#also long tongue merchant?

[matchbet-allofthetime]

okay but what's the point of making Merchant fanart if he's not a little creepy?

just a bit Not Right?

i need him with too-wide of eyes and a too-wide smile, teeth too sharp and scars a bit too deep.

i need him with a roman or arched nose of some kind, curved and gorgeous

blue eyes? don't care, you turn the lights off and they go orange-red.

take off the mask? he's got facial scars and you can see some of his teeth even when his mouth is closed.

open his mouth? he'll let out a few long, evidently inhuman tongues and wrap them around your wrist while he grins.

him once he sheds the coat? has a bit of heft and fluff to him, OR he's INCREDIBLY skinny and just ever-so-slightly disproportionate because it's MERCHANT

he's GOTTA be fuckin' creepy, 'tis what makes him so gorgeous tbh

in both the original and the remake, he was always somewhat OFF in so many ways despite being so friendly.

[silkjade]

alhaitham x mermaid!reader (3)

⤀ warnings: fem!reader, no pronouns mentioned, reader has hair long enough to be pinned a/n: recommended to read the previous parts first, since this is a direct continuation next ﾉ series masterlist ﾉ bonus (18+) ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

When you first step foot into Sumeru City’s grand bazaar, you're immediately taken aback by the atmosphere. It's too loud, feels too stifling — a far cry from the vast and silent depths of the ocean, or the peaceful serenity of the forest. Even port ormos, had at least a lovely sea breeze. But you've come so far, it'd be a waste not to experience this lively city to its fullest.

“This necklace should only be worn by someone as beautiful as you!”

“Ditch those drab clothes and come see this new fabric from Liyue!”

“I guarantee these sunsettias are sweet like you!”

"Can I buy you a drink tonight?"

It's already a little dizzying to be so far inland, but the way all these humans vie for your attention, on top of the musicians and screaming children in the background… it’s a lot to take in so suddenly. Covering your ears helps a little, but not nearly enough to drown out the cacophony. You don’t even care to react when a strong arm wraps around your waist and leads you away.

Alhaitham guides you towards an isolated corner nearby, shooting a glare at any who dares look your way. He speaks to you in your native tongue; his pronunciation has become near flawless with your help.

“Are you alright?”

Both your head and your heart seem to settle a bit at the familiarity.

"It's a little much is all... just need some time to adjust."

To play it safe, Alhaitham removes his soundproof earpieces, placing them on you instead, and switches it on to the lowest setting. He's no fan of the noise either, but he's used to it; he'll be fine.

"Oh isn't this beautiful? And i'm sure it'll look even better on me!"

Alhaitham rolls his eyes. You're gushing over a hairpin while he stands beside you, arms full carrying assorted jewelry, trinkets large and small, a carpet, and a basketful of zaytum peaches. Mermaids and their vanity and their affinity for pretty things… at least you’re helping the local economy.

However, there’s currently only one issue and it isn’t the mora — it's the merchant who has him blacklisted.

"That'll be two million mora for the hairpin."

Now that he cannot justify. It's well crafted and beautifully embedded with crystal ore, but definitely not worth even half of what dori is asking for; only a fool would pay that price. Underhanded as it may be, he manages to swipe a similar hairpin that peaks out from under the large pile of accessories. Besides, all the times lord sangemah bay has overcharged him on information sales is far from a mere two million mora.

Dinner at Lambad’s is interrupted by a trio of colorfully clad men who seem to be on familiar terms with Alhaitham. You had always read him as more of a loner, and had seemed to be correct in your assumptions until now.

"I have some business to attend to, but I'll be back shortly. In the meantime, these are my... acquaintances. You can trust them."

“Would it kill you to call us your friends?” says the intimidating, purple one.

The blonde one laughs into oblivion when he sees Alhaitham leave with his arms full of your many purchases in tow.

…

“Ah, so you’re a diver. There’s a specific deep sea coral I’ve been dying to study, but it’s been impossible to get a sample. Would you be interested in working together? I'll be sure to compensate you well.”

You agree to Tighnari’s proposal; it would be no trouble as the dragon bone coral he speaks of is easy to find if you know where to look. Across the table, Cyno let's out a chuckle.

“You sea…,” a pause for dramatic effect, “you said ‘sure’ which can also be construed as ‘shore.’ As in, the land along the edge of the sea.”

Kaveh orders a round of firewater shots to drown out the pain of cyno’s terrible sense of humor. Unfortunately, alhaitham returns to find out you’re quite the lightweight.

…

He carries you on his back all the way home, listening to your drunken rambles along the way. You seemed to have had fun with his friends, but there’s a corner of his mind that can’t help but wonder if you now find him boring in comparison.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Wanna know a secret?” you slur, giggling. “I enjoy the time I spend with you the most.”

With that said, you nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck and Alhaitham feels his face heat up all the way to the tips of ears. Mermaids are proud and rarely ever reveal their true feelings, so he counts himself lucky to have heard yours. Your soft breathing tickles his skin. He’s glad you’re asleep now, knowing that you would’ve teased him again otherwise.

Once home, Alhaitham sets you on the living room divan before leaving to prepare the bath. The aforementioned business he had to attend to, was purchasing salt. In bulk. He figured you’d need saltwater to rehydrate, as it’s been a few days since you’ve last been in any water. And a saltwater bath would surely be less of a hassle to deal with than a shriveled up mermaid.

The way your legs meld back into a tail is mesmerizing, especially with how your scales shimmer to life in the water. It quickly sobers you up. He’s about to leave but…

“Not even going to keep me company? I stayed with you all night at the cove you know.”

There it is. Alhaitham turns back around just in time to see the little grin on your face, as you rest your arms along the edge of the tub while your long tail hangs over the other end. He doesn’t know much of mermaid physiology but it’s enough to assume the saltwater, makeshift as it may be, has successfully sobered you up.

“I’m going to bed. You should get some sleep as well.”

“But I’m not tired.”

“I am. Goodnight.” And he leaves. Though eventually, he does return with a stack of books and papers.

