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jjkssin · 3 months ago

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Embrace of Ruins. Jk

Pairing: King jk x widowed (fem) reader.

Character count: 14,962

Genre: Dark Romance | Historical

Tropes: Dominant , controlling jk, forced proximity, obsession , captive romance, war , fragile female lead, mentions of death, mature.

Summary: When ruthless warlord Jeon conquers a rival kingdom, he slaughters its royal bloodline including the cruel king who once claimed Y/N as his wife. But instead of casting her aside, Jeon takes her as his own, stripping her of her former title and making her his possession. She was never meant to be a queen. She was meant to be his.

The air reeked of blood and burning wood, the sky dark with the smoke of a fallen kingdom. Screams had long since faded into silence, leaving only the sound of victorious banners fluttering in the wind.

The Kingdom had fallen.

This was not just another kingdom swallowed by his empire. No this war had been waged with a purpose far beyond power. It was her. The ghost of a woman he had never seen, only heard of in whispers the famed beauty of the lost kingdom, Y/N.

People had spoken of her ethereal grace, of her skin that glowed like moonlight and eyes that held galaxies within them.

At the heart of the carnage, Jeon sat upon the grand throne, one boot resting on the fallen king’s lifeless body and the golden crown of the fallen king crushed beneath his boot.

The scent of blood and smoke lingered in the air mingling with the screams of the last remnants of a dying dynasty.

His victory was absolute. The kingdom now belonged to him. And so did everything within it.

Including her.

She was a vision in a silk dress , the color of winter’s first snow.

___

Amidst it all, She ran.

Bare feet against the cold marble, her silken gown now soaked in the lifeblood of her people, dragging behind her like a ghostly shroud. The palace corridors, once familiar, had become a maze of death and ruin. She barely noticed the bodies, the shattered glass of once grand chandeliers. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heartbeat, the rasp of her breath and the distant clamor of armored boots in pursuit.

She had seen him.

He had stood amidst the wreckage of her throne room, a wolf in the den of slaughter, dark eyes scanning the ruin with calculated indifference.

He had looked at her like a claim already made, and that had been enough to send her fleeing.

She stumbled through the grand doors of the palace and into the frozen night, her thin gown no barrier against the relentless cold. Snowflakes kissed her tear streaked cheeks as she pushed forward, her breath rising in desperate clouds.

The forest loomed ahead a tangle of frostbitten branches and endless dark. She plunged into its depths without hesitation. The crown she had once been forced to wear had been torn from her head, her hair cascading around her face in disheveled waves.

The trees whispered around her, the wind howling like a grieving specter. Her feet tore through the frozen undergrowth, bare skin sliced by unseen thorns but she did not stop.

She could not stop.

She knew they would come. She had seen it in his eyes obsidian pools that swallowed light, a gaze that spoke of possession and a hunger far more dangerous than the battlefield he had razed.

She tried to be silent, tried to disappear into the vast expanse of snow and night but her body betrayed her. A misstep her foot catching on a hidden root sent her tumbling forward. She crashed into the snow, pain exploding through her limbs as she gasped, clawing at the frost with trembling hands.

She scrambled to rise, but it was too late.

A shadow loomed over her, swallowing the pale light of the moon.

Him.

The air shifted with his presence, heavy with something she could not name. His breath came steady, controlled, unaffected by the chase. He had known this would happen. He had allowed her to run, entertained her futile escape before closing in like a beast playing with his prey.

"You thought you could run from me?" His voice was velvet over steel, dark and slow, as though savoring the moment.

Y/N trembled, her body wracked with exhaustion, yet she found herself inching back, her palms sinking into the snow.

Jeon crouched before her, gloved fingers tilting her chin upwards, forcing her to meet the gaze she had so desperately tried to avoid.

"You should know better" he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. "I do not chase what I do not intend to catch."

The rumors had not done her justice.

She was exquisite, a masterpiece carved by the gods themselves.

Even in her disarray, she was ethereal.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she did not fight. She had nothing left to fight for.

A cruel smile tugged at Jeon's lips as he leaned forward.

"Your king is dead. Your kingdom is mine"

With that his hand moved lower, gliding down the torn fabric of her gown, feeling the tremor beneath his touch. And then without warning, he slid his arms beneath her one under her knees, the other wrapping around her back.

She gasped as the ground disappeared beneath her, the sudden closeness of him knocking the breath from her lungs. Her hands instinctively grasped at his shoulders, clutching at the thick fabric of his cloak as he lifted her effortlessly.

The world around them blurred as Jeon carried her back, his strides slow, deliberate, savoring every second of the act.

His men stood waiting at the forest’s edge, their eyes carefully averted, knowing better than to interrupt.

Jeon was the master of every inch of this kingdom now but she was a different kind of victory.

A victory he would not let slip from his grasp

Jeon had wanted her from the moment he had laid eyes on her. A forbidden desire had taken root deep within him when he had first seen her beside the now dead king , a man unworthy of even touching the hem of her gown, much less claiming her as his.

The journey from the snow laden forest to Jeon’s kingdom was a silent one. His kingdom loomed ahead like a fortress of stone, walls that could never be breached.

When they finally crossed the threshold into the warmth of Jeon’s kingdom, the heavy iron gates closed behind them with a resounding clang, sealing off the outside world.

He called for his servants, his voice firm and authoritative.

“Take her to my chambers,” he ordered coldly. “Strip her of the dead king’s colors. She wears only what I give her now.”

The scent of lavender and jasmine filled the air as the maids scrubbed away the blood, the dirt, the remnants of her former life.

But no matter how many times they washed her, no matter how many hands gently soothed her skin, there were things that could not be erased.

The marks on her body. The scars both physical and emotional that she had borne under her husband’s cruel reign.

Afterward, Y/N was dressed in a delicate white nightgown. It clung to her thin frame, the silk soft against her skin, but it did nothing to ease the chill in her bones. The gown was far more modest than the opulent dress she had worn in her past life but it was far too intimate for her current circumstances.

As the maids finished their task, they led her down the stone corridors of Jeon’s castle to his private chambers.

The room was enormous, warm with a roaring fire. She stood silently before him, her eyes cast downward. Jeon stood by the bed his posture strong, unyielding and as always, a palpable aura of control surrounded him.

He moved toward her without a word, his presence overwhelming.

His eyes narrowed as they settled on her shoulders and arms.

His fingers hovered near her shoulder, brushing against the faded remnants of bruises.

“That pathetic excuse for a king,” he spat, his voice dripping with disgust.

“A man unworthy of a throne, unworthy of a crown and certainly unworthy of you."

Jeon growled, his hands flexing as if he longed to tear apart a man who was already rotting in the ground.

"What did you call him?" he mused, tilting his head. "My king? My husband?" He laughed, dark and mocking.

"No king allows his castle to fall while he cowers in his chambers. And a husband…" He paused, his fingers ghosting over the fading bruises on her wrist.

His expression turned cold. "A husband does not treat his wife like a common whore to be used and discarded. I barely had to lift my blade before he was groveling at my feet, begging for his life like a spineless dog"

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, the image flashing in her mind. She had not loved the king, but his death had been brutal. The sound of steel slicing through flesh, the gurgled choking as he bled out it haunted her.

Jeon exhaled, stepping back slightly.

"I should make you my whore," he mused. "A slave to warm my bed, nothing more. It would be fitting for the widow of such a disgraceful man."

Her stomach twisted in fear.

"But no," he murmured, as if reconsidering. "Though your husband was a disgrace, you are now mine"

His gaze darkened, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

"Did he ever touch you properly?" Jeon murmured, his voice turning low, almost teasing.

Jeon chuckled darkly. “Of course not. I imagine he was just as pathetic in bed as he was on the battlefield. Weak. Incompetent.”

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her ear. “Did he even know what to do with you? Or did he fumble like the fool he was?”

Y/N’s breath stuttered. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating. She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to think about it.

Jeon chuckled at her silence.

“You will no longer be a widow,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather.

“You will be my wife. You wil bear my mark and sleep in my bed and by the time I am done with you, you will forget you ever belonged to anyone else.” His voice low in command.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. "W-what?

Jeon smirked, amused by her reaction. "You are still royalty, no matter how pathetic your bloodline is. And I do not waste what has value." He reached for her again, his fingers brushing over the fabric of her underdress.

Before she could protest, Jeon grasped the thin strap of her underdress and pulled, the silk slipping from her shoulder with ease.

Y/N gasped, instinctively clutching the fabric to her chest.

"Still shy?" His fingers trailed down her arm, his touch deceptively soft.

"Your husband must have taken his pleasures without care. Rushed. Unskilled."

His gaze flickered over her, unreadable.

"A shame. I prefer to savor what is mine."

Y/N trembled as he grasped the other strap, slowly sliding it down her shoulder. The silk pooled at her collarbones, threatening to slip further.

Y/N’s throat tightened, a tear slipping down her cheek . Heat rushed to her cheeks, shame and something unfamiliar twisting inside her.

"You were wasted on him," Jeon murmured. "But you will not be wasted on me."

His hand gripped her waist, pulling her closer. She gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"You will be my wife before the sun rises. And no kingdom, no force in this world will take you from me."

Jeon murmured, his voice laced with something deeper, something unshakable.

“I could touch you in ways that pathetic fool never could. I could make you beg, make you forget he ever existed.”

His hands slid lower, gripping her thighs holding her still.

“You will know what it means to be wanted,” he promised. “To be craved.”

She closed her eyes as his lips descended, as his touch deepened, as the last of her old self was stripped away like the silks of her gown.

She had been the queen of a doomed king. A nameless ghost in a gilded cage. A woman forgotten by the very man who had sworn to own her.

But Jeon was not a man who forgot what belonged to him.

He pressed her back against the silk draped bed, his gaze burning into hers as he loomed above her, all shadow and heat, all power and intent.

"You will curse me," he whispered, his lips hovering just above hers, "and you will crave me all the same."

His mouth claimed her then, slow and consuming, as if proving his words true. As if sealing the vow between them with something far more binding than marriage, more damning than devotion.

She let herself sink, let herself be undone, because there was no kingdom left to fight for, no crown left to bear, only this. Only him.

And as his hands traced a path of ruin and worship alike, she realized something with aching finality.

She was not lost. She had simply been claimed.

The first light of dawn crept through the towering windows, painting the stone walls in hues of muted gold. The warmth of the sun did nothing to chase away the lingering shadows of the night before.

She stirred, her body aching not from pain, but from the imprint of him.

Her body heavy with exhaustion.

Her skin burned where his touch had claimed her, the memory of his hands and his voice still lingering in her senses like a lingering scent, impossible to escape.

She blinked against the morning light, the thick, heavy silence of the room pressing down upon her. The bed was empty beside her, the space where Jeon had been only a ghost of heat.

A low voice broke the silence. “Did you sleep well?”

Her body tensed, her muscles still trembling from the storm of the night before. Jeon stood near the tall windows, his silhouette framed by the light, his presence as imposing as ever.

He looked unchanged powerful, untouchable.

"Get up," he commanded, already reaching for the black silk robe draped over a nearby chair. "We have matters to attend to."

She hesitated, sitting up slowly, the silk sheets slipping from her bare shoulders.

"What matters?"

Jeon turned, fastening the robe around his waist, "Our wedding."

Her breath caught.

Jeon chuckled, "What? Did you think I would leave you as a nameless concubine?" He stepped closer, gripping her chin between his fingers.

She searched his gaze, trying to understand, to make sense of this shift. "Then... I will be the queen of this place?"

"You wish to rule?" His voice was measured but there was an edge of something deeper beneath it.

Y/N swallowed hard. "No. But.." She hesitated, unsure how to put the ache in her.

She trailed off, shame burning in her throat.

Jeon studied her, a thoughtful hum vibrating from his chest. "You are not meant for war," he said at last.

"Not meant for bloodshed and for dirty politics." He tilted his head, his gaze heavy.

"You are meant for me."

His words did not soothe her as he likely intended them to.

She had listened. She had obeyed. She had surrendered in body.

But she would not surrender this.

"I will not marry you," she said, her voice quiet, yet firm.

"I will not be your wife unless I am your queen," Y/N said, her voice trembling but unwavering. "You took my kingdom, my home, my name. If I am to be bound to you, I will not be just another possession. "

His fingers curled slightly, then relaxed. Slowly, he turned, dark eyes locking onto her with something unreadable something slow-burning, something dangerous.

"You will," he said simply.

She lifted her chin, a flicker of defiance breaking through her usual obedience.

"Not if I am not to be queen."

A slow, mirthless smirk tugged at his lips. "Is that what you want?" He stepped toward her, his presence suffocating, the air in the room shifting like a storm about to break.

"A throne?"

She clenched her fists in her lap, her pulse thrumming against her throat. "I was a queen before you tore my kingdom apart." Her voice did not waver, though her breath did. "I will not be cast aside as some nameless wife while you rule alone."

Jeon studied her in silence, the weight of his gaze heavy, assessing. Then, without warning, he moved.

Faster than she could react, his fingers closed around her throat not choking, not hurting, just a firm grip, possessive, commanding. He tilted her head back, forcing her to look up at him, his thumb pressing lightly against the delicate pulse at her neck.

"You speak as though you have a choice."

She gasped softly but she did not break away.

Jeon’s other hand traced the curve of her jaw, his touch deceptively gentle, a contrast to the quiet fury simmering in his dark eyes.

"You were not a queen," he murmured. "You were a prisoner in a cage, a wife to a spineless rat who did not deserve you. You wore a crown but it was never truly yours. "

His fingers tightened slightly around her throat, enough to remind her of his power, enough to send a shiver down her spine.

"And now, you demand a throne beside me?" He leaned closer, his breath fanning against her lips. "No. You will kneel before it instead."

Her heart pounded, her breath shallow, but she still managed to whisper "If I mean nothing more than a body in your bed, end this now."

The air shifted violently.

Jeon’s grip tightened for the briefest moment just long enough to make her dizzy before he released her completely. He exhaled sharply, stepping back, his jaw taut, his gaze dark with something volatile.

For the first time since conquering this land, since taking her, someone had denied him.

And he did not tolerate defiance.

"Very well," he murmured, his voice eerily calm. "If you will not walk to the altar, you will be dragged to it."

Today, she would become his wife.

Not his queen.

He would marry her, not as a political arrangement, not as a necessity but because he wanted her.

He was a conqueror. He alone was enough to rule his land.

The silk gown clung to Y/N’s trembling frame, the deep red fabric as heavy as the chains she could not see but could feel in every step she was forced to take. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as the realization settled deeper into her bones. The room was deathly silent, the air thick with the scent of incense and candle wax.

Jeon stood before her, a predator draped in black and gold, exuding dominance with every breath. His patience was a thinly veiled thing, stretching dangerously as he watched her remain still, unmoving, unyielding.

"Come forward," he commanded, his voice steady but edged with warning.

Her feet refused to move.

In a single, fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, his fingers wrapping around her wrist in an iron grip. He yanked her forward, forcing her to stumble against his chest.

“You speak of power as if it is something I would give you,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft, venom laced beneath the words. “You forget your place.”

She gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was relentless, his fingers digging into her wrist as he pulled her through the vast hall.

"You will stand beside me, Y/N," he said, voice cold, final. "But a throne is not something I share."

He did not stop until they stood before the officiant.

A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Jeon studied her for a moment before sighing, almost in disappointment.

“I was willing to grant you this wedding without force. To let you walk beside me, instead of dragging you like a conquered spoil of war.”

“I did not win this kingdom with patience. I won it with blood.”

Then, louder, he addressed the officiant. “Begin.”

The ceremony was as empty as her heart. No grand feast, no celebration. Just her, him and the officiant bearing witness to the binding of a vow. She repeated them in a hollow whisper, her voice barely her own.

But as he pulled her in for the final kiss, sealing her beneath his name, his rule.

He tasted the salt of her tears on her lips.

For a moment, just a moment, he felt the bitter sting of something less than victory.

Because despite binding her to him, despite claiming her, despite stealing her body, her name. He felt the weight of something he could not conquer.

He had burned kingdoms for her. Killed kings for her. Stolen her from the ashes of a life she never wanted. Yet her sadness was a wound he could not stitch.

Jeon had indeed won the war.

But he had not won her.

(End)🤍

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jazzypaophotography · 2 years ago

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Contemporary Dining Room in Chicago

Great room idea with blue walls and a mid-sized contemporary light wood floor.

#dining room #orange #blue coral colors #chandelier with crystals tree branch #round mirror #eclectic dining tables #eclectic

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enticingmelanin · 7 days ago

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Ties That Bind: A Modern Smoke x Annie Fic

Ties That Bind || Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie (modern au)

This is Part 3 of the Savor Series.

Rating: E for Erotic.

Warnings: NSFW, Fluff, Smut, and Explicit Language. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 8k+

Summary: With their relationship thriving and their businesses booming, Smoke and Annie are ready to take the next big step—homeownership. As they embark on the search for their dream home, Annie starts to notice something different. Smoke, usually the picture of cool confidence, seems tense—distracted even. Maybe it’s just the pressure of such a major decision... or maybe there’s something deeper stirring beneath the surface.

By the end of their search, it’s not just the countertops gleaming or the chandeliers catching the light. Something far more precious begins to shine.

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ───── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

The spring breeze slipped through the cracked windows of the black Escalade, gliding over Annie’s skin like silk. The sun dipped behind dense tree branches as Smoke cruised through the quiet, picture perfect neighborhood of Ravenswood. Tucked on Chicago’s North Side, Ravenswood was known for its tree-lined streets, vintage charm, and architectural gems. It had a peacefulness to it that made Annie’s shoulders relax every time they passed a leafy park or saw a couple walking their dog.

It was their last house tour of the day, and after three days and ten viewings, they were both running on caffeine, hope, and playlist rotations. Still, there was a soft buzz in the air—of possibility, of change. After a year together, they’d made the decision to hunt for their dream home. It made sense. They were always between their apartments, with most nights ending in Annie curled up in Smoke’s bed, her satin bonnet on the pillow, and her toiletries gradually overtaking his bathroom counter. Half her wardrobe was already living in his closet.

They both loved their own spaces—it had helped keep their individual rhythms intact. But now? Now it was time to build something permanent.

Smoke, of course, made the whole process an event. Earlier in the week, he’d sent Annie out for a fresh set of nails and hair appointment, even slid her money for a shopping spree. Not that he didn’t spoil her regularly—he loved seeing her smile when she got surprise deposits for her maintenance days—but this time felt... different. His excitement was sweet, even a little overwhelming, but he insisted.

"This ain’t just any house," he’d said with that grin that always melted her. “Gotta look like a dream walkin’ into our dream.”

The house-hunting itself had been fun, if a little exhausting. They’d learned more about each other—how she adored bay windows and clawfoot tubs, while he was big on a chef’s kitchen and a full basement. He more so wanted the chef's kitchen for her. Some things they’d compromise on, others were non-negotiable. But none of the homes they’d toured so far had felt right. Close, but not the one. Smoke especially wasn’t one to settle.

Annie’s eyes wandered over to him. He was quiet—too quiet—and his fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel, out of rhythm with the mellow R&B humming through the speakers. His face was set in that deep concentration she knew well. She also recognized the tension in his jaw, the slight tremor in his fingers. His time in the army had left him with certain scars—ones that didn’t always show until moments like this.

But this wasn’t PTSD, not entirely.

This was something else.

She shifted in her seat and reached over, her hand finding the back of his neck. Her thumb moved in slow circles behind his ear, soothing, familiar. “Baby,” she said softly, her Louisiana drawl wrapping around the words, “you okay? We can always save this one for another day. This week’s been a lot.”

He glanced at her, and the corners of his mouth lifted. Not a full smile, but enough to quiet her concern a little. He pulled her hand from his neck and kissed the back of it, then held it in his, thumb stroking the soft skin between her knuckles.

“I’m fine, baby doll,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly. “I just—” He paused, weighing his next words. “I just feel like this could be the one. I found it online a while back and haven’t been able to get it outta my head since. But I wanted you to see all your picks first. I just hope you love it as much as I do.”

Annie smiled warmly, leaning over the console to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sure I will. If it’s got you this twisted up, it must be somethin’ special.”

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers tightened around hers.

“Honestly,” he said, “as soon as I saw it, I thought... Damn, this got Annie written all over it. That’s how I want home to feel.” He turned to look at her fully, his gaze tender as he stopped at a red light. “Like you.”

Her heart did that slow, deep flip it always did when he said something that felt like poetry but landed like truth.

She squeezed his hand and whispered optimistically, “Then let’s go see home.”

A few minutes later, Smoke eased the truck to a smooth stop in front of the last house on their list. Annie blinked at the sight before her, momentarily stunned.

The home stood proudly behind a sleek black wrought-iron fence, its manicured hedges and vibrant landscaping looking like something out of a design magazine. Its soft, creamy white paint contrasted beautifully against the bold, black-trimmed windows and the matte charcoal metal roof. Twin gables gave the front elevation a charming yet modern edge, while the wide front porch, lit by three hanging lanterns, felt warm and inviting.

Everything about the house whispered elegance and peace… and something else too. Stability. Legacy.

Annie’s voice was hushed. “Wow…”

Smoke put the car in park and looked over at her, gauging her reaction. “You like it?”

Her hand reached for the door handle, but she paused and looked at him. “Like it? It's so cute! I can see you out on the porch now smokin' a cigar.”

Smoke chuckled, his dimples deepening as he glanced toward the porch. “And I can see you bossin’ me around from the kitchen window, tellin’ me to put that thing out.”

Annie laughed, her eyes still glued to the house. “Only if you’re blowin’ smoke in the hydrangeas.”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Fair enough.”

Smoke got out, rounded the front, and opened Annie’s door for her. “Come on, gorgeous,” he said, offering his hand.

Annie smiled and took it, letting him help her out of the SUV. The spring breeze played with the hem of her white sundress as she straightened up and looked toward the house again.

They walked together toward the front gate, the soft thump of the car door shutting behind them. The breeze carried the scent of freshly turned soil and faint traces of honeysuckle from the yard next door. Annie smoothed her dress again and tucked a curl behind her ear. Her kinky coils sat pretty on top of her head in a half-up, half-down style.

Smoke reached for her hand as they walked the stone pathway, lined with perfectly trimmed shrubs, low purple blooms, and a "For Sale" sign staked proudly in the yard.

“Did you notice the address?” he murmured.

Annie’s eyes shifted to the plaque mounted beside the front door: 4465.

Her brows lifted. “What about it?”

He smiled. “My mom’s birthday. April 4th, 1965.”

Annie blinked. Her lips parted, then closed again as she looked back at the house. “Elijah…” she breathed, her voice softer than the wind weaving through the trees.

“I told you,” Smoke said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, “it just felt right.”

Annie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Hear you loud and clear, Mama Moore,” she whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. Then she looked up at him with a lifted brow. “Still a skeptic?” she asked, referring to her spiritual hoodoo practices and the consistent guidance of their ancestors. He didn't practice it, wasn't exactly a believer, but he respected her beliefs.

He smirked at her. “You know I have a hard time believin' in things I can't see, baby. But... I see you and I believe in ya and whateva you be doin' at that altar,” he said and winked before leading her up the stairs to the front door.

Annie’s heart warmed at his words. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach in anticipation as he knocked on the door.

Soon the door opened revealing a petite brunette, with a bubbly smile dressed business casual. “Hi, I'm Amber the realtor,” she said sweetly, hand out to shake Smoke's hand. “You must be the Moores, it's nice to meet you.”

