#both of these shows are. interesting in their tone

[sailor-aviator]

By Its Cover: Chapter Four

By Its Cover: Chapter Four

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (Last Name: Sinclair)

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Bickering, Arguing, Cursing (or almost), Reader feels sorry for herself somewhat, Reader disaparages herself, Heart to hearts with mom, Slight putting down of other girls (more comparing herself to others), Secret notes, Flattery, and general angst. I think that convers everything, but please let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 3.45k

Series Masterlist || Moodboard

You rushed up the stairs to change for dinner, already hearing Georgie prattling on about something or other. Nora was hot on your tail, nearly running into you as you tripped over your skirts. You let out a huff as you gathered them in your hands, practically sprinting down the hall, and you counted yourself lucky that your mother was already down in the dining hall.

“Quick, Nora,” you called over your shoulder, stumbling to a stop in front of your open door. You skittered inside as Nora closed the door behind the two of you, the maid turning quickly to the clothespress, already prying open the many drawers as you stripped down.

“The blue dress, miss?” Nora asked, showing you the powder blue fabric. You nodded, padding over so she could slip the garment over your head. You changed your shoes, Nora fixing your hair as best she could as you flitted about the room.

The note hidden inside your book was still at the forefront of your mind as you rushed down the stairs after a parting thank you to your maid. The conversation around the table was as lively as ever, Georgie regaling everyone with the latest gossip from around the Island. You stopped short in the doorway upon seeing Lord Seresin, having forgotten momentarily that he had been invited. His jade green eyes snapped over to where you stood, a spark alighting upon seeing you. You sucked in a breath, your nerves aflutter. The conversation from earlier that day ran through your mind, and your lips turned downwards before you could stop them. You squared your shoulders, marching toward your seat on the opposite side of the table—just across from the handsome lord.

“Bug,” your mother greeted, disapproval over your tardiness crystal clear in her tone as she watched you sit. “How good of you to finally join us.”

“Apologies for being late,” you offered quietly, glancing around the table. Your mother’s disapproval was clear on her face just as curiosity was evident on both your brother’s and Lord Seresin’s. Georgie shot you an irritated scowl, her displeasure at the attention no longer being on her quite clear as well. You cleared your throat, hanging your head in a poor attempt to hide. You could feel all eyes on you, and you fidgeted with your fingers, letting out a sigh of relief as the servants entered the room with the first course.

The dishes clattered against one another as they were set at each place setting. The savory scent of the soup had your stomach letting out a loud growl, and a snort had your gaze moving upwards.

Lord Seresin his smile—poorly you might add—behind his hand as he feigned a cough. Your brow twitched as a sudden wave of irritation came over you, and you set your lips in a firm line as you glared at him.

Georgiana had begun relaying her gossip once more, her voice droning on as you shifted your focus back towards food.

You ate in silence as the evening passed, William and Lord Seresin speaking about business matters, your mother regaling the table with her charity ventures, and your sister doing her best to prove that she’d be the ideal wife for the eligible lord. Every so often you would feel eyes on you, and you did your best to ignore the sensation, making a point to look anywhere but across the table.

“It’s good to see that you’re feeling better, Bug.”

You looked up with wide eyes to see Lord Seresin sporting a cocky-looking smirk, his chin resting on his folded hands as he studied you.

“I beg your pardon?” You asked, brow furrowing in confusion. Lord Seresin tilted his head at you, smirk still in place.

“You mentioned feeling ill earlier today,” he prodded. “Then you left so suddenly that one could only presume it must have been serious.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach as his eyes flashed at you.

“Yet,” he purred, “here you are.”

You swallowed thickly, your fork hovering over your plate as your skin warmed.

“Yes, well,” you stuttered, clearing your throat, “I’m sorry if I caused you to worry, my lord, but it was only a headache.”

“Must have been a rather nasty headache,” he pressed. You were vaguely aware of the gazes of both your brother and mother shifting between the two of you warily. “The way you ran out of the park, I can only assume that it must have been agonizing.”

You bristled. What was he playing at? He knows why you left the park as quickly as you did, and yet he seemed determined to hear you say it. Georgie continued prattling on about something or other, and you sat up a little straighter in your chair. You set your jaw, lips pressed firmly together as you gave the blond a rather cold stare that only seemed to make him grin wider.

“It was, my lord,” you responded, ice dripping from your tone. “It was the nastiest headache I’ve ever had. I suppose you could even call it a real pain in my-”

“Bug!” Your mother exclaims, shooting you a wide-eyed glare as her eyes flicker towards the duke as your brother covers a snort with a feigned cough. Georgie stops her chattering at the outburst, eyes narrowing as she finally takes in the scene before her. You know you’re in for her raving later with the way she fixes a conspicuous glare in your direction. You can’t back down though—not to the arrogant bastard still smirking at you from across the table. He quirks a brow at you, seemingly in challenge as he speaks.

“Such language from a young lady of the Island,” he smirked. You clench your teeth so hard, you swear they’ll break.

“Well,” you sneered, cutting into your meal and avoiding his eyes, “as I was so dutifully reminded earlier today, I am nothing more than a silly, little girl who will be lucky to even find a match.”

The room is silent as you finish. Your mother’s brow is furrowed in concern as your brother frowns, sparing you a glance before fixing a confused glare on his friend. If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under with how Georgie glared at you, and Lord Seresin. A strange ache in your chest blossomed as you glanced up at him. The smirk was long gone, and a look of consternation adored his handsome features. Slowly, you placed your cutlery on your plate, clearing your throat and turning your attention towards your mother.

“My apologies,” you offered, a tight-lipped smile on your face as you rested a hand against your stomach. “It appears that I am not feeling as well as I previously thought. Might I retire for the evening?”

Your mother blinked owlishly at you. “Oh, um, yes. Of course.”

You were already on your feet and halfway towards the door by the time she finished. Lord Seresin called after you, but you refused to acknowledge him as you traipsed up the stairs.

“Don’t mind her, my lord,” you heard Georgiana’s voice echo up to you. “She’s always causing some kind of commotion around here. It’s best to just ignore her and carry on.”

Tears stung at your eyes as you cleared the landing. You didn’t know why your sister’s words stung as much as they did. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to her barbs at you, but something about them being offered to the man you once adored so much as a small child had the tears spilling over onto your cheeks in a matter of seconds. You wiped at your face furiously with the backs of your hands, waving Nora off with a wave of your hands and a shake of your head. She offered you a sympathetic look as you retreated into your room with a click as the door shut behind you.

You tore off your dress haphazardly, hiccuping sobs escaping you as you pulled your night dress over your head. Why were you so upset? You knew what people in society whispered about you behind your back. You were no great beauty like Lydia, nor were you elegant like Theodosia. You certainly didn’t know how to capture and command a room like Georgiana. You were…you. You were bookish and uninterested in frivolous things like the latest fashions. You weren’t concerned with your looks like most other ladies. You knew this about yourself, prided yourself in it even.

So why did the thought that Lord Seresin might view you in such a disparaging way make you want to break down all over again?

Your eyes were puffy and swollen long after you had managed to stop crying, yet you still sat on the bench by your window, watching the flickering flames of the candles in the streetlamps. Your back ached from sitting in the same position for so long, and yet you refused to move. You sat there long enough for a numbing sensation to crawl up your hand and into your arm from where you were pressed so tightly against the glass.

A knock sounded at the door, and you startled.

“Please, Nora,” you called out. “I just want to be alone right now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The door creaked open, the light from the hallway filtering through the crack in the door as you let out a frustrated huff.

“Nora, I-” You stopped short as you whipped your head around to see your mother peering around the door at you.

“Oh,” you blinked, narrowing your eyes against the light. “It’s you, Mama.”

“Well, don’t sound so excited to see me,” she teased lightly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. You watched as she surveyed the room, a crinkle on her brow to match the purse of her lips.

“It’s so dark in here,” she tsked, moving to light one of the lamps. You didn’t reply, used to your mother going about and doing as she pleased. You wondered if that’s where Georgiana got it from.

“There,” she smiled as the candlelight flickered along the panes of the wall. You curled in on yourself as she turned to fix her smile upon you. “Much better, wouldn’t you say?”

Again, you didn’t reply. You simply waited for her to say what she came in to say. Her smile faltered after a moment of silence, and she let out a weary sigh as you continued to stare.

“Sweetheart,” she started, walking over to sit next to you. You pulled your legs closer to you in order to allow her room, and she sat with a gentle hand on your knee. She hesitated, seeming to mull over what it was she wanted to say.

“Just spit it out,” you mumbled. “I already know I’m a disappointment to you.”

Her eyes widened before a look of confusion crossed her face.

“Darling, why ever would you think that?”

“It’s obvious,” you snapped back, but there was no real bite to your tone. The ache from before returned with a vengeance, and tears welled in your eyes once more. “I’m not like everyone else. I’m not beautiful or graceful or charming. I’m temperamental, bookish, and pig-headed. I’m-”

You stopped, sucking in a deep breath as the tears threatened to spill over. You blew out the breath shakily as you wiped at your eyes.

“I’m something…to be settled for,” you finished, averting your gaze down to the floor. There was a moment’s pause before your mother took your hand.

“Oh, my darling girl,” she cooed, pulling you close to wrap her arms around you. You allowed her to maneuver you, leaning your head against her chest as you listened to her heartbeat.

“You are not temperamental, you’re passionate. You’re bookish, but my dear you are so beautiful as well. You are inquisitive and mindful, and kind, and certainly not something to be settled for,” she told you as she stroked your hair soothingly. You sniffled, raising your head to look at her.

“What about pig-headed?”

“Oh, well,” she chuckled, hugging you a little tighter. “I’m afraid you are rather pig-headed, sweetheart. It’s something you inherited from your father.”

You clicked your tongue at her, but couldn’t stop the smile that worked its way onto your face as you inhaled her scent. It was the familiar, comforting smell of lavender and fresh linen, and for a moment you were a child again, seeking comfort in the steady presence of your mother.

“Now,” she sighed, “what seems to be going on between you and Lord Seresin.”

You balked at the question, pulling away to fix her with a scowl.

“Absolutely nothing,” you asserted with a roll of your eyes. “He’s an arrogant, self-righteous bastard.”

Your mother gave you a look at your profanity, but didn’t comment on it.

“It seems that the two of you have,” she paused, “quite an interesting dynamic.”

“If you mean the kind where we can’t stand each other, then I suppose you’re correct,” you sniffed. Your mother fixed you with a dubious look.

“That’s not how it appears to me or anyone else,” she pressed.

“And what, pray tell, is everyone else seeing?” You asked with another roll of your eyes.

“Darling,” she snickered, “it’s quite clear to anyone with eyes that the duke is smitten with you.”

You laughed at that. Lord Seresin smitten with someone like you? It was absolutely a laughable thought. The man was arrogant and smug, of course, but you weren’t fool enough to believe that he wasn’t handsome and the most eligible bachelor of the season. Your laughter died down, a frown fixing on your face as you took in your mother’s serious expression.

“Mama,” you scoffed. “He’s most certainly not interested in me. The man can hardly stand me. If anything, he sees me as the same silly, little girl he was saddled with years ago.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” she countered quickly. “I think you’ve misjudged the situation-”

“Besides,” you cut her off. “It’s Georgiana who will be his wife. She’s interested and clearly the perfect match for someone like him.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed at your words before she shook her head.

“No, my darling,” she insisted. “Georgiana wants someone who will dote on her and give in to her every whim. Someone who will spoil her with finest silks and pearls. I rather doubt she’ll find that in a match with Lord Seresin.”

“And how would you know?”

“A mother knows everything, Dearest,” she smirked, patting your knee gently. “A mother knows what’s best for her children. She sees her children’s faults and virtues, and she loves them all the more for both. She sees what will make her children happy, even if they themselves don’t see it at the moment.”

You watched as she rose from the bench, leaning down to place a kiss to the top of your head.

“Get some rest, Little Bug,” she told you, heading toward the door. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”

You sat with your mother’s words for some time. You couldn’t piece together why she was so convinced that Lord Seresin had any feelings other than contempt when it came to you. The image of his smug smirk at dinner flashed in your mind for a brief moment, and your frown deepened as you remembered the blatant challenge he had issued you.

It truly was amazing how easily one person could get under your skin so easily. Why he had such an effect on you was far beyond the scope of your knowledge, and you supposed that some people just had that way about them when it came to others.

The candlelight still flickered against the far wall, and it wasn’t until you heard your sister’s door close just down the hall that you finally moved from your position by the window. You padded slowly over towards the desk where the candle stood, watching the flame flicker and dance as you attempted to collect your thoughts. Closing your eyes, you let your head tip back, feeling your confusion give way to apprehension at the thought of the parading you would have to do tomorrow. Once again, you were reminded of how different the two of you were.

Georgie basked in every bit of attention thrown her way whether it was the admiration and desire from potential suitors or the envy of her competition. You, however, loathed the spotlight and preferred to spend your time locked away in your studio or the library. For a moment, you wondered if you could convince your mother to let you stay home the next day to work on your art rather than prance around the park in your sister’s shadow once more.

You opened your eyes to stare at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh as you slowly brought your gaze back down towards the desk. It was then that your eyes flickered to rest on the paper that had taken up your attention earlier that evening. Your brow furrowed once more as you chewed on your bottom lip, fingers dancing along the edge of the desk before snatching the paper up and unfolding it to reveal the scrawl etched inside.

Fairest lady,

The way of words is perhaps not my greatest strength, however I would find myself in the depths of deepest regret were I not to impart upon you the feelings that grip me so thoroughly and to my very soul.

When I saw you amongst the flowers this afternoon, it was like the very breath within me had been stolen. As I gazed upon you, the sun itself appeared to grow dim, as if it realized it paled in comparison to the very image of yourself.

But, it is not only your beauty that I have great fondness for, lady. Much like the heroine of this book you find yourself in possession of, you do not conform to the ideals of women that have been presented to you. No, you make your own path in this world, and for that I admire you greatly.

I should like to hear your thoughts on this novel once you finish it, but I should like to read your words before then. I thought it pertinent to return this book to you, and so I had a boy return it to your home. If you should like, you may reply to me in kind and leave your note by the same fountain underneath the flower pot nearest the exit. If I do not find a reply within the week, I shall know that you are not interested.

I wait in anticipation of your reply, my lady.

Robyn

You read over the note once more, teeth gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you pondered what to do. You had no knowledge of anyone named Robyn, and so you could only assume that it was a moniker of some kind. You wondered what gentleman in your sphere would have taken the time to read such a book as Northanger Abbey, taking the time to dissect the themes and elements beyond the initial glance.

Certainly no man you knew.

Now, you wondered if you should reply. If you were caught passing notes, it could stir up a scandal for your family, no matter how innocent the notes seemed. It could also be a trick that one of the meaner ladies of the Island was trying to pull. You weren’t sure you could handle being the subject of yet another joke.

Still, you had always been a curious creature, and the thought of not knowing who this person was something you couldn’t stand to let pass. You plucked a quill pen from one of the drawers, preparing it before sitting down to pen your reply.