“These are old studies I pulled from the Akademiya regarding the dark sea. Since you’ve got the energy, mind fact checking? Just be careful not to get them wet.”

He sets them down on a nearby stool before a splash of water hits him right in the face.

“How about with some compensation then?” he says, pulling out the hairpin he had swiped from dori.

It’s similar to the one you had previously fawned over, though it’s laid with nagadus emerald instead, which he thought suited you much better than plain crystal ore. Unbeknownst to him, you had liked the first because its cyan stones reminded you of those he would toss in the water upon arriving at the cove. However, you adore this one for the way the emerald gems seem to match the very one sitting on his chest. You think you’ll cherish it forever.

“Will you put it on for me?”

His touch is surprisingly gentle, careful not to accidentally tug too hard. Alhaitham’s seen Kaveh put up his hair enough times to replicate a simple style. Easier said than done as it turns out to be less than stellar, sitting slant and loose. At least he tried.

“Well? How does it look?”

Light reflects off the gems in your hair and into the water, casting an iridescent glow that bounces across the room, dancing onto your skin. Anyone could say that even the brightest of jewels dull in the face of your otherworldly beauty. Only he can say that in this moment, in his bathroom, you look more perfect than the moon shining through the window behind you.

“I think it’d look even more flattering if you were reading,” he glances down, “Enigmatic Depths: An Empirical Study of the Ocean and Beyond.”

Another splash of water hits his face.

next ﾉ bonus (18+)

a/n2: If you're already on the taglist, you'll be tagged for any future parts (just lmk if you'd like to be added/removed) ^^ I also kind of want to do an 18+ bonus part in the future, but no taglist for that since I don't want to jumpscare anyone lmao (unless you guys want one idk but have your age in bio pls) Anyways, thank you for reading ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

w.count: 2k - he who is the most patient also yearns the most

zhongli met you for the first time when you came to the harbor on a extensive, work-related trip. some sort of negotiation at the port with certain shipment partners and possible trade opportunities. you had come from port ormos in sumeru, so he imagined you would get moving onto inazuma for the same thing before long. as luck would have it, you never made it that far before the nation of electro closed its borders. so, at that point, you were now essentially stuck in land of geo for the foreseeable future.

he had run into you when you were appraising some goods that had come in with a group of merchants ; those specific good were on your list to inspect to see if they would offer anything worth decent mora. perhaps it was fate that when he had passed behind your back, he heard you murmuring something about not knowing enough about a certain vase's story painted it on with aged, chipped paint. zhongli was the walking know-it-all of liyue, so of course without prompting, he flit over to your side and explained what you were looking at for you (after scaring you since you didn't hear him walk up beside you and instead of a proper 'hello' he just jumped straight into the explanation).

from then, he would often see you at the docks. clipboard in hand or a ledger of some sort that you would be reviewing. on the rare occasion, he would just see you strolling around with nothing on your hands so he took it upon himself to occupy the free time you seemed to use by relishing in the sea breeze.

you had been in liyue for over a year when zhongli's heart dropped deep into his stomach. his very core filled with dread as you inform him that since inazuma had finally lifted their restrictions, your work would soon resume as usual. you would soon be relocated to the far-off islands of electro. the tea he had been delightfully sharing with you previously now tasted too bitter on his tongue to continue drinking at the news.

"will you ever return?" his voice was quiet, not nearly as confident and proud as he usually was. it resembled a child asking if their best friend who was due to move away would ever visit them again.

the relationship you grew into with zhongli was special to both of you. he treated you so well and educated you in things you were clueless about. you confided in him and when liyue was at risk of drowning, you were the one who he ran to first when all was settled. you still remember that night so vividly.

you were at the harbor- as usual- but instead of working, you were helping pull stranded milieth out of the sea or helping people getting further inland as the waves violently warned you of doom. when the ocean calmed and the storm clouds that plagued the sky dissipated, you felt a weight off your chest. as you checked around to make sure people were alright, you were quickly snatched away by your wrist. being dragged off to a more secluded corner of the harbor docks behind a stack of, now storm weathered, crates.

zhongli had never understood the phrase 'word vomiting', but what he told you behind those damaged and rain-soaked crates was most definitely so. his gnosis had just been traded, no longer in his possession, and he could finally, finally tell you everything. it definitely wasn't how it was supposed to happen. his whole identity spilled in the span of a several ramble while shakily holding onto your wrists like you'd float off to sea if he didn't anchor you down next to him.

"of course i'll come back." you reassure him. his hand releases it's soft grip around his teacup and lays the back of it on the table like it had given up on keep any sort of grip on anything. you understand his silent offer and place your palm on top of his. "i promise. as soon as my work in inazuma is finished and i get everything completed in sumeru, i'll come and visit you as often as i can."

feeling your pulse on the junction under the heel of your hand, he knew you were being truthful. of course, you hadn't lied to him before so he would believe anything you said regardless of the circumstances; though perhaps that was his own personal bias in a way. you could tell him you were the reason the sun rose every morning and he'd believe you- you shone so brightly in his eyes, so naturally that must be why.

you chuckle from across the table and he looks at your quizzically. you tap your fingers rhythmically across his wrist that's covered in brown fabric. your opposite arm comes to rest its elbow on the table and your palm supports your cheek.

"what me to make a contract just so you feel better?" zhongli blinks before he's craking a smile back towards yours.

"you jest too much."

"do i?"

"it's endearing."

your 'contract' is just sealed as an earnest promise he'd keep in his chest until you come back to him. on the day of your parting, zhongli kisses the back of your hand, your knuckles, and your cheek.

"for safe travels, swift work, and my sincerities," he had justified. you returned his affection with a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"for no reason other than i want to." zhongli kisses your lips for the very same reason before you board your ship that takes you far, far away from him. he doesn't account the time he spent watching your ship sail further away with his hands behind his folded ever so neatly back until it was completely out of sight. he stares at the horizon and almost wishes that it would bring you back.

it doesn't.

it doesn't.

so, zhongli waits.

the lord of geo has been alive for millennia, so the passage of time was something inane to him now. a few years is attuned to that of a blink in the grand scheme of his long, long lifetime. however, those years he spent without you at his side or in his shadow felt like centuries.

mortals squander their time, fleeting at it is, and they know they will never live forever. they will fill it with new things every day because it could be their last- they would never know when their time would come.

