth she just barely manages to hang onto each day.

She pulls Van's face to her own, pressing her lips to the flayed places along her forehead and cheek. Van goes limp beneath her, panting, allowing Taissa to lay the last brick for the day. The most important one.

She kisses Van's lips--cold, as they are every morning, her body uncertain of its place in time and space. Van, every morning, is dead, though her body does not understand. Every morning, she is dead, and there is something else writhing beneath her skin. Something else, driven with the waking of the sun to leap up and pilot her bones.

Something else, which Taissa does not understand, but which she fears with everything she is. Which only she can hold at bay, through love or magic or simple stupid determination.

It's there, waiting, and--in a perverse fairytale reflection--it's only this kiss coaxing it back into slumber until sunrise comes around again.

"Tai?" Van murmurs, groggy. It's her voice now, no hint of a growl. Taissa sags with relief, feeling strung-out.

"Morning. Sleep okay?"

"Had that dream again. It's so weird," yawns Van, nuzzling into Taissa with no hesitation. Already, she's growing warmer. Her skin is developing its usual rosy shade. Her wounds are just scabbed-over slashes across her face, no longer glaring fire-bright.

Taissa exhales with relief. Another day won. Another day of Van looking, acting, feeling perfectly normal. Another day, unexplainable and vital to everyone's sanity.

She doesn't like to think what would happen, if the thing inside Van got away. If it made it down the stairs. If it found the others.

It doesn't bear thinking about. Not today. Van's herself again.

"It was just a dream," Taissa tells her. "I'm sure it'll go away on its own."

[demaparbat-hp]

Thinking about @stygiovictoria's Roleswap AU.

[nick-nellson]

MEET YOU AT THE BLOSSOM | 1.02

[tusks-and-claws]

The Death of Peace of Mind

Miguel O’hara x female reader

Summary: "I miss the way you say my name/the way you bend, the way you break"

You think your fearless leader needs help relaxing, but another door is opened entirely

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, fingering, blowjob, pronebone, blood, biting, unprotected sex, paralytic venom, dominant Miguel, dirty talk, God there’s so much to list : )

Word count: 3.3k 

Can also be found on Ao3 here. Please give it some love if you enjoyed ;_;

-

"I know better than this, I shouldn't be… we shouldn't be doing this."

Miguel O'Hara sat at the edge of your bed, your room softly illuminated by a candle on the bedside table. He liked the dark. His back was to you, his broad shoulders slumped forward, as you had your back against your headboard. He was still in his suit, his mask off.

"Miguel…" you said, starting this conversation again for the umpteenth time. "You have needs, too, y'know." 

He waved a hand dismissively. "What are my needs when compared to all this?" He gestured to nothing. You weren't even at HQ. You were both in your dimension. A vacation, you had said. You could never get him to leave HQ for long. "I know what happens when I try to get what I want. When I go where I don't belong."

You furrowed your brow. "But you do belong here, I invited you."

"You know exactly what I mean." He spoke quickly. Trying to expel the words as fast as possible. 

Your arms crossed over your chest as you eyed him. He'd been through a lot, yes, but what Spider hadn't? How long was he going to keep ignoring himself for the greater good? What purpose would he serve if he tore himself apart? 

"You're right," you said, finally. 

"What?" He asked, peering over his shoulder to look at you, incredulous. 

"You're right," you repeated. "You can leave."

"I… well. I suppose I can leave. Do you… want me to?"

You suppressed a smile. "I don't really care," you lied. 

"You…?" He turned around at that, hands on the bed as he swiveled his torso to meet your eyes. "You can't be serious. I- I made the effort to make sure Jess could cover me so we could come here, I… it's a huge waste of time. You see that, don't you?" 

"I guess so." It was hard for you to break eye contact with him, but you managed to do it, and stared pointedly out the window. 

"You 'guess,' I can't-" he rubbed his face with his hands. "You're so frustrating, I can't read you, you-" 

Your face broke, betraying you, a smirk cracking your façade.

He narrowed his eyes, fully turning around now, bringing his knees up onto the bed to crawl to you. His claws came out, and they pulled at the threads of your comforter, threatening to tear holes. "Is this what you want? You want to make me mad?" 