Smoke shook her hand and returned the pleasantry, then Annie. Annie smiled, enjoying the sound of “the Moores.”

Amber welcomed them inside and informed them they could look around freely.

“If you have any questions or need anything, just let me know,” she said as she stepped back into the staged office to the right of the entryway.

They returned a thank you and began looking around.

On the opposite side of the hallway was a formal dining room with wainscoting wall panels, a coffered ceiling, and a long walnut table set for eight. Annie ran her fingers over the velvet dining chairs, imagining Sunday dinners and holiday laughter echoing off the walls.

Further inside, they stepped into the kitchen—and Annie stopped in her tracks.

“Smoke…” she whispered, eyes wide.

Soft oak cabinetry framed by gold hardware lined the walls. The marble-topped island was massive, surrounded by elegant upholstered stools with gold bases. Enough space to prepare food for their family and friends. Above it, three globe pendant lights hung from the ceiling like jewelry, casting a warm, golden glow.

“Damn,” Smoke murmured, genuinely impressed. “This is you all day.”

Annie nodded, taking it all in—the built-in double ovens, the walk-in pantry, the custom range hood with gold detailing, and the glimmering backsplash. A vase of fresh tulips sat on a golden tray in the middle of the island.

She smiled. “I’d never leave this kitchen.”

“Bet,” he said, eyeing her with a teasing smile. “Guess I’ll have to make you dinner from time to time to lure you out.”

They continued exploring, their footsteps tapping on the wide-plank hardwood floors. The living room was warm and sophisticated, featuring more coffered wood ceilings that made Annie stop and tilt her head up in awe.

“I love this,” she whispered.

The space was anchored by a stone fireplace and tall windows that bathed the room in natural light. Everything felt intentional, down to the textured area rug and plush sectional.

They wandered through a few bedrooms on the first and second floor, each uniquely staged with soft linens and thoughtful décor. Smoke peeked into one of the bathrooms, all six of which featured sleek tile, spacious vanities, and rainfall showers.

“They weren’t playin’,” he said.

The master bedroom was pure luxury. A tray ceiling added dimension to the room, while a large bay window let in gentle light. Annie stepped inside and exhaled with wonder. The king-sized bed, draped in layers of plush white and cream, faced a fireplace and wall-mounted flat-screen.

Smoke opened a nearby door that revealed the en suite bathroom, and they both stepped inside.

“My goodness,” Annie said under her breath.

A gleaming clawfoot tub sat beneath a chandelier, backed by a marble accent wall. There was a massive glass walk-in shower, and on either side of the room, double vanities stretched beneath wide, lighted mirrors. His and her walk-in closets flanked the bathroom’s entrance, each large enough to be a room of its own.

“Pictures really didn't do this justice,” Smoke muttered, clearly impressed.

“I can already see my candles lining that tub,” Annie said, spinning slowly.

Smoke grinned. “And me knockin’ on the door askin’ if ya drowned yet.”

They laughed and she pushed at his chest playfully, the warmth between them growing deeper as they left the master suite and headed down to the basement.

Downstairs, the basement was fully finished—complete with a home theater setup, game room space, gym, bathroom, and the remainder of the seven bedrooms. A bar stood in the corner, its stonework matching the fireplace upstairs, and a wine fridge was tucked beneath the counter.

Annie leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she looked around. “It really has everything.”

Smoke stood beside her, hands in his pockets. “And then some.”

Annie turned to him with a sigh, her heart felt full. “I love it. Nothing’s come close to this.”

He smiled, deep and slow. “Me too. What do you say you take another look around and then meet me in the backyard? That’s really gonna seal the deal.”

Annie nodded, still swept up in it all. “Alright,” she said, watching him head toward the rear of the house while she wandered back through the first floor.

Somehow, they’d missed the laundry room earlier—tucked just past the kitchen and across from a small powder room. It was spacious and bright, with a window that let in natural light. Clean white cabinets lined the walls, paired with soft grey quartz countertops. A double washer and dryer sat side-by-side beneath the counter, and a deep utility sink rested near the corner. There was more than enough storage for every cleaning supply she could think of, and even space for a built-in folding station. Annie grinned. It felt like the kind of room you didn’t mind spending time in.

Satisfied, she moved back through the house, soaking in every last detail before stepping through the sliding glass doors that opened from the living room onto the covered back patio. The space felt like a private retreat perfect for events and entertaining.

A paneled dark wood ceiling stretched above her with recessed lighting and a sleek ceiling fan spinning lazily. To her left, an outdoor kitchen complete with a built-in grill, stainless steel appliances, and whitewashed brick gave the space a luxe yet cozy vibe. A long wooden dining table with cushioned bench seating stood ready for family meals or casual hangouts. To the right, a plush outdoor sofa and chairs with cream cushions and blue patterned throw pillows invited her to sink in and relax. The view overlooked a lush backyard framed by mature trees, and Annie could just picture warm nights out here with Smoke, wrapped in each other.

Her heels carefully tapped down the stairs to the tiled stone path, the soft clack of each step nearly lost in the hush of evening. The sun was setting, casting a sultry, golden glow across the backyard, painting everything in warm light and long shadows. “Smoke?” she called out, looking toward the matching three-car garage as she began walking in search of him.

“Over here, baby doll,” his voice called, low and steady, from behind her.

She turned, expecting to see him casually leaning against something, maybe smirking in that way he always did—but what she saw instead stole the breath from her lungs. An audible gasp left her lips. Her hands flew to her face, and before she could even think, tears were slipping down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “C’mere.”

She sniffled, trying to steady herself, her soft sobs catching in her throat. Her legs felt like lead, trembling with every slow step she took toward him.

Behind him stood a breathtaking heart formed entirely from white roses. In its center, a glowing white neon sign spelled out “It was always you” in elegant cursive, glowing softly against the light bricks of the patio. A lush aisle of dense white rose petals led to him, flanked on both sides by tall glass candles flickering gently in the breeze. And right in the middle of it all, Smoke knelt on one knee, a calm smile on his handsome face, a little black velvet box open in his left hand—holding everything she never knew she’d dreamed of.

Smoke looked like he stepped out of a fairytale, or maybe straight off the pages of a GQ cover—clean, confident, and completely hers.

His short-sleeved, cream knit button-up hugged the solid build of his chest and arms. The open collar giving a peek at the subtle glint of a simple gold chain. His navy blue slacks were perfectly tailored, hugging his frame without clinging, and falling effortlessly over polished black dress shoes. His chunky gold watch glinted on his wrist, catching the flicker of candlelight as he waited with quiet patience.

As soon as Annie reached him, he took her left hand in his, placing a kiss to it. Tears clouded her vision as she looked down at him, trying to hold it together, her breath catching in her throat.

He blew out a breath, trying to ease his nerves. "I've been holdin' onto this for months," he said, glancing at the box and giving it a small jiggle in his hand. "Thinkin' 'bout how I'd do this, but nothin' felt good enough... Then I came across this house and felt like it was the missing puzzle piece."

He sighed, his throat tight with emotion. His jaw clenched as he tried to hold back his own tears, the weight of the moment resting heavy in his chest.

Annie’s thumb gently stroked the back of his fingers, her touch grounding him.

Smoke cleared his throat and looked up at her. His voice cracked just slightly, raw and real. "If someone would've told me a year ago that I'd be here in this moment... I wouldn'tve believed 'em. Back in Clarksdale, word got around that you were up here, and I just hoped that maybe the opening of the lounge would lore you to me. But... clearly someone or somethin' had better plans..."

He let out a breathy chuckle, and Annie joined him, sniffing and smiling through her tears.

"And to be honest, I don't know what I did to deserve it."

"Elijah—"

He shook his head gently, cutting her off with quiet conviction. "Nah, baby. It's true. My biggest regret is leavin’ you. You deserved better than that... our baby deserved better than that." His voice faltered, thick with remorse. "I saw the world, did what they say men supposed to do, but it’s you that makes me better every damn day."

He looked up at her, his eyes shining. "There was this ache in me when you were gone. Like I was walkin’ around half-alive, tryna fill the space where you used to be. But now..." he paused again, getting choked up, his throat tightening as he pushed through the emotion, "Now I feel whole. So full I don’t even know what to do with myself some days. I’m grateful, Annie. Grateful I get to wake up everyday and love you. And bein’ loved by you? That’s just the cherry on top."

A soft smile played at her lips as tears rolled down her cheeks. He matched it with one of his own.

"We’ve been through hell and back," he continued. "And I can’t promise we won’t go through more. But what I can promise is that I’ll never leave your side again. I’ll protect you, support you, and love you in every way I know how. So..."

Smoke opened the small black velvet box, revealing a breathtaking oval-cut diamond ring. The center stone was massive, catching the last golden rays of the sun and scattering them in a dazzling array of light. It was set in a delicate platinum band made of tiny diamonds, each one sparkling like stardust. The ring was bold yet elegant, timeless yet modern and undeniably stunning—matching how he viewed her.

Annie gasped, her hand flying to her chest as her eyes welled up all over again.

"Annie Lisette Batiste, love of my life... will you marry me?"

Her smile stretched wide through her tears. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, laughter bubbling in her throat through her emotion.

Smoke chuckled, eyes never leaving hers. "That a yes?"

"Yes, baby," she breathed, her voice full of warmth and wonder.

He slipped the ring onto her finger, where it fit like it had been waiting its whole life for her. Rising to his feet, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her with everything he had. The world around them disappeared—nothing else existed but that moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Smoke rested his forehead against hers and murmured against her lips, "I hope that’s a yes to the house too... 'cause," he smirked, eyes gleaming, "I may have already put in the winning offer a few days ago to set all this up. Why you think Amber said "the Moore's"?"

Annie sucked her teeth and playfully rolled her eyes with a smile. "You somethin’ else, Elijah Moore."

His low laugh rumbled from his chest. "Aw, c’mon, woman. I saw it in your eyes the second we pulled up. You love this place."

She giggled, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around him again. "Okay... yes. You lucky I love it almost as much as I love you."

They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped in each other beneath the fading light—safe, sound, and whole. Annie offered a silent thanks for every root, every whispered prayer that had kept them, and led them right back to this moment. Everything was finally falling into place—big... and small.

Back at Smoke’s apartment, Annie couldn’t stop admiring her ring—not through their shower together, not while applying her skincare, and definitely not while whipping up a quick meal of spaghetti to calm her nerves and feed their hunger. The massive oval diamond on her finger caught every glint of light, sparkling with every move she made. She kept catching herself turning her hand in different angles, just to watch it shimmer.

“Mmm, that smells good,” Smoke murmured as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His bare chest pressed against her back, and his chin rested comfortably on her shoulder. He looked down at the bubbling pot of savory sauce, then stole a glance at the soft curve of her cleavage peeking through the tie of her fluffy robe.

“Can I have a taste?” he asked in a low, teasing tone, giving her a playful pinch on the butt.

Annie squealed and picked up the small kitchen knife she’d just used to dice bell peppers, bringing it gently under his chin—not threatening, but just enough to warn him. “Boy, if you don’t find some patience and set the table…” she said with a mock scowl.

Smoke laughed, hands raised in surrender. “Put the knife up, woman. I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”

She snickered and turned her attention back to the noodles, giving them a final stir before turning off the stove. The soft clinking of plates and silverware echoed as Smoke set the table at the island. He slid two plates beside her, then reached into the wine cooler and pulled out a fresh bottle of Dom Pérignon, his grin wide.

“Now seems like as good a time as any to pop this,” he said, holding the bottle up like a trophy.

Annie’s eyes widened slightly when she saw the label, but she quickly masked it, responding with a light, “Mhm.”

Smoke tilted his head. “You okay? I thought you liked this one,” he said, already grabbing two flute glasses.

“I—I do, babe. You’re right. No need to save it, there’s a lot to celebrate, but…” she paused, then added softly, “can you hold off ‘til after dinner?”

His brows pulled together, clearly curious, but he didn’t press. “Uh… sure,” he said slowly, placing the bottle and glasses aside. Instead, he poured iced tea for them both—extra lemon wedges in hers, just how she liked it.

They sat and enjoyed the meal. Smoke’s satisfied moans had Annie giggling behind her fork.

“I can’t help it,” he said, already going for another bite. “You make the simplest things taste like a five-star meal.”

They talked between bites, going back and forth about who to break the engagement news to first—of course, Stack won that. They bounced around ideas for the house, what to keep, what to toss, and how they’d tackle packing. Once they were done, Smoke grabbed their empty plates and scraped the leftovers into containers. After loading the dishwasher, he stretched with a content sigh.

“That hit the spot, baby. Thank you,” he said, rubbing his stomach like a kid after Thanksgiving.

“You’re welcome, love,” Annie replied warmly.

“Champagne time!” he declared, reaching for the corkscrew again.

Annie’s stomach flipped. She shot up from her seat. “Hold that thought,” she muttered and quickly padded into his closet. Digging into her luggage tucked neatly in the corner, she retrieved a black gift box tied with a gold satin ribbon. She stared at it for a breath, heart pounding, before returning to the kitchen.

She set it down gently on the counter. “You’re not the only one full of surprises today.”

Smoke’s brows lifted. A grin stretched across his face. “Aren’t you cute? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I couldn’t pass this up. Here, sit," she replied softly, patting the stool beside her.

He settled onto the cushioned stool, eyes twinkling with curiosity as he tugged the ribbon free. The box gave a soft creak as he lifted the lid, rustling through the tissue paper.

Then he froze.

His breath hitched as he slowly lifted a tiny white newborn onesie with the words “I Love My Daddy” in soft gray script and a heart beneath it. His hands trembled slightly as he picked up the two white sticks tucked beneath—both Clear Blue tests, both clearly reading: Pregnant.

His head dropped, shoulders shaking as he held back his sobs. Annie sniffled quietly beside him, unable to hold back her tears.

Smoke gathered himself enough to reach in and lift the last item: a small wooden picture frame. Inside, an ultrasound photo. A little black and white blob the shape of a peanut—tiny, but unmistakably a life.

“We’re havin’ a baby?” he asked, voice cracking, tearful eyes locking onto hers.

She nodded, tears spilling freely now. “Yeah,” she whispered.

He stood up without a word and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close and kissing the side of her head. His hand rubbed slow circles on her back as she cried into his shoulder.

“Are you happy?” she asked, voice slightly muffled.

“Of course I’m happy,” he said, pulling back to wipe her tears gently with his thumbs. “I couldn’t ask for a better gift.”

“How far along?” he asked softly.

She sniffled and smiled. “About two months.”

He looked upward in thought, eyebrows raised, then smirked. “I knew I put it on you for Valentine’s Day.”

Annie burst into laughter, remembering the way he had definitely put it on her during their weekend getaway. Smoke chuckled too, then leaned in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“I love you, Mrs. Batiste-Moore,” he murmured against her lips.

She beamed. “I love you too, Mr. Moore.”

“And…” he said with a grin, crouching down to gently part her robe. He pressed a tender kiss to her belly. “Papa loves you too, lil’ one. No champagne for Mommy anytime soon,” he teased, looking up at her with a wink.

Her heart melted at his affection. All her nerves were put to rest.

“When’s the next doctor’s appointment?” Smoke asked, pulling Annie gently between his legs as he settled back on the stool. His hands rested on her hips, thumbs brushing slow circles over her robe.

“Middle of next month,” she replied, running her fingers over his head and lightly rubbing his ears. “Once I’m done with the first trimester.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m not missin’ a single one.” He turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to her open palm, holding it there for a beat like it anchored him. “I don’t know how I didn’t catch on. It was easier to tell before.”

She let out a soft laugh, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I don’t have mornin' sickness this time, knock on wood.” She leaned down and tapped her knuckles against the wooden cabinet below the island. “Plus, I'm only showin' a lil' bit. I only got suspicious 'cause my cycle didn’t come, and then… I had a dream about fish.”

Smoke’s brow arched. “A dream? About fish?”

She giggled and nodded. “Yeah. They can be a spiritual sign—pregnancy, abundance, new beginnings…” Her gaze drifted to the side as she remembered. “I was deep in the ocean. Water so clear and blue it didn’t even look real—it was beautiful. Peaceful. Then out of nowhere, this school of fish swam up all around me. Bright colors, all different shapes and sizes. They weren’t scared, and neither was I. I felt... calm. Like they were protecting me.”

Smoke watched her, totally entranced.

“They swam with me no matter where I went,” she continued softly. “Even when I made it to shallow water near the shore, they stayed. Just hovered like they were waiting. Then I came out of the water and… Mama was there. On the shore.”

He blinked, eyes locked onto hers. “Like you told me before. With Zariah?”

Annie nodded slowly. “Exactly. Mama was holding her. Zariah was cooing, laughin'… she always looks so happy. We didn’t say a word. Just stood there, smiling at each other. I could hear the waves behind me, soft and steady. It was… peaceful. That kind of peace you feel deep in your soul.” Her voice grew quiet. “They’ve come to me like that before, Mama and Zariah. But the fish… that was new. That was her way of confirming what I already knew.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose, lips curled in a small, wistful smile. “I wish I could see her,” he said quietly, his hands still resting on her hips.

Annie leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering there for a moment. “One day you will,” she whispered. “A long, long, long ass time from now. We’ve got things to do down here.”

He chuckled, and so did she.

“Speakin’ of things to do…” he murmured with a teasing glint in his eyes. His hands slid slowly up her sides, then dipped to her waist, pulling her just a little closer. He leaned forward, pressing warm kisses along her exposed cleavage.

Annie hummed, her fingers caressing the back of his head.

“How about we work off dinner?” he offered, voice thick with suggestion and affection.

Her only response was a mischievous smile and the way she leaned down to kiss him—slow, deep, and full of promise—told him everything he needed to know.

She moaned softly as their tongues danced, gliding in a slow, teasing rhythm. Smoke’s hand cradled the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. Her fingers brushed along his jaw before she leaned in and lightly traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, then pulled back with a playful smirk.

“Leave it to you to turn a wholesome moment into somethin’ freaky,” she whispered against his mouth, her breath warm, her eyes shining.

His deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Somethin’ ’bout bein’ engaged and knowin’ we made a mini us got me feelin’ extra… primal. Sue me.”

Annie laughed, soft and sweet, and laced her fingers with his. “C'mon,” she said, tugging him gently toward the bedroom. He followed without hesitation, flicking off the kitchen lights as they passed.

“I don’t know if I can keep callin’ you daddy once the baby’s here,” she teased as they reached the foot of the bed, turning to face him with an arched brow.

He sucked his teeth and yanked her flush against him, hands gripping her waist like he was claiming her all over again. “Oh, you will, but with a little more respect in your tone,” he smirked, leaning in to nip at her bottom lip. “Matter fact, after what I’m 'bout to do to you, you might start sayin it in capital letters everywhere we go.”

Her core clenched at the authority in his voice, heat blooming low in her belly. Her eyes flicked from his full lips to those pretty brown eyes—darkening now, like storm clouds rolling in just before the downpour.

"I’d love to see you try," she murmured, a teasing lilt in her voice.

She could’ve sworn she heard a low rumble rise from his chest, more growl than laugh. It vibrated through the short space between them, curling around her spine and making her breath hitch. The air between them thickened with want, and his gaze dropped to her mouth like he was already imagining it moaning his name.

“’Cause you know I always deliver,” he murmured before pulling her back into another heated kiss, deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world. His lips were firm, hungry, and she melted into it with a soft moan, powder pink nails lightly scratching his scalp.

With practiced ease, he untied her robe and slid it off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. Her hands were already at his waist, pushing his sweats down eagerly until his thick, hard length sprang free. He stepped out of them, not missing a beat, and immediately dipped his head to trail kisses down her neck—finding that sensitive spot just under her jaw and sucking gently. She whimpered, thighs pressing together instinctively to soothe the ache pulsing between her legs.

Then his mouth was on her right nipple, tongue swirling slowly before he sucked it deep into the warmth of his mouth. Her head dropped back with a breathless moan as he pinched and rolled the other between his fingers, teasing both peaks until they stiffened under his touch.

“Baby, please…” she purred, writhing as he switched to her other breast, mouth wet and warm.

“Please what, mamas?” he mumbled into her skin, the scruff of his beard grazing her soft flesh, sending a new wave of goosebumps across her chest.

“Please, fuck me,” she whimpered, voice desperate and thick with need.

Smoke chuckled low in his throat, his lips now pressing loving kisses along her belly. “Oh, I will... right after I eat my pussy. Now,” he added, giving her ass a firm smack, “get on all fours like I like it.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Climbing onto the bed, she positioned herself just how he wanted—arched and ready. He took a pillow from the head of the bed and slid it underneath her belly for support, mindful of her comfort now more than ever.

She felt the warmth of his breath against her soaked folds and whimpered in anticipation, her body already trembling. He knelt behind her, thick arms wrapping around her thighs from underneath to pull her closer. She swore her heart skipped as he inhaled her scent—slow, deep, possessive.

Then came the tease—his tongue gliding over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, kissing and licking everything but her center. She rocked her hips instinctively, craving contact, every nerve alive.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word more like a vow than a claim, and then his mouth sealed over her pussy.

Annie gasped sharply, the heat and wetness of his mouth sending her reeling. He licked her slow at first, deliberately, tongue moving like he had nowhere else to be. His tongue flicked side to side against her swollen clit before he sucked it gently, then firmly, setting her nerves on fire. Her back bowed beautifully, and he rewarded the arch with another smack to her ass, this one more playful. His strong hands palmed the weight of her cheeks, spreading her open so he could devour her better.

The sound of her moans—raw, open, unfiltered—filled the room. So did the wet, messy sounds of his mouth as he tasted her, worshipped her. His tongue slid down to her entrance and began to thrust, long and deep, mimicking what he knew she needed. She rocked back against his face in response, fucking herself on his tongue.

“Mmm. That’s it, baby. Fuck my face,” he growled between licks, voice hoarse with desire.

“Oooh, Elijah…” she purred, her body trembling as her orgasm crept up with no warning. Her walls clenched tight around his tongue and her clit throbbed against the friction of his chin. His tongue, long and thick, curled just right—rubbing and coaxing the orgasm from her body like it belonged to him.

Her thighs shook, and she cried out his name again and again as she came, surrendering fully to the pleasure. Her body pulsed around the emptiness, and he didn’t stop—he drank her in, tongue lapping every drop, the sounds of his mouth slick and unashamed in the quiet of the room.

“Mm… sweet ass pussy,” he mumbled with satisfaction, tongue still teasing her slit as her body trembled from the aftershocks.

She whimpered, her body hypersensitive, trying to crawl away from his relentless mouth.

He chuckled softly, finally giving her a moment to breathe, and kissed the backs of her thighs with a tenderness that had her heart clenching. Each kiss was like a thank you, a worship, a promise.

“You good, baby?” he asked softly, rubbing his hands down the backs of her legs, grounding her.

Annie let out a long breath and nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “So damn good.”

He hummed with a satisfied smile, rising to his knees as he pressed soft kisses up the curve of her back. She shivered beneath the affection, then slowly gathered her strength, straightening up on her legs. With a lazy, seductive grace, she reached back, her fingers curling behind his neck to pull him in for a deep, messy kiss—tongues tangling, lips slick with need. She moaned softly at the taste of herself on his tongue.

When she finally pulled away, her voice dropped into something velvety and commanding. “Lay down.”

Smoke nipped at her bottom lip in response, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am,” he rasped playfully, and settled back into the bed, reclining against the headboard with one arm tucked behind his head. He looked utterly edible—lids low, chest rising with anticipation, dick hard and glistening in the moonlight.