"it's been a long year" or month or day; all those phrases zhongli hears and agrees to in mundane conversations- but mostly just so he can identify and align with the masses as an unquestionable human. he never understood those phrases. yesterday was as long as today and will be as long as tomorrow and so forth.

the years you spent gone with only letters sent back and forth between the both of you made him feel closer to morality than anything else before. the days did feel longer. the years felt dragging. the months felt stretched. it felt like time was slowing down, dawdling and twiddling its thumbs while he was stuck suffering in its demanding sluggish waves.

it made him feel human. the terrible impatience for something or someone to come back home. the agony of the wait and the suspense on if it would happen at all. and while he wishes to feel closer to mortal life and connect to his people in such ways- this way- this game of time just made him irritated.

zhongli didn't remember the last time he had felt impatience so thick, but it began gnawing at his insides with the last letter he had received.

'my work has finally concluded, so i'll be coming back to liyue as soon as i send this letter out to you!'

those were your final remarks penned by your hand before it made it into his. when did you send this? a week ago? two? he didn't know. you neglected to date it. every day he goes to the harbor, checking morning, noon and evening to see what ships have sailed in and if you'd be on one. or perhaps you would be coming from sumeru by means of the west by the chasm, coming on foot and would simply waltz into the city.

zhongli didn't know and each day felt longer and longer.

it turns out, the horizon did bring you back to him. it just took it's sweet time in doing so.

out on the harbor once again, a ship was docking, and he saw you before you saw him. the back of your head moving as you help people unload their cargo and help them off the ship before you dismount yourself. it had been years since he had seen you, but he would never forget what you looked like. the features that wouldn't change.

walking- gaiting- down to the harbor's lowest levels was the giddiest he had probably felt in his whole life. antsy. his chest was a mess, it felt like farmers were tilling into his insides. as he stood off to the side of the dock, mindful not to block anyone's path into the harbor. his foot tapping, and hands opening and closing in repetition just for something to do with all his antsy jitters.

you must've spotted him when he was lost in his own mind since it was his name coming from the voice he memorized years ago that turned his head. you were leaning over a stack of crates that you were previously helping unload, waving so enthusiastically he was afraid you'd swing your arm into someone's head.

zhongli is someone who is very aware of affection in public areas with lots of eyes darting around. he was reserved in a way that he feels his affections were best left to the privacy of him and his choice partner. this day was an exception since the moment you were within his reach, you were crashing into his chest, and he was holding you prisoner there.

he could feel your pulse under his hand that held behind your neck to keep your head pushed against his chest. your warmth from the sun that had bathed you the morning voyage back to him. the smell of the sea breeze against your clothes and skin.

it was evident that you had changed over the years- an evitable happen stance he expected. you were only human after all. but you were still the same as he remembered. you were comfortable and warm and safe and here.

when zhongli finally returned some freedom to your range, which wasn't very far since his hands still settled comfortably on your hips, he mapped out exactly how you changed in comparison to his memories with his roaming gaze.

"how long will you be staying?" he asks.

"how long can liyue put up with me?" you answer and you feel his chest rumble in a chuckle under your palms that rest there. "i'm not sure yet. i plan on staying at wangshuu inn for the time though."

"nonsense." zhongli shakes his head and one of his hands leave your hip to brush the back of his knuckle against your cheek down to the corner of your mouth. "my home has more than enough space to accommodate your presence."

"i was going to ask," you pout and feel your face get hotter, but it wasn't because of the sun, "but i didn't want to feel like i was imposing."

"please do. you're more than welcome to 'impose' on me anytime you wish." you give in quickly much to his delight. you hoist your bags up, which he promptly takes from you without so much as breaking a sweat, and offers you his other arm. "we have much to catch up on."

when hu tao hears that you had come back to liyue, she suddenly isn't so upset that zhongli never returned to work that day.

[anystalker707]

gonna take more than a couple hours

Pairing: Shanks x [male, amab] Reader Summary: Shanks and you have been flirting for a while. It was about time things got taken to the bedroom Tags: top shanks / lots of petnames

Requested by anon ["Yaay! I'm starving for some Shanks or Mihawk fics 😥😥 I'm glad you're doing well! ❤❤ So, could I then request amab male reader (bottom) x Shanks (top) where reader is a booze merchant, sailing the seas and selling the good stuff for both local folk and pirates, but he always has some saved for Shanks(...)"]

MASTERLIST

          “Oh, look at who we have here!” A familiar voice rang over the sound of glasses clinking together and loud chattering. “I’m talking with you, sweetheart.” Given the proximity of the voice, you turned around from the aligned glasses on the shelf and gasped at the sight of the familiar red-haired man leaning over the counter with a grin.

“Shanks!” You gasped with a grin before leaning over to hug him. “Oh, it’s been so long! How have you been?” You pulled away and looked him up and down. No new scars, as far as you could see.

“Oh, fine, of course, ignoring when I was missing the best boy around, y’know?” Shanks winked, holding back a chuckle at the visible embarrassment across your face.

You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath. “Going to spend the night, yeah?” The golden seal of the blueish bottle came off with ease at your experienced ministrations, and the drink was placed in a large glass that you pushed toward Shanks.

“Of course. Only a couple of hours with you aren’t enough,” Shanks said as if it were obvious as he took a sip of the drink, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from saying anything. “On a side note, I hope you have enough booze for us this time. We can’t find good booze like yours anywhere else, so we’re taking everything you have.” He grinned.

“Everything?” You raised an eyebrow. “I have quite a bit in stock, so maybe it’ll be too much. Are you sure?”