You blushed as he made his way to you, his sudden intensity stirring you into silence. 

"Well?" He asked. "Suddenly so quiet." He reached you now, looming over you with both hands on the headboard on either side of you, his muscular thighs straddling your legs. His huge frame took up your whole vision, his presence overwhelming your heightened senses. Heat was radiating from his body. His scent washed over you. He was all clean musk and warmth and something deeper, something primal. It played to your baser mind, telling you to lose control and give in. 

You swallowed. "You have no need to stay here." You weren't done teasing him just yet. 

"But you have need, hm?" He looked down to study your form, releasing his hands from the headboard to touch the hem of your shirt. "Don't you?"

You held your breath, nodding.

"Say it." His tone was casual. Flippant.

Your breath left you as your lips parted to speak, the words far from you as your brain grew foggy. He always liked to hear you admit how much you wanted it, how much you wanted him. And he always asked you when he knew you'd struggle to form a response. 

"Yes." It was the only thing your brain made abundantly clear. Yes. Yes, you have needs. Yes, in this moment, he was one of them. 

"Yes what?"

How cruel. Under his gaze for this long, intense and bloodshot, you grew more flustered and delirious. 

"Yes, Miguel, I have need of you." You impressed yourself with the eloquence of your reply. 

"Oh? Oh, do you?" His hands finally moved again, snaking under the bottom of your shirt, the fabric of his suit keeping your skin from touching his. "That's kind of selfish of you, isn't it?"

You nodded, biting your bottom lip and closing your eyes as his hands moved to firmly hold the sides of your waist, thumbs stroking soft skin. He was being careful to not scratch you. Though his claws were retractable, you noticed throughout your encounters that he had a hard time keeping them hidden when his passions were running high. But part of you didn't care if he marked you up. Part of you wanted to keep something from him. Something more than awkward passing glances and intimate encounters that were few and far between. 

"M-Miguel?"

"Mm? What is it?"

"You don't need to be gentle, y’know."

His gaze flicked to meet yours as he raised an eyebrow. He seemed amused. 

"It's just that," for some reason, you felt the need to elaborate. "I'm strong, too. I can handle it. You've been so stressed."

"So… you want me to use you?" His voice was low and level. 

Use. The word sent a shock up your spine. He could see the emotions flashing across your face, the thoughts of him, of what he might do to you. Was this safe? Could he control himself? He'd have to. You'd just have to trust him. 

You released a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, meeting him in his bloodshot eyes. "Yes. Please."

He grinned, bearing his pearly fangs in the flickering candlelight. The fog in your head grew thicker at the sight of them. Would he bite you with them? How would they feel against your skin? How would they feel piercing you? Would it hurt? Would it-

The feeling of his bare forefinger, claw retracted, gently teasing your slit quickly shut you up. When did he move his hand under the hem of your shorts? You were so deep within your own clouded thoughts, you hadn't even noticed. He caressed you there before carefully plunging his finger into your heat. The feeling was immediately maddening. You bit your lip to keep yourself from asking for more, for another finger, for his mouth, for his- no. You were following his pace. This was what you wanted, yes, but it was mostly for him. You somehow knew that he needed this more than you did, though he'd never admit it.

The whole time, he kept his reddened eyes on your face, studying every reaction. "You're wet, you're so wet…." His voice was quiet. "So, this is what does it for you, huh?" He pumped his finger at a steady pace. You could hear the wet sounds he elicited with his efforts. You braced yourself on his hulking shoulders, preparing for him to quicken at any moment. But he was agonizingly slow. His free hand gripped the headboard above you as he leaned down to whisper into your ear. "Me, your leader, using you." There was that word again. You lightly arched your back into him upon hearing it, trying to keep yourself calm for now. Falling apart could come later. "I try so hard to hold it all together. But you… you threaten me. The looks you give me, your smiles, your smell, estoy cachondo, fuck." Your eyes widened. He only spoke Spanish when his emotions were heightened. He was unraveling. 

Good.