Robyn,

You speak of me as if you know me, and yet I do not know anyone with your name or even one who uses words such as yours. You intrigue me, Robyn, and I should like to know more about you if we are to exchange letters concerning our thoughts to one another. For much like Catherine Morland, I too have a fondness for stories and fantastical ideas. I only wish that they not be advertised or used against me more than they already are at present.

Can I trust that you will not use my words against me in the future? I find it rather hard to put my trust in someone when I do not know who they are. Might you tell me some things about yourself?

I await your reply,

Lady Sinclair

A/N: And here's an update for you all! I know I just ran a poll, but I might update Fool's Fare next just because I'm pretty far into it already. But then I'll update Hanging By a Moment! Can't believe it's actually winning, I thought I'd never see this day again, but I knew Jake and Scout would have their time in the sun again!! Anyway, what do we think so far?? Are Bug and Lord Seresin going to make amends, or are they doomed to hate each other? Who is Robyn? What do they want with Bug??

Also, just a reminder that I've started my travel season for the semester, so updates should actually be a little more frequent despite what you'd think. I've got a lot of time to hang out in hotel rooms coming up lol

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to be notified on when I post updates, please follow my side blog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[dee-writes-smut]

THE SUMMER COURT (Chapter Three)

FEATURING Lucien Vanserra x Reader

SUMMARY Tarquin's court is beautiful, so dazzling it takes your breath away. If only that were the only thing...

CONTENT WARNINGS slight angst, besties, Tarquin being the cutie little flirt that he is, reader and Lucien get a lot closer, elain being a lost soul, reader hating Elain just slightly

AUTHORS NOTE this was a long time in the making and I'm still not sure if it's my favorite, but I couldn't deny you any longer. Hope you enjoy!! <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

The warmth of the Summer Court embraced you the moment you stepped off the carriage, the breeze carrying with it the scent of saltwater and sun-drenched fruit. Everything here felt alive—vibrant. The contrast to the crisp, golden hues of Autumn was immediate and intoxicating. Lush greens and deep blues stretched out before you, as if the land itself had been painted by the sea and sky.

You barely had time to take in the view when a melodic voice interrupted your thoughts.

“I see the Summer Court has blessed us with a rare visitor.”

The voice, rich and warm like the afternoon sun, drew your attention to the tall, silver-haired High Lord approaching you with a charming smile. Tarquin’s presence was magnetic, his bright eyes shimmering like the clear waters that surrounded his court. He stopped in front of you, his gaze lingering with unmistakable interest.

“And who might this radiant visitor be?” Tarquin asked, his voice low, the question almost teasing as his gaze flicked briefly to Lucien before returning to you.

“High Lord Tarquin,” Lucien greeted tightly from your side, his tone clipped but polite. His hand was tense at his side, fingers flexing as if he was fighting the urge to do something—anything. The rigid set of his shoulders and the way his jaw tightened with each word Tarquin spoke didn’t go unnoticed.

“Lucien Vanserra,” Tarquin replied smoothly, nodding in acknowledgement but his attention quickly returning to you. “But I was speaking to the beautiful lady by your side.” His smile widened, and the playful glint in his eyes suggested he was well aware of the tension his words were causing.

“I—” you began, unsure how to respond to the High Lord’s flirtatious greeting.

“Ah,” he said before you could finish, taking your hand gently and pressing his lips to the back of it. “I apologize for being forward, but I believe that if I had met someone so lovely before now, I would surely remember it.” He let go of your hand but not before his thumb brushed your knuckles lightly, lingering in a way that sent a flutter of warmth up your spine.

Lucien shifted beside you, clearing his throat. “We’re here on business,” he said, his voice a touch firmer now, as if trying to pull the conversation back on track.

“Of course, of course.” Tarquin finally relented, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Business. Well then, allow me to introduce you to someone who will ensure your stay in the Summer Court is nothing less than perfect.”

He turned to gesture at a woman who had been waiting nearby, her expression composed and welcoming. She was tall, with sun-kissed skin and long, dark hair that gleamed under the warm sunlight. Her deep blue gown fluttered slightly in the breeze, and her soft eyes held a kindness that immediately put you at ease.

“This is Anna,” Tarquin introduced with a sweeping motion. “She’ll be your guide for the next two weeks while you stay here. Anna knows every hidden cove and secret passage in this court. If there’s something to discover, she’s the one to show you.”

Anna stepped forward, smiling warmly as she inclined her head slightly in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, her voice as smooth and calm as the tides that lapped the shores nearby. “I’ll do my best to ensure your time in the Summer Court is both enjoyable and productive.”

“Thank you,” you replied, offering a smile in return, though you couldn’t help but notice the tension that still radiated off Lucien. His gaze flicked between Tarquin and Anna, but he gave a brief nod in her direction.

“Anna will take excellent care of you,” Tarquin continued, but the mischievous gleam hadn’t left his eyes. “And if you find the time to explore more… personal delights, don’t hesitate to call on me.” His voice dropped an octave on the last few words, clearly directed at you.

Before Lucien could respond, Anna took a step forward, cutting off any further tension. “I’ll show you to your rooms, and then we can discuss the itinerary for your stay,” she said with an inviting smile, steering the conversation away from Tarquin’s teasing.

With that, you, Lucien, and Anna began your walk toward the stunning architecture of the Summer Court’s palace, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore in the distance. As you walked, you could feel Lucien’s eyes burning holes in the side of your head, though he remained silent, his thoughts likely as turbulent as the waters surrounding this sun-soaked kingdom.

As you walked through the lush gardens of the Summer Court, the vibrant surroundings should have been enough to distract you—the heady perfume of flowers in full bloom, the salt-kissed breeze from the sea, the soft calls of exotic birds perched in tall, swaying trees. Marble pathways lined with seashells and opalescent stones shimmered beneath your feet, catching the sun like the Summer Court itself had been woven out of light. The palace in the distance, with its towering spires and cascading fountains, was a breathtaking display of wealth and power—each column and arch sculpted with the sea in mind, the architecture almost appearing to ripple like water.

But your mind wasn’t fully present, not really. As beautiful as the Summer Court was, the events of the previous night in Spring still gnawed at you, replaying over and over in your head like a haunting melody. The argument between Lucien and Tamlin echoed in your thoughts, their voices sharp and bitter, cutting through the beauty around you.

“...can’t keep doing this, Tamlin. You need to let go—holding onto this anger, this guilt, it’s tearing you apart.”

Lucien’s words had been so full of frustration, his voice tight with emotion. You hadn’t meant to overhear, hadn’t meant to be drawn into their private battle, but something about it had pulled you closer, kept you there, listening.

Elain.

Lucien had never mentioned her to you before. Not once during your travels to the Spring Court. Not during any of the tense silences that had grown between you whenever the conversation drifted toward his past. But that night, it was all laid bare—an open wound that had yet to heal, a name that seemed to cut deeper than any blade.

Her name had been like a slap to the face, a reminder of the bond that tethered Lucien to a woman who wasn’t here—who didn’t want him. The weight of it had settled into your chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe. You’d felt his tension, the way Tamlin’s cruel words had hurt him, and in that moment, something within you had shifted. The dynamic between the two men had been painful to witness—Tamlin’s bitterness, Lucien’s tightly controlled anger, and beneath it all, a deep well of sorrow that neither seemed willing to acknowledge.

“...she’ll never love you, Lucien. Not like that.”

Those words had hit you harder than they should have. You weren’t sure why. Perhaps because you could feel Lucien’s heart breaking, piece by piece, as if Tamlin’s cruelty had shattered something fragile inside him. Or perhaps because you saw yourself in that moment, in the idea of wanting something—someone—so desperately, but knowing that it could never be.

As you followed Anna and Lucien, the opulent surroundings of the Summer Court seemed to blur at the edges, dulled by the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. The palace’s towering columns and turquoise mosaics became a backdrop, muted by the emotions that clawed at you, refusing to let go.

The hallway leading to your rooms opened up into a massive courtyard, where crystalline fountains bubbled merrily, water dancing in the air before splashing back into the pools. Marble statues adorned the space, each one delicately crafted, depicting Summer’s High Lords and Ladies of the past, their faces serene and noble. But even here, in the midst of such grandeur, your thoughts drifted back to that tense exchange, to the coldness in Lucien’s voice as he left Tamlin behind.

“I’m done here, Tamlin.”

Lucien’s voice had been so quiet, so full of finality, that it had chilled you to the bone. You had been ready to retreat back to your room then, unwilling to intrude any further, but the weight of what you’d heard had followed you like a shadow.

Anna’s voice broke you from your thoughts, her tone pleasant as she led you up the wide stone steps to the palace entrance, her voice a welcome distraction from the storm that had been brewing in your mind.

“The palace is one of the jewels of the Summer Court,” she explained, waving a hand at the grand structure ahead. Sunlight streamed through the coral-like latticework, casting shimmering patterns along the smooth, polished floors. The doors were crafted from pale wood, inlaid with pearls and mother-of-pearl, and as they opened, the cool, inviting air of the palace swept over you.

Inside, the walls seemed to glow, adorned with intricate murals of ocean scenes—mermaids, sea creatures, ships on glittering waves—all masterfully painted in hues of blue and silver. Each room you passed was a display of the Summer Court’s wealth: delicate chandeliers that resembled drops of seawater, curtains of sheer fabric that fluttered like waves in the breeze, and expansive windows that opened to breathtaking views of the sparkling sea.

Yet despite the elegance and grandeur, a knot remained tight in your chest.

Lucien had been quiet since you’d left the Spring Court—more so than usual. Even now, walking beside you in the Summer Court’s warm embrace, he was distant, his brow furrowed, his steps measured. You knew he was thinking of her—Elain. Perhaps he’d been thinking of her for a long time, ever since your journey began. Maybe that’s why he had taken up this emissary role. Maybe his heart had never been here, with you, in these courts. Maybe it had always belonged somewhere else, with someone else.

The thought stung, though you tried to push it aside, focusing instead on the breathtaking beauty of the palace. It wasn’t like you had any claim to Lucien’s heart. He had always been an enigma to you—charming and polite, yet guarded. He wore his smiles like armor, his laughter like a mask. You had seen glimpses of the man behind the facade, yes, but only glimpses. And now, knowing what you did about Elain, you wondered if you’d ever truly know him.

“This is your wing,” Anna announced as she led you through another archway, her voice still warm, though she seemed to sense the heavy atmosphere between you and Lucien. “Your rooms overlook the sea, and there’s a private terrace where you can enjoy the sunrise. I’ll let you get settled, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

You nodded, offering her a polite smile as she left, but your thoughts were already slipping back to Lucien, to the weight of what you had overheard. You paused before entering your room, glancing at him, hoping to find some clue in his expression, some hint of the emotions he was holding so tightly.

But his face was as unreadable as ever.

“Are you alright?” you finally asked, your voice soft, hesitant.

Lucien glanced at you, his golden eye glinting in the soft light. He looked tired—more tired than you’d ever seen him. “I’m fine,” he replied, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

You wanted to press, to ask about Elain, about the argument, about what it meant for him, for you, for this journey. But the words caught in your throat. Perhaps now wasn’t the time. Perhaps you weren’t ready to hear the truth.

With a quiet nod, you both turned to your respective rooms, though the distance between you felt greater than ever.

That evening, as the sun dipped low over the Summer Court, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet, you found yourself alone in your room, the soft lapping of waves from the nearby sea a distant but constant lullaby. The earlier events of the day still weighed on your mind—Lucien’s quiet brooding, the beauty of the Summer Court, the conversation with Anna—but for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to simply breathe. The room, bathed in the soft light of sunset, was peaceful. The sea breeze stirred the gauzy curtains around the large windows, carrying with it the scent of salt and warmth, a promise of more to come.

A knock at the door pulled you from your reverie.

"Come in," you called, expecting Anna or perhaps even Lucien. But when the door opened, it was Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer himself, who stepped inside, his smile as radiant as the sun that reflected off the sea outside.

"Good evening," he greeted, his voice a low purr, smooth and inviting. His gaze flickered around your room before settling on you with a twinkle of mischief. “I hope you’re settling in well. Thought I’d stop by and make sure our guest of honor was being treated properly.”

You couldn't help but smile at his charm. "Everything is perfect. Your court is beautiful, I can see why so many speak of it so highly."

Tarquin leaned casually against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m glad to hear it, but I imagine you’re used to beautiful places by now, being an emissary. Autumn is quite… striking in its own way, wouldn’t you say?”

You shrugged, still not entirely accustomed to your new title. “I suppose so. But honestly, I haven’t seen nearly as much of the world as I’d like.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Really? I would’ve thought someone like you—someone with the fire I saw in your eyes when we first met—would have traveled to every corner of Prythian by now.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, though there was a hint of sadness to it. “That’s the dream, at least. It’s why I accepted this position in the first place. The High Lady of Autumn… she helped me achieve it, even if I wasn’t so sure at first.”

Tarquin’s curiosity piqued as he moved further into the room, taking a seat on the edge of a nearby chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “How so?”

You glanced toward the window, your gaze lost in the deepening hues of the sunset for a moment as you collected your thoughts. “I met her before I even knew who she was. At her coronation, of all places. We started talking, and I told her about my dream—how I wanted to see the courts, to experience everything Prythian has to offer. I thought she was just being polite at the time, listening to some stranger ramble on about an impossible dream.” You chuckled softly at the memory. “But then she offered me the position, said it was the perfect way for me to travel and see the world.”

Tarquin smiled, his eyes softening as he watched you. “Sounds like she saw something in you. Something worth nurturing.”

You shook your head slightly, still a bit overwhelmed by the memory of how quickly your life had changed. “Maybe. It all happened so fast, I wasn’t sure if I should accept it. I’ve always wanted to do this on my own, and part of me felt like taking the offer would mean I didn’t earn it, that it was handed to me.”

Tarquin leaned forward, his gaze steady, thoughtful. “You earned it. And besides, even if it was handed to you, what matters is what you do with it. You’ve already made the decision to be here, to be part of this journey. That’s no small thing.”

His words made you feel lighter, more at ease with your decision. You smiled, meeting his gaze. “You’re right. It’s just… a lot to take in.”

“I can imagine,” Tarquin said, standing from the chair and moving toward the window where the breeze ruffled his silver hair. “But from what I’ve seen of you so far, you’ll do just fine. If anyone can handle the adventure of traveling the courts, it’s you.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest easing. “You barely know me, Tarquin.”

His eyes sparkled as he turned to face you, leaning casually against the windowsill. “I’ve got a good eye for people. Comes with the job, I suppose. And I know someone with a true hunger for life when I see them.”

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest, not from his flattery, but from the genuine ease he exuded. Tarquin, unlike so many other High Lords, didn’t carry the weight of his power like a burden. Instead, he wore it like a second skin, comfortable and light. His charm wasn’t a weapon but a gift, and you found yourself appreciating his company more than you had expected.