Shanks clicked his tongue and tilted his head. His thumb ran along the handle of the glass, tracing the shape gently, as his ring shone under the last rays of sunlight of the day that slipped through the window. “You know me, sweetheart.”

You shrugged, breathing a chuckle. “As long as you pay well…”

“Oh, love…”

          “So…” Benn muttered through the cigarette in his mouth. “Eighteen boxes.” He looked at you for confirmation before you nodded, and he handed you the berries, waiting for you to check before walking away.

“Great,” you whispered to yourself, tucking the bills into your pocket. Having the Red Hair Pirates over didn’t only mean pleasantly escaping the monotonous routine but also a good addition to your account. You were about to return to behind the counter when an arm wrapped around your waist, and you didn’t even need to look to know who it was, placing your hands over his arm as you instinctively leaned into the embrace.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” Shanks pressed a kiss behind your ear with a hum. He already smelled like booze, but he drank so much that it’d take more than two bottles for him to start feeling something.

A small smile tugged on your lips. “Work, of course.” The bar was rather agitated with the Red Hair Pirates around, given how they attracted many people and how fond of partying they were. It didn’t matter where, it was all the same thing. In all the bars you’d worked, wherever you’d sell your stuff, the crew was there, down for a drink. “Got a lot of stuff to do tonight.”

Shanks’ arm tightened around your waist when you moved to grab a few empty glasses. “I don’t think so. Well, not here anyway,” he muttered, and you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm up. He was being a lot more touchy and possessive than usual… “Y’know, you could show me the bedrooms in his place. I don’t think I’ll be able to find my way back to the ship tonight,” he muttered with an audible smirk, and he certainly had fun seeing you progressively melt.

Taking a deep breath, you placed a hand over Shanks’ before facing him, furrowing your eyebrows. You weren’t sure whether you were worried or afraid or something else. “Shanks…”

“I mean what I’m saying, sweetheart,” Shanks chuckled, rubbing your side, his touch soothing. “Please?” His breath fanned against your cheek, and you had to use all your strength not to turn and kiss him right there. Not that it would matter, but you needed things at a slower pace.

“Come on,” you whispered, squeezing his arm before you stepped away and headed over to the stairs that led to the second floor of the building. The stairs creaked under your feet, and the sound of loud chatter and music became muffled in the background according to how you reached the last stairs and, eventually, the hall. “This is my— Nngh!” 

Shanks pressed his lips to yours the moment you walked into one of the rooms, yours, kicking the door close behind himself and cupping your cheek. It was something you’d wanted for so long, but you didn’t know what to do now that it was happening, your mind going blank before you could finally start kissing him back. He hummed in appreciation, deepening the kiss once you started relaxing at it.

“That’s a good boy,” Shanks whispered between kisses, muffling any attempt to answer with more kisses, pushing his tongue into your mouth until he could snatch a quiet moan from you. His thumb ran across your cheek before he finally pulled away. His gaze held yours as he locked the door behind himself. “I’ve been having you in my mind for quite a while, sweetheart, did you know that?”

Your cheeks heated up, both at his words and how he stepped closer again, kissing your shoulder softly as his fingertips peeked under your shirt. “Mm, I dunno if I believe you,” you breathed, hesitantly placing your hands on his shoulders, and you couldn’t help but grip them when he started kissing your neck. His stubble scratched your skin, tickling. It was uncomfortable, but the kisses and nipping on your skin made it seem insignificant, even more so when he bit down on your neck, snatching a gasp from you.

“Maybe I’ll have to show you, then?” Shanks whispered with a soft chuckle, pressing kisses over the bite mark he left behind. The words escaped your grasp for a moment, caught in your throat, and an embarrassed sound came from you instead. “Oh, love,” he sighed softly, kissing your neck. Despite not trusting yourself enough to answer Shanks, you grasped onto his shirt, slowly undoing the last buttons, which earned you a hum of appreciation.  “Join me,” he muttered, tugging lightly on your shirt.

The clothes were removed one by one, discarded and forgotten on the floor while you moved towards the bed, landing on the mattress with Shanks on top of you, his mouth pressed to yours once more. Shanks nipped on your bottom lip until you whimpered before he ran his tongue over the bite and slipped it into your mouth. He kissed well, managing to make your cock twitch and leak just by making out with you, even more so when he kissed you deeper after you tugged on his hair.

“Fuck,” Shanks groaned, like revolted at himself or something else, and started nipping down your jaw, kissing and nipping on your neck and collarbones, anything to get from you the little whimpers that he loved so much. He seemed to know how to do that very well.

Despite how unstable your voice would be, you finally gathered some courage, cracking out Shanks’ name in a broken moan and arching your back into his touches.

“Do you—”

“There’s lube in the drawer,” you breathed, looking away to avoid the look he shot you while you reached for the bedside table and retrieved the bottle of lube. “Can I, please?” Your eyes met his again, and you forced yourself to hold eye contact despite your heartbeat hammering against your ears.

With a nod, Shanks sat back with your legs over his thighs, observing it as you poured the lube on yourself, groaning softly at the feeling of the cold liquid trailing between your legs.

“Fuck,” you breathed, putting the bottle aside.

Shanks could only reach out before your fingers pressed to your own entrance, and his breath hitched at the same time his eyes widened lightly. “Holy fuck, baby,” he breathed, placing a hand on your inner thigh. His thumb pressed to your ass lightly to spread it and give himself a better vision of your two fingers sinking inside yourself. He bit his lip, but the excitement was still clear through the way his cock twitched, with a drop of pre-cum dripping down the thick length.

Your eyes were focused on Shanks’ face, watching his reaction to how you fingered yourself carefully, and fuck, holding yourself back was hard. The arousal made you so sensitive, in a way you could just finger yourself until you came, but Shanks’ cock would be a better, bigger prize. He rubbed circles into your skin with his thumb, and you knew it was time to stop before you got close. Instead, you grabbed the lube again and poured it on Shanks.