Annie crawled between his legs, her hips swaying as she moved with deliberate intent. Her eyes locked on his girthy, pretty, brown length. Precum shimmered at the fat tip, catching the silver glow from the window. Her mouth watered, her breath hitching.

She wrapped her hand around him, marveling again at the weight and heat of him, and began stroking him slow and tight while never breaking eye contact. His brows drew together, lips parting with a grunt as his hips subtly rocked into her grip.

She leaned in and let a string of spit drip from her tongue, watching it glisten as it slid over the swollen head. Then, without hesitation, she took him into her warm mouth, slowly sucking him inch by inch until her lips kissed his base.

“Gahdamn… mmm,” Smoke groaned, head lolling to the side as he watched her work. His expression melted into bliss and awe.

Annie moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver down his spine. Her hand worked in rhythm with her mouth—wrist twisting as she stroked while her lips slid up and down his shaft. She pressed her tongue along the underside, tracing the throbbing vein.

Smoke reached forward, gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail, angling her just right so he could see everything. “Fuck,” he hissed as she moaned again and popped him out of her mouth with a soft wet pop! Her tongue trailed down to his heavy balls, and she gently sucked one into her mouth, careful, slow, savoring him.

“Fuuuck, Annie…” His voice cracked, thighs tensing beneath her palms, abs tightening with every flick of her tongue. She could feel the telltale signs—his body betraying him with every twitch and quiver.

Then, just as his release hovered close, she stopped.

She released him from her mouth and hand, sitting back slightly. His thick length bobbed against his thigh, flushed and needy.

His eyes flew open in disbelief, damn near a panic. “Woman, are you crazy?!”

Annie giggled, licking her lips as she rubbed slow circles on his thighs to soothe him from the brink. Her grin was deliciously wicked. “Only for you,” she purred, loving the way his chest rose and fell, how his fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to beg or curse.

She could see it—how close he’d been. That made her feel powerful. Intimate. Like she knew every muscle, every nerve ending in his body by name.

“You’re dangerous,” Smoke growled, trying to catch his breath.

She kissed his inner thigh, then up over the ridges of his abs, along his chest, and up the column of his neck. When she reached his ear, she nibbled it gently before whispering, voice syrup-sweet and full of mischief. “Betta call on the ancestors now, ‘cause I’m not done wreckin’ you just yet.”

He looked at her like he wanted to ruin her—in the most loving, filthy, reverent way possible. And the look she gave him back? Just as hungry. Just as wild. His hands gripped her waist firmly, grounding them both in the heat of the moment as she straddled him. Her knees planted on either side of his hips, and she lifted slightly, one hand wrapping around the base of his thick shaft to guide him to her soaked entrance.

A gasp slipped from both of their lips as she slowly sank down onto him, inch by inch. Her hands braced on his shoulders, fingers digging in for leverage as her walls stretched and fluttered around his girth. The warmth of her pussy enveloped him like a velvet vice, clenching greedily as he filled her completely.

"Fuck…" Smoke growled, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he held back from thrusting up into her. He needed her to take her time—wanted to feel every second of her wrapping around him.

Annie adjusted, rolling her hips slightly before beginning to lift and drop slowly, savoring the stretch and slide of him inside her. The steady rhythm sent chills up both their spines, and Smoke let out a low grunt, his fingers digging into her waist. Her pussy gripped him so perfectly it almost hurt—in the best way. Pregnancy had made her impossibly wetter, more sensitive, and the feel of her now was nearly enough to unravel him.

Her head tilted back as her lashes fluttered closed, soft pants escaping her lips as she rode him slow and deep. That gave Smoke the perfect view—and the perfect moment. One of his hands slid up her torso, wrapping gently around her throat the way he knew she loved. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched her melt beneath his touch.

Annie moaned, grinding her hips in slow, teasing circles. “Ssoooh… you feel so good, daddy,” she hissed, her voice cracked with pleasure.

Smoke leaned forward slightly and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking slow and deep. Her entire body trembled. She bounced harder on his dick, her movements gaining speed and purpose as she plunged him deeper and deeper inside her. Her moans were soft, rhythmic, breathy, and perfect—music to his ears.

“Yesss... ride your dick, baby. Just like that,” he moaned against her chest, flicking his tongue over her other nipple, then tugging gently with his teeth. The way her body squeezed around him had him dizzy.

As many times as they’d made love, this felt brand new—like the first time all over again. Electric. Intoxicating. Their bodies spoke a language only they could understand. Every connection felt spiritual, every climax like worship.

Smoke let her ride until she was quivering again, then pulled her down by the neck and kissed her hard—hungry, open-mouthed, breath-stealing passion. She leaned into it, and that’s when he planted his feet into the mattress and started thrusting up into her—each stroke hard and deep. Her pussy creamed around him, sweet, messy, and addictive.

“Oh, fuck!” she squealed into his mouth, her hands clawing at the upholstered headboard for something to hold onto as he pounded her from beneath. Her walls clenched like a vice around him, juices trickling down to his balls.

Smoke cupped her ass with both hands, pushing her down to meet his thrusts, the pressure building fast. He could feel her right on the edge.

Then, without warning, he slowed. Just the tip, teasing, nudging her opening but never fully plunging back in. Her whine was instant.

“Daddy, please,” she breathed, trying to grind down to get more of him.

“You gonna make a mess for me, huh?” he asked, voice thick with heat, eyes locked on her.

She nodded fast, eyes wide and glassy with a pout that damn near undid him. That sweet face, so ready to fall apart for him—it had him teetering right on the brink.

With a grunt, he slammed back into her, his thrusts hitting deep and just right, angled to find that sweet, sensitive spot. Over. And over. Again.

“Right there… oh my god, right there,” she chanted like a prayer, body trembling as the orgasm coiled tight and fast inside her.

He didn’t let up. His eyes stayed trained on her, like watching her unravel was his only purpose in life. “Cum on your dick, baby doll,” he groaned, his own release rushing fast behind the command.

Annie shattered with a cry, her pussy spasming violently around him, drawing every drop from him as he spilled deep inside her. They clung to each other, mouths fusing in a desperate, sloppy kiss—moans and whimpers exchanged like oxygen.

They stayed like that, trembling and tangled, riding the wave of their shared high until their breathing slowed and their pulses came back to earth.

After tender kisses, the kind that lingered like a promise, they each slipped away to relieve themselves and returned for a quick cleanup—gentle touches, quiet smiles, and sleepy laughs echoing in the low light of the bedroom. When they finally slid back beneath the covers, the night felt sacred.

Annie curled onto her side, her body still warm and humming from everything they shared. Smoke tucked himself behind her, his bare chest pressed against her back, and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist like she might slip away if he didn’t hold her close.

“Goodnight, pretty baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with tenderness as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

She smiled faintly, melting back into his embrace and soaking in the warmth of his skin against hers. “Goodnight, my love,” she murmured, her words delicate and laced with sleep as her lashes fluttered shut. It didn’t take long for her breathing to even out, and in moments she slipped beneath the surface of consciousness.

She found herself standing once again in clear blue waters, waist-deep, the sunlight glimmering like diamonds on the ripples. The same familiar school of colorful fish surrounded her, their shimmering bodies dancing around her ankles, leading her forward, guiding her like gentle soldiers.

As she moved toward the shore, the ocean turning to soft, warm sand beneath her feet, she saw them—her mother, standing with Zariah nestled lovingly in her arms. They both shimmered with an ethereal glow, their auras golden and soft like morning light.

Tears welled in Annie’s eyes as she stepped closer. This time, her mother didn’t just smile—she walked toward her. When she reached Annie, she gently transferred Zariah into her arms, the baby’s coos and warmth making her breath hitch. Annie looked down at her daughter, so vibrant and real. Chubby cheeks, dimples, curious eyes, the tiniest fingers curling around her mother’s.

Tears slid down Annie’s face, mirrored by her mother’s, but there was joy there too. Love. Healing. She looked up again just in time to see her mother walking toward a forest of palm trees in the distance, a towering weeping willow standing guard at the center.

“Mama… wait!” Annie called, her voice trembling.

Before fading into the grove, her mother turned back one last time. She smiled… and winked. Annie's eyes fell back to her daughter who's eyes were still focused on her.

“Zariah…” Annie whispered aloud in her sleep, her lips parting with emotion.

Smoke’s brows pinched slightly when he heard her. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet—he’d been lying there, quietly admiring her breathing, her warmth pressed to his chest like a comfort he’d never take for granted.

He lifted himself on an elbow, eyes scanning her face. Her features were peaceful, her lips twitching into a soft, unconscious smile. Behind her closed lids, her eyes moved rapidly—clearly dreaming. But to Smoke, it felt like something more.

He pulled the covers down slowly, reverently, revealing the soft swell of her belly under the moonlight. He leaned in and placed a kiss just beneath her navel, lingering there like he was whispering a prayer.

“Is that you, princess?” he murmured, voice breaking slightly as he caressed the curve of her abdomen with his calloused, trembling hand. “Zariah... baby girl…”

Tears rimmed his eyes, threatening to fall as he pressed his forehead against her skin. He searched the space with his heart more than his eyes, like the love and memory of their daughter could somehow speak through the silence.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, placing one more tender kiss before pulling the cover gently back over her sleeping form.

He climbed back up, resettling beside her, still blinking away tears. But Annie instinctively turned, her face nuzzling into his chest, her arm slipping around his waist. Even in slumber, she found him. She always did.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, fingers brushing through her hair as he held her close.

“I’m right here,” he whispered into the dark, unsure if he meant it for her, their daughter, or maybe both.

Then finally, as her breathing soothed him and her warmth anchored him, Smoke closed his eyes and let himself drift, heart full, soul aching—but not alone.

To be continued....

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Big Papa put a ring on it and gave her a house all in the same day. Period! My babies are having a baby too! 🥹 Y'all excited? I hit you with a double whammy. lol Did you think any of this was happening in this part? Did I catch you slipping? Let me know your thoughts in the comments. xoxo

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Taglist:

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#michael b jordan #michael b jordan smut #sinners 2025 #sinners #sinners fic #sinners fanfiction #sinners smut #wunmi mosaku #annie sinners #smoke x annie #annie and smoke #elijah smoke moore #smokestack twins #sinners movie #black fanfiction #black readers #savor sinners #savor series #smoke and annie

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internetdaddy98 · 25 days ago

Text

Uncharted Territory

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Robby and Y/N attend a Thanksgiving dinner at her family’s home. As they arrive, Robby notices Y/N’s slight nervousness, the first time he’s seen her unsure since their relationship became personal.

Word Count: 2.2 K Content Warning: Mentions of death

Robby had never been to a Thanksgiving dinner like this.

The driveway was long and winding, the trees on either side stretching their bare branches toward the sky like hands reaching for the clouds. He had parked at the end, under a single light, watching as you walked ahead, your posture confident but the slightest hint of nerves in your step. It was the first time he’d seen you so unsure since you’d crossed the line between professional and personal. Usually, it was the other way around, he was the one second-guessing himself. But today, it was you.

Your hand brushed his for a second, a silent reassurance. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around yours, giving it a quick squeeze, the gesture a promise.

“You don’t have to do this,” Robby said, his voice low as they walked toward the front door.

“I want you to be here,” you replied, not looking at him, but your smile was soft. “I need you to be here.”

He could tell there was more behind those words than just simple affection. You were giving him more than he thought he deserved. Robby swallowed, feeling that familiar tightness in his chest, the same tightness he had when he thought about the people he loved most in his life, and how easy it was to break them, to lose them.

But today, he wasn’t going to lose you. Not now, not ever.

They reached the front door, and you took a deep breath before knocking. The door swung open before you even had the chance to touch the handle. A woman in her late sixties—tall, with a warm smile and brown eyes that mirrored yours—stood in the frame, a welcoming expression lighting up her face.

“Y/N” she exclaimed, pulling Sheridan into a tight hug, one that Robby could only watch. “You made it! And you brought Robby. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

Robby was caught off guard. He had expected to be introduced with some level of distance. Not as a boyfriend. Not yet.

“Mom, Robby is my—,” you said, your voice steady, though Robby noticed the way your chest rose and fell slightly faster. “My… my partner.”

Robby held out his hand instinctively, shaking the woman’s with a firm grip. “It’s good to finally meet you, Mrs. Sheridan.”

Mrs. Sheridan’s eyes softened as she held on to his hand for just a second longer than usual. “Y/N’s told me so much about you. Please, come in. Dinner’s just about ready.”

Robby stepped inside, feeling like he was crossing into foreign territory. The house was beautiful in a way that was distinctly you—comfortable, clean, yet filled with little hints of personality. There were photographs on the walls of her as a child, laughing with a brother Robby hadn’t met, and a few older shots of her with her parents, always with that same earnest, kind smile.

The decor screamed wealth—polished hardwood floors, an impressive chandelier overhead, and even the scent of the house—rich and almost intoxicating—spoke of affluence. Robby couldn’t deny the sense of unease creeping up his spine. He had always lived a life of simplicity. This was something different entirely.

“Baby, why don’t you take Robby to the kitchen? I’ll finish setting the table.”

Robby glanced at you as your mother bustled off toward the kitchen, and you caught his eye. There was something about the way you were looking at him, an almost shy smile on your lips, that made the tension in his chest increase.

“Let’s go,” you said, leading him through the house to the kitchen.

The space was stunning, a large, open room with marble countertops and soft, ambient lighting. Your father was at the counter, chopping something with precise movements, his back to them.

“Daddy,” You called out, her voice soft yet strong, a tone Robby couldn’t help but notice. “This is Robby.”

Her father turned around with a kind smile that mirrored his wife’s, but Robby could tell there was something more in his gaze. Like he was sizing Robby up. A quiet challenge that he didn’t know how to address. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking Robby’s hand without hesitation. “Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Sheridan,” Robby replied, his voice steady, even if his heart was racing. “It’s good to be here.”

They chatted for a few minutes as Mrs. Sheridan finished up in the kitchen, and Robby found himself settling into the easy rhythm of the conversation. It wasn’t awkward—not like he had feared. In fact, he felt comfortable, at ease in a way he hadn’t thought was possible when he first thought about spending a holiday with your family.

But every now and then, he would catch you looking at him—those moments when your eyes met across the room, and everything else seemed to stop. He couldn’t explain it, but something shifted in those moments. The way you saw him now wasn’t the same as before.

You weren’t hiding anymore. You had introduced him as your partner—not your mentor. And for the first time in months, Robby allowed himself to believe it. He wasn’t holding back. And neither were you.

Dinner was served with an easy familiarity, the table brimming with food, laughter, and the sounds of family. But through all of it, Robby couldn’t help but notice the subtle but undeniable ways your relationship had shifted. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Every little gesture you made, the soft laugh you let slip when your father told a terrible joke, the way you corrected him when he tried to grab your plate without asking.

She was home, and he was a part of it now. A part of her world that had been so carefully tucked away.

After dinner, as the dishes were cleared and dessert was brought out, you and your mother left the room, giving Robby a moment to speak with your father. The conversation felt easy, relaxed, but Robby noticed the lingering tension in the older man’s eyes when he looked at him.

“You’re good to her, Robby,” Mr. Sheridan said quietly, his voice almost conspiratorial. “I can see that. She’s been through enough. Don’t let her down.”

Robby swallowed, nodding. “I won’t.”

And then, as if the moment wasn’t heavy enough, Mr. Sheridan placed a hand on Robby’s shoulder. “You hurt her, and I’ll break your legs. Understand?”

It wasn’t a joke, and it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. Robby respected that.

He didn’t answer, just met the older man’s eyes and nodded. But deep down, Robby was certain that this was just the beginning. He couldn’t just have you in his life, he was already in too deep. She was already his, and everything else, every piece of his life that hadn’t been hers before, was already shifting to make room for her.

Robby had already begun to feel the weight of her world, her family, the house, the wealth, and all that it implied. The evening had been a strange blend of feeling out of place and yet completely at ease, thanks to the small, quiet moments shared with you. It wasn’t the grandeur of your home that left Robby uneasy, though; it was the knowledge that there was more to you than what you showed the world.

The conversation had moved into a natural silence after dinner, and the family had retreated inside, leaving Robby and you alone on the back porch. The air had grown crisp as twilight settled in, and Robby found himself looking at you in a way he hadn’t before, your eyes soft in the fading light, your posture relaxed, but something about you seemed distant.

Your eyes were trained on the streetlight across the yard, but they were unfocused, as though you were seeing something far away. It was as if you had become someone else entirely.

“Sher?” Robby asked quietly, stepping closer, his voice threading through the cool air between them.

You blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and turned to face him. “Sorry. I was just… thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitated, lips pressed together, as if weighing the decision to open up. Robby could feel you pulling away, not physically, but emotionally, and something inside him shifted. He knew that silence. It was the silence of someone preparing to say something important, something painful.

“I wasn’t always… like this,” you said finally, your voice quieter than before, as if you had just invited him into a room you had kept locked for years. “I used to be a different person. I used to be scared all the time. I wasn’t always so... steady.”

Robby nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact, his hand instinctively moving toward yours. “You don’t have to explain anything if you’re not ready,” he said, his tone soft but firm.

Your gaze fell to your intertwined hands, and then, after a long moment, you spoke again. “When I was ten years old, my brother died in a car accident.”

Robby’s heart tightened, the words hanging between them like an invisible weight. He had known there was something in her past, some unspoken tragedy, but hearing her voice the words brought a sharp clarity to the pain she had carried for so long.

“Ethan, He was eight” you continued smiling fondly, her voice shaking just slightly, but still, you pressed on. “My family, my parents, we were in the car, and we crashed. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I remember the way the car felt when it flipped. The way it… crumpled.” You paused, your lips pressed together as if bracing herself.

Robby didn’t know what to say. There were no words for something like that. He couldn’t begin to understand the weight of what you were saying, the guilt she must’ve carried all these years. He moved closer, instinctively, his fingers brushing her hair in a silent offer of comfort.

“The worst part,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper, “is that I remember it all. I remember waking up, trapped in the car with him, and I remember how they weren’t moving. I was so scared, but I had to get out, had to get help. I freed myself, and I called for help.”

You let out a sharp breath. “But I couldn’t save him. I was just a kid. I couldn’t do anything but watch him die.”

Robby’s chest tightened, and a coldness spread through his limbs. Your eyes were closed now, like you were trying to erase the memory of it, to block out the flood of emotions that always threatened to resurface. He could feel the heaviness of the moment pressing on him, but he didn’t move away.

“You were just a kid, Sheri,” Robby said, his voice hoarse. “You did everything you could. You didn’t fail him.”

But you shook her head, her eyes opening to meet his. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve saved him. I couldn’t even hold him, Robby. He was gone by the time help arrived.”

The guilt in your voice struck him with the force of a fist. Robby knew then that what you had been carrying wasn’t just grief. It was guilt—painful, suffocating guilt that you had never been able to shake.

“I can’t imagine how that feels,” Robby whispered, his hand sliding from yours to rest gently on your shoulder. “But I do know this: you’re not to blame. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away, offering him a small, broken smile. “I don’t talk about it. My parents don’t either. They’ve never asked how I’m doing with it. I don’t know if they even think about it anymore.”

Robby’s heart ached for you. It was clear that her family’s way of dealing with the tragedy was to sweep it under the rug, but you had been living with it, trying to carry it alone.

“I can’t even imagine how hard that must be,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your shoulder, offering a silent understanding. “But you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

You gave him a faint, grateful smile, your hand resting over his. “I’ve been pretending for so long, Robby. But with you… it feels like I don’t have to.”

He squeezed your hand tighter. “You don’t. You’re not alone.”

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken promises. For the first time, Robby felt the full weight of your past—of your life before him—and he knew it wasn’t just about the trauma of the car accident. It was about the loss you had never fully healed from, the grief that had followed you in every step, every decision, every relationship.

And as the night deepened around them, Robby realized that the woman standing before him was more complex than he could have ever imagined. But she was also the woman he wanted to hold, to protect, to love in ways she hadn’t allowed herself to believe possible.

The pain she carried didn’t scare him. If anything, it made him want to pull her closer, to make her feel safe in a world that had taken so much from her. And maybe, just maybe, he could be the one to help her carry it, piece by broken piece. ———————————— Want to join the taglist? shoot me a comment! @rosiepoise88 @nosebeers @andabuttonnose @luvr4miya @cannonindeez @hagarsays @captainoates @lemonlime09 @delicateflorencia @iceb1ink1uck @moonshooter @qardasngan @penbridgertonn @foreverchangingfandoms @msdariaknight @kmc1989 @trustme3-13 @ilikestuffs-stuff @letstryagaintomorrow @steviebbboi @jazzimac1967 @foolishseven @catmomstyles3

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astraystayyh · 2 years ago

Text

Say yes to me

after your seven minutes in heaven, hyunjin wants to plan out how he'll finally confess to you. except you come knocking on the door of his rented cabin unannounced. at 10:53 pm. the perfect time for love, he comes to learn.

pt. 2 of say yes to heaven. highly recommend reading it first (it's short i promise and it sets the mood ajsjd)

a.n: and if i told y'all i wrote this in one go... when i say hyune possesses me i MEAN it... these two pics sit at the same table for me, and three people asked for a second part and i can't say no to you guys!! ENJOY, feedback is highly appreciated as always <33

There are a lot of things that Hyunjin wishes he could say to you.

How he loves you is first.

Hyunjin never planned on keeping secrets from you. Ones he carefully tucked away at the corner of his mouth, ready to spill each time your gaze met his.

He still remembers when it all started vividly- how the friendship blossomed into something more for him, the way petals shyly unfurl on the first days of spring.

You were sitting next to him on the bench of your favorite park, ice cream in your hands. Hyunjin intently watched as you rambled about your latest essay, and the world seemed to fall into a tranquil silence, save for the sound of your voice.

Hyunjin suddenly found himself enthralled by the way the sunlight gently grazed your cheeks, painting them with the softest golden hue. One he tried to replicate many times in his paintings, but to no avail, as they could never live up to you.

How the light breeze danced upon your hair, swaying it gently from left to right. How your lips moved with each word, pulling him into an unyielding trance. Those very lips that graced his skin with kisses, months later, scorching themselves into his memory.

Sometimes it still felt surreal, almost too good to be true, that you left traces of yourself on him. That he had you graze his jaw and collarbones, tentatively, as if you were afraid to dive in fully. "I'd catch you", he wanted to say, "even if it meant I'd drown in the process."

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he took a picture of the lipstick stains you left on him. He didn't even realize they were there at first, that is until he went to Changbin's bathroom. There, under the dim lighting, he found that the blush creeping up his neck matched the shade of your lipstick. His body seamlessly entwined itself with everything that made you.

He felt like a shaky tree branch at your hands- dainty leaves falling at your feet, each one scribbled with love notes for you. And he could no longer contain this feeling within him. He was tired of this five month old secret. He wanted to be an open book, one you could read or toss around, as long as you'd touch it.

But he needed to gather his thoughts and plan how he'd say it. How he'd free this scary confession from the confines of his heart. He told you that you'd talk about it later, and it's already been twelve days since he's last seen you. He had to do it soon.

So he went to his cabin, the one he rents on the weekends when he needs to get away from the world. It's small, nestled away in a remote part of the town, with a golden chandelier dangling in its living room- it's where Hyunjin feels most like himself.

Hyunjin doesn't hear your car pulling up into the driveway. Or your hurried steps to the door. But he hears your urgent knocks, and he's confused as he pushes the doorknob down. Then he's worried when he notices that it's you, with puffy eyes and a slightly runny nose.

