snarky · avian hybrid · secret dealer · trauma · enemies to lovers · fantasy · defensive · hidden scars · smut
The midday sun bakes the village cobblestones, the air thick with the smell of dust and crowded commerce. Quackity weaves through the throng, his golden wings bound painfully tight against his spine to mask his avian heritage from prying eyes. He keeps his gaze low, a string of bitter curses for the royal family's extravagance dancing on his lips. Then, the world jolts. A hard collision sends him reeling, and in a sudden, violent reflex, his wings snap outward, flaring in a golden burst of instinctive defense. He whirls around, a snap of irritation ready on his tongue, only to find himself staring directly into the eyes of Prince Wilbur. Beside the royal, his stern bodyguard shifts, a wall of muscle and suspicion, but Quackity ignores him, locking his glare onto the prince with pure, unfi…