A soft hiss came from Shanks when the cold liquid came in contact with his cock, but he gave you a real moan when your hands wrapped around his length, spreading the lube evenly while stroking him. He was so thick in your hands, heavy, making you squirm a little in anticipation. Shanks surely loved the effect he had on you, squeezing your thigh more, but your hands soon left him as well, only returning to his cock once you lay back on the bed, guiding it to your hole.

“Excited, aren’t we?” Shanks had that terrible smirk on his lips as he leaned over you again, kissing you before you could give him any answer. “I’ll make you feel so good, baby,” he whispered between kisses, and the most you could give him in response was a groan.

You arched your back with a gasp the moment Shanks’ cock started to push into you, stretching you nicely, which gave you a light burning feeling that only managed to heighten your arousal. “Mmph, fuck,” you practically whimpered, holding on to his shoulders tightly once he was almost fully inside. When he was, though, you could barely catch your breath for a moment, trying your best to adjust to feeling that full.

“Good, sweetheart?” Shanks’ breath fanned over your skin as his lips grazed your own, and you took a moment to nod, adjusting your arms around his neck. “Great,” he said before he could start moving, chasing a fast pace right away. His elbow was pressed to the mattress, right by your side, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, adjusting the angle of the thrusts lightly, though you doubted he even had to hit your prostate continuously to make you see stars.

It felt better than anything you’d felt in a while, sending an intense wave of pleasure down your spine, and you wondered if Shanks had put anything in your drink earlier—even if you hadn’t drunk anything for a while. He managed to fill you up so well, hitting all the right spots, and making you a mess so quickly.

“Too— Mmph, Sh—” You gasped, nails sinking into his back as your thighs quivered.

Shanks raised an eyebrow as he paused and pulled back a little to look at your face. “Yes, baby? Did I hurt you?”

You gave yourself a moment to breathe before shyly meeting Shanks’ gaze, swallowing. “A little slower, please?” You rubbed the back of Shanks’ neck, playing with his hair a little. “I… It’s too good. You didn’t hurt me.”

There was a pause before Shanks hummed with a nod and a poor attempt to suppress the smirk that tugged on his lips. “Of course, sweetheart.” He kissed you again, softly, holding the kiss as he started moving his hips once more. The thrusts were still intense, but they weren’t so fast anymore, allowing you to have some control over yourself.

Shanks swallowed your moans, keeping the kiss going, nonetheless. He was straining, trying his best not to fuck you as fast and hard as he wanted, but he needed you to feel good as well. There was nothing to lose by taking the slower pace, and it also meant enjoying you for longer. He craved the way you clenched around his cock, milking it with every thrust, a lot better than anything he could’ve imagined during lonely nights.

“You feel so good around me, baby,” Shanks muttered into your ear; his words and moans managed to intensify your arousal. He hissed as your nails sank into his back, his thrusts faltering. “Fuck…”

“Feels so good,” you breathed, arching your back and wrapping your legs tighter around Shanks’ waist. It felt like getting a relief you didn’t know you needed, and it felt like the best thing ever. “Mmph, more…” Your moans started sounding whiny, but you really couldn’t help it. It was one of the last things you wanted to care about right now, with Shanks’ cock filling you so nicely, making your head foggy with arousal.

Pride swelled in Shanks’ chest before he pressed his lips to your neck again, nipping and sucking the soft skin, leaving behind love bites as a token of his love—and lust—toward you. He couldn’t help but thrust faster again, paying attention to your reactions as he did so. He needed it so badly.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you said shakily, feeling your thighs quiver.

The strings of moans echoed in the room along with the obscene sound of skin against skin, and you found yourself lost in a nice haze, barely aware of the existence of anything beyond that bedroom. The reality Shanks pulled you into felt so much better, blissful, making you ache with need.

Your thighs pressed into Shanks’ hips to pull him closer, and the spots his hips hug into would probably hurt later, but that’d just be another sexy reminder.

Whenever you arched your back, Shanks’ cock would hit just the right angle that’d make you see stars, so you invested in it, squirming, doing your best to keep that angle until your balls tightened with the anticipation of the impending orgasm. “Sh—Shanks,” you mumbled, your nails sinking into his back and scratching it. “I’m— Mmph, ‘m close,” you breathed as your thighs quivered, becoming tighter around him, just like your walls tightened and squeezed his cock, craving it.

“Great, me too,” Shanks muttered as he paused before he started moving again, his thrusts faster, not minding how intense it was because your release was actually the goal right now. He loved your gasps and breathless whimpers, how you clung to him, scratching and squirming. His arm hurt a little from holding himself in that position for a while, but you were almost there, so he made a little effort.

A pleased sound that resembled a sob escaped your lips as you arched your back, thighs trembling as you came, cock twitching and spurting warm cum between the two of you messily. It was all it took for Shanks to follow suit, cumming inside you, allowing his seed to fill you while he kept thrusting sloppily to make sure to milk every drop of cum from you. The feeling of Shanks’ teeth tugging on your collarbones was what brought you back to reality after the orgasm, his stubble scratching your skin.

“Fuck,” you groaned before cupping Shanks’ face, bringing him for another kiss. “I think you gotta stay for longer.”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[shady-tavern]

Winter Star

Some children were born touched by nature, carrying the warmth of the sun, the brightness of spring and the gentle patience of the earth. They were rare, but everyone knew their stories and knew how wonderful they had been. 

They knew about the girl touched by summer, who had been taken by a fae woman, the Stag Queen. There was the boy of autumn, who the stars had lured away, never to be seen again and a handful of others, whose fates had been the same.

One day, a girl came into this world with hair as white as snow, lashes like frost and skin as pale as the moon she was born beneath. Everyone who laid eyes on the babe knew immediately she was one of those special ones, beautiful as flowers in the middle of winter and as elegant as drifting snowflakes on cold winds.

Her parents worked hard to keep her safe and raise her to be kind and clever, spending much of their hard earned coin to dress her well and see her educated, knowing a great future would await her. So long as no one took her. 

They warned her of the dangers of the world as she grew older, to mistrust strangers and duck out of sight should someone peer at their humble home. However, not even their best attempts to shield her from the world could stop the spreading rumors.