He slipped his digit out from inside of you and circled your clit with a slick fingertip. The feeling was intense and electric, and even though you were still half-pinned by his muscular thighs, your upper body curled into him. "Seeing you like this…" he swallowed, his heartbeat quickening. "Rendering you helpless… It's revenge for how you make me feel when you look at me the way you do. If I can make you feel half of that… that might be enough. You're going to come for me. Feel what I feel." 

You nodded fervently, unable to speak under his attention, his words, his touch. That delicious, warm feeling was building up and coiling in your core as he kept expertly circling your clit, until the coil finally snapped and you came, lifting up off of the bed and throwing your arms around his neck as you whimpered. Miguel continued as you rode it out, reveling in the newfound wetness that came with your orgasm, until you finally settled down, your heart still thumping in your chest. You released your hold of him, your arms weak, your gaze heavy. He seemed to match your labored breathing, his chest rising and falling in time with yours. You had hardly even touched him and he seemed as much of a mess as you were. 

He stared at you like that for a brief moment, seemingly awestruck at your reaction to this newly opened door. 

"God, I need… I need your mouth around my cock." He flipped unceremoniously off of you to lay on his back at your side. "Come here." Before you had time to react, he had a hand on your head, guiding you downward. Despite the forceful movement, he fondly scratched at your scalp with bare fingers, his hand shaking just enough for you to notice. You positioned yourself so your head rested on his hard abdominals while you admired the display he brought you down to see. His hard cock pushed against his nearly metallic suit. The sheen of the fabric left almost nothing to the imagination. You could see his thick shaft, prominent veins like rivers flowing over a landscape, all leading up to the bulbous head. He twitched eagerly as he sighed, trying to calm his heart. 

You reached your hand up to touch Miguel through his suit, and his reaction was bodily. He hissed a breath in through clenched teeth. You played with his hard length, running the flat of your palm up and down the underside of his shaft, until he couldn't take it anymore. He seemed to be able to dismiss parts of his suit at will, and he did just that, creating an opening so he could spring free. It was always an impressive sight, sizable and thick. His golden skin slightly red with anticipation at the head of his cock, soft dark waves of short hair at the base. Reaching up, you gently held it. You couldn't quite wrap your whole hand around it. He exhaled at your touch, skin on skin. The hand he had in your hair gently pushed your head until your waiting lips met the tip of his cock, and you accepted it, closing your mouth around it.

Miguel threw his head back, slamming it against the headboard and shaking the two of you on the bed. The sound startled you, but you knew the headboard would've taken more damage than Miguel. He gave no indication that he was hurt, and so you kept going, sucking on the tip of his cock and being as noisy as possible so it would overwhelm that heightened hearing of his. And overwhelm it did. The soft, wet heat of your mouth was nearly too much for him. And as you started to take him deeper, he reached his arms up and behind him, taking the headboard into a vice grip. You could hear the wood splintering. 

That should've worried you, you should've cared about your furniture being destroyed. But you didn't. You couldn't, not with Miguel O'Hara melting underneath you. He could destroy a thousand bed frames. So long as you could touch him, could hear him moaning, could watch him as he barely held his composure. This would always be worth it. 

You took him further into your mouth, humming around his length at the pleasant,  full feeling. You were slow, holding him there, savoring the taste of him and the weight of him on your tongue.

"M-move-" he croaked.

You turned your gaze towards his face, raising an eyebrow. He was straining. Muscles bulging, chest heaving, fangs displayed in clenched teeth. You could see the prominent cracks in the wood.

"Move your shocking head, amor."

His hands came down to tangle with your hair, grabbing handfuls so he could move your head for you. You happily let him, and he bobbed you up and down on his shaft as you opened your throat to him. 

"Oh, fuck, yes… that's it. Good girl. You're- you're taking me so fucking well." 

Your eyes started rolling into the back of your head fondly. Good girl. He'd never called you that before. You'd be good for him. You'd be so good. 

The sounds coming from you were the very definition of lewd, as were the strands of thick saliva that connected you to him. You closed your eyes, continuing to breathe through your nose, when you felt something prick your scalp. His claws. In and out, in and out. He was struggling to keep control of them.

"Ay, coño, I can't fucking do this." His voice barely a whisper. "You're gonna," he paused, swallowing. "You're gonna make me lose control, you know that?" Despite his words, he kept going, kept moving your head, even started to thrust his hips up to fuck your throat more thoroughly. His moans turned into what could only be described as growls, and the sound of them hit you like an electric shock, making you want him even more. If that were even possible. 