For a moment, he stood there, too stunned to articulate a proper question. You don't give him the time to properly organize his thoughts, anyways, as you take timid steps towards him, before wrapping your arms around his waist. Your cheek rests against his chest, right above his heart, and you're crying. Hyunjin can tell from the slight tremors coursing through your body; the very one he's hugging right now, tightly, securely, until you're pressed to him, like two pages of the same book.

His large hands are rubbing soothing circles on your back, and a myriad of questions swirls in his mind. But they can wait, until you stop crying- the one sight that can bleed his heart dry.

"You- you said we'd talk later," you say through hiccups, as Hyunjin's hand moves to the back of your head, gently smoothing down your hair.

"I did," he hums, slightly rocking you from left to right.

"Then why didn't you? You just... stayed silent. For two weeks."

"Twelve days."

"Hyune," you whine and he giggles slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto your temple.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were waiting for me."

"Of course, I was," you lean back, the sides of his black shirt scrunched up in your hands. "I was tipsy but I... I remember."

"What do you remember?" he asks, as his thumb gently brushes away your trailing tears. He knows what happened that night, he replayed those seven minutes in his head so much that he could recite them by heart. Every breath you took, every shaky exhale you let out. He remembers it all too well.

"What you said to me."

His eyes soften at the quiver in your tone. "Why are you crying then, hm?"

"Because you didn't talk to me and I thought you didn't mean it. And I- I can't handle anyone else lying to me. Especially you."

Hyunjin shakes his head, as the strings of his heart dance to the erratic rhythm of his pulse.

"I could never lie to you. Not when it comes to this," he says with the utmost sincerity he can muster. He pauses, a gentle smile etched on his lips. "I have tea."

"Tea sounds good," you respond quietly.

"Come in, then."

He let goes of you, but you remain close, your shadows merging together on the wooden floor. Hyunjin smiles softly at the sight- he too wishes he could become one with you.

His hands are shaking slightly as he brings the water to a boil. You're wandering around, admiring the cozy interior, and the questions in Hyunjin's head can't seem to stop. What does this mean? he wants to ask. Do you want me like I want you? But he bites his tongue. Not until you've fully calmed down.

One minute.

"Here," he says, handing you a steaming cup of Jasmine tea. He leans his head against the wooden wall, as the steam fogs up his glasses.

"Thank you," you smile, settling into the seat opposite of him. "I like your ponytail."

"Oh," his hands reach up instinctively to his hair, tugging slightly at the ends of it. "It kept getting in my eyes so I tied it up."

"It suits you," you smile softly, and Hyunjin finds that the galaxy's stars are all shimmering in your eyes. He imagines the milky way weeping for the loss of its twinkling lights; but they look prettier in you, he thinks.

"How did you know I was here?" he asks, bringing the sweet drink to his mouth.

"Changbin told me," you reply.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes holding yours over the rim of his cup. He's nervous, a shaky mess from within, and he's unfolding right in front of you.

Two minutes.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

His question seems to take you off guard. Your eyes slightly widen, before softening around the edges.

"It seems too unrealistic. But I'd like to think it exists. And you?"

"Despite being a hopeless romantic..." Your chuckle interrupts his words, and he finds that the sound of your laugh is much warmer than the drink in his hand. "I never believed in it. Because love is much deeper than a superficial level. It could be infatuation or a crush. But not love," he pauses, idly circling the rim of his cup with his finger. "But then I realized I was wrong."

His eyes captivate yours as he leans back, his sole attention on you. "They don't call it love at the first look, but rather love at first sight... You know, the first time you truly see someone. And I saw you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Three minutes.

"I saw you. I see you. how kind, gentle, and full of life you are. How you turn the most mundane sceneries into extraordinary ones, because your eyes are filled with colors we cannot see. But I saw them through you."

He smiles softly, his hand reaching out to the middle of the table, right where yours rested. His thumb gently grazes your palm, as he starts to speak again.

"It hurt me to see you with someone else. But he made you smile, at least at first. And I love your smile, so I was happy for you despite it. Because you deserve joy in your life, even if I'm not the one behind it. But then he hurt you," he pauses, his eyes tightly shut as if it physically pained him to utter these words. "And it hurts me to see you in pain. Because you deserve a love as gentle as you."

Four minutes.

"Hyune..." you trail off, and he shakes his head, a reassuring smile on his face.

"You don't have to say anything. You're confused and still hurt but I just needed you to know that."

"Know what?" you ask breathlessly, your hand now on top of his. You're hanging desperately onto his every word, you needed to hear it.

"That I love you."

Your fingers intertwine with his, and Hyunjin believes he has never truly breathed before this moment.

"I want to love you too, I do," you're quick to say. "You make me feel safe like I could hand you my heart and you wouldn't hurt it. But you also make me feel alive and I regret not seeing you first. Not when my love was still whole and not bruised."

"So you could love me?" he asks, a beaming smile brightening his face.

"I came crying to you because I thought you left me, and I couldn't bear it. You have your answer," you giggle sheepishly.

Five minutes.

"And you want to love me?"

"I do. I want to see you and notice a new detail about you every day. But I'm so scared, Hyunjin."

"It's okay to be scared. I don't want to rush you. I can wait."

"What if you get bored? Or if someone else catches your eye. I can't ask that of you."

Hyunjin squeezes your hand and the thoughts in your head go silent.

"I've waited for months for you. If it's you I get at the end then I can wait for an eternity."

"So you'll do it?" you smile incredulously. "You'll wait by my side?"

"Mm. I will."

Six minutes.

You're both quiet for a while, and he's too lost in you to count down the seconds. But then you clear your throat.

"Can we start waiting tomorrow?" you suddenly ask, walking up to him.

"What do you mean?" Hyunjin questions, the butterflies in him fluttering so intensely he's close to flying away.

"We're both here now," you whisper, as you sit beside him, his thigh brushing against yours. He licks his lips nervously.

"Can I try something?" you ask again, but this time you aren't drunk. You are less heartbroken and more sure of your feelings for him. You want this.

"I'm yours."

Your fingers reach up to cup his face, thumb grazing his cheeks gently. His hands hold your waist, beckoning you closer.

"I see you," you whisper, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry it took me so long to see you."

"Love at first sight," he responds breathlessly as your lips graze his, and his heart threatens to burst out of his chest- they'll find your name carved in his veins.

"I believe in it now, Hyune," you grin, before crashing your lips onto his.

Seven minutes.

There are a lot of things Hyunjin wished he could say to you. Sappy things, like how he believes you invented colors, that it drips down from your fingertips grazing his skin- explaining the red and yellow dots dancing before his closed eyes.

How everything seems to be heightened with you- the taste of the Jasmine tea imprinted on your lips, or the breaths escaping his body, eager to be released and to finally mingle with yours.

Or that he wishes that you were wearing your red lipstick so that your mark on him would last longer. A physical token of what you do to his heart.

But there was also much simpler words he wanted to say, ones that he managed to whisper in between tender kisses- "thank you for seeing me."

One year.

Your arms encircle Hyunjin's broad back, as you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade. "You know it's criminal for you to look this good in a simple white tee," you sigh wistfully, Hyunjin's perfume enveloping you both in an intimate cocoon.

"Good thing I'm yours then," he chuckles and you beam in reply, although he can't see you. Hyunjin is yours- he waited just like he promised he would. And now you're back in his cabin, where it all began, and he's making you Jasmine tea.

"And I am yours," you plant a kiss on his back and he turns around, a wide smile on his face.

There is still a sense of relief you find sometimes in Hyunjin's features when you tell him that you love him. As if he can't still quite believe it, even after a year of dating. It is the look traced on his face right now- a slight awe as he looks down at you.

"You said yes to me," he says so faintly, as if speaking to no one but himself, and you nod, placing a gentle kiss on his wrist.

"I'll always say yes to you."

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin fluff #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fanfic #skz reactions

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evedaser · 3 months ago

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Merlin Spell Review

After rewatching the entirety of the show, some episodes more than once, and taking notes the whole time, I am so excited to finally present to you a full summary of the magical data* from 2008-2012's BBC Merlin.

*Specifically about the spells, therefore innate/passive abilities were not included! Morgana's visions, Merlin's Dragonlord commands, Anhora's teleportation etc DO NOT COUNT.

BBC Merlin contains 512 spells over the course of 65 episodes.

Characters

Merlin

Merlin cast 312 spells (60.9%) over the course of the show for an average of exactly 4.8 spells per episode. 112 of his spells were cast nonverbally, comprising 35.9% of his total magic usage. This proportion was at its highest in s1 (35.1%) when his magic was at its least refined and most instinctual, and s5 (71.2%) when his magic was at its most powerful.

(The other 39.1% of spells are divided between 41 other characters.)

He is the most consistent magic user in the series, being the only magician to cast in (almost!) every episode. There were 12 episodes where he was the only character to perform magic (including some surprising ones like s4e9: Lancelot du Lac, where Morgana's resurrection of Lancelot doesn't actually use any spells. In fact, Merlin is the only one to use spells in any of the three episodes named after Lancelot - s1e5: Lancelot, s2e4: Lancelot and Guinevere, and s4e9: Lancelot du Lac).

Season 3 Episode 8: Eye of the Phoenix is the only episode in the show in which Merlin does not cast any spells. He does still perform magic in this episode via the use of his Dragonlord abilities, however these were not measured in this tally.

Merlin did not throw anyone until Season 2, where he throws Jonas against the wall in a confrontation in Episode 5: The Beauty and the Beast I. The first time he threw anyone nonverbally was in Episode 13 of the same season, The Last Dragonlord, when, in a fit of anguish, he instinctively threw and killed the soldier who had just stabbed Balinor. In general his combat strategy tends towards using the environment (dropping tree branches, chandeliers, slamming doors) or the opponent's own equipment (heating sword hilts, breaking saddles, pushing weaponry against their will) against them rather than brute force, though he does transition more toward throwing in the later seasons. By the end of the series, he had used spells to throw people, either verbally or nonverbally, 24 times, still less than Morgana despite his head-start.

He cast his highest amount of spells in s4 (69) and his lowest amount in s5 (52).

Merlin used magic to do his chores 9 times on screen.

The lovely @arrowlovesdragons asked that I note how many of Merlin's spells were for Arthur, which I did and subsequently turned into this graph:

The most common characters included in "Other" were Gwen and Gaius, Morgana in the earlier seasons, and very notably in s2 (hence the large increase), Freya. Any spells Merlin did for Uther were counted under "Camelot".

Or, if you want a simplified version (wherein I factored "Others" as Merlin's own desires, and "Camelot" as being for Arthur):

TL;DR when Merlin said "I use it for you, Arthur, only for you." he was blatantly lying. That being said, he still devotes almost half of all of his magic to just Arthur. In s5 when he makes that statement, it's more than half. Considering Balinor told Merlin that he is magic itself... well. Merlin wasn't too far off.

Morgana

Morgana is the second most prolific caster in the show, casting 59 spells (11.5%) across the 25 episodes she is magically active in for an average of exactly 2.36 spells per episode. She has the highest proportion of accidental casts in the show, the first in Season 1 Episode 12: To Kill the King, wherein her touch activates the Mage Stone, and the other 5 in Season 2 Episode 3: The Nightmare Begins, where she casts magic in a panic after being woken by nightmares.

The aforementioned artefact activation in Season 1 is her first specific usage of magic in the show, and if you would prefer not to count that, then the also-aforementioned panic-magic are her first spells.

Morgana had the highest proportion of magic intended for violence by a very large margin. 34 of her 59 spells (57.6%) were intended to cause harm to others (harm to others for the purpose of protecting someone not included - this is why Merlin's stat for this is so much lower). She also used throwing as her chosen method of combat magic more than anyone else in the series, throwing people a total of 25 times (38.5% of all person-throwing in the show). The first person she threw was Merlin in Season 3 Episode 5: The Crystal Cave.

In Morgana's final episode - Season 5 Episode 13: The Diamond of the Day II, where she casts 5 spells - her last four spells are used to hurt or kill others, but her first was to protect Mordred (albeit by killing the soldiers around him). All the way at the end, she still truly cared for someone.

Other High Priestesses and Servants of the Old Religion

Nimueh is the first recurring magic user, aside from Merlin, to appear in the show. She mostly uses her magic to be malicious and evil, but does take Merlin to the Isle of the Blessed and gives him water from the cup of life with which to heal Arthur. Her intentions around this are never made clear.

Despite 70% of her spells being used explicitly for harm, she never directly attacks someone until Episode 13, where she launches two fireballs at Merlin. It is also interesting to note that she is one of very few villains who never attacks Arthur. Her malice was always focussed on Uther and his kingdom, not misdirected towards his son.

Throughout her time on screen, Morgause was a formidable enemy. In her first appearance (Season 2 Episode 8: Sins of the Father) she performs 4 spells. She is the first person to enchant an animal (discounting Edwin Muirden's Elanthia Beetles because they operated more like magical items than natural animals) and is linked to both of Ygraine's appearances, with the spirit she raised in s2e8 and the mandrake root she enchanted in the first two episodes of Season 3. Like many more experienced magic users in the series, she relied heavily on enchantments to weave complex and manipulative webs of magic rather than brute force violence. In Season 2, she actually doesn't use magic for direct violence at all. The Knights of Medhir, who were meant to carry out violence on her behalf, were only shown to be responsible for the deaths of the knights Arthur took with him to inspect the fortress in the beginning of the episode. They did not kill anyone in Camelot.

That being said, she can be extremely violent when she so chooses. The first person she acts against directly is one of Cenred's guards, who gets little further than drawing his sword before she has thrown him across the room and through a table. In that very same episode, her soldiers knock Merlin out (for several hours), and she subsequently binds him in magical chains and leaves him for the serkets. Very friendly. Catching up on the violence I see.

Most of the other creatures and messengers of the old religion are bound to a specific purpose. Anhora, the keeper of the unicorns, only ever deals with matters dealing with unicorns. Grettir and the Cailleach are gateway spirits. None of them get to do many spells because, within their purview, there just isn't a need for it. The Disir do slightly more, but only slightly.

Fun fact, those were the only four I categorised under "Messengers of the Old Religion" in my spreadsheets. Anhora is from Season 1 and so cannot count towards this, however the other three are post-Gwaine, and all three of them use a spell to get Gwaine to lay off threatening them. For Grettir and the Cailleach, it is their only spell. The Disir's only other spell is summoning the rune mark that got them into the situation in the first place. That is a 100% pissed-off-by-Gwaine rate among the spirits of the old religion. I'm sure Merlin would be thrilled (he was there for all of them).

All of them seem to believe in Arthur's potential, but they are not as assured of his fate as Kilgharrah leads Merlin to believe they should be. The Dochraid -- who I included as a Magical Creature and not a spirit -- chooses to support Morgana and quite actively opposes Arthur, despite being a creature aware of Emrys, and, you would think, probably the prophecies too. She's not alone in this. That being said, the Cailleach seemed to derive some joy out of Morgana's fear in 4x01, and did refuse Merlin's sacrifice. To me, this shows that at no point in the show did the old religion itself "pick a side" in the war, it was only ever up to Merlin, Morgana, and Arthur to prove who was right.

I don't have interesting magic stats about these characters for you because they were usually too busy dealing with Gwaine to do any actual magic. My apologies.

Mordred

Mordred did very very little magic throughout his time on screen, especially in Season 5. In his three child episodes, he performs exactly one spell in each of them. The first is an instinctive reaction to Cerdan's execution in Season 1 Episode 8: The Beginning of the End, shattering Morgana's mirror with a mental scream, and the other two are both violent actions of self-defense when surrounded by Camelot soldiers. Poor kid.

As an adult, Mordred performs only three spells.

He throws Morgana at the Cauldron of Arianrhod after Merlin abandons him to deal with her on his own (5x09),

He screams, out loud this time, and absolutely destroys the dungeons around him as a reaction to Kara's execution (5x11), and

He performs the only cooperative spell in the entire show, wherein he and Morgana combine their powers to launch a gigantic fireball at Stowell (5x12).

As a child, he was built up as someone with a great deal of power dealing with an incredibly hostile world. We were led to believe he would grow into someone dangerous, perhaps matching even Merlin's calibre of sorcery. Mordred ended up growing into a world in which he suppressed his magic for the sake of laying low and fitting in, but when he used his power, he was unstoppable.

Sorry for the break from the stats there, there just isn't a lot to say about Mordred statistically, except that the only spell he ever performs verbally is that final one he does with Morgana. All of his personal magic usage is done without incantations, and half of it is pure instinct. It's understandable why Merlin was so afraid of him.

Guest Characters

These are characters who only appeared in one episode (double-parters not-withstanding) (or in Alator's case only cast magic in one episode).

The highest casting guest character was Edwin Muirden, who cast 9 spells in s1e6: A Remedy to Cure All Ills.

The lowest casting guest characters were Anhora (1x11), Cornelius Sigan (2x01), Jonas (2x05), Balinor (2x13), Taliesin (3x05), the Sidhe Elder who attacked Merlin in his chambers (3x06), Grettir (3x08), the Cailleach (4x02), Lochru the Vates (5x01), and Ari (5x12), who all cast only one spell in their on-screen appearances.

The median was represented by all the characters who cast 2 spells in their on-screen appearances: Sophia (1x07), Aulfric (1x07), Cerdan (1x08), Tauren (1x12), Alice (3x09), and Osgar (5x05).

Honorary mention to the only two on-screen sorcerers who went unnamed in BBC Merlin, both of whom were vendors who sold their enchanted items to extremely-obviously-evil people and were immediately killed. R.I.P these guys (1x02 and 3x04):

(There were other magic users who went unnamed, but they weren't human: the goblin in 3x03, the troll in 2x05 and 2x06 -- "Lady Catrina" was her DISGUISE -- , the Diamair -- more of a title than a name --, and from 4x08 you could argue 'Lamia' is her species and not her name, but she does introduce herself by that.)

Episodes

The episode with the highest amount of spells was Season 5, Episode 13: The Diamond of the Day II with 19 spells cast. This was split between Merlin, who contributed 14, and Morgana, who contributed 5.

The runner up was Season 1, Episode 1: The Dragon's Call with 17 spells cast. This is split between Merlin, who casted 12 times, and Mary Collins, who casted 5 times.

The episode with the lowest amount of spells was Season 5, Episode 11: The Drawing of the Dark with only 2 spells cast. This was split between Merlin and Mordred, who each casted once. Mordred's spell was instinctive, a wave of destruction following his anguish at Kara's death.

There were 2 other episodes that shared such a low count. The first is Season 1 Episode 11: The Labyrinth of Gedref. Anhora's teleportation and the curse itself both were not counted as no deliberate spells were involved. One of this episode’s spells didn't even happen on screen, we only saw it being cast (Merlin used magic to kill the rat in Arthur's chambers, though we never saw exactly how). The second is Season 2 Episode 2: The Once and Future Queen.

The median was represented by all the episodes which had 7 spells to their name, listed as follows. s1e8: The Beginning of the End, s2e11: The Witch's Quickening, s3e4: Gwaine, s3e5: The Crystal Cave, s3e9: Love in the Time of Dragons, s4e2: The Darkest Hour II, s4e12: The Sword in the Stone I, and s5e8: The Hollow Queen.

As a bonus: The most common spell value per episode (the mode if we're talking stats, which we are) was 5. 10 out of the show's 65 episodes (15.4%) contained exactly 5 spells.

The average spell count per episode was 7.88.

Spells

The most common type of spell cast in the entirety of Merlin was Telekinesis in both verbal and nonverbal forms. It comprised 108 spells, or 21.14% of all spells shown on screen. That being said, if you separate verbal and nonverbal forms, the nonverbal Telekinesis becomes the second highest usage of magic, and the verbally incanted Object Manipulation becomes the fifth. It is bearing that separation in mind that I give you the following spell type top 3:

Enchantment. The big catch-all. 97 spells, 18.98% This is a big one, it accounts for every spell targeted on an object or a creature, provided they didn't belong to other categories*. It included enchanting poppets, amulets, bracelets, potions. It included all the love-spells, applied directly or not. It included the one other instance of mind-control, it included the GPS function Morgause installed in Arthur's horse, it included the spell Merlin used to clean the stain off Arthur's shirt. It included Morgana's blatant Darth-Vader rip-off force choking, and plenty of other things. Huge catch-all, very common. Merlin used enchantments 46 times.

Telekinesis. Classic. Non-verbal only. 62 spells, 12.13%

Elemental. Also classic. Verbal only. 61 spells, 11.94% This is another category that is split between verbal and nonverbal. If you combine both types of elemental spells, it comes out as 86 spells total (16.83%). The vast majority of this is flame and heat magic, but Merlin also uses wind several times throughout the show (he's the only one to do this) and, on occasion (literally only where his loved ones -- Arthur -- are in mortal peril -- 1x13 and 5x13 only), lightning. He is known to be able to cause rockfalls (also done by only Merlin) and precisely one time causes a full-scale earthquake. No one uses commands elemental water magic at any point in the show (spirits who happen to live in lakes/rivers doing magical things do not count, it has to be related to the water. Merlin does use magic related to water a couple times, but it was always categorised under other things).

Honourable mention to Violent Telekinesis, the term I used for the nonverbal "throwing people" spell, which came in 4th with 51 spells (9.98%). It's higher if you combine it with its verbal form, which I literally had to title Throwing (14 spells, 2.74%). That means that on 65 instances was magic used to throw people with an intention of causing harm, which averages out to exactly once per episode.

* There were two types of spells that were definitely enchantments but which I chose to separate into their own categories. The first of these is Artefact Activation, which is when a spell is used to activate a magical item that has already been enchanted. A good example of this would be the entirety of Gilli's magic, all of which was done via the use of an already-magical ring. Another good example is in s4e5: His Father's Son, when Morgana uses a nonverbal spell to activate the curse she placed on Arthur's sword the night before. The other of these categories is self-explanatorily named Locking/Unlocking, and I separated it simply because it was so common and I was curious.

Seasons

Seasons 3 and 4 are tied for most amount of spells cast, each with 108 spells in their 13 episodes. Season 1 has the least, with only 96. Overall, the show was pretty consistent with the amount of magic it did, with the average sitting mostly within the 7.5-8.5 range at any given time whilst I was constructing these tallies. The top five episodes of the entire show are a perfect distribution action the seasons, with one episode from each (1st. 5x13, 2nd. 1x01, 3rd. 4x06, 4th. 2x03, 5th. 3x06).

Season 4 has the highest lowest-episode spell count at 4, whereas s1, s2, and s5 have their lowest at 2, and s3's lowest has 3.

Most of the data on the spreadsheets were not organised by Season, though many of my physical tallies were. If you're interested in how the seasons compare, send me an ask or a message and I'll happily fish that information out for you. Otherwise, most of the data about the individual seasons has already been uploaded under other posts, so I won't make this section any longer.

Fun/Opinions

I'll do my narrative analyses later on a separate post, but just know it's so important to me that the top two episodes are the finale and the pilot, and the lowest is The Drawing of the Dark. At the top, two episodes that are so quintesentially about a magic boy in a world where his powers are desperately needed, Merlin (Arthur) at his very beginning and at his end, and at the bottom an episode that really was not about magic at all. The story of Kara's death was never a story of magic. She was not condemned for her sorcery, she was condemned for her murder. She was both caught and treated like any other criminal. 5x11 is fundamentally about people, about loyalty, about how our choices shape us. Mordred saw it as if it was about magic, and it was this misunderstanding which turned him away from Arthur for good.

Anyway. Silly spells (with references)!!