The two of you continued to talk well into the evening, the conversation flowing as naturally as the waves outside. Tarquin regaled you with tales of the Summer Court—its festivals, its politics, its people—and you found yourself laughing more than you had in days. He had a way of making everything feel light, fun, as if the weight of your responsibilities could be cast aside, even if only for a moment.

At one point, he suggested a game of sorts, challenging you to guess which famous Summer Court landmarks you could see from your window, and before long, you were both leaning out the window, pointing out various spots, sharing stories and laughter that echoed into the night.

For the first time since you’d left Autumn, you felt a spark of excitement—not just for what lay ahead, but for the now. For this moment, in this beautiful place, with someone who made you feel truly seen. And as Tarquin smiled at you, his eyes twinkling with warmth and amusement, you found yourself thinking that perhaps this journey might turn out even better than you’d hoped.

The next morning, you walked into the bright, sunlit dining hall of the Summer Court palace, the smell of freshly baked bread and sea salt filling the air. The grand windows overlooked the sparkling turquoise waters of the sea, and for a brief moment, the sight alone lifted your spirits. You spotted Tarquin immediately, already seated at a long, marble table adorned with an impressive spread of tropical fruits, pastries, and delicacies that made your stomach rumble. He grinned broadly when he saw you, waving you over with the casual ease of someone who had known you for years.

"Good morning!" Tarquin greeted, his voice warm and inviting, like the sun itself. "I trust you slept well?"

You smiled, sliding into the seat across from him. "Surprisingly well. Your court really knows how to spoil a guest."

"Only the best for the emissary of the Autumn Court," he winked, offering you a plate of pastries. “I was going to have them bring in some special Summer Court wine, but I figured you’d need your strength after yesterday.”

You laughed, easily falling into the light banter that had started between you the night before. "Very considerate of you. Though I have a feeling you were just looking out for yourself. You wouldn't want me beating you in any of your landmark guessing games."

Tarquin’s laugh was light and contagious, filling the room with warmth as he leaned back in his chair. "Maybe I like a little competition."

Just then, the mood in the room shifted as Lucien entered, his steps clipped, his face set in a grim scowl. The stark contrast between his mood and the easy camaraderie you’d shared with Tarquin hit you instantly. Lucien looked like he’d barely slept, his usual sharp amber gaze clouded with something darker. His jaw was tight, and you could practically feel the stormy tension radiating off him.

“Morning,” Lucien muttered stiffly, barely glancing at either of you as he took his seat next to you, his movements sharp and deliberate. He grabbed a slice of bread, ripping it with more force than necessary.

Tarquin, ever the observant High Lord, raised an amused brow as he took in Lucien’s clear irritation. His lips curved into a subtle smirk, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he spoke. "You're in quite the mood this morning, Lucien. Didn’t sleep well?"

Lucien grunted in response, avoiding eye contact. His focus remained fixed on his plate, but the way he clenched his fork told you all you needed to know about his mood.

You exchanged a glance with Tarquin, trying to suppress your amusement at Lucien’s clear discomfort. Tarquin, however, seemed more than happy to prod.

“I suppose it’s none of my business,” Tarquin began, the tone of his voice too innocent to be genuine. “But it’s curious, really. You’re normally so composed, Lucien. I wonder what your mate would think of this mood of yours?”

The moment the word ‘mate’ left Tarquin’s mouth, you noticed how Lucien’s grip tightened around his fork, his knuckles white. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he kept his gaze locked on his food. The silence that followed was thick, charged, and suddenly your amusement faded, replaced by a sinking feeling in your chest.

Tarquin’s comment echoed in your mind—mate. Lucien’s mate, Elain, the woman you’d overheard him and Tamlin arguing about back in Spring. A woman who, by all accounts, didn’t want him. You’d heard the pain in Lucien’s voice that night, felt the raw hurt in his silence after Tamlin’s cruel words. And now, sitting here beside him, with Tarquin’s teasing and Lucien’s simmering tension, you couldn’t help but be reminded that whatever had been building between you and Lucien—even if it was just a shared sense of companionship—was nothing compared to the bond he shared with another.

The weight of that reality settled over you like a stone.

Lucien didn’t respond to Tarquin’s comment, but the damage was done. The mood at the table shifted, the air suddenly heavy with things unsaid. Tarquin glanced at you with a raised brow, clearly amused by the change, but you found your appetite fading. The easy conversation, the laughter—all of it felt distant now, replaced by a reminder that Lucien, no matter how drawn you might feel to him, wasn’t someone you could afford to get close to.

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes as you picked at your plate. Tarquin, ever the master of social dynamics, seemed to sense the shift in your mood and moved the conversation onto lighter topics, though his gaze lingered on Lucien’s tight-lipped silence with a knowing glint. Still, you couldn’t shake the lingering weight of that one word.

Mate.

By the time breakfast was finished, the easy camaraderie from the night before had evaporated, leaving you with the uneasy reminder of boundaries you hadn’t realized you’d already begun to cross. And as you left the dining hall, Lucien walking in tense, brooding silence beside you, you couldn’t help but wonder if Tarquin’s remark had been more than just a tease—if it had been a warning. A reminder of what you couldn’t have.

The awkward silence between the two of you stretched on too long-- so long, in fact, that you were trying desperately to clear your dry throat. You wanted to ease the tension between the two of you, but at times like this, it felt nearly impossible. Nevertheless, you could no longer stand it. “Lucien,” you started softly, your voice hesitant but warm, “want to take a walk with me along the beach? It’s too beautiful of a morning to waste inside.”

Lucien’s amber eyes flicked to yours, his surprise evident for a moment before his face softened, the tension in his brow easing slightly. He nodded once, wordlessly accepting your invitation. Together, you strolled down the shoreline, the breeze tugging at your clothes, the sea whispering in the background.

The soft sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air as you walked along the edge of the Summer Court’s shimmering beach. The sand beneath your feet was warm, the golden grains shifting with every step. It was a breathtaking morning, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting the sea in hues of pink and gold. You glanced to your side where Lucien walked, his shoulders still tense from breakfast, his expression distant. The breeze ruffled his auburn hair, strands catching the sunlight like fire.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the sound of the ocean filling the silence. You could feel the weight of something unspoken lingering between you two—the ghosts of breakfast and what you’d overheard in the Spring Court lurking in the back of your mind.

Finally, you gathered the courage to break the silence. “Lucien… about what Tarquin said this morning.” You hesitated, searching for the right words, watching the way his shoulders tensed again at the mention of the High Lord. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything uncomfortable, but I overheard you and Tamlin arguing the other night, and I heard her name—Elain.”

At the mention of his mate’s name, Lucien’s face tightened, his steps slowing. He turned to look at you, his gaze guarded, as if unsure of how much to reveal. The air between you grew heavier with each passing second, but there was something in his eyes that told you he was considering it, weighing whether to let you in.

“She’s my mate,” Lucien finally said, his voice quiet, the words heavy with emotion. “But she… she doesn’t feel the bond. At least, not the way I do.”

You swallowed, the ache in his voice twisting something inside you. You’d known there was pain there—had felt it even before hearing his argument with Tamlin—but hearing him admit it so plainly sent a pang of sympathy through you.

Lucien sighed, his gaze drifting out to the sea. “I thought I would be enough. That if I gave her time, if I was patient, maybe… maybe she would come to care for me. But it hasn’t happened. Every time I see her, I can feel the distance, the wall she’s built between us. And I don’t blame her. The bond was forced on her. She didn’t ask for this, and she certainly didn’t ask for me.”

There was a vulnerability in his words, a rawness you hadn’t seen before. It was as if he’d dropped the mask he so often wore, the sly fox that hid his true feelings finally stepping aside. You could see the depth of his hurt, the way it weighed on him, the way it made him question his worth. And in that moment, something shifted between the two of you.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must be,” you said softly, your heart aching for him. “But, Lucien, from what I’ve seen, you care for her deeply. You’ve given her space, and that… that says more about you than anything. You’re not trying to force her to love you. You’re just giving her time to figure out her own feelings.”

He turned to you then, his amber gaze locking onto yours, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough,” he admitted, his voice low. “It feels like I’m just… waiting. And I don’t know how much longer I can do it.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort, but you hesitated. Instead, you chose your words carefully. “Sometimes the hardest thing to do is wait for someone else to figure things out. But that doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of love, Lucien. You deserve someone who sees you, who loves you for who you are—not because of a bond, but because they choose you.”

His gaze softened, and for the first time since you’d met him, Lucien looked at you with something more than polite interest. There was a connection in that moment, an understanding that passed between you two, and it left you feeling both closer to him and more vulnerable than ever.

And that’s when you felt it. A dangerous tug deep inside you, a fluttering in your chest that you hadn’t expected. You realized then, with a suddenness that knocked the air from your lungs, that you were falling for him.

It was terrifying.

Lucien, with his broken heart and his unwavering loyalty to someone else, wasn’t yours to fall for. You were the emissary of the Autumn Court, traveling with him out of duty, not personal desire. He had a mate—someone he was bound to, even if she didn’t return his feelings. And yet, here you were, standing on the shores of the Summer Court, your heart betraying you as it fluttered in your chest.

You swallowed hard, turning your gaze out to the ocean to hide the emotions you knew were creeping onto your face. This was dangerous. Falling for Lucien would only lead to heartbreak. You couldn’t afford to get caught up in whatever this was—whatever this connection between you two might be.

Lucien exhaled deeply beside you, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more thoughtful. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I guess… I guess I just needed someone to listen. So, thank you.”

You smiled softly, though your heart was still racing. “I’m glad you felt like you could talk to me. And I’ll always be here to listen, Lucien.”

He smiled back at you, a small, grateful smile, and for a moment, everything felt lighter. But as you both turned back toward the palace, the weight of what you’d just realized settled heavily on your shoulders.

You had begun to fall for Lucien Vanserra. And you had no idea what to do about it.

As the sun dipped lower into the horizon, casting the last golden rays over the ocean, you and Lucien made your way back toward the Summer Court palace in silence. The soft sound of waves accompanied your footsteps, and though neither of you spoke, the weight of everything that had passed between you hung heavily in the air.

Lucien walked beside you, his presence warm and solid, yet there was a vulnerability in him now that you hadn’t seen before. His walls had come down, if only for a brief moment, and it made you ache for him—for all the pain he’d been carrying alone. You kept stealing glances at him, at the way his jaw was set, at the tension in his posture, and at the flicker of sadness that seemed to follow him even now.

When you finally reached your door, you turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. Lucien hesitated for a moment, his amber gaze lingering on you before he offered a soft, almost weary smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

"Thank you for the walk," he said quietly, his voice dipping low, soft, like he was afraid to disturb the fragile moment between you.

You smiled back, though it felt bittersweet. “Of course, Lucien. Anytime.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, his mouth parting slightly, but then he closed it again, shaking his head. “I should let you get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

You nodded, feeling an unexpected pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving. But you didn’t want to push him. Lucien had already opened up to you more than you’d ever expected. “Goodnight, Lucien.”

He stepped closer, and your breath hitched as he gently took your hand, bowing slightly as he brought it to his lips. His touch was warm, sending a soft current through your skin as his lips brushed lightly against the back of your hand. When he looked up at you, there was something in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat—something tender, unspoken.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. And then, with one last glance, he turned and walked down the corridor, his figure soon disappearing into the soft shadows of the palace halls.

You stood there for a long moment, your heart racing, watching him until he was out of sight. Then, with a heavy sigh, you pushed open the door to your room and stepped inside.

As you leaned against the door, closing it softly behind you, the ache in your chest deepened. You sank onto the edge of your bed, your hands resting in your lap as you stared blankly at the walls, trying to steady your swirling thoughts.

Lucien Vanserra.

It was foolish, you told yourself. Dangerous, even. He wasn’t yours to fall for. He had a mate—someone the universe had chosen for him, someone who, despite it all, still held a piece of his heart.

Elain.

You couldn’t stop the bitterness that crept in at the thought of her. Elain, the one who was supposed to be everything to him, the one he longed for, even though she didn’t seem to want him in return. How could she overlook someone like Lucien? How could she not see what you were starting to see—the depth of his loyalty, his strength, his kindness hidden beneath the sharp edges?

A flicker of anger ignited in your chest. It wasn’t fair. Not to Lucien, not to you. Elain had been given a gift—a bond with someone like Lucien—and yet she kept him at arm’s length, leaving him to suffer alone. And here you were, falling for him, feeling more for him in these few short days than Elain had shown in all this time.

You hated her for it—for the way she could cast him aside, for the way she made him feel unwanted, unloved. You hated the way she made him question himself, made him feel like he wasn’t enough when he was more than enough.

But that hate didn’t change the reality of the situation. Elain was still his mate, and no matter how much you felt for him, no matter how much you wanted to take away his pain, that bond remained. You would always be the outsider, the one who wasn’t supposed to fall for him, the one who could never have him.

With a heavy sigh, you pulled back the covers of the bed and slipped beneath them, the ache in your chest growing stronger. As you closed your eyes, exhaustion creeping over you, the weight of everything—of Lucien, of Elain, of this impossible situation—pressed down on you.

But even as sleep pulled you under, one thought remained, clear and undeniable.

You were falling for Lucien. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The next morning greeted you with the warmth of the Summer Court’s sun spilling into your room, the golden light seeping through the sheer curtains and kissing your skin like a gentle promise. You stretched beneath the soft linens, your heart lighter than it had been in days. After a night filled with restless dreams of Lucien’s smile, of the look in his eyes when he spoke of Elain, the ache in your chest hadn’t completely vanished—but the anticipation bubbling within you for the day ahead managed to soothe it, even if only for a little while.

You dressed quickly, excitement rushing through your veins as the thought of exploring this beautiful court—the court you’d dreamed of seeing—propelled you forward. The day was waiting for you, filled with possibilities you had never dared to hope for. After a quick breakfast, you met Lucien and Anna in the palace’s grand courtyard, the bright morning sun casting long shadows over the cobblestone paths lined with lush greenery and delicate blossoms that seemed to sway in time with the breeze.

Lucien was already waiting for you, leaning casually against a marble pillar, his auburn hair catching the light like copper set aflame. His amber eyes softened as they landed on you, a faint, teasing smile tugging at his lips as you approached.

"Ready for today?" he asked, his voice a low hum, the warmth of it sending a flutter through your chest.

You nodded, heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite place, your gaze briefly flicking to Anna, who stood beside Lucien with a radiant smile. Her easygoing demeanor mirrored the court itself—bright, open, welcoming. “More than ready,” you said, trying to focus on the excitement bubbling within you rather than the way Lucien’s presence seemed to settle something deep inside you.

"Then let’s get started," Anna chimed in, gesturing toward the path leading from the palace into the heart of the city. Her sun-kissed skin glowed beneath the morning light, and her laughter was contagious as she led the way, her enthusiasm making it impossible not to feel excited for what was to come.