His claws kept scraping you, threatening to fully unsheath. But Miguel never let them. He finally let your head go, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing it in exhaustion. You stayed on his cock for a moment longer, carefully lifting your head away and disconnecting from him with a wet pop.

He groaned to himself through his hands. 

"Miguel…? You alright?"

"No." He finally said, "no, I'm fucking not."

You cocked your head in surprise at the response, opening your mouth to question him further until you were cut off by him quickly grabbing you and positioning you underneath him. He was pinning your legs again, but you were faced down this time, your cheeks pressed against the soft sheets as he pushed you into the mattress. He finally let his claws out, and with one swift movement, tore your shorts and panties into ribbons. In that moment, you were glad he couldn't see your face. You were grinning like an idiot. Finally. You're finally seeing the side of him that you always knew was there. That you desperately wanted him to let out. Your previous encounters had been tame compared to this. He'd been holding back. 

"Because now," he grabbed your waist with both of his large hands, holding firm. "Now I know that you like being treated like a little fucktoy. I know that you'll be good for me and that you'll listen. What a rarity." He started to line up the tip of his cock with your entrance. "And if I thought you took up too much space in my head already, well-" he chuckled, pushing his tip into your pussy. "I'll never have peace of mind again."

He thrusted into you, and you were immediately seeing stars. With each pump, he took himself nearly all the way out of your warmth before plunging all the way back in. You could feel every delicious, hot inch of him. So deep and so filling. He fucked you into the mattress so thoroughly and so hard that you were convinced a crater was forming underneath the both of you. You felt the sharp points of his claws pricking your skin but not quite puncturing you. Your head swam as you grew dizzy. 

He released your waist, left hand steadying himself on the low headboard, which was bound to break again. His right arm snuck up underneath your right arm, reaching around your collarbone to grab at your left shoulder, pulling you up so you were close into him. His chest was flush with your back. You reached up to hold onto that arm for dear life, as he brought his mouth down to your ear. 

"Wanna bite you so bad, amor," he growled. "You smell so shocking good. Drivin' me up a fucking wall."

"Do it," you said, your voice strained.

"Wh-what?" His pace wavered. "You can't mean that."

"I- fuck- I do. Bite me, Miguel. Please."

"Are you," he exhaled a shaky breath. "Are you sure? It's a paralytic venom. I've- I've used it on Spiders before and we can withstand it a bit, but, shit… I need you to know what you're getting into." 

"Do it," you said again. 

His entire body shook against you. "Unbelievable…." His voice sounded reverent. "Hold on tight."

You listened, gripping his arm harder, shutting your eyes. His mouth came down to meet the crook of your neck. He inhaled, letting your scent wash over him, before carefully sinking his fangs into your skin. The pain was sharp and fast, and was quickly replaced with a wave of warmth and laxity. Your muscles loosened, allowing him to easily pull you in even closer. He moaned against you, his thrusts quickening, his cock feeling like it was hitting your cervix. With every smack of his skin against yours, he buried himself to the hilt. That incredible, intense feeling was building within you again, deep inside your core.

"Fuck," he hissed into your skin, releasing his jaws and lapping at the light trickle of crimson blood. "Good girl, good girl, I've got you."

He held you and didn't let go, caging you against his huge form, fucking you until that feeling turned into a huge sunburst that sent spots across your vision. Your body trembled involuntarily as you clenched around his cock. 

"Yes," he encouraged, "yes, come for me. Give it all to me. I've got you, bebé."

You smiled against the venom, and he was right, it wasn't too potent in your system. It was just enough to comfortably loosen your muscles. You came down from your high as he kept pumping into you, his pace merciless. His body started to shake again, his right hand's grip on your left shoulder tightening. 

“Too much for me to handle,” he rasped. “I’m gonna come… gonna come inside you.”

“Yes,” you croaked, finding your voice and gaining back enough control of your muscles to push yourself up into him. 