Merlin trips Arthur twice in the first episode.

Merlin successfully lures guards away from their posts using dice in the first episode. The second time he's shown using telekinesis on dice is when he's cheating in a gambling game against Arthur in 5x12.

Merlin uses barrels to distract guards on two separate occasions (2x04, 4x10). On the first one, he knocks them out.

Merlin slows time four times throughout the show (1x01, 1x07, 3x06). One of them is in order to observe Grundhilda's massive purple frog tongue.

Merlin uses magic to wind a rope discreetly up his pant leg and around his torso (2x08). This has a verbal incantation, which means someone either made a spell for this, which would be absurd, or Merlin is bastardising the hell out of someone's real actual sorcery that they wrote down formally.

Merlin once uses magic to put a princess to sleep and stuff her into a cupboard, which he then seals shut with magic as well (2x10).

Merlin uses magic to pull down people's pants. Twice. It works perfectly for his plans both times (3x07, 4x04).

Morgana also has an elderly disguise (5x04)!!

Sorry that they were mostly all about Merlin, everyone else in this show is so serious about magic. For other magic users who get silly with it, just rewatch Season 3 Episode 3: Goblin's Gold. I couldn't make up half the things that guy does.

I do have Fun/Vibes as a 'Purpose' category. It's populated mostly by Merlin, but also by the Goblin (3x03), Edwin Muirden (who lights a flame in the opening shot of the episode for the purpose of looking spooky and magic to the audience, and also who does some telekinesis just to show off to Merlin) (1x06), and Gilli (who activates his ring once in the opener of the episode purely for the benefit of signalling that it's magic to the audience) (3x11).

And no, I'm still not over the toad in s2e7: The Witchfinder, and I'm certainly not over the use of the Sidhe staff as a TAZER in s3e6: The Changeling (See the posts for Season 2 and Season 3 for elaboration on those).

Data

I am human, I have biases and make mistakes, I oversimplify things, I have a preference for viewing certain characters in certain ways. If you thought I was disingenuous, or wasn't clear enough, or have some other issue with this post, or otherwise are curious, the raw data I collected is now yours!!

Do with it as you wish. If you do end up using any of this for something, I would really appreciate a credit. This took me a very long time to put together.

Tally A list, with descriptions, of every spell in Merlin by episode.

Spreadsheets The numerical data in a variety of different tables and graphs.

Please note that I know there are mistakes in this dataset and I will be continuously working on fixing those. If you have need of the data, always refer back to the original post/document/spreadsheet. Reblogs do not update when previous posts are edited.

If you notice a mistake, even a minor one, please let me know!! And if you have any questions, I would be more than happy to answer them. Thank you for your time <3 I really, really appreciate it.

#bbc merlin #tallies

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violentvaleska · 5 months ago

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𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔

ᴛᴡᴏ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵐᵖᵉʳᵒʳ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ!ʟᴇᴠɪ × ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʀᴅᴇɴs, ᴀ ʙᴀɴϙᴜᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇᴛʀᴏᴛʜᴇᴅ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴍᴀʀᴋ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʟᴀᴄᴇ sᴡᴇᴇᴛʟʏ. ʏᴇᴛ ʟᴇᴠɪs ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀʀsʜ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴜɴsᴇᴛᴛʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴇsᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴡ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ. "ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏ sᴀɪɴᴛ."

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ғᴏᴜʀ ғɪᴠᴇ sɪx

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ: @xiernia @fangsgrr

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴜғғ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs! sᴇᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡs ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴɪsʜ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴏᴏɴᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɪ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ^^ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ɢ��ɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀs ᴄᴀʟᴍ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ...

The palace rises before you, a masterpiece of stone and shadow, its jagged towers clawing at the heavens like silent sentinels of Eldia’s dominion. Sprawling gardens embrace the marble paths below, their symmetry a deliberate contrast to the wild vastness beyond the walls. Statues of past emperors stand as unyielding guardians, their cold, unseeing eyes carved with such precision that you almost feel their judgment as Emperor Levi leads you forward.

His stride is deliberate, sharp, the echo of his boots against the marble floor breaking the silence like a metronome of authority. He extends his arm to you at the gate; a gesture as distant as it is dutiful. You hesitate only for a moment before falling into step beside him, learning quickly to match his measured pace. Behind you follows Sasha and Reiner, both of them leading a casual conversation. Another, ridiculously tall man walks a few steps behind them. He appears to be a guard himself, Levis personal one that is.

“This palace.” Levi begins, his voice low, clipped, and as unyielding as the statues surrounding you.

“Is a fortress. Every archway, every hall serves a purpose. Security here is absolute. You’ll find no frivolous extravagance, only precision and function.”

Your gaze sweeps upward, drawn to the soaring vaulted ceilings, the intricate tapestries that narrate Eldia’s triumphs, and the chandeliers that pour golden light over polished stone. If this stark grandeur is “efficient” you can scarcely imagine what indulgence might look like in comparison.

“This-” Levi continues, gesturing to a corridor branching off to the right.

“-Is your wing. The Empress’s quarters. You’ll have your own staff, your own guard, and the privacy you’ll require. Use it wisely.”

There is something foreboding in his choice of words, though his tone leaves no room for curiosity. You glance briefly at Sasha, your maid, who offers a smile as if to reassure you that all will be well.

He moves on, leading you through a labyrinth of halls and rooms that whisper of restrained opulence. Finally, he stops before a pair of tall doors and pushes them open, unfolding the gardens before you.

They are a masterpiece of cultivated beauty; a labyrinth of roses, flowing fountains, and hedgerows carved with geometric precision. Yet amidst this calculated order, one element breaks free. At the center, an ancient elder tree towers above all, its gnarled branches stretching wide as though reaching for the heavens. Its delicate white blossoms glow even against the biting chill of winter, their tenacity a quiet rebellion against the cold.

You notice now the elderflower’s image embroidered onto your gown, stitched in silver thread as if to remind you of its importance. The national tree and flower, you think, its symbolism worn even by a stranger to this land.

“It is beautiful.” You whisper, unable to stop the awe from spilling into your voice.

Levi halts, his gaze following yours to the elder tree. For a fleeting moment, his expression softens, but the vulnerability vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“It’s a reminder.” He says, his voice an icicle cutting through your reverie.

“A reminder of what?” You ask, unable to stop yourself from marveling at the harmonious melding of human hands and nature’s chaos before you.

He hesitates. “My mother.”

The weight of his words shatters the fragile tranquility of the scene, replacing it with a somber chill. You’ve heard the stories; how his mother was struck down by an assassin, a pawn in the machinations of one of your father’s advisors. Grisha never encouraged that cruelty, though you know the man responsible for the command never got away with it either. The reminder hangs heavy between you, and your admiration for the garden withers into something bittersweet.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty.” You murmur, bowing your head. Your voice carries both sadness and shame, though you know any protest of your father’s innocence would be futile.

Levi’s gaze lingers on you for a moment too long. The storm in his silver eyes is unreadable, an amalgamation of grief, anger, and something softer that he seems determined to bury. Finally, he turns away, his expression hardening once more.

“Come.” He hums, his voice colder now. “There’s more to see.”

He doesn’t look back, and you follow in silence, unsure if he leads you through the palace or the unspoken battlefield between you.

The tour flows onward, drawing you deeper into the heart of Eldia’s grand fortress. Libraries spill over with ancient tomes, their spines etched with the wisdom of ages, the scent of parchment and ink heavy in the air. Grand halls stretch endlessly, their polished marble floors mirroring the wavering glow of torches. Outside, training grounds resound with the clash of steel as soldiers spar with flawless precision, their movements sharp and disciplined, like a deadly symphony in motion.

At every stop, Levi’s voice cuts through the air, outlining your duties as Empress with unyielding clarity.

“You’ll host foreign dignitaries here.” He says, gesturing to an immense hall where banners of Eldia hang like solemn witnesses.

“Your composure reflects the strength of the empire. Any sign of weakness, no matter how fleeting, will be seized upon.”

His words settle heavily over you, the weight of expectation pressing against your chest. It isn’t that you resist the responsibility, far from it. But his tone, so devoid of warmth, carves no space for error, no space for humanity.

Finally, you arrive at your quarters. The room greets you with a subdued elegance: deep green curtains drape from high windows, framing a view of the sprawling gardens below. The muted crackle of the fireplace fills the space, its gentle heat a reprieve from the chill that seems to follow Levi wherever he goes. The furnishings speak of restrained opulence, luxury tempered by purpose.

He halts in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on you with a weight that seems heavier than the silence.

“Tonight-” He starts, his voice as precise as a blade.

“-There’s a dinner in your honor. The court will be watching, their judgment swift and unforgiving. Make an impression, but tread carefully. Too bold, and you risk their ire.”

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can find the words, he calls sharply to your maid.

“Sasha.” He commands, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Prepare her.”

Sasha dips into a graceful curtsy, her voice light but unwavering.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will take good care of her grace!”

“Stop calling her ‘your grace’ Sasha. The Princess of Marley is your ‘highness’.” Levi demands of her. Sasha blushes a deep red, instantly apologizing to her Emperor and you with a deep bow. Poor girl.

With a single nod, Levi pivots and strides away, his departure as abrupt as his arrival. The faint echo of his boots fades into the distance, leaving you alone with Sasha and the flickering warmth of the fire. The stillness in his absence is almost startling, as though the air itself relaxes the moment he is gone.

Sasha works with quiet precision, her deft fingers weaving your hair into an intricate braid that cascades like a waterfall of silk down your back. The gown selected for the evening is nothing short of breathtaking; a deep sapphire silk masterpiece, adorned with delicate silver crystals and embroidery that glisten like stardust against the heart-shaped neckline. It clings to you in a way that speaks of both elegance and authority, a garment meant for a woman of your stature.

Her craftsmanship is impeccable, yet the braid is unlike anything your beloved Pieck would have fashioned. Still, you find yourself appreciating the change. It complements the gown’s regal aura, framing your face in a way that feels strangely fitting for the role you must now play.

“You look stunning, your Highness.” Sasha says softly, her voice warm and genuine.

“Thank you.” You reply, offering her a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You have done beautifully.”

A blush rises to her cheeks, her pride unmistakable.

“I’ll be nearby during the dinner, should you need anything.” She assures you, her tone brimming with loyalty.

“And… if I may, don’t let them intimidate you. You belong here as much as anyone.”

Her words are meant as comfort, but they settle uneasily within you. How can you feel as though you belong when everything about this place feels foreign? The ornate halls, the unfamiliar faces, the stifling expectations, they all serve as reminders of how far you are from home. You nod silently, unwilling to voice your doubts. Sasha seems sincere, but trust is a luxury you cannot yet afford.

You glance at your reflection in the gilded mirror, the shimmering fabric of your gown catching the flickering light of the fire. For all the finery, you can’t help but feel like a stranger in borrowed splendor. The cruel stories of Eldia that shaped your childhood linger at the edges of your thoughts. What do you truly know of these people, aside from their disdainful gazes and whispered judgments?

The Emperor himself remains a mystery, a man carved from stone, his cold demeanor offering no glimpse into his thoughts. You are bound to him by duty, not choice, and though the weight of this alliance presses heavily on your shoulders, you know it will take far more than a gown in Eldian colors to win their favor.

Doubt gnaws at you. How can you prove your worth in a court where every glance feels like a test, where every word spoken is carefully weighed? You were never one for grand speeches or commanding rooms with your presence. From a young age, you avoided gatherings like these, preferring the solace of quiet moments over the scrutiny of others. Now, thrust into the center of this glittering web, you feel exposed.

No crown, no fine gown, no practiced smile can erase the perception they have of you; weak, timid, unfit to rule. And yet, here you stand, the Empress of Eldia in name, but far from accepted in truth. The thought of the Emperor’s expectations, his demand for strength and poise, only deepens the unease coiling in your chest. You know your role demands more than bearing his children or offering a warm smile. It requires a strength you’re not sure you possess.

Your thoughts drift to Princess Mikasa, the proud and formidable woman who is now bound to this court as you are. You wonder if she, too, feels the weight of this alliance pressing against her spirit. Her confidence seems unshakable, but there is something in her eyes, a flicker of unease, that mirrors your own struggles. Perhaps, beneath her composed exterior, she wrestles with the same uncertainties.

“Sasha.” You say suddenly, your voice quiet yet laced with a fragile hope.

“Do you think I could write to my family sometime?”

The words leave you before you can second-guess them, and you glance at her reflection in the mirror. Your eyes shimmer with unshed tears, the weight of the day finally pressing too hard to ignore.

“Of course, your Highness!” Sasha responds, her cheerful tone unwavering as though the answer were obvious.

“Anytime.”

Her reply is simple, yet it means everything. For a moment, your chest tightens, and you blink rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to fall. The thought of reaching out to those you love, a connection to the world you left behind, feels like the first sliver of solace you’ve found in this strange and unyielding place.

“Thank you.” You murmur, the words barely above a whisper.

Sasha beams, oblivious to the depths of your gratitude, and returns to arranging the folds of your gown. You watch her in silence, her steady hands a comforting presence in a moment otherwise filled with turmoil.

The crackle of the fire fills the room, blending with the rhythmic hum of Sasha’s work. But the quiet does little to still your racing mind. You know the dinner ahead is not merely a celebration in your honor; it is a stage upon which you will be judged, every glance and word scrutinized by a court eager to find fault.

And somewhere within the vast expanse of this palace, the Emperor waits. Silent, exacting, and watchful. You wonder if he, too, weighs the risks and rewards of this alliance as carefully as you do. Or perhaps, for him, this is merely another move in a calculated game of power.

You take a steadying breath and rise from the seat, the heavy skirts of your gown whispering against the polished floor. Whatever awaits beyond these doors, you cannot falter. You may feel like a stranger here, but tonight, you must wear the mask of an Empress.

The banquet hall hums with an intoxicating energy as you enter, the space alive with the mingling of voices and the glittering elegance of the Eldian court. Nobles drift like shimmering specters, their laughter and whispered intrigues filling the air. Servants move gracefully among them, trays of wine and delicate hors d’oeuvres balancing as if by magic. Above it all, magnificent chandeliers cast a golden haze, their light spilling over polished floors that gleam like liquid gold. Tapestries hang from towering walls, weaving tales of Eldia’s triumphs in rich, vivid hues, and elderflowers, pale and ethereal, adore every table, their fragrance a faint, bittersweet reminder of tradition.

Levi sits at the head of the table, his posture as sharp and unyielding as the gaze he sweeps across the room. His small stature contrasts with the commanding presence of the man beside him, Commander Erwin Smith, whose calm, charismatic demeanor feels as heavy as steel. You know of him; your father’s correspondent and a trusted architect of this uneasy alliance. Smith was the one proposing the marriage to Levi, the one who gave him the idea to buy peace by you and Mikasa. His piercing blue eyes seem to see everything, even your hesitation as you cross the threshold.

Your every step toward the Emperor feels like a trial. Whispers ripple in your wake, each one a thorn against your composure. Some voices are cruel, their words cutting deep.

“How dare she wear our colors?” One spits.

“She looks…unique.” Another murmurs, the faintest lilt of disdain tainting the remark.

The walk to Levi’s side stretches endlessly, your presence like a flame drawing every gaze. Their judgment is suffocating, and you can’t help but wonder if Princess Mikasa endures the same venom in Marley.

Levi’s eyes meet yours briefly as you approach, his expression carved from stone. His gaze flicks over your gown; a silent appraisal that leaves you unsure if you pass his standards. With a curt gesture, he indicates the seat beside him. You exhale slowly and sink into the chair, hoping against hope for his attention, some sign of acknowledgment.

Instead, Levi leans toward Erwin, his voice a low murmur almost swallowed by the din.

“She’s too shy.” He remarks, his tone matter-of-fact, his silver gaze briefly cutting to you before returning to his advisor.

“Too emotional. She’ll struggle in court.”

Erwin chuckles softly, his amusement reflected in his calm demeanor.

“Perhaps you should engage with her, Levi. A little charm might go a long way.”

Levi frowns.

“I’m not here to charm her. She needs to adapt.”

Erwin smirks, swirling his wine.

“Adaptation works both ways, my friend. A marriage is a partnership, after all.” Not that Erwin would know anything about marriage. The only woman he ever felt a spark of interest in has run into the arms of another Lord Commander years ago.

Levi doesn’t reply, though his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before dropping back to his plate.

“Is the capital of Eldia to your liking, your Highness?” Erwin’s question startles you, and you flush under the weight of his attention.

“Mitras is wonderful, Lord Commander.” you reply, your voice shaky yet earnest.

“It is a truly astounding city.”

Erwin’s smile deepens, though his next words cut deeper than you expect. “It must be daunting, marrying into a court of devils. Surely, it is not what you dreamed of.”

“Oh- uh, no, it’s not like that…” You stammer, the words catching in your throat. His sharp amusement only heightens your discomfort.

Before you can falter further, a gentle hand settles on your shoulder. You turn to find a woman of quiet grace, her presence a balm to your frayed nerves. Her dark hair gleams under the candlelight, and her features carry the unmistakable traces of Mikasa’s lineage.

“Come now, Commander.” She says, her voice soothing and warm.

“The Princess is overwhelmed. Do not add to her burdens.”

You recognize her at once; Mikasa’s mother, a foreigner like yourself who must have endured her share of icy receptions. Her kindness feels genuine, her touch grounding you in the chaotic swirl of the banquet.

The two of you talk, her voice like a soft current carrying you away from the storm of judgment. She speaks of her children, her younger son Prince Yamato, and her daughter Mikasa, whose stoic strength she clearly admires. You notice Mikasa’s father nearby, a quiet man with a kind smile, though his eyes hold a glimmer of resentment toward Levi. It’s easy to see why.

As dinner ends, the guests scatter, some to the dance floor, others to corners thick with whispered conversations. Levi approaches, his presence a shadow that draws your attention. Without preamble, he offers his hand.

“I would like you to meet someone.” He says, his voice as cool and steady as ever.

You follow him, weaving through the room until you reach a young woman with golden hair, her delicate crown catching the light. Her white gown, accented with gold, radiates regal simplicity.

“Historia.” Levi says, his tone softening just enough to signal respect.

The queen’s eyes brighten as she smiles, dipping into a graceful bow.

“Your Majesty.” She greets, her voice light as a song.

Levi gestures toward you.

“This is the Princess of Marley.” He says. He hesitates for a breath before adding: “My betrothed.”

“Welcome!” Historia cheers warmly, her gaze meeting yours.

“You must feel overwhelmed.” You nod, grateful for her sincerity.

“I do.” You admit softly. She smiles knowingly. “I felt the same when I came to court. But you will find your footing. It just takes time.”

Levi drifts away, leaving you in the queen’s company. Her kindness seems to extend to you effortlessly, and for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope. The daughters of lords soon join your conversation, their initial wariness melting as the evening progresses.

“Have you chosen a name yet, your Highness?” One of them, Lady Marie Louisa Dok, asks with genuine interest.

“A name?” You repeat, confused. Queen Historia steps in, her voice soft yet clear.

“In Eldia, queens and empresses take on new names as a symbol of their roles. My mother named me Krista, but I became Historia when I ascended the throne.”

The tradition feels both strange and symbolic, a shedding of the past to embrace the future.

“Popular names for Empresses are Maria, Rose, and Sina.” Lady Dok explains.

“But you could choose something more unique. A name that reflects your own story.”

You nod, a faint smile touching your lips.

“I’ll look into the history books tomorrow. Thank you for the suggestion.”

And for the first time that evening, you feel a small thread of connection, not just to the court, but to the history and traditions that you are now bound to.

The banquet winds down into soft murmurs and fading melodies as you excuse yourself, retreating to the sanctuary of your chambers. The day’s events weigh heavily on you, and the quiet solitude of your room feels like a balm to your frayed nerves. Though the conversations with Historia and her ladies were unexpectedly pleasant, the prospect of being alone offers a sense of relief.

You settle by the window, the moon casting its silvery glow over the sprawling gardens below. The faint laughter and music drifting from the banquet hall remind you of the life you’ve been thrust into, a world both foreign and suffocating. As your gaze lingers on the elder tree standing proud at the garden’s heart, your thoughts drift to the unsettling revelation of having to change your name. It feels like more than a tradition; it’s a shedding of identity, a quiet severing of everything you’ve known.

A knock disrupts your musings. Before you can respond, the door creaks open. The figure that steps inside is none other than Levi.

“Your Majesty.” You murmur, rising to greet him, unsure of the protocol for moments like this. He waves a hand, dismissing the formality with a quiet authority.

“Sit.” Hesitating briefly, you lower yourself onto the cushioned ottoman by the window. The tension in the room shifts when Reiner appears in the doorway, his expression taut with vigilance. Behind him, in the dim hallway, the imposing silhouette of Levi’s personal guard looms.

“Leave us.” Levi orders, his tone clipped. “You too, Mike.” Mike is the first to respond, saluting wordlessly and turning on his heel. Reiner lingers, his eyes flickering from you to the emperor, reluctant to abandon his post. But the unspoken finality in Levi’s command leaves no room for protest. With a stiff bow, your guard withdraws, the door clicking shut behind him.

Levi strides toward you, his movements deliberate, like a predator approaching its prey. He stops a few paces away, arms crossed, his sharp gaze unwavering.

“You handled yourself well tonight.” He begins, his voice low and measured.

“The daughters of my lords seemed fascinated by you. Foreigners always do have a way of capturing attention.” The comment, hovering somewhere between a compliment and an observation, takes you by surprise.

“Thank you.” You reply cautiously, unsure whether his words are genuine or strategic.

But Levi’s approval is short-lived. His gaze hardens as he continues, his tone sharper now. “Don’t mistake their curiosity for acceptance. There’s still much for you to learn.” The faint spark of warmth you’d felt quickly fades, replaced by the familiar chill of his critique. You bite back a retort, knowing it would do no good to argue.

“The court watches you.” He presses on, each word deliberate.

“Every gesture, every word is weighed and judged. You can’t afford to appear weak or uncertain. If you’re to survive here, you need to be stronger.” His words cut deep, yet they carry a truth you cannot ignore. The court’s scrutiny is relentless, and you have no choice but to rise to its demands.

“I will do my best.” You promise, your voice steadier than you feel.

Levi studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally speaks, there’s a trace of something softer in his tone, perhaps approval, or perhaps something else entirely.

“Good. Because failure isn’t an option. The futures of both our empires rest on what we build here.” His words linger in the air, heavy with implication. You nod, though a storm brews quietly within you.

Then, as if to soften the blow of his earlier harshness, Levi adds: “Consider your name carefully. Choose one tied to a former Empress or Queen, someone well-regarded. It could help with the court.” You’re about to thank him, but he turns toward the door. His hand lingers on the handle, and he pauses, glancing back at you. His eyes, dark and enigmatic, meet yours.

“And one more thing-” He speaks, his voice dropping into something almost intimate, yet disconcerting. “-I would prefer it if you didn’t choose one of the names tied to our three ‘holy’ walls. You’re no saint.” Before you can even process his words, he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him. You sit frozen in the silence that follows, your thoughts spiraling. His parting remark churns in your mind, heavy with unspoken meaning.

What was that supposed to mean?

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi #captain levi #aot fanfiction #captain levi x reader

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luxudus · 1 month ago

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PLANT STUDIES! all the way back in February I wanted to explore the anatomy and evolution of Irou's plant-life to differentiate them from earth plants. which led me down the rabbit hole of Speculative Botany and early plant evolution. Which led me out of that rabbit hole and into studying how to draw plants in general. Which is where I am now.