The moment you stepped beyond the gates of the palace, you were struck by the sheer beauty of the Summer Court. The streets were alive with color and movement—white-washed buildings lined the cobblestone paths, their blue-tiled roofs glistening in the sunlight. Bright awnings shaded the numerous market stalls that spilled out into the streets, the vibrant fabrics rippling in the breeze, each one more vibrant than the last. The air was filled with the scent of saltwater and citrus, mingling with the sweet aroma of tropical flowers that grew in wild abundance along the pathways.

Merchants called out from their stalls, their voices cheerful and melodic as they displayed wares you could only have dreamed of—delicate glasswork in brilliant hues, fabrics so fine they seemed to shimmer in the light, jewelry that sparkled like stars. Everywhere you looked, there was life—children darted between the crowds, their laughter rising like music over the hum of conversation. You felt a pang of wonder deep within you, as though you had stepped into a world spun from pure magic.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you whispered, your gaze sweeping over the bustling streets, the gleaming rooftops, the sprawling ocean that sparkled just beyond the edge of the town. The water was a deep, endless blue, stretching out toward the horizon, the sunlight glinting off its surface like scattered diamonds.

Lucien chuckled softly beside you, his voice warm and amused. “The Summer Court does have a way of making the impossible feel possible.”

You glanced up at him, catching the way his eyes seemed to glow in the sunlight, softer now than they had been before. There was something different about him today—less guarded, more at ease. The tension that had been gnawing at him for days seemed to have eased, if only slightly.

“Thank you for this,” you said quietly, sincerity in your voice. “I’ve wanted to see the Summer Court for as long as I can remember.”

His amber gaze held yours for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “I think… I needed this too.”

A flush of warmth spread through you at his words, but before you could respond, Anna appeared beside you, her arms full of bright, exotic fruits she had just bartered for at one of the stalls.

“Try this!” she urged, handing you a piece of fruit the color of a setting sun, its skin smooth and cool beneath your fingers. “You can’t leave the Summer Court without tasting this—it’s one of our best-kept secrets.”

You took a cautious bite, your eyes widening as the sweet, tangy flavor burst across your tongue. It was like nothing you had ever tasted before—bright and fresh, as if it had captured the very essence of the Summer Court itself. Anna grinned at your expression, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“You’re right,” you laughed, wiping juice from your chin, “I can’t leave without eating more of these.”

Lucien’s low chuckle joined yours, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. The three of you continued on, visiting more shops, more stalls, more hidden corners of the Summer Court that Anna eagerly shared with you. Everywhere you went, there was something new to marvel at—beautiful seashell jewelry, hand-carved figurines, dazzling glass orbs that captured the light in such a way that they seemed to hold miniature suns within them.

With each passing hour, you found yourself growing more and more comfortable in Lucien’s presence. What had once been a tense, delicate connection between you now began to deepen into something more solid, more real. You shared quiet moments between the bustling excitement—stolen glances, soft words, laughter that bubbled up from within you as easily as the sunlight fell across your skin.

At one point, as the three of you stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, Lucien leaned closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You look happy today,” he said softly, his gaze sweeping over your face. “It suits you.”

The words sent a jolt of warmth through you, and for a brief, dangerous moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If he wasn’t bound to someone else. If you didn’t feel that constant ache in your chest whenever you thought of her.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and you forced yourself to focus on the beauty of the day, on the warmth of the sun and the laughter that filled the air. You weren’t ready to let go of this—this feeling of closeness, of connection, even if it was temporary.

By the time the sun began to set, casting the sky in shades of pink and gold, you found yourself standing with Lucien and Anna at the edge of a lookout point, the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before you, sparkling like liquid gold beneath the fading light. The three of you stood in comfortable silence, the beauty of the moment washing over you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

But even as the joy of the day lingered in your heart, you couldn’t shake the growing realization that you were falling for Lucien. Hard. And that was a dangerous thing.

Because no matter how close you grew, no matter how much you cared for him, he would never be yours.

TAGLIATELLE

@littlest-w01f @rcarbo1 @mirandasidefics @thelov3lybookworm @lilah-asteria @megscabinetofcurios @thecraziestcrayon

[misfitgirlwrites]

Modern!Reader x Alastor Headcanons | Third Place Giveaway Winner

This is very funny to me. Alastor dating or befriending someone who's more similar to Vox to say the least than him when it comes to...technological advancements

CW: none, just some bickering between what could be seen as an old married couple

It's a little hard for almost everyone to tell, but you and Alastor are close

I say it's hard to tell because you two are constantly throwing jabs at each other and honestly, it couldn't be helped

He was just so...old

Everything about his habits and interests were outdated and Alastor wasn't the type to do his own thing quietly 

There's always a comment, a sideways glance, a light scoff which leads to,

"Don't be upset because you don't know how to use a cellphone."

"Me? Upset over such a device? You confuse me with someone else, dear."

"I don't think I am. What'd you have again? Messenger birds?"

"Very funny."

You would simply chuckle at Alastor for the most part. You've heard it all before, your love and talent did lead to you VoxTech for a bit of your afterlife, but you didn't stay.

You found it more enjoy using what you know to help Charlie with her cause.

You were a helpful person in your own way. It was the only reason you kept trying to introduce Alastor to some form of modern tech. 

"I can make you the simplest most basic cellphone Hell has ever seen. Only phone calls and texting--"

"You lost me."

"--Only phone calls and we'll get to the rest eventually?"

"No."

You'd groan out, "even Lucifer has a cellphone! He's older than you!"

"Was that supposed to help you convince me?"

"...You're such a loser."

You have special nicknames for Alastor when you feel like picking with him. 

Old Allie

Old Man Red

Ye Old Alastor

Arthritis Strawberry

Alastor: Great Gatsby Edition

He hates all of them, of course, and that's why you love them

Alastor is completely uninterested in what you do. His focus is just more on your talent and passion than what you're making

You argue that what you're making is your passion so he should show a little interest

This would lead to a breakthrough!

"Only for phone calls."

"Right."

"Don't add anything else."

"Mhm."

"______. I mean it."

"Don't go using that scary tone with me, mister. I'm your friend, so trust me!"

It took all your willpower to not add anything extreme to the, in your opinion, useless cellphone. Phone calls only, just as promised. You knew Alastor agreed to shut you up, but you were still satisfied with your win

That's why you were very surprised when you got a call from him and you knew he wasn't in the hotel. You of course told everyone who would listen (AKA everyone in the hotel)

You yourself were always on the move and it made you happy that the chance to hear Alastor while you were both away was significantly higher (he lowkey hates the thing, so he doesn't always answer)

After a while, like a lot of elderly, Alastor would just straight up not take the phone with him.

"Al."

"Yes, my dear?"

"The point of a cellphone. You get it, yeah?"

A roll of the eyes

"Al."

"I still use the thing."

"You leave it in the hotel!"

"I forget it here and there."

"You can't tell me you're not someone's fuckin' grandfather with that lame excuse. At this rate, I'm gonna glue the phone to you."

Honestly, he kept it on him for almost two months. You expected to be having this conversation sooner.

After nagging him for a few days, Alastor made sure not to "forget" the cellphone anymore, much to his annoyance. He, of course, couldn't be seen with the thing, so it was just easier to leave it at the hotel

Two more weeks in, and Alastor would definitely be thinking of ways for this device to get in an unfortunate accident, if you will

While fiddling with the damned thing one night, Alastor finally found the one extra feature you decided to add. After a small click sounded, the small phone extended in his hands, making him let it go. The small screen was now larger; touchscreen.

Alastor's eye twitched. He could almost hear you cackling. 

He was going to end you.

@theblueslytherin Here as promised! I really hope you like it!

Alastor Taglist: @alastorssimp @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @dasimp777

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Rat Bastard - Part 7

Pairing: You x Kyungsoo 

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 8900

Warnings: There were too many beds, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Idiots to Lovers

A/N: I wrote this in less than a day and none of it followed any of the plans I had for this story. This new laptop makes it too easy to write and it might end up adding extra chapters to this fic. Sorry and you’re welcome.

Tag: @ilovemyapopbaby

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

The silence that sat down atop both of your heads after that door closed tight, leaving you and him completely alone together for the first time in literally forever was about as loud as anything you’d ever experienced. 

Kyungsoo stood just inside of the drab entryway and you had been lingering closer to the hallway that would take you further into the shelter. You watched his face for a while, trying to gauge the mood he would be in to find himself trapped in here with you for at least one night, maybe two if things got wild at the hospital and Mr. Chen wasn’t able to get away as he promised. 

How would he feel about this? The relationship and you used that word strictly for lack of any other word to describe the you and the him, had been strained from the start, downright hostile at times, and only very recently kind of sort of settled into this civil agreement in which you did not antagonize him and he did not antagonize you -- much. 

It wasn’t a friendly relationship for he himself had told you quite brutally last night that he had no interest in being your friend, but lately, with the interactions that had grown just a little bit softer, the chat you’d had with him out on the patio as he made you ramen and teased you about your sexual optimism, the silly time passing game of stating a personal preference between two completely inconsequential things and you found, much to your surprise that you and he shared more than a few minor tastes in common; the fright you had been triggered into with the spiders in the movie and the genuine comfort you felt from him; it felt almost as if something somewhere might be changing. Were you, just as you had been with the threat from the fake spiders, simply imagining the entire thing? 

“Well, shit,” Kyungsoo whispered mostly to himself after the heavy door slammed shut and you looked up into his face to catch the smallest furrow of his brows and the frown of his lips. 

Was this a worst case scenario for him? Trapped alone with the girl he never wanted to be trapped with? Having gone out of his way all those months ago to ditch her on that stupid blind date and she just had to be pathetic enough to pick a fight with him about it, and then about anything and everything she could find to fight about and just when he thought he’d escaped that nightmare of a person she shows up here and not only is she forced upon him by the staff here but now he’s somehow charged with feeding her and entertaining her? You could see it in his face. He looked disappointed as evidenced by the furrow and the frown.

You pulled your arms up and crossed them over your chest, pulling your eyes down and away from that disappointed look you saw in his eyes and you made a deal with yourself then and there; you would not be a burden. You would keep as good a distance as this situation allowed and behave yourself as far as your temper or your tangled feelings for the man were concerned. You wouldn't let it show just how far down this pathetic rabbit hole you’d fallen of uninvited attraction and unrequited love. You’d treat him with disinterest, maybe casual civility that a shop worker would get, or that old man at the grocery store who made a friendly joke about the price of eggs and you provided the required perfunctory laugh at exactly the right pitch and tone to be deemed socially acceptable. That was what you would do, you would perform as expected by society in such a situation. 

It wasn’t his fault that you’d allowed this little crush to fester deep inside your stomach; and for a man who didn’t even desire friendship from you. It wasn’t the first time you’d let your heart run away with your mind. It didn’t have to happen with this man. 

You felt a slight burning in your stomach, just below your breastplate and you placed a palm over the space where you felt the pain. You knew enough about your body to recognize that you were just feeling the aftereffects from the panic from earlier. It always came as an upset stomach that burned and ached usually for hours after your heightened emotions had run their course. 

“What is it?” You hadn’t expected his attention but he must have seen your hand sink down hard just over the space at the top of your stomach. He must have noticed the look of discomfort on your face that you quickly blanked away with the drop of your hand. 

“Nothing,” you said flatly dropping the subject entirely before he had a chance to probe or suspect more of you and you lifted a hand to half shrug into the air, “umm… did you want to finish the movie or … maybe play another game?”

His lips parted and he closed them up, his eyes briefly leaving your face and glancing behind you into the dark hallway from where you both had come. 

When he didn’t answer you right away you inhaled to speak again, before you sounded like his own liability that he had to deal with, “you don’t have to do either, if you don’t want to. I don’t need you to entertain me or anything, I can figure something out for myself if you just want to be alone.”

You’d already spun on your heels, determined with your newfound resolve to be exactly as aloof and unaffected by anything he said or did as required by society to keep the peace; taking the first few steps away from him and turning back toward the dim light from the open kitchen door that you could barely make out as a direction in which you should travel.

“We could,” the first sounds of his voice stopped your steps and you turned your face in his direction, not committing to turning around the whole way, “play something, if you want.” 

“Not Monopoly again, I swear to God,” you said with a finger lifted into the air and you heard the soft chuckle that came from behind you. 

“Awww, my little Princess didn’t like the bitter taste of defeat?” You could hear the joking tone in his voice and weirdly that strong feeling of uncertainty you’d felt only moments earlier seemed to change with the teasing tone he used with you. Changed into what? You wouldn’t say, but it was only a slightly more comfortable feeling. There was a burning sensation just under the skin below your cheekbones and you thanked whatever god was responsible for putting you in this darkened hallway during this moment for the cover that would keep the blush from being noticed by him. You were imagining the softness you heard in that nickname. This man did not hold any affection for you. 

Inside the kitchen you returned to the familiar set up that you had left, only it felt wildly different. Gone was the soft comfy feeling of the mattresses on the floor, the pillows set up at your back and the fluffy down winner’s blanket sat in a tangled clump on the floor beside the bed that you both had occupied. The briefest of thoughts flittered by -- would you be able to smell him in it now? That clean, crisp fragrance he seemed to carry with him, would those microscopic molecules be wound into the spaces in between your one thousand threads ready to drift inside of your nose, bringing you back to the moment below the blanket when his fingers intertwined between your own and he held your hand, keeping you grounded and still connected to this world. The comfort he had given you then, but why? To keep you from embarrassing yourself or maybe him? You couldn't find the reasoning for it anywhere inside of you, but this wouldn't be the first time that man did something you couldn't understand. 

The burning was back. You had an absentminded hand running over the spot on your belly and your feet carried you to the spot beside the fridge where the water bottles sat. You ‘d seen an electric kettle there and you busied yourself grabbing a mug and heating the water. Behind you, Kyungsoo was looking through the games again, trying to find something that he could no doubt destroy you with again. Your heart wasn’t in the fight this time, you felt too distracted. 

The water was heated and you poured some into a cup, finding that plain hot water always soothed your stomach the best and you returned to his side to peer over his shoulder holding your mug. 

He glanced over at you and down at the mug, making no comment about either, and then he held up a game. It was your game. It was the first game, a word game you’d picked to play with a nostalgic and hopeful glint in your eye. 

“We can play this one, if you want,” he said with a bit of a whisper as if you two weren’t the only ones in this entire building, “it’s still fun even with only two people.”

You nodded and took a seat near him but not close enough so he could cheat and look at your letters and he quietly set up the game, not once looking directly at your face for too long apart from the smallest of brushes with his eyes into yours as he handed you bits and pieces for the game. 

You settled into your seat and took a good long look at the letters you had to pick from, picking a few up and shuffling them to see if you could come up with something good and after a few moments you settled on something that was actually pretty decent, especially for the first round. The realization pulled a small smile to your face and you grabbed the letters to place them on the board. He’d already told you that you could go first and as you began placing your tiles on the board you looked up to find that he was watching you, of course he was; you were playing the first word. This word would determine what he could or couldn’t play from his letters. 