His tempo stuttered as he slammed his hips into you, curling against you as he came. His cock twitched inside of you, spilling hot seed in thick spurts. He held you there for a long while, savoring the feeling of being inside you, like he knew he'd miss the warmth once it was gone. Despite what he wanted, he let go of you and flipped onto his back beside you, placing a hand over his heart as his chest heaved. He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. Silently reaching for you, he pulled you in so you could rest against his chest, your head rising and falling with each heavy breath he took. He stroked your hair as you stared up at him, his face glowing in the yellow shine of candlelight. 

"That…" he started to say, then stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I…. I needed that." 

You smiled, nuzzling into him. "Thank you." 

"You're thanking me?" He asked, laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. 

"Yeah," you said. "I feel like I finally saw Miguel tonight. Not Spider-Man. But Miguel. And I really like him." 

He rolled his eyes but still smiled, petting your head until you fell asleep on him.

[riddlerosehearts]

absolutely love how riddle and floyd are the only two characters who fly upside down in their broomquet groovies

[arctic-reptile]

sukekiyo ElectricLadyLand (08.07.2024)!!!! they all look so good auaaagahagh

kyo from instagram; yuchi, takumi, and utA from twitter

[humblemooncat]

Hi, hello, I am here to scream about the new catboy now-

Remembering I had to run All Saints' stuff on my alts gave me friendly voidsent brainworms. And suddenly I accidentally two catboys.

Naih'a is a Garlean conscript who fled to Lapis Manalis when he realized things were going to go south REALLY FAST with the return of the Crown Prince. He took a magitek vehicle he had been repairing and hightailed it to the railway up the mountain.

In the time beforehand, he was a part-time chef and mechanic for the Empire. He had met "Vali'ra" one day whilst being chastised for something outside of his control. Having had no nerve to stand up for himself, this imposing black Miqo'te stood in his stead, berating the officer and threatening to report him to their superiors. Thankfully the officer didn't feel like dealing with both of them and fucked off back to his post, and after some gentle chiding, Naih'a and Vali'ra became as brothers. One was hardly seen without the other. So much so, Vali'ra was called Naih'a's shadow. Though they didn't realize how right they were.

See, before he took on the guise of Vali'ra, Valente watched over this Miqo'te with great interest under the visage of a Garlean Lieutenant. It was only after sufficient study of his mannerisms and way of life that he deemed it safe to introduce himself.

After the two fled the Capital and made it to the mountains, sensing the nexus closeby, Valente guided his charge to the remnants of Lapis Manalis. There, he bade Naih'a pick up a discarded scythe and taught him the art of the Reapers. A duty he had taken long ago for one within these very halls.

Once Naih'a showed sufficient mastery over the art, Valente handed him a soul crystal and led him to the ceruleum lakes. There, did he pledge himself to Naih'a as an avatar, and seal with him a pact.

Now they truly are inseparable.

I'm not obsessed with them after brainstorming all day, I swear-

[willowser]

i am so deeply in love with the idea of buying an older home with bakugou and remodeling it together 🥺 expenses don't matter, whatever kind of counter-tops you want, you can have a yellow door for all he cares — he just wants to do it with you 🥺 spending weeks and weeks together tiling backdrops and installing the floors, working on the electricity, getting the windows put in, living in it as it slowly comes together 🥺 bakugou does the water wrong and it sprays out of the sink directly at you, which he thinks is HILARIOUS 🥺 painting the rooms together 🥺 buying furniture 🥺 yelling at each other while trying to figure out the instructions to the bookshelves LOL

[corxoran]

I'm in love with this guy, I need him to experience every horror imaginable...

[holocene-sims]

friendship with my semi-hiatus ended, now this sim i made is my best friend 🤝

[yujeong]