"She is as lovely as snow in the sun," the baker would tell anyone who'd visit his shop, proud of the special girl that grew up down the street of their cozy village.

"Do you know these wonderful early mornings where the light looks gold and pink and everything is so so beautiful it steals your breath away?" the cobbler would sigh dreamily to everyone who'd listen to her. "That's how it feels to look at her."

Soon people came to see the girl touched by winter, the one who was rumored to walk as though she was floating and she was said to possess such graceful manners it would make royalty turn green with envy.

People started to grace the steps of their home in growing numbers with gifts and sweet words carried on silver tongues. Hopeful fathers with curious and often infatuated sons, merchants who donned their finery in hopes of looking more enticing. The parents refused them all, citing that their daughter was still too young to chose.

It became a sort of contest amongst the curious and hopeful, to try and glimpse even a hair of the rumored maiden. Those who did manage to see her for just a moment left smiling dreamily and spreading ever more rumors.

The girl soon grew into a young woman and now her suitors were no longer just merchants and local business owners. Now she received letters and gifts from wealthy traders and even nobles.

One day, a messenger of the prince of their lands stood at their door, offering a chest of jewels and a richly embroidered dress deserving of a future queen. The young woman refused him gently and with kind words, as she had refused all other gifts.

Shortly afterwards, a holy knight asked for a moment of her time, offering his blessed castle to guard her from all evil and unbreakable vows of devotion. She gently and kindly refused him as well. 

He vowed to win her heart and return with better offers just as the prince did, who would not give up so easily, soon sending another messenger.

She refused their gifts of riches and protection anew with a kind word, while her parents debated. Her mother, ever worried about her safety and wanting the best possible future, grew fond of the idea that her daughter might become a princess. One day even a queen. This would certainly be a dream come true for any parent.

Her father, pious and ever concerned about the magical dangers of the world, was particularly fond of the holy knight. He was rather taken with the idea that his daughter might one day live in a place no evil could reach while also receiving enough money to be comfortable.

"The prince is said to be a handsome, well mannered young man," her mother said while they baked for the harvest festival, autumn coloring the landscape outside. Winter was approaching and whenever it did their daughter seemed to grow all the more beautiful for it. "He would be good to you."

"The knight is strong and well versed in the dangers of the world," her father countered that evening, as he whittled and she embroidered the hem of a new dress with fine, delicate stitches. "He would keep you safe."

Soon the gifts changed from material goods to whatever strange and magical things her suitors could find. They hadn't given up on her yet, on winning the Winter Bride, as they started to call her.

"This owl loses gems whenever it shakes its wings," the prince's messenger said with a proud flush to his cheeks, as though he was courting the young woman himself, not his prince. The owl was a gorgeous animal, as frost colored as the young woman herself, housed in a small cage made of pure gold.

"His Highness says you may keep it," the messenger held the cage out, nose and forehead bitten red from the cold that had settled over the land. "So you may think of him whenever you look at it and your heart may grow as fond as his has grown of you."

The young woman accepted the cage with soft words and the messenger left grinning from ear to ear. Her parents were delighted, chattering about such a special gift while their daughter took the owl out the kitchen door to the backyard.

While her parents were busy discussing the merits of her becoming a princess, she opened the door of the cage and carefully helped the owl out.

"That's better, isn't it," she said softly as she watched the owl fluff up and shake its body in relief, gems falling from between its feathered wings. It turned its head to watch her for a long moment and she held her arm a little higher, uncaring that the talons of the owl left bleeding scratches along her arm.

"Go, if you wish," she told it with a smile as light as fresh snow. "Be free."

The owl gave her a regal nod and took off, disappearing swiftly. The young woman smiled, her heart glad and she returned inside to find her parents dismayed. They couldn't stay angry for long, however, sighing after scolding her for wasting such a precious gift. 

Her father muttered afterwards that maybe the prince didn't know what a woman's heart truly wanted. Her mother, fiddling with the wool she was knitting socks out of, countered that he would find something to win their daughter's heart soon.

The holy knight arrived the next day with a cage woven out of brambles and he presented her with a snow-white fox with eyes of molten gold.

"This one will warn you of dangers and tell you if you are in the presence of evil minds," the knight offered, bowing deep as he held out the cage. "This is a mere gift, no strings attached. May it protect you in my absence and may you find you desire my presence instead one day."

The young woman took hold of the cage and as the knight left, her parents cheerfully discussed weaving a leash for the fox and where to keep it. Her father was nearly dancing with joy as he praised the knight for his thoughtfulness and what this in turn promised for their daughter's future.

The young woman smiled and left them to it, taking the fox out to the backyard. She ignored the way the brambles scratched up her hands as she unmade part of the cage and let the fox jump out, it's snout bloody from trying to bite its way to freedom.

"Go, if you wish," she told it with a smile as lovely as frost flowers. "Be free."

The fox bowed its head in gratitude and ran, swifter than any mere animal and it was soon gone with long strides that looked as though its body weighed no more than a feather. The young woman returned inside and once more her parents were quite upset at having lost such a precious gift.

They couldn't stay angry for long again however, and sighed. Her mother suggested the knight might need to choose his next gift more smartly, while her father grumbled that there must be something out in the world their daughter wanted.

"You must choose who to marry one day," her father told her gently, as though he could soften the order into a plea. "You must stay safe. I'm sure you'll chose well when the time comes."

He cast a significant look to the holy symbol over their hearth, while her mother nodded, tipping her head tellingly towards the small pouch holding the gems the owl had dropped.

The next day, after a night of the season's first snowfall, the young woman woke to find frost covering her windows entirely. It looked as though the snow had piled up all the way to the roof outside.

"I thank you," an ice wind whispered when she opened the windows to peer outside, a thick blanket of snow covering everything. "You returned my dearest friends to me after they were taken when I wasn't there. Two wishes I grant you for saving their lives, use them well."