You played your word and did the math, giving yourself a nice start with 20 points and you wrote down the number on the pad of paper and looking up at him expectantly. You had expected him to be paying attention to the word, to be impressed by your intelligence. You had managed to spell that word on your very first go. You had expected him to feel thoroughly challenged by the force he had to reckon with. 

He sat there though, his eyes watching you but something about his mind seemed disconnected from the game. Your smile at your own move slipped just a little bit, falling flat because he hadn’t even looked at the word you played yet. He just sat there with his shoulders relaxed, his unshuffled letters sitting there in front of him, he didn't even have his fingers on them, rearranging and thinking as you would have expected. He just sat there -- it was odd. You lifted your chin and wiggled your head, lifting your eyebrows and you heard an inhale as he took a deep breath and exhaled as he slowly pushed the air through his lips and when he was empty his eyes closed up. He gave his head a little shake back and forth and finally, finally his eyes left your face. 

Finally he was looking down. 

“Oh you played that, hmm,” you heard him mumble and he was back. All at once, his fingers were touching lightly over his letters, picking some up, moving them, shoving some aside, actually thinking about the game in front of him instead of whatever in the world he had been so distracted by. 

You lifted your mug and took a sip, feeling the warmth of the hot water warm the inside of your stomach a little bit. The pain was still there even after another sip and you looked down at the mix of letters you had thinking of what word you might play next. You adjusted your posture some, lifting a hand to rub just below your breastplate again, wishing that knot would just go down and be done so you could win this game already. 

Kyungsoo had played his word, counted out his points, and wrote a sad little 16 under his name. You were already winning. The self-satisfied smile was back, it had replaced the wince on your face when you realized you already had your next word. You played it quickly and tallied up your numbers. 24 -- He really didn’t stand a chance. 

You heard the scrape of chair legs and the sound pulled your attention up to the man who was standing up and walking away from you toward the kitchen cabinets at the back wall. 

“It’s your turn, Kyungsoo,” you called toward his retreating back. 

“I know, I’m just getting something real quick,” he called without looking back at you and you heard him inside the fridge, heard him pulling something out and he was slicing something with a knife on a board. The kettle was going again and you heard a metal spoon hitting porcelain as he stirred something into a cup. 

He was back quickly with two mugs in his hand and when he returned to your side he’d place one of the mugs in front of you. 

The color of the water inside the cup was a pale yellow and you saw a single disc of sliced ginger floating on the surface. You could see the string and tab from a tea bag in his mug. 

“Honey and ginger,” he said as he busied himself with playing a word on the board game, “for your stomach,” he added as if you’d made an announcement at the start of your game that your stomach was hurting and he was just responding to that. 

You hadn’t said a single thing to him about it. In fact, you had thought you were doing a pretty good job hiding it from him. You hadn’t let him see you frown or groan or cry out in pain once. The worst you did was lightly massage the space where it hurt the most. 

You lifted his offering to your lips and took a sip expecting it to be too hot for you to drink comfortably and finding the temperature rather mild actually. You took another bigger sip and felt the soothing warmth slip into you. It was sweet with the honey he added and slightly spicy from the fresh ginger he’d added. It was delicious. You’d never tried this for your stomach aches before but it seemed to actually be helping. You took another sip and swallowed, finding that the burning lessened with each sip you took. 

Kyungsoo silently played a word and you watched his mouth moving as he added up his points and wrote down his score of 20. 

You smiled widely. He had just played the letter you needed to play your next word and with the orientation of the word you would be able to get the bonus points. You were already laying your letters out on the board and counting out your points before he’d even had a chance to replace the letters he’d used on the last word. 

“Oh come on, what? You gotta give me a chance to catch you,” he groaned in annoyance that didn’t really seem to sink too deep into him for him to really mean it. You could still see the smile on the edges of his mouth and in his eyes. You did a little victory wiggle in your seat, wrote down 50 points under your name, and even stuck your tongue out at him with a giggle. His eyes slipped down your face and his lips had been pulled into a smile, despite the fact that he was losing this game miserably. 

He pulled his head back a little bit and looked up into the air above his head. A quick glance at his pieces told you he still needed to replace letters and so you held up the bag with the open end toward him. He was still sulking about the heavy blow and you had to reach out to touch your fingertips over the back of his warm hand to get his attention. You gave the bag a little shake and you had his eyes in yours again as he reached into the bag, pulling out tiles and groaning at the letters the universe had decided to give him. 

“Ugh,” he was groaning with each new letter he pulled out. His eyes darted over the game board and occasionally slipped back up into yours, probably because you had been watching him for signs that he had something good to play. It didn’t seem like he did. 

“Blegh,” he made a disgusted sound,  complaining again. “What am I going to do? What do I do, what do I do?” he repeated to himself as he pondered his brand new fate as a loser of this game. 

In his hand, he held only two tiles and he hovered lightly over a space on the board. You giggled when he set them down. It was the saddest word you’d seen in a while. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to beat me, Kyungsoo,” you sing-songed playfully watching him spell out the word ‘SEE’ for only 5 points.

His hand moved and he spun his letters around, showing you very quickly the hand he had. You saw a slew of vowels, mostly the letter E and everyone’s least favorite burden a single solitary X. 

You were openly laughing at him now. His cheeks were pink and he was reaching into the bag to select his replacement letters and when he pulled them out he tossed them in disgust. They both landed flat on the table, face up with a clatter. He had thrown them there. You looked down to see two more Es and the sight threw you back into a noisy fit of laughter that seemed to be catching. You could hear him giggling beside you and he gripped the Es in his fingertips and tried to put them back into the bag. You snatched it up quickly and held the bag of letters out of his reach so he couldn't cheat and put them back in. 

“No no,” you gasped through the giggles, “Think of words with lots of Es like meet, umm, teeth, f-feet,” you said through a strained voice and you were laughing again at the look he shot you at the mention of the words that brought up a very recent sore memory for him. 

“Teeth and feet?” He said with his eyes wide, “You really brought that up again?” He exhaled through his teeth, his lips pulled wide in frustration. He was leaning now, reaching desperately past your game pieces to where you still kept the bag of letters out of his reach to keep him from cheating, even though you were pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to catch up with you even if he replaced all of his letters now. He had scooted his chair closer to you and you reached for his desperate hand, gripping around his fingers and pulling his hand down into your lap, holding it tightly there and leaning into him to help you gain some leverage against him. He was quite strong when he wanted to be but he seemed to be letting you hold him back like this. He definitely wasn’t putting his all into this struggle against you. Something was off with him. Kyungsoo had never held back on that chance to be terrible with you before. 

Instead, he had moved in too close to you and after the small playful struggle, you felt the warmth of him all over you. You had been giggling as he reached out with his other hand, reaching again for the bag of letters you held out of his reach and you felt the tips of his fingers wrap around your wrist and he pulled your arm down. It was a bit of a stalemate and you heard the soft laughter from him settle and go curiously still, when you opened your eyes you found his face in front of yours. You had his hand inside of yours down on your lap right over your thigh and he held your other hand with his fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist.  You hadn’t expected this level of closeness from him, the shock you felt radiating through your chest had taken the laughter out of your voice and left you stunned in a frozen silence instead. 

You suddenly felt hyper-aware of your own body. He was so close to you, that you wondered if he was able to hear how noisily your heart was pounding inside of your chest, or if he could hear the stuttered way your breathing moved in and out of your lungs. 

God, he was beautiful up close. His skin was clear and he had a scattering of tiny moles all over. The small freckle in his upper lip seemed to have a presence all of its own and you struggled to look away from him. Your eyes roamed over the length of his face. He had long since stopped laughing and he had even stopped reaching for the bag, stopped struggling against your hands and he was watching you with slow blinking wandering eyes over your face that seemed to settle again heavy and deep inside of your eyes. 

You exhaled a breath you had been holding through your parted mouth and his eyes slipped down to look at your mouth when you moved. This was something. Something was happening here. Something that shouldn’t exist with the intense animosity he’s always felt for you. Something between you and something between him. You could feel it in the way your skin flushed, the blood in your body seemed to seek refuge in some place that wasn’t in your veins. You found it difficult to breathe with him so close and those eyes of his didn’t let up, they didn’t let you go, you felt so much more trapped here in his eyes than ever before. Your ears picked up on the smallest grunt of effort from somewhere in the back of his throat, then the smallest inhale of breath lifted his lungs, and finally, finally, he closed his eyes.

“I think I’ve lost this game,” he whispered through closed eyes with a sudden tight clench of his jaw. 

He was leaning. He was moving. You watched the sway of his balance and he moved closer to you, impossibly closer and the fingers he’d wrapped around your wrist released their hold, that hand was moving. You felt the first tiny touches of his fingertips as he moved his hand to touch your face lightly and achingly slowly along your jawline. You felt as if you could burst into flames at any second and judging by the heavy puffs of air that left his lungs, something similar was happening to him too. 

He leaned into you, close enough for a kiss but something stopped him. You felt and saw the lean though. He pulled back half a centimeter and it felt like he was at war with himself. 

You watched his face as he did it. His eyes, he kept them closed up as tightly as he could and the hard clench of his jaw did not let up. 

He was touching you though. His hand had moved and his thumb brushed lightly over your bottom lip and his fingertips dug in behind your ear. His other hand, the one that you held in your lap had moved too and you felt a squeeze from his fingers as he clenched tightly around your hand. 

Everything about him was tense. His jaw, his hands, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. 

This man was very purposefully attempting to regain control of himself and resist whatever it was he was feeling by being this close to you, by you touching him, and by him touching you. Your own self-control felt thready. How easily you could snap in two. How flimsy your resolve had grown around him. 

You’d long since dropped the bag of letters. You felt the need for the warmth of his soft skin under your fingertips. So you reached for his face, delighting in wonder at the smoothness your fingertips traveled over, even with the hard clench of his jaw he felt so warm and inviting and he was still so very close to you. He smelled so good, it was overwhelming. You wanted him. 

He was so very close; close enough for you to feel every quick burst of air that came from his nose against your lips, close enough for you to so easily lean your face into his and press your lips up against the softness of his mouth.

So you did it, you did it -- you leaned into him and you kissed him on the lips, relishing in the softness you felt when his lips gave into yours so, so easily, it seemed to come like second nature when you had actually worked up the nerve to do it. 

There were almost imperceivable changes in him when you did it; when you kissed him. The hard clench in his jaw let up with the soft grunt of surprise that came from the back of his throat and in his hands; the loosening of the tight grip he held you with on your face as he simply let go of you entirely for the first few seconds of this kiss from you. 

The next change was less subtle, you felt the careful way he caved to your lips. The tilt of his head paired with the parting of his jaw and he leaned into you further, pulling your soft bottom lip into his mouth then pulling you again, your upper lip. When he moved again you felt the tip of his wet tongue guide along your teeth and reach for yours with that same suction he had pulled against you which you gave to him, giving him what he wanted, feeling very much out of control now with greedy the way he sucked on your tongue. The kiss was too much in an instant. The undeniable attraction you felt for this man had taken every bit of rational thought and tossed it out the window, carrying them all away with the wind outside. 

His mouth and teeth and tongue nipped inside of your mouth, pulling at your lips and he was moving, peppering tiny kisses, bites, and nibbles along your jawline as he moved lower to taste the skin below your ear. 

You reached for him again, reaching a hand forward for his waist and lower, you’d lost your mind when you touched near his belt, slipping the tips of your fingertips in between the denim fabric and feeling along the elastic waistband of his underwear. Feeling the very clear bump of his arousal and the warmth of his skin there.

His hand flew up to stop you and you heard the soft groan that came from his chest against his will. You could feel your labored breathing taking your chest and heaving it up and you shook your head back and forth at the nerve he had to stop you. You wanted him, you wanted the sex. You were beginning to feel desperate for him. 

Kyungsoo leaned his forehead against yours and his hands now had a strong ironclad grip on your wandering hands. You felt the very slight movement of his face back and forth. 

No. 

He was telling you no. 

You had to take a genuine moment to absorb it. He was telling you no. You closed your eyes and inhaled a deep breath and you inhaled the no, the refusal, the rejection took its time coming at you slowly in a big old sluggish wave and your breathing was beginning to calm down now. 

“Kyungsoo?” You called out lightly, feeling just a bit upset and even more confused as to why he would have kissed you back so intensely if he didn’t want this. 

“I,” he opened his mouth and pulled his head back, “I don’t—” his words were broken, staggered, and fractured, “I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You don’t want me like that.” It wasn’t a question. You weren’t asking him a damn thing. It was a stark realization that you had simply misread his actions as affection. 

“I don’t mean that,” he began, his voice clearer and with slightly more urgency than the staggered speech from earlier, he inhaled and swallowed, licking his lips as his eyes searched over your face. 

“I don’t do that lightly,” he exhaled and furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes and looking into your face again, “I’ve never slept with someone outside of a relationship. I don’t do it. This can’t happen. We aren’t going to have sex.” 

He had released his tight grip on your hands now that his reasoning was out and you sat there feeling just a little bit foolish for having jumped so quickly straight to sex. You felt the embarrassment hit you hard and you closed your eyes through it and shook your head, straightening your back and removing your hands from within his fingers and pulling them back toward you as you carefully busied yourself with straightening your shirt back out. This felt awful. You reached down for the mug with the now cold ginger honey water and you downed the remains quickly, hoping that some of that sweet honey might coat your insides and soothe your fractured ego while it was at it. 

You felt the softness of his hand land over yours when you put the mug back down and you looked down at it, his hand covering over yours. You could feel it then, he was asking you to look at him. You had been embarrassed by the rejection and had been busying yourself with literally anything that wasn’t him. He’d given you time to process it and to get yourself under control before calling your attention again with the softest and most gentle pull of just the warmth of his hand on yours. You signed deeply, willing all of that oxygen to fill your lungs and power your brain well, and after what felt like several inescapable seconds passed you looked up into his face. 

He was watching you, no words on his lips and a slow and steady blinking of his eyes.

You swallowed before you spoke, “I get it,” you said plainly, biting down on your lip once before you continued, “I understand. You don't sleep around. I sleep around. You and I aren’t the same.” 

His lips parted and his eyes rolled over his face once before they sank back down heavy inside of yours. He inhaled a breath, clearly ready to counter your words. You knew you were misinterpreting his meaning. It wasn't even as if he’d called you a slut or anything, but goddammit that recent discovery of his. Him having found your 20-pack of condoms in your bag; you couldn't help but compare them to the single 5-pack he brought which he probably never even had any intention of using in the first place when you had every intention of using some of those condoms on this retreat. You would be goddamned if you didn’t get laid at least once on this trip. It had been so long for you, that you needed something from someone that made you feel desired and attractive to another human being. 

“You know,” he was speaking, his eyes had drifted closed and he was having trouble getting the words out again. Maybe he was about to tell you he was on his way to pray for your forgiveness for being such a slut. 

“You already know how I feel about you,” he whispered and pulled his eyes open. 