The bottom quintet of trees is from when I was actually figuring out how to even paint foliage progressing from left to right.

The top trio of trees were referenced from a set of photos I took at a Botanical Garden I went to back in march. Some friends helped me identify the first two trees being a Jabuticaba and possibly a day palm tree. The last plant I hadn't verified yet but I'm pretty sure it might be a jade plant/money tree (Crassula ovata) or at least a plant in that genus.

And lastly to throw a bone to the people here for my spec-bio. In the bottom left are two sophont sketches from my side project A Story of Our Universe. What do they share in common? Evolutionary speaking they're both more plant than animal.

The first sophont (left) we don't properly know their real name, we just call them Nightwalkers. Everything we will come to know about them comes from evesdropping on radio communication between various members of the Intergalactic community. What we will know though is that the Nightwalkers first evolved a staggering 8 billion years ago, during the very tail end of the first age of sapience.

They were one of the few Sophonts at the time to reach the stars completely on their own. And were one of the very few to be Initiators in first contact with the Eldest sophonts; the Factorem and Bellators. They lived their lives out their little corner of space, just outside the Hercules-Corona-Borealis great wall, some 10 billion light years away from us. They would eventually go extinct some 2-3 billion years ago, fizzling out in the aftermath of the Eldest Alliance's Death throes.

They evolved on a cold, dark, and damp planet that sat on the frost line of their sun's habitable zone. A World so dark it was said you could still see the stars even on the brightest of days, Which is where our name for them came from. The Nightwalkers themselves evolved from a kind of motile vine-like algae. which over hundreds of millions of years evolved bilateral symmetry, Hydraulic muscles and compound eyes from light sensitive leaves. They still retain plenty of floral features, cells with walls and vacuoles, A circulatory system derived from a "xylem and phloem". And an alternating life generation cycle of "Gametophyte" and "sporophyte" sexes.

The second sophont (right) we will come to know alot about. They aren't from some distant galaxy or lived and died before anything on our planet consisted of more than one cell. And we wouldn't hear them from the distant radio chatter of unimaginably larger civilizations. On the grander scale of the universe, the Thau'Lix evolve right on our backyard. They would be the only other sapient species to hail from the orion spur of our milky way galaxy.

Evolving on a ringed tropical planet covered in rainforests and geographically teeming with waterfalls. The Thau'lix evolutionary speaking, are also a form of plant native to their homeworld. Unlike the Nightwalkers who are as far removed from them as we are from the neotenous young of sponges. The Thau'lix are still very much a form of plant. Their lifecycle is split into two, the form you see here is derived from walking seeds, given hundreds of years of speciation to convergently evolve an animal-like form, an almost angelic one at that. They graciously soar their entire planet on 2 pairs of wings, foraging for fruits, leaves, and small prey, both of the walking seed and true "animal" varieties. And eventually for suitable ground to settle down and re-emerge into their adult form as a fast-growing trees that branch like chandeliers with Arcuate-veined Truncate-shaped leaves that take on a familiar green pigment.

It will take 100,000 years for us to make contact with the Thau'lix. By that time Our governments, cultures, languages and religions will have become near unrecognizable from what they are today. We will have explored and settled across thousands of worlds like home, all across the entire orion spur, we will have mastered our little corner of space. While the Thau'lix would be in their own paleolithic age, living in airbound nomadic hunter-gatherer communities. We are to them what the Eldest Sophonts were to the Nightwalkers, We will be their godlike benefactors. And they will see us as gods, deities of the night sky gifted with eternal youth, divine seedlings that will never age and sprout into our own trees. We would come to share with them bits and pieces of our culture and way of life that will change their future. We will become friends for centuries, and without warning we will disappear. We will tell them to keep the memories of us in their hearts, Carry on our torch, and to not shout into the cold quiet night, lest they hear them too.

Just like that they will be alone once more, we will be remembered as their gods, and only as gods, for at least a while. They will have to overcome their own problems and revelations. They'll learn not to fall for leaders with big claims and bigger desires for absolute power. They will explore the rest of the galaxy only to find that everything trailing their home planet is seemingly missing of habitable worlds, a great hole of planet-bound colonization. And they will eventually learn about the true nature of their old gods, and have to come to terms that the Ancient Alien conspiracy theorists were fucking right all along.

The Thau'lix will carry the torch, the spirit, of humanity. Not us, not anymore.

#my art #artist on tumblr #art #speculative biology #alien species #worldbuilding #sophont #plants #art study #tree art #plant art

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fr0stf4ll · 10 months ago

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Forge of Starlight - Part 4

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 5k

warning; /

notes; heyy, I hope that all of you are doing fine ! Here is part 4, pretty calm chapter but I think that you will like it ;))) To be honest I'm already done writing the story, I might change some details because I'm still not really happy about some parts but the overall storyline is finished. Otherwise don't hesitate to comment or ask to be on the tag list ;)) I'm always super happy to see your feedbacks and comments on the story. See you soon, bisous bisoussss

here is the link for part 3 or part 5

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Wrapped in the warmth of a thick, fur-lined cape, you made your way through the vast and unforgiving landscape that led to the Winter Court. The journey had been long, the cold biting at your skin despite the layers of wool and leather beneath your armor. Your boots crunched through the snow with every step, the sound a constant reminder of the icy terrain you traversed. The fur trim of your cape brushed against your face, shielding you from the harsh winds that howled through the mountains.

Your outfit was designed for both warmth and practicality—leather pants tucked into sturdy boots, a long-sleeved woolen tunic layered under a thick, high-collared vest, and over it all, the heavy cape that provided not just warmth, but protection from the elements. The fur-lined hood of the cape was pulled low over your brow, keeping the icy wind from nipping at your face. Gloves made of soft, supple leather protected your hands, though your fingers itched for the familiar feel of your weapons.

The landscape around you was breathtakingly beautiful, despite its harshness. The snow-covered mountains rose like jagged teeth against the clear, cold sky, their peaks piercing the heavens. The ground beneath your feet was a blanket of pristine white, unmarked by any sign of life save for the occasional tracks of a snow hare or a fox. The air was crisp and clean, filling your lungs with a chill that was both invigorating and biting.

As you neared the Winter Court, the terrain began to change subtly. The trees, tall and ancient, were dusted with snow, their branches heavy with the weight of winter. The air grew colder, the wind sharper, as you approached the heart of Kallias’s domain. The palace, when it came into view, was a marvel of ice and stone, a structure that seemed to rise organically from the frozen earth itself. Its spires glistened in the weak sunlight, the walls shimmering as if carved from a single massive block of ice. It was both awe-inspiring and foreboding, a testament to the power of the High Lord who ruled within.

As you entered the grand hall, the cold air seemed to intensify, but you were prepared for it. Your breath misted before you as you walked, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the ice-encrusted walls. The interior of the palace was no less magnificent than its exterior—glittering chandeliers of ice hung from the ceiling, casting a cool, ethereal light across the room. The floors were a mosaic of frosted tiles, and the walls were adorned with intricate carvings that depicted the history and power of the Winter Court.

Kallias awaited you at the far end of the hall, his tall, imposing figure clad in robes of pure white, trimmed with silver. His eyes, as cold and sharp as the winter wind, met yours as you approached, and he offered a nod of acknowledgment.

"Y/N," he greeted, his voice as icy as his surroundings. "I trust your journey was without incident?"

You inclined your head in respect. "It was, High Lord. The Winter Court is as beautiful as ever."

Kallias’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "It is. And I am eager to see the weapon you have forged for me."

With a practiced motion, you unclasped the leather strap that secured the long, narrow case at your side. Carefully, you lifted the lid, revealing the weapon within—a glaive, forged from the finest steel, its blade gleaming with an icy blue sheen that seemed to capture the essence of winter itself. The hilt was intricately designed, resembling the ancient, snow-laden trees of the Winter Court, with delicate, frost-like etchings that trailed along its length. At the base of the hilt, a crystal embedded in the pommel caught the light, glittering like freshly fallen snow.

Kallias’s eyes gleamed with appreciation as he took in the sight of the weapon. He stepped forward, his gloved hand reaching out to grasp the hilt. The glaive fit perfectly in his hand, its weight balanced, its craftsmanship flawless. He swung it once, the blade cutting through the air with a sharp, crisp sound that resonated through the hall.

"It’s exquisite," Kallias said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You’ve outdone yourself, Y/N."

You bowed your head slightly, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’m glad it meets your expectations, High Lord. It was an honor to craft something for the Winter Court."

Kallias’s gaze lingered on the weapon for a moment longer before he turned his icy eyes back to you. "It more than meets my expectations. It surpasses them. You have a gift, Y/N, and I’m fortunate to have been able to commission such a weapon from you."

There was a moment of silence as Kallias continued to study the glaive, the air between you filled with the mutual respect of two artisans—one of ice, one of steel. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly.

"You must be tired from your journey," Kallias said, his tone shifting to something more cordial. "Please, stay as my guest. You are welcome in the Winter Court as long as you wish."

You inclined your head again, appreciating the offer. "Thank you, High Lord. I may take you up on that, but I must return to the Night Court soon. There are other matters that require my attention."

Kallias nodded in understanding. "Of course. But for now, rest. My stewards will see to your needs."

With that, he handed the glaive back to you, and you secured it once more in its case. As you followed the steward who had been summoned to lead you to your quarters, you couldn’t help but marvel at the power and grace of the Winter Court—its beauty, its cold, unyielding strength. The journey had been long, but the successful delivery of such a finely crafted weapon made it all worthwhile.

As you were led to your quarters, you wondered what the days ahead would bring, knowing that whatever challenges lay before you, you were more than prepared to face them.

After a much-needed rest in the luxurious quarters provided by Kallias, you found yourself summoned to dinner with the High Lord and his wife, Viviane. The invitation was delivered with the same formality and grace that characterized the Winter Court, and you dressed accordingly, choosing an outfit that was both practical for the cold and respectful of the occasion. You opted for a tailored, high-collared tunic in deep blue, paired with fitted leather pants and sturdy boots designed for both warmth and movement. Over the tunic, you wore a vest of finely stitched leather, its dark hue matching the rich blue of your tunic, and lined with fur for added warmth. A thick, fur-lined cloak draped over your shoulders, adding the final touch of protection against the biting cold.

The dining hall itself was as magnificent as the rest of the palace, with walls of ice that seemed to glow in the soft candlelight. A grand table made of polished, dark wood stood at the center, set with fine crystal and silverware that sparkled under the light. Kallias and Viviane were already seated when you arrived, their regal presence filling the room with an aura of quiet power.

Viviane greeted you with a warm smile, her blue eyes sparkling with kindness. “Y/N, it’s a pleasure to have you join us. Please, sit. I hope the accommodations were to your liking?”

You returned her smile, inclining your head respectfully as you took the seat offered to you. “Thank you, Lady Viviane. The accommodations were perfect—your hospitality is most generous.”

Kallias nodded in agreement, his expression calm and composed. “We are glad to hear that. You’ve traveled far, and your work has been extraordinary. You deserve the best.”

As the first course was served—a delicate soup made with winter vegetables and fragrant herbs—you found yourself relaxing into the atmosphere. The warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth, combined with the rich scents of the food, created a sense of comfort that was almost surprising in the cold grandeur of the palace.

As the meal progressed, Kallias leaned back slightly, regarding you with an inquisitive gaze. “Tell me, Y/N,” he began, his voice casual but laced with curiosity, “are you finally settling down? It’s not often we hear of someone as skilled as you staying in one place for long.”

You smiled softly, nodding as you set down your spoon. “Yes, I’ve returned to my roots. I’ve settled back in the Night Court, where I grew up. It feels right to be back home, even after all the years of traveling.”

Kallias’s eyes sharpened with interest, though he remained composed. “The Night Court, you say? And how has that been? Is it… a unique place, from what I’ve heard.”

You nodded again, careful with your words. “It’s been a good experience, returning to the Night Court. It has its own charm, and I’ve found a certain peace there that I didn’t realize I was missing.”

Viviane, ever the gracious hostess, leaned forward slightly, her gaze warm. “It must be wonderful to return to your roots after so long. I can imagine it offers a sense of stability, something to hold onto.”

“It does,” you agreed. “After years of traveling and crafting for different courts, it’s good to have a place to call home again.”

Kallias seemed to consider this for a moment before his expression shifted slightly, a more contemplative look in his eyes. “Y/N, do you see yourself as a blacksmith for the rest of your life?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment before responding. “I’ve dedicated most of my life to the craft. It’s something I’m deeply passionate about. But… I’ve also wondered if there’s more I could do, especially now that I’m settled in one place.”

Kallias nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing something in his mind. “With your skills and the relationships you’ve built across the courts, have you ever considered becoming an emissary? You already have a good rapport with most of the High Lords, and your experience is invaluable.”

You blinked in surprise, the idea not one you had expected to hear. “An emissary?” you repeated, trying to imagine the shift from blacksmith to diplomat. “It’s not something I’ve considered before… but I suppose it could be an interesting path.”

Kallias was about to continue when he seemed to catch himself, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course, that’s a matter for Rhysand to consider. While our relations with the Night Court are… decent, I’m not one to aid in growing another court’s power.”

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, and you couldn’t help but smile in return. “I understand, High Lord. And I appreciate the suggestion, though. It’s something I’ll have to think about.”

Viviane reached out, placing a gentle hand on Kallias’s arm. “Don’t mind him, Y/N. He’s always thinking three steps ahead, even during a simple dinner.”

Kallias chuckled softly, inclining his head. “Indeed, but it’s worth considering. Your talents shouldn’t be confined to one craft alone, no matter how extraordinary it may be.”

The conversation continued in a more relaxed manner as the evening wore on, the three of you discussing everything from the beauty of the Winter Court to tales of your travels. Despite the formality of the setting, there was an ease to the dinner that you hadn’t anticipated—a warmth that contrasted pleasantly with the cold elegance of the palace.

As the dinner came to an end, you felt a sense of satisfaction not just from the meal, but from the knowledge that you were appreciated here in the Winter Court. The suggestion of becoming an emissary lingered in your mind, a seed planted by Kallias that you knew would take root in the days to come.

For now, though, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, grateful for the hospitality of the Winter Court and the new possibilities that lay ahead.

Later that evening, after the dinner with Kallias and Viviane, you found yourself back in the comfort of your room. The luxurious quarters were warm and inviting, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as you settled into a plush chair by the window. The view outside was breathtaking—a serene expanse of snow-covered mountains under a clear, starlit sky. The quiet beauty of the Winter Court seemed almost surreal after the intense conversations of the day.

As you stared out at the snow-draped landscape, your thoughts began to drift back to the events that had transpired before your journey here—specifically, the night with Cassian. The memory of his broken wings and the dark curse that had infested his body sent a shiver down your spine. You had dealt with injuries before, but nothing quite like that. The sight of Cassian in such a vulnerable state, combined with the pressure of having to save him, had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

You couldn’t help but wonder how Cassian was doing now. Madja was a skilled healer, but the curse had been something different—something darker and more insidious. You hoped that your efforts, combined with Madja’s expertise, would be enough to see him fully recovered.

But your thoughts didn’t linger on Cassian for long. Instead, they wandered to Azriel—his overprotective reaction when you mentioned your journey to the Winter Court. You had been taken aback by the intensity in his eyes, the way his voice had tightened with worry when he insisted that you couldn’t go alone. It was unlike him, or at least unlike the composed, stoic Azriel you had come to know.

A small blush crept up your cheeks as you recalled the way he had draped his jacket over your shoulders before flying you home. The warmth of the leather, combined with his proximity, had stirred something in you—a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. Azriel was undeniably attractive, with his dark, brooding looks and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to see right through you. But more than that, he was one of the most skilled warriors in Prythian, a member of the Inner Circle, and someone who carried a weight of responsibility that few could comprehend.

You let out a small sigh, feeling a mixture of admiration and frustration. Azriel was everything you weren’t—an elite warrior, trusted confidant of the High Lord, and part of a circle that wielded immense power and influence. What were you, in comparison? A blacksmith, skilled in your craft, but still just someone who worked with metal and fire. You had traveled far and gained respect across the courts, but it was hard to shake the feeling that Azriel was somehow out of your league.

You couldn’t deny the attraction, though. Every time you thought of him—his calm presence, his quiet strength—it sent your heart fluttering in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. But you reminded yourself that someone like Azriel wouldn’t be interested in you, not in that way. He was dedicated to his duties, and you… you were just a blacksmith.

Still, the memory of his protective concern lingered, the way his eyes had softened slightly when he insisted on flying you home. It was a gesture that spoke of something deeper, something that made your heart ache with longing.

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away. It was foolish to dwell on such things. Azriel was a friend, and that was enough. There was no sense in imagining something that could never be.

But even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help the small, wistful smile that tugged at your lips. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to Azriel’s concern than simple duty. Perhaps there was a connection there, one that went beyond the roles you both played.

With a sigh, you stood and walked over to the window, staring out at the endless expanse of snow and stars. The Winter Court was beautiful, but your mind was already drifting back to Velaris, to the Night Court, and to the people who had become an unexpected but welcome part of your life.

And as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held—for you and perhaps most of all, for Azriel.

——

Back in Velaris, the shop was quieter than usual. Without the rhythmic clang of metal on metal or the hum of the forge, the space felt almost too still, the usual lively energy dampened by your absence. But that didn’t stop Alex from doing his best to keep things running smoothly. He was darting between customers, expertly answering questions and showcasing various weapons with the kind of enthusiasm that belied his young age. Stellan, your faithful direwolf, was sprawled out near the counter, watching the activity with an expression that could only be described as long-suffering patience.

A particularly persistent client had been lingering in the shop for the better part of an hour, his eyes darting around as if expecting to spot you at any moment. He was a tall, lanky man with a nervous energy, and he had been pestering Alex incessantly.

“Are you sure she’s not here?” the man asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his tone edging on desperation. “I need to speak with Y/N directly.”

Alex, who had been maintaining his polite demeanor with admirable restraint, forced a smile that was beginning to strain at the edges. “As I’ve already mentioned, sir, Y/N is currently away on business. She won’t be back until next week.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as if Alex were trying to trick him. “But I really need to speak with her. Can’t you just call her? Or maybe she’s in the back?”

Alex’s forced smile twitched, and he muttered under his breath, “On the name of the goddamn Mother, I’m going to hit him.” He forced his voice back to a more polite tone as he said, “I’ve already checked, sir. She’s definitely not in the back. And no, I can’t call her—she’s in the Winter Court. They don’t exactly have a postal service for emergencies.”

The client frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. “But this is important! Can’t you at least take a message?”

“Sir,” Alex said, his voice straining to maintain its politeness, “I’ve taken five messages from you already. I promise I’ll give them all to Y/N when she returns. But for now, there’s really nothing more I can do.”

The man didn’t seem convinced and opened his mouth to argue again, but Alex had reached his limit. He could feel his frustration bubbling up, and he was just about ready to scream when the shop door swung open with a loud creak.

In walked Cassian and Azriel, both of them cutting imposing figures as they strode into the shop. Cassian’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, and Azriel’s intense gaze swept over the scene, quickly taking in the situation.

The persistent client froze, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the two warriors. Cassian’s expression was one of barely concealed amusement, while Azriel’s was much cooler, a silent but clear warning to the man that he was pushing his luck.

“Is there a problem here?” Azriel asked, his voice light but with an edge that sent a shiver down the man’s spine.

The client swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Azriel’s presence. “N-No, no problem at all,” he stammered, his previous determination evaporating. “I was just… uh… I’ll come back later.”

With that, the man all but bolted for the door, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to leave the shop. The door slammed shut behind him, and the shop was suddenly filled with silence, save for the faint crackling of the forge in the background.

Alex let out a long, relieved sigh and leaned against the counter, wiping a hand across his brow. “Thank the Mother for that,” he muttered.

Cassian chuckled, walking over to ruffle Alex’s hair. “You handled that well, kid. He was lucky he didn’t push you any further—looked like you were about to go feral.”

Alex grinned up at him, his earlier frustration melting away. “I was close, really close. But thanks for the help! Can I interest either of you in a fine sword? Or perhaps a dagger? We’ve got some new arrivals that are really top-notch.”

Azriel, who had been leaning casually against the counter, let out a soft chuckle. “Not today, Alex. We’re not here to shop.”

Cassian, still grinning, shook his head. “Yeah, as tempting as it is, we’re actually here to see if Y/N’s back yet. We wanted to check in and see how things are going.”

Alex’s face brightened at the mention of your name. “Oh! No, she’s not back yet. She should be here by tomorrow, though. I haven’t heard anything from her, but she always keeps her word.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Good to hear. We’ve been worried about her, especially after everything that happened before she left.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly at the mention of recent events, but he remained quiet, his gaze drifting around the shop as if lost in thought.

Alex, ever the perceptive one, caught the shift in Azriel’s demeanor and quickly changed the subject. “But hey, if you want, I can show you some of the stuff she’s been working on! I know she’s got some special orders that are almost ready. You might even find something you like.”

Cassian laughed, clearly charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm. “Maybe another time, Alex. We’ll just wait for her to get back. But thanks for the offer.”

Alex nodded, a little disappointed that he couldn’t make a sale but still pleased that the two warriors had stopped by. “No problem! I’ll let her know you were here as soon as she gets back.”

“Thanks, Alex,” Cassian said, giving the boy another affectionate ruffle of his hair before turning to leave. Azriel followed, but not before giving Alex a small, almost imperceptible nod of appreciation.

As they walked out the door, Alex watched them go, a satisfied grin on his face. Stellan, who had been observing the entire exchange with his usual calm, gave a soft huff as if to say, “Finally, some peace and quiet.”

Alex glanced down at the wolf, chuckling softly. “Yeah, I know, boy. It’s never boring around here, is it?”

Stellan’s only response was to close his eyes and settle back down, clearly content now that the shop had returned to its usual, slightly chaotic but always interesting, routine.

As Cassian and Azriel stepped out of your shop and into the bustling streets of Velaris, the evening air was cool and refreshing, carrying with it the scents of the city—freshly baked bread, the distant aroma of spiced meats, and the crisp tang of the Sidra River. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the cobblestone streets and the elegantly curved buildings.

Cassian glanced over at Azriel, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, you didn’t have to scare the poor guy so much back there. He practically ran out of the shop.”

Azriel shrugged, his expression unreadable as usual, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He was being persistent. Alexander was close to losing his patience.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of life. “True, true. That kid’s got more fire in him than most people twice his age. But I have to admit, it was fun watching you in action. You’ve always had a knack for that brooding intimidation.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched slightly. “It wasn’t intentional. I just wanted to make sure the shop was running smoothly while Y/N is away.”

Cassian’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of Y/N… you’ve been pretty protective of her lately, haven’t you?”

Azriel’s step faltered for just a moment, but he quickly recovered, keeping his gaze focused ahead. “She’s been through a lot. We all have. I’m just making sure she’s safe.”

Cassian chuckled, clearly enjoying this line of questioning. “Come on, Az. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been watching out for her. And don’t think Rhys didn’t told me the way you reacted when she mentioned going to the Winter Court alone.”

Azriel’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes darkened slightly. “It’s my job to protect the people in this court, Cassian. You know that.”

“Sure, sure,” Cassian replied, waving a hand dismissively. “But this feels a little more personal, don’t you think? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Azriel remained silent, his gaze focused straight ahead as they continued walking. The streets of Velaris were alive with activity—couples strolling hand in hand, children playing, vendors calling out their wares—but the conversation between the two warriors seemed to create a bubble of quiet tension around them. Cassian, always one to lighten the mood, decided to press a little further.