kpanniversary2024, prompt 4: Tension

"It's not your choice, Macau." The noise Macau makes with his mouth rings like a gunshot in Vegas' ears. His eyes widen as he stares at his brother's flustered face. His nostrils flare. Macau is wearing his anger like an armor made of rusty metal on his skin. He thinks it protects him, keeps him safe, when all it does is reveal all his weak spots to the enemy. Presumed enemy, in this case. Pete is not - could not - be an enemy of his in the first place. Not even when he was the main family's guard dog. He was a fool. In a way, he still is. Vegas is afraid to look at him. He does it, regardless. Saliva is trickling down Pete's forehead, down the path formed by the creases of his furrowed eyebrows, down the curve of his nose, almost but not quite missing his pursed lips. He is standing by the kitchen table completely still, statue-like. His eyes are closed. His body is tense. He looks like he's about to start crying, or screaming, or both. He does neither. He just opens his eyes, slowly, and stares at Macau with an unreadable expression; another kind of armor, equally rusty and ineffective. He doesn't wipe the spit off his face. "Who do you think you are to say that to me?" Macau yells, unperturbed by what he did. Vegas's breath hitches. He has to intervene, somehow. Say something to stop this madness from continuing, salvage any of the last, remaining pieces of his broken family. He has to- "You're not my brother, so stop acting like it!" "Macau!" He's too late. Pete's face crumbles. He lowers his head to hide it, but Vegas can still see it, can still see Pete's bottom lip quivering, his shoulders shaking. He wants to hit himself. It wouldn't solve anything, fuck, it'd make everything worse, but he can't help seeking the familiar sting a slap would provide. A punch, even more so. He gets pulled out of his thoughts by Pete whispering something he doesn't catch. It's an easy guess to make. For a moment, Vegas thinks the bullets that had pierced his torso all those months ago had hurt less. Macau says nothing and runs away to his room.

[butterflieswhisper]

tori sitting on the stairs is so. the lighting in heartstopper is awesome big fan of the blue/orange. is tori also depressed in the show i still think it would be so fucking funny to offhandedly mention her school burning down

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: Twisted Knight by K. Bromberg

4.5/5. Releases 9/24/24 (in audio).

The Vibes: Succession but make it romance, highKEY revenge, legit enemies to lovers in contemporary, match my freak etc etc

Heat Index: 7.5/5

The Basics:

Raised in a privileged but misogynistic community, Rowan Rothschild is determined to pick up the pieces after her grandmother's death and take her spot in the family business... whether or not her family actually supports that. Just as she's about to do so, her brother, Rhett, stabs her in the back with a plan to sell the majority of the company to the mysterious Holden Knight, a man who came out of nowhere to make his money in tech. So what does he want with the Rothschilds' spirits company? Rowan hates him off the bat, and he delights in it—while seeing something in her that the other men in the company don't. As the two enter into an untrusting—and very physical—alliance, both Rowan and Holden hurtle towards a clash with a price neither one is ready to pay.

The Review:

Well. That was a surprise.

I've never read K. Bromberg before, and in truth I kind of just went off the "enemies to lovers with angst" vibe. This was at the time (and maybe still is) categorized as fantasy romance on Goodreads, and the title and cover made me feel like it was? But it's very much not—this is a contemporary, Rich People Problems book. And I am... good with that. Because I gotta say, this kind of knocked it out of the park.

The problem with a lot of billionaire~ romances (and I'm not sure anyone is here—the Rothschilds definitely have a LOT of money, but not that money, and Holden is mentioned to be a multimillionaire but later appears to have more cash than Rowan expected) is that there's a lot of 'em.... and they have become very tropey, I've found. An enemies to lovers book theoretically set around the corporate world would often end up feeling like the heroine is just stomping her foot and saying HMPH, never actually opposing the hero on a serious level. The business is barely noted.

And billionaire alphas? So hard to write well these days. They don't talk like... people. They say the types of things I expect real life men who consider themselves "alphas" to say. But I don't want a real life "alpha male", I want a good one! (A fake one. From books.)

Twisted Knight seems to completely understand these issues and sail over them with ease. Rowan is a FABULOUS heroine. In a way, she gave Shiv Roy, but way more competent and way less of a horrible person (I say as someone who does love Shiv Roy, for the record). She's defiant of her family, but not unrealistically so. She's aware of her privilege... most of the time. But that doesn't mean she wasn't raised in it and doesn't unconsciously (or consciously) indulge in it. She has heart, but she also has her own goals, her self-centered aims, a willingness to, ultimately, be ruthless to get what she wants. And she's QUITE bratty.