You looked at his face for a moment before your eyes wandered over the space above his head; giving the smallest head shake as a reply. Not really. He hated you for one minute. He laughed at you and teased you another minute. He made you ramen and tasty honey tea to soothe your upset stomach and beat you mercilessly at Monopoly but his cold hard facade fell apart when you teased him back. He was a mystery to you, whenever you thought you had figured something out about him, he would pull out the rug from under you and swear that no matter how desperate you were for it he would specifically not ever sleep with you. You felt that same familiar pain in your stomach flare up again. You hissed through it and inhaled a small gasp, doing your best to keep your reaction under wraps. 

His eyes narrowed and he dropped his chin, “you must know,” he said again, “you already know.” 

You must have flinched somewhere in your face. Those knowing eyes of his caught it and his head ticked as his eyes moved over you again. 

“How could I know anything?” You were beginning to feel like you should go lie down. You even felt a tiny bit dizzy the more you stayed here just withstanding this. Maybe a warm shower would help. 

“Sara told you. You know everything.” he threw his head back and looked up at the ceiling above his head. He had a sort of exasperated expression on his face now and you tried to focus on this conversation but you’d already been through enough of it. 

What had Sara told you? She had been so excited about every little interaction between the two of you that her words had been too exaggerated and overly dramatic to be able to trust what she said. Your mind flew through her words to you about him. About him saying how pretty you were. So what if you were pretty. The man hated you. He hated you. Her words, were a distant memory now even though it had only been a couple of hours since she said them. 

‘The way he looks at you -- If I didn't know that he was desperately in love with you, I’d think he was trying to set you on fire with his eyes -- he was desperately in love with you -- he is desperately in love with you.’

It was impossible. Sara was wrong. This man did not love you. He couldn’t love someone like you. 

Doh Kyungsoo had just rejected you for the third time now. The first when he stood you up on the date, leaving you to stew in the rejection, publicly calling you out amongst your best friends about it, basically ridiculing you again and again for your stupidity; how dare you really think someone like him could ever actually be interested in someone like you. The second rejection was shallower, the way he treated you when he found out you were here with him. You had the audacity to show up here and play pretend like you belonged here beside him; going so far as to reject even your offer of friendship, the lowest form of acquaintance and even that he didn't want. And now, reminding you of just how little he thought of you. 

He didn’t sleep with people he wasn’t in a relationship with. You’d offered yourself so easily to the man, practically begged for it but again, you received another rejection. 

Wasn't there a point in which you should give up on this? 

“I don't know anything, Kyungsoo. I don't even know you, remember? We never really even met each other.” You said it with such finality that his lips closed up and he pulled his head back. He seemed taken aback by the force with which you said those words to him. You stood up, done with this. There was only so much you could take. That surprised look on his face from earlier had flattened out and he was staring ahead of himself, not looking up at you. 

You stood there looking down at him for much longer than your pride should have allowed. Watching him staring ahead of himself with his silent lips and his bright red ears, his chest heaving up and down as if all of the emotions bubbling just below the surface of him could ever presume to break through that thick outer shell of a man who keeps everything inside when he should have just let it out. Goddammit Kyungsoo. But he wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t explain and he sure as hell wasn’t about to try any more than absolutely necessary with you. You’d been the one to put yourself out there again and again for this man. You felt let down. 

“I’m going to shower and lie down for a while.” 

You took the first steps to leave, to walk past him and you’d made it three whole steps toward the door when you felt the warmth and strength of his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, pulling you back. He pulled you back roughly. You had been moving forward with such a momentum that the break in your stride caused you to stumble backward and you yelped out in surprise finding yourself pulled into him, pulled to where he still sat uselessly in that chair and the rough yank on your wrist sent you moving until you collided with a resisting barrier.

You stumbled on your feet and you bounced against him and the second you collided with him you felt the strength of his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You felt the push of his firm chest hit against your thighs and in your belly you felt the point of his nose as he buried his entire face within your shirt, just below your ribs deep, within the softness of your belly. It tickled uncomfortably but you felt too stunned to do anything. You looked down in shock, seeing only the top of his head, his soft black hair fell into the fabric of your shirt and from his mouth somewhere you heard the softest moan that reverberated through your body. 

For lack of anywhere else to put them you rested your hands on his shoulders and you heard and felt him make another sound, a rough growl from his chest sounded out into your skin, buzzing into the skin of your stomach and his hands around your waist tightened to uncomfortable levels. He inhaled a deep breath from somewhere in the center of you and you found some semblance of some words to say. 

“Kyungsoo, what,” you began but his hot exhale warmed you on the exit and sent goosebumps cascading down your spine, taking whatever words you thought you could speak. After several breaths he lifted his face, propping his chin right against your skin to look up into your stunned and confused face. 

“What are you doing?” you managed. You felt too blindsided for more.

“Get to know me then,” he whispered up into the air and you wiggled against the tightness you felt in his arms matching the crazed look you saw in his eyes. He did not loosen them any, “get to know me, until you understand how I feel about you.” 

This didn’t feel real. It was impossible that this was happening. Was he serious? 

Your mind was spinning. You couldn’t reconcile the two versions of Doh Kyungsoo you were witnessing. The desperate way he clung to you told you one thing and yet, so much bad had already happened to tell you the complete opposite. This version clearly hadn't listened to a damn thing the other one had just told you. This one didn’t know about the no sex before commitment rule, the one that had his chance and squandered it, humiliating you in the process. But as tightly as you were wound here within his arms; you could feel your body responding to him all over again. You’d already been too affected by him before.

His eyes were looking up at you and you could just barely make out the tiny pout on his lips that was hiding within the fabric. 

Maybe he was drunk. Maybe that mug he had been sipping from had been full of whiskey instead of tea and this man was off his head right now. 

“What are you talking about?” 

He was moving with the question you hung into the air above his head. You could feel the slow way he moved his face, pressing himself against the softness of your belly again, breathing you in slowly and deeply as if every bit of sanity had simply left his body and this was a madman whose only purpose was to drive you as crazy as he was. 

“You know for someone who doesn’t want to fuck me, you are doing a terrible job of letting me leave this room.” 

Your own bluntness surprised you but you’d expected him to wake the hell up and release you so you could go take care of this problem he’d caused. 

“I never said I don’t want to fuck you.” He whispered it with his face hidden deep within the skin of your belly but the words echoed inside of you, hitting you hard with their heavy impact. 

The man was a menace. He’d just turned you down only to do this to you? You felt so turned on you almost couldn’t keep upright.  

You braced both of your hands on his shoulders and you pushed against him hard, pushing your hips backward too until he got the message and loosened his hold around you. The release allowed you to take a step back. His hands still lingered around you and you even felt one of his hot palms lying right over your ass, having slipped down from your waist he didn’t seem to be in too big of a hurry to take his wandering hands off of you. 

“Sorry, sorry,” his immediate apology told you that he knew exactly what sins he had committed against you, “I’m not in my right mind.”

You reached behind you and grabbed his hand off of your ass and brought it back around, dropping it down on his own lap. It landed with a flop in his lap and his eyes pulled deservedly down as he took on a much more sheepish expression in his face. You couldn’t tell if it was genuine. 

“You say one thing and do another, Doh Kyungsoo.”  

You felt ready to snap. “You say we won’t have sex, and that’s fine. I’m fine with that,” you said through wild eyes and even though you managed to get the words out, it felt like a lie. You weren’t fine with that. This hot piece of ass needed to figure himself out and in a hurry because you weren’t sure how much more of his torture you could take. 

“You seem fine with it,” you heard him mumble under his breath and your eyes widened as you lifted your eyebrows and looked at him. He lifted a hand and waved it lightly, “Sorry, continue.” 

“I was fine with it until you,” you lifted your arms and wrapped them around your body, doing a speed-run pantomime of him grabbing you around the waist, hugging you tightly and you even ran your fingers over the entire length of his face lightly, jumping back in pure frustration, “did all that to me, Kyungsoo. What the fuck?” 

The man who sat in front of you with his forearms crossed strategically over his lap ‘just so’ dared to smile at you. It was a tiny smile but you lifted a finger and pointed right at his face with a frustrated gasp. Again his smile, impossibly, widened.

“I am going to go take a shower. And I am going to lie down.” These words came out in a low growl. “I better not see you standing at that bathroom doorway.”

You’d spun on your heels for the second time to walk away from this man and you nearly screamed when you felt his hand reach for you again. This time he was standing up and you lifted your own hand in an 'I swear to god, give me a reason’ pose, enjoying how quickly he flinched away from you. 

“Wait, wait” he quickly spoke, not wanting to get smacked. You decided then and there that you weren’t above doing it. The memory of last night's tit punch was still fresh in your mind and you were feeling almost crazy enough to do it. 

“Just wait, goddammit,” he had the nerve to sound annoyed. He actually reached up and grabbed your raised hand and carefully brought it back down. “Come back later. Later tonight, give me like two hours maybe.” 

“What happens in two hours?” your eyes narrowed and your lips pouted just a little bit with the suggestive tilt of your head as your mind whirled through the possibilities. Did he just need two hours to decide that maybe you were worth a round or 20 of pressing your back into your mattress, or maybe his mattress? Hell, four mattresses were lying over there on the floor where the movies had been showing, you were not that picky. Literally this table here would suffice. Your face must have betrayed your filthy thoughts because he squeezed your hand and you heard a tiny laugh break free from him. 

He was laughing through his words, “Dinner. Just dinner with me. God, will you relax, please?”

His proposal sounded promising. Your eyebrows were lifted in curiosity without you even realizing it you eked out a tiny question for him.

“Like…a dinner date?” This sent a strange wave of panic through you. The tiny smile on his face and the little hum he made as a response sent butterflies flying. You felt at odds with the strange burst of nerves. The idea of having an actual date with this man was, well — you’d never once considered a re-do with him. Back then you’d been so offended, so humiliated, and so angry that the last thing you wanted was to give him a second chance. After a while, you’d even run out of any desire for him to explain himself for what he did back then. 

Perhaps a make-up for that botched blind date all those months ago that started all of this trouble was the kind of thing your heart craved deep down inside. You suddenly felt nervous. Sex was one thing but a date with him? Sex was just physical but starting this over again, a date with Kyungsoo felt too vulnerable. Why was that so much scarier to you? 

What if he didn’t show up? 

Wait, he was trapped here and he was the one doing the cooking. Plus if he didn't show up, you knew where you could find him. You’d beat down the door and kick his ass as long as he was hiding away in one of the rooms here that didn't have any spiders. 

His eyebrows lifted and the smile he was wearing on his lips was gone. 

“You don’t want to?” He asked the question and left his lips hanging open. You could see on his face that despite the false bravado he wore when he proposed the date, to begin with, he also was feeling a lot of the same nerves about it that you felt. His focus on your face was flighty, not quite able to commit to solid eye contact with you with this heavy question handing in the air like this. 

“Okay,” you finally answered in a whisper and you closed up your mouth and nodded your head up and down twice. 

Kyungsoo’s eyes watched your face and you caught him mirroring the same head nod. “Okay,” he also whispered. 

You nodded again and he was quiet as he looked at you, eventually looking away from you and looking around the kitchen space with a small exhale of air through his mouth. He didn’t move, but what was even worse was that you also did not move. You weren’t sure how to do it.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no this was awkward. Did you just say goodbye and walk away? Did you give him, like, a high five or maybe lean into him for a hug, God that would be terrible, Imagine? A hug, thanks buddy, thanks pal, thanks for letting me make out with you, sorry to freak you out when I got too into it and touched your boner because apparently that is a no-touchy zone, I did not get the memo about the boner. Should you lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek? How did you leave this situation with at least one-fourth of your dignity, an acceptable amount for someone with your history of humiliating yourself, still intact? 

The kiss on the cheek might be okay, right? His cheeks were soft and his skin was smooth. You took the smallest step into him and you leaned in for it, but oh god, he was moving already. You leaned at the exact same moment that he spun around on his feet and began to walk away from you toward the doorway that led toward the bunk beds, which would have been completely fine except for the fact that he had seen you beginning to lean into him right before he moved. He had seen you move, he had seen you lean, but his feet had already stepped, his body had already begun the exit process and what resulted was a terrible, awful, awkward time in which he stopped walking abruptly and turned back around to face you, halfway toward the doorway, stuck somewhere in the middle of this kitchen with him again facing you and neither of you wanting to explain to each other with words why the journey to the exit had been halted so abruptly. 

“No,” you shook your head back and forth. His face was pink again. “No, just go. You already ruined it.” 

“What were you going to do?” 

“Doesn't matter. It’s over.” You sidestepped him and moved quickly through the space, placing your handle on the kitchen door and pulling it open. You hurled yourself into the darkness of the hallway, feeling just a tiny bit of irritation at the realization that you could still hear the sound of his footsteps very clearly. He hadn’t stayed behind in that kitchen but he seemed to be following you down the hallway toward the room with your bunks. 

“You were leaning, what were you leaning for?” 

“Why are you following me? I have things to do. Alone, Kyungsoo.” You emphasized the last bit while looking directly into his eyes and he was fighting his smile a little but he didn’t seem to stop following you until you reached the door to the bunks and stopped to look at him with your hand on the door handle. 

“I just need to get my bag. Then you can have the place to yourself.” He was already pushing past you, rushing through the room toward the bed in the back and he was grabbing a black duffel that he slung over his shoulder and he made quick work of the distance with his quick walking reaching the space in the doorway that you still occupied in no time. 

When he was back at your side you moved inside the room to give him room for his exit but before he disappeared through the doorway you caught an abrupt shift in his balance. When he was close enough he leaned into you and pressed his soft lips against your cheek, lingering against your skin for one second too long before he pulled back again and looked into your eyes. Admittedly, you hadn’t expected that at all and you had closed your eyes halfway through the lingering part and you had to act quickly to open your eyes up in time so as not to miss the smoldering look part. 

“Now, wouldn’t that have been awkward to do back in the kitchen when I was going to come all the way over here the whole time?” 

You’d opened your mouth and inhaled a breath to respond to him. You would have lied and told him that you weren’t going to kiss him in the kitchen, or that he was imagining things again, or maybe you would lie and say you took it back and you didn’t want to have sex with him ever. He had already disappeared and the heavy door slammed shut before you had a chance to think of a clever comeback. 

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

[djarins-cyare]

WIP Wednesday

Well, the Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge deadline is fast approaching, and I’m 6 chapters and 18k words into what has turned into something waaay lengthier than it started out! So sorry, teacher, I think I’m gonna need an extension on my homework deadline.

Meanwhile, throughout September, I’ve been tagged in various WIP posts by @the-mandawhor1an, @burntheedges, @nerdieforpedro, and @for-a-longlongtime (thank you all 💚), so under the cut, you’ll find a little midweek offering of my now somewhat out-of-control Secret Relationship trope fic...