“You know, Az,” Cassian started, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “it’s not like that little kiss she gave me means you’re out of the running.”

Azriel shot him a sharp look, his eyes narrowing. “That wasn’t a kiss, Cassian. She was removing a curse. You know that.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Hey, I’m just saying—if you’re worried about competition, don’t be. That ‘kiss’ doesn’t mean you’ve lost your chance.”

Azriel shook his head, resuming his walk. "It's not about that. Y/N deserves someone... better.”

Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically, catching up to Azriel with a few quick strides. "Oh, here we go. The 'I'm not good enough' spiel. Az, you’re one of the most honorable males I know. You're brave, loyal, and let's not forget, you have that brooding mysterious thing going on that females seem to love."

Azriel shot him a skeptical look. "Being 'brooding and mysterious' isn't exactly a selling point."

"Maybe not for you," Cassian quipped, "but trust me, it's working. Besides, Y/N isn't the type to be swayed by titles or power. She values character, integrity, and someone who sees her for who she truly is."

Azriel sighed, his gaze distant. "Even so, with everything in my past, the things I've done... I don't want to burden her with that."

Cassian placed a firm hand on Azriel's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Listen to me. We all have our demons, our shadows. Y/N included. But that doesn't mean we don't deserve happiness. You can't keep punishing yourself forever.”

"She is… different. She’s strong, independent. She’s been through so much, yet she doesn’t let it define her. I admire that.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She is all of those things. And she’s got a good heart. But, Az, you know it’s okay to feel something more. You don’t have to keep everything locked away.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might brush off the conversation entirely. But then he sighed, a sound that was barely audible but heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s not that simple, Cass. She’s… well, she’s remarkable. But she’s also tied to things I don’t fully understand. And after everything… I’m not sure it’s right to complicate things further.”

Cassian looked at him, his expression serious for once. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. Sometimes, it’s okay to just… let things happen. If there’s something there, you’ll figure it out. And if there’s not, well, at least you won’t have any regrets.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, but Cassian could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, Azriel murmured, “I don’t want to be a distraction for her. She’s got enough to deal with, especially after what happened.”

Cassian grinned, though there was a note of understanding in his voice. “You’re not a distraction, Az. If anything, you’re probably one of the few people who can help her with whatever she’s dealing with. And, just so you know, she’s not out of your league, no matter what you think.”

Azriel remained silent, the internal battle evident in his eyes. The bustling sounds of Velaris seemed to fade as the two friends stood in the midst of the crowd, locked in a moment of understanding.

After a beat, Cassian grinned, attempting to lighten the mood. "And besides, if you don't make a move, I might just have to swoop in. You know, for the sake of not letting such a wonderful female go unappreciated."

Azriel snorted, a rare genuine laugh escaping his lips. "I'd like to see you try."

Cassian winked, clapping Azriel on the back. "That's the spirit! Now, how about we head to Rita's and grab a drink? Maybe by the time Y/N returns, you'll have mustered up the courage to tell her how you feel."

Azriel smirked, his shadows swirling playfully around him. "Only if you're buying."

"Deal," Cassian replied, leading the way with a swagger in his step. "But remember, the next round's on you, especially if it gives you the liquid courage you clearly need."

As they made their way towards the river, laughter and camaraderie enveloped them. Yet, beneath the teasing and banter, the seeds of self-reflection had been sown in Azriel's heart, leaving him to ponder the possibilities that awaited with your impending return.

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#a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #cassian #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #rhysand

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 2 months ago

Text

Embrace The Dark Shades Of Life

Summary: The Addams Family Adopts Azula

For @subterraneanwatcher who has good taste in characters and put this idea in my inbox

She doesn’t know where she is or how she got here, doesn’t remember. But the people welcome her so readily. They are a terribly strange bunch and they call themselves the Addams.

She meets Wednesday first. She’s cute enough to a person who finds flutterbats and the like cute and Aula supposes that she does…not that she has ever put much thought into that sort of thing. She certainly has more of a connection to those sinister beasts that make people scream. Wednesday is a smart girl—Azula can see the intelligence in her eyes. Her eyes had been the first thing that Azula had seen when she opened her own to take in this strange new world that she finds herself in.

The girl had loomed over her. Poked at her, called to her brother to say that she had found a dead body.

Wednesday's brother, Pugsley, a plump boy with a bizarrely pleasant face. The boy has a cheerful nature to him that seems to contradict his macabre interests. The ones that his parents are more than happy to indulge.

His parents are pleasantly strange themselves. There is the darkly charming Gomez with his well groomed mustache and his flowery speech. And there is the woman who introduces herself as Morticial. She is tall and sleek with an angular face and long dark hair. Her makeup is striking and dramatic. With a pang in her heart, Azula acknowledges that Morticia reminds her of a more morbid Mai.

The manor that the woman welcomes her into smells of expensive perfume–likely an iris and rose blend, velvet, old leather, dust, and oak wood. It is gloomy and richly furnished with things that Azula has never seen before. There is a chandelier with candles of glass that flicker like the real thing. There are lamps whose shades are made of lace and full of dust and webs. Upon the bookshelves, between ancient tomes, are jars of specimens such as detached tentacles and toad eyes as well as polished stones and bat and wolf bones. The wall is decorated with grim photos–black and white family portraits hang alongside paintings of burning bodies and skeletons wearing dark cloaks and holding scythes. The creaky halls are lined with full suits of armor in a style unlike anything in the four nations. They also keep instruments of torture and display them as plainly as a kitchen table or a sofa. Most of the sofas in this house have white sheets thrown over them despite being used often.

The Addams are kind enough to her but the manor is terribly unsettling with all of its surprises—a detached and fully sentient hand and plants that may or may not have an appetite for human flesh.

“Settle yourself in, darling.” Morticia says after the tour is through. But for as lovely as the woman is, Azula doesn’t think that she will be able to do so. Not with the floorboards groaning the way that they do and the tree branches that scrape like screeches against the windows. She nods regardless, “I’ll try…”

The woman offers a warm smile. “If there’s anything that I can do to make you more comfortable, don’t be shy about requests. Perhaps you would like a cup of tea or some warm milk. Pugsley does like his warm milk, especially when there's a fly or two floating in it!”

Azula crinkles her nose.

“You don’t like flies in your drinks, dear?”

Azula shakes her head.

“Well that’s alright, we all have our own taste. More for Pugsley then.” She pauses in the doorway. “Gradmama makes the richest teas. I will have Lurch bring you a cup.”

“Who is Lurch?”

“Our butler. He is the most polite gentleman that anyone could meet—so long as they don’t meet Gomez.”

The woman practically swoons over his name and Azula finds herself wishing that she could meet someone who would speak of her like that.

“Have a gloomy night and dreams most dreary.”

Azula might have found herself offended had she not already taken a tour of the house. It is plenty clear that Morticia is bidding her the finest night of sleep that she could ever get. For all of the manor’s curious creaks and groans, the bed that she has been given is wonderfully plush. It smells a bit like stale perfume but the blankets are made out of fabrics just as fine as the ones that she had slept under in the palace. She swallows hard at the thought of home and the life that she used to know. The life that had slowly been slipping away from her anyhow.

She does have dreams most dreary, but not the kind and elegant sort that Morticia had wished her.

.oOo.

Azula can’t say that she has quite settled into this new place just yet. Although Morticia and Gomez are going very far out of their way to make her feel welcomed. So far out of their way that they have asked her to draw her old room so that they can construct an exact likeness to it, assuring her that they are perfectly alright with her ‘eccentric’ tastes in furnishing. “I do love a cuddly dragon!” Gomez had remarked with such enthusiasm that she fully believed that they don’t mind her clashing taste at all.

And while Morticia couldn’t find a single firelily seed to plant she had given a call to a cousin who had reached out to his fiance’s friend who is, from what Azula understands, “a biologist and a phenomenal bio engineer.” And this friend of a cousin will be working to alter the genes of a tiger lily to produce flames.

She doesn’t have the heart to tell any of them that they have misunderstood what a fire lily is. She is also quite curious about what type of flower they will plant for her.

Presently she stands in a garden that is mostly withered and wilting with overgrown grass and fountains that spray more moss than they do water. Smoke still trails off of her fingers from lightning discharged.

“Wednesday, come look at this!” Pugsley calls. And to Azula he shouts. “Do it again!”

“I am…” She reminds him, “...a princess.” She holds her head high. “Do not order me around or I will show you my lighting up close and personal.

The boy seems to perk up. “Really!?”

Azula gives a stiff nod. “Yes, indeed. Which would be a shame because I like your parents.” So maybe she won’t fry the boy but she will surely shock him a good one.

“Wednesday, she’s going to zap me!” He cries out.

And Azula cringes. She glances over her shoulder at Morticia and Gomez who watch them from across the garden. Although watch is a bit of a stretch. Morticia is rather invested in the rose that Gomez tucks behind her ear—thorns and all—with a loving pur. She breathes a sigh of relief.

Wednesday wanders her way over. “I’ll get the chains.” She says.

“Chains?”

“So he can’t get away.” Wednesday nods. “He likes the silver ones the best. The big iron ones are too heavy.” She pauses. “He’ll grow into them.” And just like that Pugsley is bound good and tight. “Now then. Let’s begin.” She clasps her hands behind her back.

Pugsley shoots her a goofy grin. “Make it a good one!”

Azula clears her throat. “I will have you know that my lighting is always superior.” She lets it dance upon her fingertips. She brings it precariously close to his nose and waits for him to twitch. Instead he giggles.

Azula sighs. He isn’t even slightly intimidated.

In fact he groans in disappointment when she withdraws her fingers.

“Just so you know, I am not being nice or merciful. Your disrespect of me will be punished. However I will not waste my lightning on you. Lightningbending is a very complex and highly regarded art. It isn’t to be used for silly games and party tricks.” She declares with a tilt of her chin. She clasps her arms behind her back. “I used it to strike the Avatar down and…”

Pugsley giggles again. “You’re really weird.”

Azula’s eye twitches. “And you smell like a moldy carpet!” She pinches her nose for good measure. Her heart lurches when a shadow falls over her. Two of them, in fact. She grits her teeth. “Listen I was just—”

“Isn’t she just precious?” Morticia gushes to Gomez.

Azula furrows her brow. “Wh—”

Gomez clasps an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t hold back on him now. Everyone loves a good verbal sparring! A battle of wits is an underrated form of combat.” He concludes.

For once Azula’s heart swells with delight. Ursa certainly would have scolded her for a remark like that. Would have demanded that she treated her brother with respect. Nevermind that Zuzu takes jabs of his own now and then. “You aren’t…I’m not in trouble.” She sounds like a child and she hates it.

“Well of course not! It’s perfectly healthy for children to play outside.” Morticia answers. “And such a creative game too!”

Gomez nods. “Indeed. Innovating lightning into playing hostage. Pugsley makes a remarkable upcoming criminal doesn’t he?”

“He’s an absolute menace.” Azula grumbles, thinking of the tin full of spiders he had left on her bedside in place of mixed nuts and dried fruits. She can still feel them crawling up her arm.

“Oh he sure is!” Morticia agrees.

.oOo.

The poor darling is so quiet and weary. Morticia pats the spot on the sofa next to her. She will get the girl to feel at home yet.”

“Pugsley and Wednesday had a fantastic time today. They simply adore you.” Morticia compliments.

And Azula’s brows furrow. “They did? They do?”

Morticia nods. “Well of course. Pugsley is absolutely delighted to have met someone else who enjoys electricity as much as he does. He and Wednesday are constantly playing execution; she straps him to an electric chair and he pretends to be a criminal giving his final words! But Wednesday gets tired of playing the same game over and over again. She would rather read her books.” She pauses, hoping that she isn’t boring the girl. “I’ll have to ask her to read you some Edgar Allan Poe one day. Have you heard of him? Do they read his works where you are from?”

Azula shakes her head. “No. But there is a poet named Ryo-Hi. He has some thoughtful poems about dragons but I don’t really care for that sort of thing.”

Morticia hums. “Well you’ve never heard an Addams family poem!” She says. “We have poetry slams every 14th day of the month. Gomez has a way with words. You’ll have to join us one day.”

Azula swallows and Morticia can tell that something is on her mind. Home, perhaps. “My dear, if you don’t want to stay with us just say the word and we’ll reach out to Uncle Fester to see if he can come by a device that can transport you…”

“No!” Azula says abruptly. “I…I don’t want to leave. I don’t think that I want to leave.” She bites her lower lip. “I don’t really have many friends where I came from. The think that I’m…” She trails off. “Morbid, cruel, a monster.”

“Oh, darling, they are right; it sounds like they love you very much!”

Azula shakes her head. “They aren’t like you. Monster and morbid aren’t terms of endearment.”

Pursing her lips, Morticia replies, “well that sounds absolutely drab.”

She shrugs and is silent for a moment before adding, “I guess.”

Morticia feels rather inclined to embrace the girl, but she remembers her mentioning something about not being the hugging sort.

“Well our family, finds you to be wonderful company and we’ll be glad to have you here.” Gomez promises as he enters the room. “The children wanted to play catch with a hornets’ nest before supper. Lurch will fetch them when it’s ready.”

Morticia nods. “Thank you, mi cariño. I would hate to cut their fun short.” She turns back to Azula. “Would you like to be an Addams?”

.oOo.

“Azula Addams does have a satisfying ring to it, I suppose.” And it would be awfully nice to be a part of a family that delights in her cynicism, witticisms, and sarcasm. To have a mother who still calls her a monster but with a very loving coo.

“Well that is splendid news!” Morticia takes her hand. “I will let the children know that you will be staying with us. They were hoping that you would be an older sister to them.”

Azula’s stomach flutters. “I never got along with my own brother.” She confesses. “Pugsley is much less whiny.” And much less preachy. And while her mind is on the topic of preachy… “what’s uncle Fester like?”

Gomez puffs his chest. “Ah yes! Good ol’ uncle Fester. An extraordinary man, he is. He’s a lot like you in that he’s got a way with electricity! I think that he would love to see that…what is it called?”

“Lightningbending.” Azula fills in.

“Lightningbending! He would love that a lot. He’s a practitioner of martial arts as well—kung fu to be precise. Your lightningbending looks a lot like that, you know.”

Azula tries not to grin too widely at the thought of having someone to firebend with. “Just wait until you see my firebending.”

“Firebending, well that sounds extraordinary.” Morticia replies. “Perhaps you can show us your firebending at the dinner table.”

“At the dinner table?” She almost comments that it is poor manners to do any type of bending at a dinner table unless the setting is a dinner theater. She bites her tongue, reminding herself for at least the sixth time today that things are very unusual here. “At the dinner table, of course.” She folds her hands in her lap.

She is going to have a lot to get used to now that she has been more or less, officially welcomed into the family.

She can’t imagine that they will be impatient with her. And she thinks that, that is just what she needs; patience and a group of people who don’t demand perfection from her. People who, in fact, delight in imperfections and notable flaws.

And maybe, here with these curious, darkly inclined individuals, she can find a comfortable and kinder place is a world that wasn’t her own but suits her much more.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #the addams family #morticia addams #wednesday addams #gomez addams #pugsley addams #crossover #fanfiction #one shot

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valentine-cafe · 4 months ago

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˖⁺. ﹙ the charming vampire liuetenant x gn reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . that's the kind of love !! 🍒 : vampire ˖ lieutenant ˖ dilf﹙ verse 781 vespasiano. ﹚

vespasiano taking you out on a little dinner date <3 cw: some slightly suggestive themes

Imagine Vespasiano taking you out on a dinner date, where he arrives at your house precisely when he tells you he will, picking you up in his vintage car. Bouquet of your favourite flowers settled in his lap, with that devilish smirk pulling at his face.

Long sturdy digits move up to pull down the pair of shades that concealed the beautiful emerald hues you could get lost in for hours. All so he could look at you with clear sight.

“Your hair’s tousled dolcezza.”

“Well on such short notice I got a bit frantic dolling up.” You jab back at him with a teasing grin. Scrunching up your nose as you get in.

The ringed fingers of his left hand grips the steer a little harder, as the aroma of your perfume wafts throughout the car. Oh that lovely fragrance, you put this one on tonight with the intention of hypnotizing him. He knew it.

You know how wanting it leaves him, like a thirsty man looking for an oasis to lap away at.

That’s fine, if that’s the game you’re playing, he’ll play along.

With the click of a tongue, followed by a whistle and heated elevator looks, he responds to your little jab.

“You sure? Were probably in bed thinkin’ about me in a few other ways.” He chuckles. Clicking your seatbelt in.

Thwacking him on his chest, your face burning, you wait for him to drive.

“You and your filthy mouth.” You murmur in response, biting down at your bottom lip.

A groan rumbles through his chest: “You love this filthy mouth.”

Imagine the carride over to the restaurant. Loud singing in the car together, his right hand finding your thigh, while his left steers the car. The roses in your lap when you find a quick spot to pull over and makeout because there was still enough time to get to the destination you were headed to.

And when you finally get to the restaurant, he offers you his hand to aid you out of the car, whereas you accept and step out into the dimly lit streets, full of lights to counter the darkness of the night.

“What a place you’re taking me to.” You chirp, pressing a kiss to his hand while looking around at the place.

A beautiful restaurant, with people chattering inside of it happily. While some kids look out at you both to point at the car behind you.

It doesn’t take long before you’ve both headed inside to order. A couple’s meal, one of your favourites this time. And as you wait for the food, you can’t not take a little look around the beautiful interior.

Chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, champagne coloured walls with soft brown curtains, fading into creamy maroon reds. The panels around shaped with the most awe striking details you’ve ever seen. While the floor is marble, full of golden streaks that lead towards the entrance of the place. Branching out into a large tree to greet the guests who enter to take place by it’s roots.

“The interior here is beautiful, how do you even find these places Vesp?” You sigh, leaning against the cream coloured sheet of the table, smiling at him with shimmering eyes.

“I need to find places that match you, no?” He chuckles, taking a small sip of his wine. The stem of the glass held between his fingers so delicately you almost feel envious it isn’t you he’s touching like that.

“Charmer.” You tease back.

“Naturally.” He says, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back into his chair to look around, then up at the tree of roses. Oh, that was exactly why he took you here. This tree in specific.

And you? You follow his gaze the longer you notice it has strewn to a different destination than where he previously oogled.

“I still can’t believe they have a Edenera rosalisinia here. . .” It truly is the centre of the attention throughout the room. The rose of Eden, is what it would be called usually, but the scientific name always scratched a part of your brain that you, yourself, couldn’t really explain as to why.

Woven around itself with a beautiful trunk of wood that would easily remind one of Sakura. The flowers that drop from the branches of the trees act as its leaves.

Each flower is shaped differently but with the same base: bloomed roses linked with hibiscus bloomed from it’s own core. While the last of the flower drops into what looks like the lily of the valley holding the hibiscus pollen stem. You could get lost in the shapes of it and stay lost forever if that was a viable option.

And yet, you have to snap out of your daze, when a pair of digits find purches on the side of your cheek, turning your eyes to look into your lover’s.

“I had to,” he sighs, fingers moving away to wrap around one of your hands. His lips tickling each and every tip of your fingers.

“Don’t forget to eat your dinner, might get cold.”

You immediately look down and see the plates of dinner standing on the table, before your eyes pan back up to the man in front of you. Eyes squinted and your lips pulled into a smile.

“Bastard.

#﹙ cupcake rush. ﹚: vespasiano 781 𖹭 ݁#monster boyfriend #teratophillia #vampire x reader #monster fucker #terato #monster x reader #oc x reader #monster oc #x reader #reader insert #original character x reader #lieutenant x reader #gn reader #vespasiano 781 #asterism

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hishumanbelle · 5 months ago

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DESIRE.

Another year had passed and at the Hazbin Hotel they were preparing for New Year's Eve. The magic of Christmas had left its presence; the opened presents, the ruined and unwrapped boxes still under the tree in the living room, the decorations in sight and lights that seemed like intermittent sparkles. Everything was splendid. The other members of the hotel were happy and, for the first time, even serene despite the recent extermination that had left only chaos in the Infernal city, without forgetting the violent past between Angel and Valentino. Everything was silent, serenity had returned to reign. With those guys you practically felt at home. Charlie had become your best friend, you shared the same enthusiasm and undead positivity, but Vaggie didn't seem bothered by your bond. With Angel, on the other hand, just an exchange of spicy jokes was enough to enter his heart. You didn't share his passion for drugs, nor the fact that he was Valentino's subordinate, but you didn't consider him guilty, believing that he had his reasons for making such compromises; but he loved you very much, becoming brothers, always ready to confront each other and laugh like idiots, you knew you could count on each other. The Christmas week had passed TOO quickly. You helped Charlie as best you could, also having a certain "hobby" for setting up, so she accepted without pretensions, nor knowing well what to imagine. Those days were really hard for you, and together with Husk you renewed the look of the Hotel. The entrance was decorated with black walls with several glitters that, under the lights, looked like little shooting stars from the sky; the same thing on the ceiling, the flashes were magnificent. You replaced the chandeliers that were in the Hotel, too modern and… bland, with real chandeliers. At the entrance a golden chandelier but not very exuberant, ancient, decorated with drops. Moving forward, there was the rectangular portal that divided the entrance from the living room. You had painted the frame gold-like brass and in the corners you had placed a garland with lights and colored Christmas balls; the living room had been painted dark red, darker than burgundy, with a white ceiling and a gold-edged frame decorated with a nineteenth-century motif. You had arranged a tree over 2 meters tall in that room, near the central black fireplace, where you had decorated leaving some logs of wood to make it more real. Above the fireplace you had decorated again, placing antique gold and silver candlesticks with scented candles of cinnamon, gingerbread and apple, orange and vanilla mixed with Bourbon. Ah, those smells gave a whole other atmosphere. The tree was a real pine, which you had decorated with more than 5 thousand lights, making several turns on each branch and making it truly a forbidden sight for the others, which you only let them see after having finished the preparation.