Holden, on the other hand, has a more tragic backstory than Rowan... But he's also lost the plot, and the book paints him in a way that's hot and impressive but also HUMAN. Bromberg doesn't write him as if she's fawning over him, as if we should all just be sooooo impressed with this dude. He's a smug bastard. But the book is not smug ABOUT HIM. It's something that's kind of difficult to explain, but you can feel it in the writing. The writing is just... better.

Also, I felt like this guy was one step ahead of everyone for most of the book. But I never felt like he was INFALLIBLE. He could be aggressive with Rowan, but I never felt like she couldn't throw it right back at him (and she usually did). It felt to me like both of them were weakening in the face of love, not just her. Additionally, while they definitely have a caustic dynamic for the first half of the book or so... It's never over the top. Never did I feel like he was BULLYING her. Fucking with her head, yeah. However, these were evenly matched adults going to bat, and that, along with the higher stakes, put this in the category of enemies to lovers versus the softer rivals to lovers or the (in my opinion) dumber bully romance.

(All this being said, he does have a very classic but good revenge motivation, and you know. I supported those wrongs. Mostly.)

The thing is that I actually felt like I could see the progression of Holden and Rowan falling in love. The physical attraction is there off the bat... But even once they start hooking up? It's not love just yet. It's one of my favorite things, when done right: a physical fast burn and an emotional slow burn. And yes, this does it perfectly. These are sharky people, and they don't STOP being sharky people because they're falling in love. They're BOTH deeply uncomfortable with their feelings, not just him (how refreshing!). Rowan being like "oh no ew" to this man being SOFT and HUMAN in the afterglow? Amazing. Holden internally screaming while sitting in his car and watching her turn her lights off after she kicks him out for the night? Fabulous. GIVE ME IDIOTS WHO DON'T KNOW HOW TO EMOTION.

At the same time, you have an interesting set of dynamics informing their relationship. There's the pressure from Rowan's family, who want her to settle down, marry the very stable and very boring CHAD WILLIAMS (that name...), there's here delightfully complex relationship with her douchey brother Rhet... I really appreciated that just because Rowan knows her brother is the worst, doesn't mean she doesn't love him. Because what else are you gonna do?

In a way, Holden's frustration with Rowan's loyalty to her family only made me feel like he truly LIKED her more. He respected her enough to know that she could do better.

I will say—while this book isn't a dark romance by any means, it IS angsty in the best possible way. And you do end on a cliffhanger. And as I realized this wasn't going to wrap up in one book, I was so hoping she wouldn't pull the punch, as I'd seen other authors do in the past.

Dude. She did not pull the punch. AT ALL. I was grinning as this ended.

READY. FOR. THE NEXT. NOOOOOW.

(On an audio note: very well done, both actually performed it, and if you like a male narrator who... gets into it.... Patrick Zeller does the work.)

The Sex:

Oh, also, this was stellar. Numerically there are 4 full scenes and one that comes... very close... but stopped short. And not because it was fade to black. Because someone Deserved It. Rowan runs Holden RAGGED, and he's fully aware.

There's a great variety here, not so much in terms of what is done, but in terms of the emotionality. You have the "get it out of our systems (but not really)" vibe, the fun vibe (uhhhh this book has sexy hide and seek, and it was the hottest thing I've read in a contemporary in a while), the "fraught intensity where we can't own our feelings" vibe, the "oh nooooooo we've gotten twisted up in the game" vibe.

Holden is very "I'M IN CHARGE" in the beginning, and as delightful as that was, I did kind of go "maybe this is where the book starts to slip and Rowan just becomes his willing little doll". NAH. She owns him. If you enjoy a scene where the hero gets so worked up that he basically embarrasses himself... YEAH.

I loved all of it.

Look man, I am STRAPPED. IN. Delighted to have found a new author, and excited to gobble up what else she has to offer (her backlist is expansive). Absolutely recommend this, especially if you're trying to find a billionaire romance that WORKS.

Thanks to Macmillan Audio and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[obisamya]

don't stick your tongue out at me. PENDING TRAIN, EP 4 [translations by @mangocheesecakes 💕]

[sawedofffeet]

Long hair Leigh Whannell my beloved.....

Part 2

[galactigatorr]

oh also i doodled this while i was waiting for silent running to drop