***If you haven’t already, you may wish to read my first WIP post before the one below, as this one references the earlier one.***

“He raised you?” Mando sounds incredulous. “Why is that weird?” He sighs. “It’s not. Well… it might be. Sleeping with the guy’s niece was one thing, but you’re like his kid—” “Stop there,” you demand with steely ferocity. “First, I am not a kid in any sense. I don’t need to see your face to guess you’re not that much older than me. And, like you, I’m an adult and can make my own decisions, so no kid references, please. Second, whatever his reasons are for keeping us apart, they don’t matter because once I leave here, none of this ever happened. Right?” Your mini tirade is met first with silence, then a chuckle. “Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?” His amusement diffuses your mock indignation, and you smirk. “You kind of have to be when you grow up here. You don’t think you can handle me?” You shift a little closer to him on the couch. “Oh, mesh’la,” he drawls, his voice casual but with a fiendish edge. “I’m a bounty hunter by trade. You think I haven’t dealt with people far wilder than you?” Kriff, yeah. There’s that confidence you saw last night when he indirectly requested an orgasm before you went to bed. Sure, it’s nice to know that there’s a sweet and awkward guy beneath the warrior exterior, but this is what you find attractive in him. The confident, intimidating hunter. You visibly shiver and press your thighs together at the thought, and he chuckles darkly. Yeah, you just gave away your desires. Still, he doesn’t move yet. You feel like he’s waiting to pounce… emphasis on the waiting. “Okay then, Mandalorian,” you goad with your head held high, almost daring him. “Show me what you’ve got.” There’s a pause as he tilts his helmet slightly, and it lingers for long enough that you start to wonder whether you said the wrong thing. You were just keeping up the banter. Why has he suddenly gone silent? A few more moments pass, and your second-guessing becomes mildly frantic. But as you bite your lip and furrow your brow, Mando releases a deep hum and rumbles, “Mm… better.” Suddenly, you realise. This is not a contest of wits, and he’s not in the mood for sexual banter. He wants to be in charge this time. Well, you were in control last night, and he did say he would pay you back. Plus, he’s spent a whole cycle being unable to control anything due to his injuries. It’s becoming clearer how he sees this going. And you’re very much on board. Now that you understand, you try again. Tucking your chin down, you look up at him through your lashes and soften your tone. “Please, Mando…” “Mm, good girl,” he praises, and heat sparks to life in both your chest and your cunt. “Please, what? What do you want?” You think back to the dialogue that led to the blow job. “Please, will you make me come?” At last, he moves, reaching for your lower thigh and running his palm slowly upward, leaving flames in its wake. “My helmet stays on at all times, non-negotiable. If you touch it, this stops, understand?” “I understand.” Apparently, lifting it to help him drink last night was a one-time deal. “Good. Then, yes, cyar’ika, I’ll make you come.”

Tagging the folks who showed interest in my first snippet as well as those on my permanent tag list. Those of you who write/create and would like to share something with the class, please feel free to do any type of WIP post (Wednesday, weekend, weekday, whatever) if the mood takes you, no pressure 💚

@5oh5 @604to647 @almostfoxglove @ashleyfilm @burntheedges

@captainredspade @cheekychaos28 @chiyo13 @cw80831 @dindjarins-big-tiddy-goth-gf

@djarin-desires @djarinmuse @drewharrisonwriter @ella-whyte @evolnoomym

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@wrathkitty @yopossum @you-give-aspirin-headaches

[sengardet]

The Surgeon's Heart

Terra's heels clicked softly against the linoleum floor as she stepped into the dimly lit doctor's office. Shadows danced across the walls, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt both illicit and inviting. Her lithe ebony figure swayed hypnotically under the soft glow of the overhead light, her bra and jeans clinging to toned curves.

"Dr. Vanessa," Terra greeted, her voice a sultry whisper.

Vanessa sat perched on the exam table, her icy blue eyes raking hungrily over Terra's youthful body before averting themselves. The heart surgeon's white lab coat was open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her bare pallid figure underneath.

"Ah, I wasn't expecting patients at this hour," Vanessa murmured, a feigned innocence playing on her lips.

Terra only smiled, a knowing curve of her lips, and continued her slow, sensual approach. Her movements were deliberate, each step calculated to draw Vanessa further under her spell. When she finally reached the doctor, she pulled off her bra and let it drop to the floor. The fabric pooled around her feet, leaving her upper body exposed.

Vanessa gasped softly, her eyes widening at the sight of Terra's perky breasts and taut abdominal muscles. The hunger in her gaze deepened, and Terra could feel the power shift between them. She relished the control she held, even as her own pulse quickened with anticipation.

Vanessa patted her lap in invitation, her icy blue eyes glinting with anticipation. Terra, ever the professional, turned gracefully and lowered herself between the doctor's thighs. The warmth of Vanessa's body radiated as Terra settled in.

"That's it," Vanessa murmured, her voice a sultry whisper, her greedy hands immediately beginning their exploration.

The surgeon's fingers traced Terra’s curves, kneading her breasts with an assertive grip before sliding down to explore the taut muscles of her abs. Terra let out a soft sigh, arching her back slightly to press herself further into Vanessa’s touch. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of heat coursing through her body, but she maintained her composed demeanor, every movement calculated, every breath controlled.

"Enjoying yourself?" Terra asked, her voice low and teasing, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

"Immensely," Vanessa replied, her hands never ceasing their sensual exploration.

Terra glanced around the room, taking in the sterile yet oddly intimate setting. It was a stark contrast to the opulent mansions and shadowy back alleys she was used to. Her eyes landed on an EKG machine in the corner, and a mischievous idea sparked in her mind.

"Why don't we make this even more interesting?" Terra suggested, gesturing suggestively toward the device.

Vanessa's eyes followed Terra's gaze to the monitor. A sly smile spread across her face, understanding dawning in her eyes. Without a word, she turned and flicked on the monitor, the machine coming to life with a soft hum. She plucked the leads from the machine and handed them to Terra, her fingers brushing lightly against Terra’s as she did so.

"Show me what you have in mind," Vanessa said, her voice tinged with excitement and curiosity.

With a confident smile, Terra took the leads,

"Let's see how your heart responds," Terra murmured, her voice dripping with anticipation.

Vanessa's eyes sparkled with intrigue as she leaned back slightly, exposing herself fully. Terra stepped in close, feeling the warmth emanating from Vanessa's body. She traced the leads over Vanessa's flesh, her fingertips grazing the swell of the surgeon's breasts. Vanessa shivered at the contact, guiding Terra's hand with a gentle but firm grip.

"Right here," Vanessa whispered, positioning one of the leads just above her left breast.

"Like this?" Terra asked, her tone teasing as she placed the lead exactly where Vanessa indicated.

"Perfect," Vanessa breathed, her eyes half-lidded with desire.

As the final lead touched Vanessa's chest, the machine whirred to life. The screen flickered alive with Vanessa's heartbeat, each jagged peak and valley a raw and unfiltered expression of desire. The rhythm pulsed through the room at a hundred and twenty beats per minute, each beep echoing loudly in their shared silence.

Vanessa's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, her breath hitching as she watched the EKG dance across the screen. Terra's gaze remained fixed on the monitor, captivated by the visual representation of Vanessa's escalating excitement. Each beat was a testament to the hold she had over the doctor, a silent symphony of control and submission.

"Look at you," Terra said softly, her voice a blend of admiration and dominance. "Your heart is playing its music for me."

A rosy blush crept up Vanessa's cheeks, her vulnerability laid bare in the rhythmic beeping of the machine. It was a moment of intimate surrender, the culmination of their charged encounter. Terra's eyes never left the monitor, each beat amplifying the harmony of power and passion.

Terra bit her lip and smiled, knowing she was the cause of the surgeon's racing pulse. She pressed her body against Vanessa, grinding her hips into the surgeon. Her hands found their way to Vanessa’s hair, fingers tangling in silky strands as she pulled her in for a passionate, eager kiss. Terra's tongue explored Vanessa's mouth, tasting the faint sweetness of desire as the woman let out a muffled moan.

The kiss broke, leaving Vanessa breathless, her lips slightly parted in anticipation. Terra's fingers danced towards the stethoscope that hung around Vanessa's neck. With deliberate slowness, she lifted the icy metallic disc and pressed it over Vanessa's sternum. The cold touch made Vanessa shiver, her frantic heartbeat aligning perfectly with the disc.

As Terra nestled the earpieces into her ears, the intoxicating rhythm of Vanessa's innermost desires funneled into her, each beat a vivid thunder of palpable and audible heartbeats. Vanessa's cheeks flushed with a deep sense of vulnerability in this intimate exploration, her needy little body given all the attention in the world.

"Your heart," Terra whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "It's telling me everything."

Vanessa's eyes fluttered closed, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Terra slowly trailed her other hand down Vanessa's trembling belly, feeling the warmth and soft skin beneath her fingertips. She paused at the waistband of Vanessa’s pants, savoring the moment, letting the anticipation build.

"Do you feel that?" Terra asked softly, her tone a mix of curiosity and command.

"Yes," Vanessa breathed, her voice trembling with emotion and need.

"Good," Terra replied, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Because I want to hear more."

She pressed the stethoscope harder, capturing the frantic thuds of Vanessa’s heart, letting each beat resonate through her own body. The raw, unfiltered sound of life and lust filled her ears, creating an electric connection between them. Vanessa's vulnerability, her willingness to be laid bare, only fueled Terra's control, making every second exciting.

"Keep playing your music for me," Terra murmured, her hand slipping just a fraction further beneath the fabric, teasing the edge of deeper intimacy.

Terra purred as her fingers slipped beneath the fabric of Vanessa’s pants, feeling the heat radiate from her core. The sensation was intoxicating.

Vanessa's heart galloped in response, each beat a frantic drum against the stethoscope's disc. She whimpered, her hips bucking slightly under Terra's touch.

"Good girl," Terra whispered.

With deliberate slowness, she pulled Vanessa off the bedside, guiding her down to her knees. The stethoscope clattered softly to the floor, forgotten for now. Vanessa gazed up at her, those striking blue eyes wide and shimmering with a mix of anticipation and desperation. The EKG monitor beside them beeped incessantly, its rapid rhythm mirroring Vanessa's escalating excitement—over 150 bpm and climbing.

"Stay right there," Terra commanded, her voice a sultry whisper.

She reached down, unzipping her own pants with a practiced ease. The fabric parted to reveal her smooth sex, framed by neatly trimmed curls. Vanessa's breath hitched, her eyes locked on the revelation before her.

"Now," Terra said, her tone both tender and demanding, "Show me just how much you want this."

Grabbing a fistful of Vanessa's hair, Terra guided the surgeon's face between her thighs. Vanessa immediately pressed her soft lips against Terra's sensitive flesh and began lapping at her vulva. A surprising amount of pleasure radiated through Terra's body with each stroke of Vanessa's devoted tongue. Terra ground her hips against Vanessa's face, riding waves of ecstasy to the sounds of the energetic beeping of Vanessa’s heartbeat as it pounded to create the sweet music.

"Yes, just like that," Terra purred, her voice a husky whisper.

The monitor beside them flickered with numbers, the rapid pace of Vanessa's heart displayed in stark, fluctuating digits—153... 148... 157... 163.

Terra couldn't stop watching the monitor, seeing, hearing her pathetic victim's excitement fill the room. The EKG danced erratically, reflecting the turmoil inside the surgeon's chest. With every lick and suckle, Vanessa poured her all into pleasing Terra, her skilled mouth pure bliss.

"Good girl," Terra breathed, her fingers tightening in Vanessa's hair, pulling her closer, deeper.

Affirmed in her assessment of the depraved surgeon by the reaction of her body and heart, Terra mashed the woman's face harder against her sex, giving into her own desires for the moment. She panted, rolling her hips to ride Vanessa's mouth, feeling the heat of arousal course through her veins.

Vanessa's EKG showed 168... 171... and kept climbing. Terra enjoyed seeing how hard the woman's submissive little heart would pump. Vanessa moaned into Terra's heated flesh, the vibrations resonating deep inside, sending shivers up her spine.

"More," Terra commanded, her voice thick with need.

Vanessa responded with fervor, her tongue moving faster, more insistently. Terra could feel the desperation in Vanessa's movements, the sheer need to please, to be used for Terra's gratification.

"That's it," Terra whispered, her head falling back, eyes fluttering closed as she lost herself in the sensation, the rhythmic beeps of the EKG a symphony of desire at 180 beats a minute.

Terra was here for a job, but she was having too much fun with the woman to stop now. Her body tensed and quivered as euphoria crested. Her thighs clamped around Vanessa's head as a powerful climax ripped through her, leaving her shuddering and breathless. Vanessa continued her devoted ministrations, drawing out every last wave of ecstasy until Terra pulled her head back.

"Enough," Terra panted, releasing her grip on Vanessa's hair. She stood satisfied; the mission needed to be completed. Grabbing Vanessa by the neck, she effortlessly hoisted the surgeon over the exam bed, pressing her down against the cool metal surface.

"Stay still," Terra commanded, her voice a mixture of authority and lingering pleasure.

Vanessa's pale skin glowed in the dim light, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Terra's free hand slid down her own thigh, fingers deftly unstrapping the pistol holstered there. The weapon felt cold and solid in her grip, a stark contrast to the warmth that had just enveloped them both. She lifted the muzzle and pressed it firmly between Vanessa's breasts, right over her thundering heart.

Vanessa's delicate and petite body looked so helpless and vulnerable beneath Terra's grasp. Her blue eyes widened in a blend of fear and arousal, the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat echoing in the room, amplified by the EKG beside them.

"Look at you," Terra whispered, her tone almost affectionate as she pressed the gun harder against Vanessa's chest. "So fragile."

Vanessa's heart slammed against the barrel, each frantic beat mirrored in the erratic rhythm displayed on the EKG. Terra's eyes flicked to the monitor—187... 196... Her lips curved into a dangerous smile as she held Vanessa back against the exam table, bending her over the edge.

"Enjoying this, Doctor?" Terra's voice was a sultry whisper, her grip tightening around Vanessa's neck.

Vanessa's pink flushed chest heaved against the cold metal, the gun’s suppressor pressing insistently over her pounding heart. The EKG beside them went haywire a moment as Vanessa's heart kept skipping and stuttering, the beeps escalating in pace, amplifying the chaos within Vanessa's body. Naked helplessness fought with the dark arousal that coursed through her veins.

"Please..." Vanessa gasped, her voice trembling.

"Shh," Terra soothed, her tone dripping with mock tenderness. "Let me listen to your heart."

Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut as Terra's barrel traveled up and down her body, the cold metal grazing her feverish skin. Each touch sent shivers of conflicting sensations—fear and desire—racing through her. God, how Terra was right. Her helpless little body teetered on the brink of orgasmic bliss while being thrown into a terrified need for survival.

One flex of a finger and Terra could end the doctor and this rapid vital beeping permanently. Punch a hole right through that fluttering heart, it wouldn't last long with how hard it's beating. The thought made Terra sick with power.

And yet, seeing Vanessa like this, wide-eyed and breathless, pleading so sweetly... It stirred something deep within the hardened assassin.