You wanted Christmas to be magical for everyone, especially for the unluckiest ones who hadn't experienced one, Charlie included. She was born in Hell, you wanted her to feel its warmth at least once. You also brought an old gramophone to the living room with several Christmas jazz and pop records, some garlands and other lights to decorate the rest of the furniture. In the center, a splendid, very old chandelier, baroque, with a cascade of diamonds and decorated with bright gold on several levels; it stole the entire scene, so you decided to put a round carpet and a grand piano right under it, for anyone who wanted to play it with Christmas choirs and carols. Wow, everything was taking shape. The magic was starting to be felt. You went on for several hours before finishing the entire hotel and every room of each member, making the tree for each of them and touching up where necessary; except for Alastor's room, where you didn't dare enter, especially without his consent. As a final touch, under the Christmas tree, also decorated with different green, gold, gray, red, red and white balls, etc… you left 3 gifts underneath for each, also for Alastor. You left some more for Husk and Niffty who helped you with the preparations and the renovation and for the service of appetizers and drinks. Not content, you also put some Christmas boxes decorated with lights to make the atmosphere even more delightful! The guys had a lot of fun, the gifts were much appreciated and Charlie had even cried endlessly for all the work you had done. She found it splendid and gave you a long, incessant hug. Everyone's eyes seemed warmer and you could feel their hearts tighten for the love you made them feel, their laughter and smiles not forced but coming from the soul. Alastor, on the other hand, was sitting alone on the armchair in the corner, and he stared at you all evening holding the cup of coffee, Whisky or the newspaper in front of him to avoid being seen. Apparently, he really thought you were stupid, but he didn't know that you 'sensed' the feelings or emotions of others. A punishment for being too empathetic in your earthly life, but you were happy that this characteristic of yours hadn't changed in the Underworld. Alastor was acting strangely, his presence was more… 'cumbersome'. On Christmas Eve, after seeing that fabulous piano, he asked you to accompany him with a Christmas carol. For the duration of the song, you did nothing but look into each other's eyes, and in his expression there was something strange that you had never noticed. After the chorus, your cheeks reddened from the insistence of Alastor's gaze, but you blamed it on the alcohol, and your eyes wandered far away around the room. He got up from the stool, took your hand and gently brought it to his lips, leaving a delicate kiss, barely touching your skin. Bringing your hand down, he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something to you, but with a movement of his lips he smiled again and left. The following days, Alastor would suddenly appear and practically stick to you, but before you could ask him why, he had disappeared into the shadows. On New Year's Eve, you were in the kitchen preparing appetizers and traditional dishes for each culture belonging to the other members of the Hotel, as well as their favorite dishes, or at least… you tried. Alastor appeared behind you. His chest was pressing against your back, but you didn't turn around, also because you were unable to. Heavy shivers ran through your entire body. He stepped back slightly to allow you to turn around, his eyes shining and admiring the culinary masterpiece you were preparing. In his presence, you felt a tingling sensation pervade your body, making you nervous, perhaps due to the fact that you had to start preparing his favorite dish, but you didn't want to do it in his presence, so you asked him to leave. The smirk on his face changed into a look of doubt and disappointment, but Alastor accepted the request.

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You started cooking, but you didn't know that his shadow was spying on you. He ran from one corner to another, recording all your movements and features, above all, he studied your expressions. You didn't see him, but he saw you. He admired the lines that he so wanted to trace with his sharp fingers, the full, plump lips that he ardently wanted to kiss, he looked at your cheeks, curious to bite them as if they were the forbidden fruit that chased Lucifer from Heaven. And your hair that smelled of currants and musk, which was one of his favorite perfumes. Your long golden brown locks, that he so wanted to caress, intertwine his fingers, curl them. Alastor became serious again, incredulous of thinking in his mind of those ridiculous things. So, a few moments later, you heard his voice. "Why do you do this?", he asked with a hint of bitterness, incredulous at your effort and his to be close to you without 'ruining' you. "What a nuisance… Because I care about you like I do care about them", you replied. "Oh yeah. Me? Me who am the most evil overlord and was a ruthless serial killer on earthly life?", he paused. He came closer, taking your chin between his fingers so that you looked at him in the face. "How can you care about such a mean person capable of only doing harm? Maybe you are not so different from me, hm?". His words were heartbreaking, but they were true. How could you care about a being incapable of feeling love? Your eyes remained lost in his, your brain was trying to think of an answer, any answer, but nothing, his eyes were too far inside you, they dug inside you and gave you no way to think. He was right. Your body swayed beneath him, trembling, water filling your eyes. His grip became softer and his expression a more pronounced smirk. He abruptly removed his hand from your chin and, turning his back to you, walked away. It took you a moment to recover but, in your heart, you knew that no matter what Alastor would do, you would always be there for him. There was an interest in him. Despite everything. Despite him. Despite him not knowing it. Even if he was a murderer and a cannibal, you thought he had his reasons, that he must have been a victim before he was a perpetrator, and fate had punished him egregiously. You shook your head to clear your thoughts and get back to working on his dish, the Jambalaya, and there his hands rested possessively on your hips.

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"Deborah", he said in a deep voice. "Alastor", came out in a broken, singing voice. Tears had run down your cheeks, and he turned you, bringing his face close and kissing them away one by one. His thin lips were so soft. It was the first time he had come so close to you, so intimately. His tongue traced the path of your tears, erasing the pain he had caused you. It was salt on the wound he had inflicted, and those tears, after all, were for him. As a good sadist, he took pleasure perhaps in seeing expressions of pain on your face, they were nourishment for him. The blood boiled in your veins at the touch of his silky lips. Flames flared where his lips stopped. You could feel yourself burning. You tried to keep yourself under control and not to pant, even though you felt a desperate need to, your ribcage going crazy at the beating of your heart that was pounding it to the bone. "I've been an asshole", he whispered, looking at you and standing a few millimeters away from your face, bent and hunched over. "We're all used to it", a light smile echoed on his face. Then, he took your hands, twirled you around and guided you in preparing the Jambalaya. His closeness was overwhelming. Your hands touched and intertwined. He smiled and laughed genuinely, between one chat and another. Your movements were coordinated and any excuse was good to continue touching skin to skin, both of you unable to ignore that longing to want each other, but you thought it was just a way of provoking you. You had never seen him like this. Once the dish was finished, you looked at each other. Eyes languid and sparkling. You smiled at him, and he did the same. It was a long moment, almost eternal. Your eyes went down to his lips, tempted to want to lose yourself with him, in him. You were so intoxicated that he was oxygen to you. His fingers were still intertwined with yours and you were the first to remove them. A flash of lucidity pervaded your mind, your smile disappeared and your serious expression returned, your eyes that so longed to get lost and drown in his, returned to solid ground, looking elsewhere. Alastor also stiffened at your drastic change in mood. "We're done", you said in a detached voice, "thanks for helping", you said with your back turned to him. Alastor came closer to you again, standing to the side so he could access your personal space. "Thanks to you", he lowered himself slightly and his lips crashed onto your warm and soft cheek. "You. It's always been you…", he sneered, walking away without finishing.

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Niffty entered the kitchen while Alastor went out to help you with the rest of the New Year's Eve dinner, to set the table. A walnut table had been placed in the living room, a green, red and gold tablecloth was the master, on it there were atmospheric candelabras and candles, garlands with lights and small Christmas figures colored and made the table more festive. Niffty and you had set up the whole table, arranged the places and, with the sound of a bell, had gathered everyone for dinner! Of course, you had also thought of the fireworks that would surely have pleased the other sinners, and reminded them of life on earth. Everyone ran to their seats, Alastor had been placed near Husk and distant from you, but he asked to change places with Angel who would be sitting in front of you. The boy was not happy to accept, but he didn't dream of asking why, he simply accepted because Alastor was becoming creepy and his eyes were turning black. When they were all seated, Charlie demanded their attention by hitting the glass with her fork to celebrate the end-of-year and beginning-of-year speech. Once the toasts began, everyone started eating! The dishes were spectacular, spicy, colorful, you could feast your eyes on them! Everyone congratulated you and Niffty for your magnificent work. Meanwhile, Alastor kept his gaze on you. He himself stretched out a tentacle from under the table that reached you, rubbing itself on your waist and thighs. 'I need to put my hands on her, I have this strange need for her', thought Alastor, but he couldn't at that moment, nor would he have wanted to, because it would have meant taking you down with him, destroying you completely because of what he was, a monster. And he knew you would break trying to reciprocate his feelings, if you ever truly reciprocated. The thought fascinated him, but he hadn’t noticed that, as he thought it, he had started to growl and drool a few drops, while his tentacle had wrapped around your thigh and had even managed to enter the elastic of your skirt, rubbing against the red lace panties you were wearing. He could feel the heat and the wetness, and that was enough to drive him even further out of his mind.

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Sir Pentius nudged him to bring him back to normal, while you pressed and pushed, moving your hips towards his tentacle, without arousing suspicion, to get more movement and pleasure. Your cheeks were tinted light red, plump and velvety like a peach. Alastor stiffened because of the bulge that was growing in his pants. More and more swollen and hard for you. "I- I hav-", he almost panted. "I have to leave for a moment", he said trying to regain control of the situation and of himself. He teleported to the bathroom in the hall, forced the door open and threw himself in, slamming it and double-locking it. Everyone looked at each other and was shocked, having never seen him in that state. You remained suspended between pleasure and torment, the tentacle having vanished with Alastor. Your clothed and wet pussy was deprived of pleasure, spasming around nothing and slightly aching from the pain of the interruption. With one hand you fanned yourself because of the heat that was oppressing you. Alastor was banging his fists on the door violently that could be heard all the way to the living room. "Ahhh! She drives me crazy! She has to be mine, I want her to be mine!", he screamed between the walls of the bathroom. Impatient and mad, he pulled out his cock. A gasp escaped his lips and, for the first time, his smile faltered. His eyebrows furrowed and torment made its way onto his face, contaminating it. You had insinuated yourself too deeply inside him, and he couldn’t even explain why, or how it had happened. "Ah- D-Deborah, I have sinful thoughts about you, even worse when I’m without you". He brought one of his hands to his cock and began to move it up and down, his eyes fixed on his member and his hand shaking it, in disbelief of what he was doing and the reason that drove him to do it. You made him hungry like an animal. You made him strong but at the same time weak and vulnerable. Alastor’s emotions were at odds and he was truly losing his mind because of you, going haywire as his needs for you were more… carnal and spiritual, something he had never experienced in centuries. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, his hand faster and faster, his mind racing imagining that the pressure he was exerting was actually created by his doe's lips. "Ah—ah—", his breathing more labored. "D-Deb—", he stifled his moans with one hand, thinking back to having left you unsatisfied and interrupted your pleasure. Having abandoned that warm, never desecrated place that was supposed to be his alone, his sacred, immaculate temple. At the thought of having touched your lace panties, he felt like he was dying again, he had been close to Heaven even though he had never seen it.

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A shiver ran through his heart and his spine. Alastor tried to regain control and free himself from his erection, returning to sit at the table with the others. Sitting down, his eyes returned to you, still sitting in front of him. "Excuse me for my behavior, I was distracted", and everyone went back to toasting and eating. You looked down at your plate, never looking at Alastor, which did not please him. He returned to teasing you, his tentacle returned inside your skirt and pantyhose but remained outside of your thong, he wanted to be the one to enter you. Another gasp escaped his lips at the thought of possessing you from the inside, at the thought of his cock moving between your soft, inviting and warm walls, at the thought of filling you with his seed and possessing you completely, in a sacred and intimate way, of the self and of their deepest self. This thought consumed his mind. Should he distance himself from you? You were poisonous, dangerous. His mind was no longer safe, nor his heart. It made him an uncontrollable beast, and, even worse, he knew, because of his past as a murderer, that he could hurt you, but that was not what he wanted. As the days, weeks, months passed, Alastor had realized that he was developing some kind of feeling towards you. He didn't know what it was, but, naively, he thought it was control. A toy to possess and play with, he hadn't yet understood that, in reality, you already lived inside his chest in place of his heart. A heart that, if he thought about it, he would have given you without hesitation. Alastor realized, despite himself, that he was yours even before you were his, from the first moment, from the first day he saw you arrive at the Hotel and met your doe-like gaze, with your big amber eyes and your fluffy black and brown ears, freckles that gave color to your face and your lips, ah, those lips, that damned smile. Alastor felt pathetic thinking about all this when he was dead, even worse thinking about being one of the strongest Overlords. He felt human again, but then you looked up and looked at him, and his mind completely clouded. He went back to you, to that electricity you two felt for each other even if you weren't touching, but even a blind man could have realized that you were mutual magnets and that anyone could feel your belonging, except yourselves. The intensity was so strong that his erection and your excitement turned you on again. Alastor's tentacle, never out of your skirt, resumed rubbing and circling at your entrance and pressing delicately on your clit, and with another tentacle he rubbed on your protuberance, unable to hold back with what he felt of you, with the expressions he was intoxicated by of yours. Your mind was becoming more and more clouded, your eyes were starting to tremble and go back in your skull, your lips were tightening to avoid panting in front of everyone. Alastor was hugging the table, resting his elbows and hunching his shoulders. His eyes fixed on your face, which had become his favorite portrait. He wanted to be close to you, to be able to feel you, to feel the electricity that was raising your skin, to feel you shivers, to feel your velvety skin. He wanted more. He wanted everything. He wanted YOU, you as only a murderous cannibal can want: completely. Totally. Greedily. In control under him. He wanted to see you damn for him, come for him and him alone, know that he was the only one like you were the only one who made him feel this way.

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Alastor began to think that you were his hellish sentence. Your name came out and hung on his lips like a prayer and he thought that somehow, saying it, could save him from the end of himself. Alastor wanted to consume you, he wanted to eat you, but not with his teeth, with his heart, his soul. He wanted to taste you, eating you with kisses, making your tongues dance in each other’s mouths, he wanted to savor every inch of your skin and he wanted to know your taste, sliding inside you with his tongue and licking you from the inside, where no one else would ever enter except him. You were his precious treasure, but only he was the key, and the two of you guarded each other. "Ah, f—", he sighed, his pre-cum dripping from his tip as he thought, imagined, and as he felt your wet through your panties. The stain barely stained his pants since there was a layer of underwear in between that acted as a divider. He soon realized that he couldn't continue, otherwise the situation would end worse and he couldn't go around with stained pants, nor lose control over the orgasm he would feel, convinced that he couldn't hold it back since he hadn't felt one for over 100 years, even before he died. Yes, Alastor indulged in the carnal act only once, out of curiosity and it was during his adolescence. The problems and the family situation had shifted his focus and interest elsewhere, into murder and cannibalism. He didn't have time for that nonsense, he thought. And now that he was dead, he found himself overwhelmed by these sensations. He had never felt the need to feel burned for a person before, but you were different, you had something special that captured him, he felt your effect completely as in a love spell; instead it was you, your essence and your genuine goodness, your interest in music and technology, your modern charm in contrast with your vintage essence, your being a pianist and saxophonist, as well as a singer. Alastor began to think that you had been created especially for him, and had to be his only. You had ended up in hell for a reason, for him, otherwise he couldn't explain how you could be in that horrible place that was not at all in keeping with your external and internal elegance. You jumped up from your chair and ran to the bathroom. The guys looked at each other, Alastor did too, so as not to arouse suspicion. "What's wrong with her?", he asked Charlie, but Charlie just shook her head not knowing what to answer. "I'll go check", she said. Alastor was about to interrupt her to propose himself, but he realized that he wasn't suitable for the general situation. He nodded in her direction and gave her a fleeting glance, sending his shadow to check. You were locked in the bathroom and crying, completely desperate for the situation and for what Alastor was doing. You thought he was making fun of you because you was naive and had just been in Hell, but, above all, because you didn’t know what to think of him. Everyone, from day one, warned you about him and how cruel and ruthless he was and how he treated others. Only to the members of the hotel he didn’t do anything because they were under Charlie’s wing, but maybe with you, it was different, because you had just been in Hell and no one cared about your safety. What made you feel worse were your feelings for him. You found Alastor charming, charismatic, intelligent, interesting. His appearance was wonderful, that silhouette of his and his narrow waist, his ears soft like yours and his eyes… those red eyes were your torture.

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You imagined them around you, you searched desperately for them in the city when he wasn’t there, you demanded them on you… "ah—", you sighed in the bathroom with a hand over your mouth so as not to be heard. "A-ah-Alast—", his name escaped your lips as you touched your clit with your fingers, pressing them over your lace panties. You wanted to keep the desire to feel him inside, you wanted him to really do it, so you stayed on the surface. The heat grew stronger and stronger and your legs began to tremble, with your abdomen also starting to spasm. Your orgasm was overwhelming you and you couldn’t help but say his name like a prayer. Alastor was there, somehow, and he could hear you. The grin he made was indescribable, a smile of satisfaction. "Impatient girl", he said with a sigh, "you will be punished for not having thought of me too". Charlie knocked on the bathroom door, "Debh, it’s Charlie, are you okay? I heard you crying", she said worried. "Charlie, yes, I’m fine… I’m coming, give me a minute". You quickly got up and dried yourself and washed, also fixing your hair and clothes, you also had some perfume with you that didn’t hesitate to use, then you left the room, "here I am". Charlie hugged you, "shall we go back?", and you went back to the table. Alastor got up and went to Vaggie who was sitting on the other side of you and asked her to change places and Charlie looked at her urging her to accept, since they would spend the night together anyway. The two changed places and your heart began to beat hard in your chest, to the point that you thought it would come out of your rib cage. Alastor turned to you, "are you okay, my doe?", he asked in a deep and warm voice. "Y-yes, thank you", you answered in a faint and thin voice, almost a sigh. Alastor’s hands fell on his lap and he twiddled his thumbs, to pretend to be normal; then, unexpectedly for you, he moved his hand to your thigh. His grip was strong and his claws pinched your flesh; initially he remained on the outside, then, seeing that you reacted in the way he expected, he moved to your inner thigh. Shivers ran along your bodies, Alastor could feel your thighs tighten around his hand, the heat you gave off that radiated and penetrated inside his body, his bones. The two of you exchanged a few words in the meantime, and, once dinner was over, you got up to go to the bar as it was still early to celebrate. You talked, discovered each other. The intensity of Alastor’s gaze scared you, it seemed like he could read your soul, those rubies… Alastor raised his elbow and drank several glasses, becoming tipsy, he walked around the room and returned to you with mistletoe between his horns; he looked at you, smiling and winking, and approached you again. With his hands he took your face between his fingers and brought his lips close to yours. "Don’t move, I want to try something", he sighed. The words were a gentle caress on your lips and Alastor moved closer and closer, his mouth crashing into yours very softly, as if you were a fragile creature capable of breaking and he was your guardian who only wanted to protect you. "Deborah, Deborah, Deborah… you drive me crazy. You kill me. I love you. God, I love you. With you it's like being between Heaven and Hell, you're my tempting Devil", your noses rubbed and your foreheads were against each other; while Alastor spoke, Whiskey's warm and smelling breath ended up directly in your face. You didn't know what to believe, what to think. Those words made your heart skip a beat, but you thought it was just the alcohol… so you didn't give it much weight. Alastor stared at you again, as if you could disappear from under his hands at any moment and devoured you again with a more intimate and ferocious kiss. Kissing you he realized that it was that hunger that consumed him so much, the need and necessity to be close to you, forever.

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His tongue explored your mouth looking for you to join in a dance of a still unknown feeling that united you: love. No. Something much stronger than love: desire. Both wanted to live each other to the point of feeling each other to the bone, you needed to feel each other under the skin, to tear it with the bites of your mutual hunger of longing. The flame that nourished him was the same that nourished you, the two had found each other and fallen in love from the first moment, like the sudden and atrocious fall of lightning. The other guys approached the bar and the two of you separated, too mature to be seen in that condition. Alastor was exasperated, and the more he looked at you, the more he didn't know what to do with you. Lucifer approached you to exchange a few words, your mutual company was pleasant and you found many topics in common to share, he said he found you interesting and inspiring for many of his works. But Alastor, oh Alastor, was very jealous of what was happening. Your attention had shifted completely to Lucifer who continued to look at you with languid eyes and to talk incessantly, and you laughed amusedly. The sound of your laughter had to be something forbidden to others, Alastor thought, wanting to keep every emotion of yours completely his. He had to be the mirror and reflection of your emotions, which he wanted to be only yours. Only his company had to and could fill your life. The agony was so much… too much… "go away", Alastor said bitterly in a low growling voice. "Leave her alone, go away", his gaze completely hidden by his red tuft, his ears were flattened back. Lucifer looked at him bored, "don’t give me orders, I’m your king". Alastor threw himself on his neck and started to strangle him. "Go away I said!!!", and you intervened to separate them. "Alastor, stop! Please, stop! He’s not doing anything wrong. I understand, you want to talk to me… leave him and let’s go talk. Please", you said in a shocked voice, touching Alastor on the cheeks. Your eyes begged him and he gave in. Lucifer fell to the ground and coughed loudly, "piece of shit! Be thankful that you are a dear friend of Charlie and Deborah, otherwise you would have already died", he shouted angrily, and Alastor hissed back. You grabbed Alastor’s hand and rushed him to his room. "What the hell is wrong with you?!", you shouted in exasperation. "You can’t make fun of people like that and believe that they are all in your presence or do whatever you want to them. We all have feelings, including you apparently. If you need to talk, you know that we are here for you, we are your family", Alastor turned his head to the side, his expression frowning because, due to his earthly traumas, he couldn’t really believe those words. "Talk to me… or to us. Just... talk", you said looking him sadly. Alastor turned to you, "I’m not good with words, I don’t want to show weakness", he said, advancing towards you. With one hand he twisted his fingers in your curls, inhaling your scent. "You’re so good for me", he said closing his eyes. His body pressed against yours and he pushed you onto the bed so that you lay under him, with his hands he blocked your wrists and with his tentacles he blocked your legs, keeping them open. "Mine. I want you to be mine", he said, gripped by feelings, his eyes completely black and blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Alastor opened his pants and pulled out his cock that was already hard, "and to think that I’m not even in heat. This is YOU who has this effect on me", his free hand moved to your hair, pulling it back to expose your neck. "Only YOU have this power over me", he said as he licked and sucked your neck, but he wanted more, he wanted to 'taste' you and, without asking, his sharp teeth pierced and penetrated your flesh and Alastor was struck by a sweet frenzy.

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He continued to suck while the blood gushed out copiously, you were hypnotized by the pain and pleasure of that scene, making sweet moans escape from your lips that allowed Alastor to become even more excited. With one hand he tore your clothes and with the other he took his cock in his hand, rubbing it towards your slit and pressing it against your clit. "Alastor, no, stop. You're not in the right condition, please", you began to cry, but Alastor didn't stop; on the contrary, he thought that in this way your body would belong to him forever and that no one would ever come near you because of this. He continued to rub and press it, your clit was already responding to the electric spasms that he caused. "Ah-Alastor, stop!", you screamed and cried, scared of him and not believing him capable of doing such a thing. Alastor looked into your eyes, and saw only an expression of fear and humiliation, his daily bread. His hips began to thrust, but he didn't enter right away, he entered with the tip first, slowly in and out of your pussy. Alastor gasped, "mine, mine, you are only mine, no one else's. And I'm going to rape you", his hips pushed harder, pushing his entire cock inside. You screamed in pain and tears continued to flow down your face. Alastor fed on those expressions, with one hand he gripped your hair while his entire body pressed against yours, his face brushed against yours and he kissed you where the tears landed. His hips thrust harder and faster, his cock rubbing between your spongy, puckered walls, as it swelled as you approached orgasm. His thrusts pressed against your cervix, making you let out a few gasps that you tended to cover with your now free hand out of embarrassment. "Don’t you dare", he hissed, moving your hand away. "I want to feel you. I want to see you cum", Alastor said as he moved his fingers away and began fingering your clit. "Ah-Deb—", he panted, growling, "don’t squeeze like that, DON’T SQUEEZE LIKE THAT!", he said as your pussy tightened around his cock as he felt you getting wetter and tightened, your body a single trembling spasm, your breathing more and more frantic as your heart was pounding. "Alastor, stop! I don't want to—", you said, crying and throwing your head back from the strong intensity, Alastor immediately took advantage of this to tighten his hand around your neck and his orgasm followed yours, his hips thrusting harder and faster until he reached your most sacred spot, and his seed spurted, filling your womb deep inside, even though you didn’t want it. You two looked at each other and Alastor remained inside you to enjoy the sensation, his face came closer to yours, "tell me you understand that you are mine", he whispered to your ear. "I do", and the tears returned. "I have always been yours, since we first saw each other. I have always wanted you and imagined you this way, I could fall in love with you, there was no need for you to go that far. You humiliated me and took away the thing which I treasured. You are a bastard!", you said screaming and starting to tap on him. Alastor was mortified, he did not imagine this reaction and that you could fall in love with him. He looked at you with fear, not being ready to lose you, and realizing that he has ruined your first time and your relationship, maybe forever.

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