She felt the magic settle over her as the wind finished blowing past and she couldn't help but peer out into the winter wonderland, as though she could catch a glimpse of whoever had spoken to her. It must have snowed very thickly that night to create that much snow, a quite unusual thing.

Seeing nothing and no one, she rubbed the frost off of the windows and went about her day, two wishes cradled close to her heart. They felt like a refreshing coolness within her, the way a bath in the river was revitalizing during hot summer days.

As winter settled over the land like a content cat in front of the fireplace, she received more gifts. A nightingale who sang so sweetly it made listeners cry, a white hare with fur so fine it was considered the softest in the world. She let each of them go and every time she opened a cage, she felt a change in the winds.

They grew colder each time that presence was back, the one she had felt during the first day of winter.

"Why do you not ask for anything?" the ice wind wondered one day after she unbridled a unicorn the holy knight had captured for her. It paused just long enough to press its velvet-soft nose against her cheek, thanking her silently, then it took off, trailing whispers of magic behind it. "Why not keep the wondrous ones you are offered so freely?"

"Would you like a cage?" she asked in return, watching in quiet awe as the unicorn disappeared. "Would you enjoy a leash or collar, to be bound to the whims and wills of those who hold you in their hands?"

"No," the wind answered in a solemn tone. "You are wise and kind, not many would do as you do."

Maybe, maybe not. She had no way of knowing, having never left the village. All she knew about the world were the things she had read in books she had managed to sneak away and what other people had told her. 

She had found, however, that people tended to paint the world dark and evil whenever she listened, to warn her of its many dangers. To ensure she would not set a single foot into the forest, to ensure she would not walk beyond the village border, to ensure she would not chat with strangers the villagers hadn't vetted. 

She still vividly remembered how panicked and worried her parents had been. How they had cried bitter tears when she had fallen asleep in their neighbor's hayloft, reading a book of fairy tales, and they hadn't been able to find her for hours. 

"Good wind," she spoke up. "Might I bother you to tell me about the world? You must have seen much of it."

"I have," the wind answered. "Is that your first wish?"

She was quiet for a long moment, then she smiled. "A true story, every night for a year. That is my wish."

"I will bring cold with me whenever I visit," the wind warned her. "For I am ice and snow, frost and blizzard. I am winter itself. Are you certain?"

The young woman turned to look back at her humble, warm home and thought of her mother's beloved flowers and her father's meticulously tended herb bed.

"Two true stories every night for as long as this winter lasts," she amended. "Will you accept my wish?"

"I accept," Winter answered solemnly. "Light a candle at your window, when it is the only light that still burns in your home, I will come."

The wind blew away and the young woman returned inside, her parents sighing, rueful and exasperated as they accepted the bridle with gold decorations and spun out of enchanted silver thread.

"Always giving away what would enrich your life," her father grumbled, rubbing his forehead as though getting a headache. "But it's alright, if this is not what you want, surely someone will find a gift soon."

"Our beautiful, strange girl," her mother murmured fond and wry all at once, kissing her on her brow. "Will one of them ever make you happy one day?"

"We'll find the right one," her father said reassuringly, pulling them both into a hug. He turned to look at his daughter, "And we'll make sure you never have to fear being taken."

That night the young woman lit a candle and waited. She had almost fallen asleep when the window slipped open a crack and she felt icy winds brush through the room, trailing a handful of snowflakes in its wake. Immediately the windows frosted over to pure white and any warmth was gone between one breath and the next.

"A wish is a wish," Winter said. "And here are your stories, as promised."

Winter first told her a story of lands beyond the mountains, of tall cliffs and hardy forests. It told her of raging oceans that froze solid whenever autumn passed and the reindeers that thundered across it to different lands. 

Winter was kind enough to answer any questions she had and she soon knew why the reindeers did what they did, how the ocean froze.

The second story was rather sad in her opinion, it was of two lovers who had run from an abusive father and a loveless marriage respectively. They had escaped into the night by the skin of their teeth and Winter told her of their journey through snow and ice. They lastly died, two miles from home, holding each other, smiles frozen unto their faces.

"Have many people died this way?" the young woman couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," Winter answered. "And many more will. The cold is no place for those who need warmth to live. Good night now, you who shines like a star, I shall see you again tomorrow."

She fell asleep to the soft whistle of air as Winter left, gently pulling the window closed behind it. Her dreams were filled with wondrous sceneries and people wandering through a snowy forest, away from their warm and yet unsafe homes.

The young woman soon looked forward to Winter's visits the most, eagerly going to sleep each night and secretly she hoped this winter might last just a little longer. The prince and holy knight, as well as many of her other more persistent suitors were quickly forgotten when confronted with stories of the world at large.

And finally she got to know what the world truly was. It was indeed dangerous, but it was also incredibly wonderful. Every story filled her with wonder and longing, chasing away the wariness her parents had painstakingly instilled within her.

The young woman felt as though she had forced herself to be a frozen lake all her life, still and quiet and unmoving, never leaving and never changing. Now, however, it felt as though the thrum of reindeer hooves had made the ice tremble and with each story she wanted more. 

With each story she felt her childhood dreams emerge, that deep seated adventurous spark she had smothered upon seeing her parents' tearstained, panicked faces. She had loved them too much to cause them grief and so she had made sure to be obedient and sweet at all times.

She also hadn't wanted to be taken away, to live a horrible life and to never see her parents again. She hadn't wanted to upset them and make them cry or discuss strategies to keep her safe until late at night.

But deep down, beneath the stillness she forced upon her soul, she had never quite stopped looking beyond what she knew. To peer towards the woods and wonder what laid there, to watch travelers and dream of the lands they must have seen.

"Thank you," she murmured as Winter left, sleep rising to claim her. "You're the only one who doesn't tell me everyone wants to hurt me."

Winter was silent, the window cracked still and she wasn't sure if she imagined it or not, but it almost sounded as though they said, "You can count on my aid for as long as I am here, should you need it."

She smiled and felt the furs she had started to take to bed being pulled up to her chin by what seemed to be hands. She was asleep the next moment, unable to open her eyes once more and check.