Terra's eyes fixated on Vanessa's pale flesh, trembling beneath the cool metal of her silenced pistol. As she trailed the suppressor across Vanessa's petite frame, the doctor's skin glistened with a sheen of sweat. Terra could see delicate blue veins just beneath the surface, carrying blood from the soft and supple vital organs that yield beneath the weight of her suppressor.

"Please," Vanessa whimpered, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll do anything." The pleading words sent a shiver down Terra's spine.

Without responding, Terra pressed the suppressor firmly against the soft flesh of Vanessa's abdomen as if to avoid the beating heart just above, but it was futile. She could still feel the doctor's racing pulse reverberating through the barrel and into her hands at a dangerous 212 beats a minute.

Vanessa's entire body quivered, arteries throbbing around her throat. If Terra didn't blow her frantically pounding heart out it might burst on its own instead...

Terra's finger curled around the trigger as conflicting thoughts swirled in her mind. She was so close now - one squeeze and it would be over. The surgeon's life hung by a thread, completely vulnerable and exposed before her. It should be easy. And yet, staring down at Vanessa's wide, terrified eyes, Terra hesitated.

To be continued...

[randomfoggytiger]

What a difference in the two interviews - Duchovny's in 1997 and Anderson's in 1998.

Duchovny was super arrogant and pretentious, thinking he was the King of Cocada Preta, trying to pass himself off as an intellectual, bored with fame. Winona Ryder never came out to David because she was much more famous at the time.. Thankfully, in the years that followed, he had to tone it down. Less Duchovny, much less…

Anderson, on the other hand, looked like a working mother, working non-stop to support her daughter, zero glamor, a bit depressed, like a middle-aged woman broken by life.

And in none of the interviews did the geniuses who interviewed them talk about Mulder and Scully, who were the soul of the show.

I'm slowly working on a progress-through-Season-8-based-on-the-burnt-out-interviews post, so this was timely. :DD

To be fair, David was suffering. Both of them were. The X-Files was simply a job to DD and GA; and they coped with its insane hours and insane stresses differently. For Gillian, she internally imploded: eating disorders, panic attacks, anxiety so bad she wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy. She was afraid to put a foot wrong because she'd gotten pregnant so early on and could have threatened the longevity of the show; but she kept putting a foot wrong due to a shoot-from-the-hip personality. Then she was a divorced co-parent trying to do everything herself. David, meanwhile, didn't have that stress; but instead of marrying quick to escape the unbearable loneliness (like Gillian did), he tried to escape by getting outward attention... or through porn, joking in Playboy that his favorite pornstar had gotten him through some very, very lonely days. He also outsourced constantly, making connections with other entertainers and etc. to try to establish himself in Hollywood away from the show. Part of that persona-- that he had everything together and was living the dream-- was part and parcel of selling himself to the business for, in turn, more work.

Secondly, DD WAS arrogant. It wasn't until AA that he learned gratitude, per his own words. Until that time, he'd overachieved into such heights of success that he, naturally, developed an ego. But that wasn't enough-- it never is-- and he kept devising other ways to get attention. Per his old interviews, he described being 'shocking' or 'funny' or etc. as a way to keep others' eyes (and attention) on himself. He always feared they'd lose interest in him and walk away, otherwise (still does.)

That mindset, he's stated here and there, was a result of habits he'd formed in his childhood-- the middle child caught in a turbulent divorce: father suddenly gone, mother heartbroken, and older brother and younger sister taking sides. He had to become intermediary for his siblings and shoulder-to-lean-on for his mother. He became his mother's pride and joy: a shy kid who thought he wasn't a looker when he was younger, who transferred to a better school on a scholarship, who was "captain of the basketball team and the baseball team and a straight-A student, and I was in my last year of high school, and I'd applied to four schools–Harvard, Yale, Princeton and Brown–and I got into all of them." Who was, in short, an over-achiever; and became arrogant because he achieved everything through his own efforts. But he was also a kid who fainted in senior year, breaking his front teeth, because the stress was too much.

And he was also a man who spent long hours overworked on a show he wasn't particularly passionate about. One who spent long, isolated hours alone (in the bathtub) in Vancouver when not working. And one who always had to be "on" when he was out with his friends or spotted by people on the street. Further, no one wanted (wants) to hear the rich and successful complain about the hardships of their success. So, he turned on the charm for attention, instead; and resented having to "sell himself" for people to care about his work. And his performance, on and off screen, earned him fifteen years of public backpatting and"Fox Mulder"ing everywhere he went.

He didn't deal with the stress perfectly, and created his own problems that had to be worked through later on. But Gillian did, as well (per her own words); and they've both owned up to their mistakes and have, seemingly, moved on from the past.

Lastly, there are other interviews where his truer self comes through: those are sadder, pre-marriage; or more stable and happy, post-marriage. Gillian had happy interviews, too; but her life was much more accelerated than his (marriage, pregnancy, divorce on close heels), and thus sounded more burnt out than he was.

I don't like to pit or compare faults because I'm sure they both handled global fame and nonstop work better than a lot of people would have (David was rock-bottom depressed and Gillian was afraid she'd quite literally go insane; but they made it.) And there are always interviews where he looks like a cherub and she a hag, or he an arrogant scumbag and she a hard-done-by saint. Neither were either.

About the Winona Ryder speculation:

Even in interviews from the early days, DD kept personal details close to the chest, referring to romantic partners as "my girlfriend" unless his significant other had an established public persona (or an upcoming project.) The person he spoke the most about was Tea-- and that was after their marriage, and only during interviews to promote their next tv series or movie. Tea was a talker, and she didn't mind when he talked about her; so, she rubbed off on David for a good chunk of their relationship-- even after the rehab stint-- until their divorce. (Now, she's taken a vow of silence and enforces it strictly with Tim Daly, as stated by both.)

I'm not up-to-date on Winona, but I'm sure the relationship wasn't serious enough for either to really acknowledge it. She looked happy in their picture together; and I don't think she's the type to deny a relationship because it might not be advantageous to her "brand." But what do I know? XDD

Those are my thoughts, anyway~ :DDD

[tyrantisterror]

What's the worst legacy sequel you've ever seen? What, in your opinion, separates a good legacy sequel from a bad legacy sequel and what's the worst thing you think a legacy sequel can do?

The worst that I've seen is probably Rise of Skywalker. It's close competition, though - both Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom and Jurassic World: Dominion have moments that are significantly more stupid than anything in Rise of Sky Walker, but I also think both have a bit more creative effort put into them - Fallen Kingdom has that third act where it basically becomes a Resident Evil adaptation except with a murder-saurus in place of the Tyrant, and Dominion has the whole locust plotline which, while terrible, is at least an unexpected direction for a Jurassic Park sequel to go into that tries to figure out something ELSE you could do with the genetic engineering premise of the franchise beyond just making dinosaurs. Like, all three Jurassic World movies have big problems and they get progressively dumber with each installment, but they're also all ambitious to some degree that I still feel respect for, even if they never really actually reach those lofty aspirations.

Rise of Skywalker, on the other hand, has no ambitions at all. It has nothing it wants to say, no unique twists to pull, no real identity of its own. It's a potroast made of leftovers from better movies, a resuscitated corpse of something much more interesting, patched together like a Frankenstein's monster and abandoned to a cruel world just as callously.

It has no desire to do anything new, merely a checklist of Things You've Seen Before That the Focus Groups Say You'd Probably Like to See Again. Any character that can be slipped into an arc that was done in a previous Star Wars film is slipped into one no matter how little sense it makes for them, and any character who can't is either forced to tread water with nothing to do (hi Finn!) or just quietly shoved off to the side early on and forgotten about (hi Rose!).

Any story beats that weren't in the original films are simply grabbed from a box that reads "time tested cliches to keep your script moving with minimal effort." Make the plot a treasure hunt so we can just race from scene to scene with the flimsiest justification possible and try and trick the audience into thinking something is actually happening! What's that, audience interest is flagging? Quick, throw in a cameo of someone from an older movie! What's that, they're bored again? Pretend to kill one of the old characters, but make sure to reveal they actually lived in no more than two scenes down the line, or else we might piss off the fanboys! Hey, let's look at the Cinema Sins videos for the original movies and see if there's some gripes we can "fix" with this one for added fan cred! Can't disappoint our audience!

It's the story-telling equivalent of smothering something in salt to cover up the funky taste of the close-to-the-expiration-date ingredients.

As for what makes a good vs. a bad legacy sequel... ok, so, let's define legacy sequel first. A legacy sequel is a film or TV show that is a sequel to a popular film or TV series that ended a good many years ago, which brings back some of the old cast of characters (generally played by the same, and thus much older, actors that played them in the past) along with adding a new cast of characters played by younger actors. It tries to replicate the tone of the original series despite being made in a different era and probably by different writers and directors, and generally aims to give you that Ratatouille style moment of nostalgia.

I think most Legacy sequels are kind of doomed to be mediocre at best on the outset because the goal of them from the moment of conception is so mercenary - they're not created to Tell A Good Story, they're created to Keep Consumers Invested in a Lucrative Content Franchise. They have the artistic aspirations of a McDonald's Hamburger - "This tastes exactly like what you had as a kid, and doesn't that make you crave more of it?"

I don't think that art made for mercenary reasons is doomed to be bad, mind you - I mean, almost ALL movies and television were made to make money first and foremost. Even the classic High Art movies I love like Seven Samurai and The Third Man were made for mercenary reasons at the end of the line - it didn't stop the people who were working on them from having artistic goals, but it's a fact nonetheless.

But Legacy Sequels just have an uphill battle in the "artistic aspirations" department, because most people with artistic aspirations don't want to recreate the feeling someone else inspired with their art - they want to put their own stamp on it, their own spin, their own voice. And that will often mean something VERY different will be made, something that might piss of the fans - something that doesn't taste like the McDonald's hamburger you had as a kid, even though it came in the same wrapper.

The worst parts of Legacy Sequels are the only parts that Rise of Skywalker is made of - the parts where the story is clearly only trying to show you things you know, only trying to reheat the leftovers so they taste like your memories, only trying to trick the nostalgia center of your brain that you're four years old again eating at McDonald's. "Here's the thing you know! Here's the running gag you liked, repeated five more times by actors with far less enthusiasm! Here's the same basic premise as the first film, but the stakes have been inflated to make it feel like a progression! Cameos! Catch phrases! Eat your hamburger, you consumer pig!"

The rare good legacy sequels don't really TRY to be legacy sequels. They're just... sequels. Another story in the same world as the first, bringing back the characters who actually have interesting arcs left in them, creating new characters with their own shit going on who have good chemistry with the pre-established characters and setting, expanding on themes from the original and exploring parts of the setting that hadn't been explored yet, and all in all telling their own story that's related to the first one's but still manages to be its own distinct thing.

There are not many good legacy sequels, because a good legacy sequel is different than the McDonald's hamburger you ate when you were four, and might make less money than desired because of it.

[dravidious]

You're the CAT (Coolest of All Time)

Episode 2 of The Amazing Digital Circus came out yesterday (great show) and it got me to finally watch Murder Drones (great show) and the humor in that show is VERY dumb. Dumb and blunt and frequently things happen or characters say things that don't make sense for the sake of being silly (for example, a robot calling herself hormonal). The moment that made me realize just how good the writers are at doing dumb stuff was in episode 4 at 15:04 (warning for spoilers and gore (robot gore) (the gore isn't the funny part, that comes after) (text explanation below the cut that I wrote before pasting the link) (also the link is to 13:54 because the context is important))

The characters are around a campfire and are shown reading a book titled "Final Girl Survival Guide", and the character reading it references a horror trope from it. Then, a horror monster shows up and kills someone and the characters shout "Split up!" "I think I read that's good!" and they drop the book as they run, and the wind blows the book open and the camera moves to show the book, and the page reads "DON'T SPLIT UP!!!". Except I lied, it doesn't say that, I expected it to say that with all my heart but instead the page reads "THAT'S NOT WHAT THE BOOK SAID." Which makes NO SENSE and is SO FUCKING STUPID and subverted my expectations SO MUCH that it was the FUNNIEST THING EVER

[turtleblogatlast]

Imo the most impressive thing Leo’s done is hold this pose for as long as he did while covered head to toe in gold paint:

[lesbow]

Okay I’ve officially finished both Camp Cretaceous and caught up with Chaos Theory.

While I like both shows, for right now I might prefer CC. Just because it had a sortve comforting / heartwarming atmosphere to it (despite all the death and violence lmao.) Camp Fam fought for their lives every day but them living in a treehouse, having (somewhat) free roam of an entire island, and able to sit down and chill with marshmallow bonfires, or relax at the watering hole, etc. was some of my favorite moments.

I’m really enjoying Chaos Theory like don’t get me wrong. Them dealing with dinosaurs on the mainland and still being able to come together to solve a murder mystery (while still being the close knit family they are) has me hooked. But because of the darker vibe + the faster pace, there probably won’t be too many moments in the upcoming season(s) where the Camp Fam can just spend time and chill. Not like in CC.

[lover-of-mine]

Fought 'til you tethered me, swept under surfaces, never enough of it...

[six-improbable-things]

On a happier (or at least less mixed) note, @cream-and-tea and @vexalia will be glad to know that I listened to the first episode of The Silt Verses today, and while it made me feel a little sick (for some reason reading body horror doesn't bother me, but hearing it did??? idk I've never really listened to an audio-based story before, and horror usually isn't my genre), I did like it. Idk if my adhd that makes me automatically tune out all audio if I'm not spending energy to concentrate really hard on it and also have a visual in front of me (in this case the transcripts) will let me keep up with listening to the episodes, but I will definitely keep trying for as long as I can, and at the very least read the transcripts.

[soupdreamer]

absolutely love how the ART gatsby marketing team is essentially doing the exact opposite of what the broadway/paper mill gatsby has been doing

[britneyshakespeare]

you know at the end of the day today i was chatting w some other paras. i was a special ed para for a seventh grader today that's what i did. and the last block for them is just learning center and it's chill and it's friday and some of the kids were making pizza and no one was really doing anything or stressed or bothered so the kids and the adults just have various little shooting-the-breeze sessions although im usually not that active in these bc Im Shy, And A Substitute so i feel very out of place a lot of the time. but anyway i had never really talked much w either of the paras i was with today and we struck up a conversation about some stuff and one of them says to me "you know just so you know i LOVE your hair" and she turns to the other para and she's like "isnt it gorgeous? dont you love her hair?"

and i kinda blushed and said thank you a couple of times and looked down bc that's what i do when i receive a sincere-sounding compliment unexpectedly. and then i chatted a little more before i kinda drifted out of the conversation and opened my book and after a page or two one of them asked me about what i was reading (it's Song of the Cell: An Exploration of Medicine and the New Human by Siddhartha Mukherjee if you were wondering and i started it a few days ago). so i told them a bit about it and started chatting again on the topic of reading and i guess i was just naturally smiling and the same one who complimented my hair said "look at those dimples. i just can't w you"

[magentagalaxies]

tonight is a "getting emotional over paul bellini" kind of night <3