Winter soon had to move on, however and she mournfully said goodbye to her new friend.

"If you wish it, I can ask my friends to visit," Winter offered on the last day, only snowy slush remaining on the ground and water dripping off of trees. The only spot where there was still true cold was where the wind blew and she swore she could almost make out a shape as it moved. "They could tell you about things I have not seen."

"Then let this be my other wish," the young woman agreed, a glad smile brightening her face. "I would happily welcome the company."

"A wish spoken is a wish granted." She felt cold brush past her cheek, almost like a caress. "I will see you again soon," Winter promised. "If you wish."

"Oh, I very much wish so," she reassured them, reaching out to find invisible strands of wind weaving around her fingers, cold gently brushing her skin. "Will I ever see you in full?"

"Maybe one day." With those words Winter left, trailing the last bit of ice of the year in their wake.

And as promised, the young woman wasn't without company. Spring spoke to her through blooming flowers and invited her to playful dances in moonlight by luring her out the window, promising to look after her.

"There is no joy in never getting to laugh," Spring told her, a grin bright in that sweet, often mischievous voice. "Come, jump and let me catch you!"

Spring was bright and joyful and taught her much about the world. It told her of large meadows that bloomed so brightly one saw only color as far as the eye could see. It told her funny stories of silly animal antics and where it could find acorns and seeds buried in the ground to be raised up into new plants.

The knight and prince were still persistent, hoping to win her heart with more magical creatures and even a few enchanted items, which the young woman refused. She had no need for a necklace that made her sing like a siren nor for bracelets that teleported her to the knight's side in case of danger.

After spring came summer, full of warmth and sweetness. Summer winds encouraged the young woman to walk barefoot outside, to turn her face into the winds and smell all the scents that could be brought over. To dare and set foot into the forests to find the most wonderful berries to pick and to watch deer graze peacefully.

Her parents never knew, she made sure not to worry them, but with each day, with each thing she did, she felt her heart grow. And with it, her yearning for more. To see the places she had been told of, to hear the sound of the ocean and smell a valley of flowers.

The prince and knight started to grow impatient, wondering what it took to make her their bride. They became more insistent, their words losing their sweet tone bit by bit.

"You're not getting any younger my dear," the baker told her when she came to pick up bread, her pale dress making her look like a walking piece of winter in the middle of summer. "They're soon going to change their minds and then where will you be? Filled with regret. So take an old man's advice and be smart."

"Surely one has made you fall in love, either with them or their riches," the cobbler said as she passed by. "You should let them know and arrange a wedding. We're all looking forward to the festivities."

She had no idea how to tell them that she hadn't chosen any of her suitors, that none of them had won her heart. Not with coin and not with living beings caged and collared. How could she have kept a single one of them, or fallen in love for that matter, if she felt trapped herself?

A comfortable, pretty cage made by loving parents, the bars wrought out of worry and kindness, but a cage nonetheless. And they were seeking to put her in another one, bigger and prettier, but just as locked up tight. All in the name of safety. All so they could have the winter girl and not someone else.

The young woman wondered if such a thing must be necessary. If there was a way to live free without fear. Surely there must be one.

She asked Autumn, for Summer had left before she could put her feelings properly into words. Autumn was busy as a bee, zipping from place to place to ensure harvest would be done in time, talking so fast she sometimes couldn't quite follow entirely.

"Of course you can go wherever you want," Autumn said while rustling leaves artfully, only to change its mind a moment later and turn it into cheerful chaos. "There, that's better. Winter Star, you are indeed unusual, that is true, but that is nothing bad. You can always call on us if you find yourself in trouble you can't solve alone."

"Are you certain?" she hadn't expected such an offer. The seasons had come in response to Winter's wish, after all. Autumn laughed, the leaves rustling around them, some more falling off trees.

"We have grown fond of you, worry not. Winter might have been able to ask us to say hello, but nothing beyond that." The winds tucked bright red and orange and yellow leaves into her hair until they looked like a messy crown. "Live, Winter Star. Life is too short to spend it cowering."

The young woman couldn't help but look past the village and to the forest beyond, the riot of colors autumn had brought and how it had even coaxed some trees into making their leaves especially pretty.

"Where do I go?" she couldn't help but ask, suddenly overwhelmed with all the options that seemed to lay themselves at her feet.

"Anywhere," Autumn answered with excited cheer. "Whenever you pack your bag to leave, you'll find that you have more friends than you thought and you will always find more. Go on, try it."

She couldn't simply up and disappear, of course. Not when it would ruin her parents. However, the next time she received gifts from the prince and knight, an idea sparked.

Autumn laughed when she talked about her plan and gladly agreed to help. Soon, gifts of a secret admirer appeared, promising all the things her parents were looking for. A home warded against evil, enough coin to keep their daughter happy and clothed and fed to the end of her days.

It took some finagling to make gifts for herself, but soon the young woman was caught by the idea of what made her happy. She gifted herself books and hardy boots and a bracelet made of colorful river stones. Her parents were befuddled at first, but seeing as she finally seemed to fall in love with someone, they were relieved.

The entire village spoke about it now, wondering who this mysterious stranger was and if they would get to meet them soon. The young woman made a marriage offer to herself and laughed when she accepted it in front of her parents.

"They will pick you up, won't they?" her mother fretted as she helped her pack. "I can't believe my little girl is getting married. We'll meet them soon, won't we? And don't you forget to invite us to the wedding."

"I'll be sure to visit," she promised and later asked Autumn for advice. "I can't just grab my things and leave like any old traveler, after all."

"Leave it to me," Autumn answered, before breezing away, muttering about stubborn berry bushes who really ought to know better by now.

A few days later, a young adult knocked at their door, dressed in fine autumn colored garb. They wore dark green breaches, earth-brown boots, a dark red tunic and a cloak of bright yellow wool, embroidered with dozens of fallen leaves in multiple colors. They bowed, hair windswept and eyes honey brown.

"It is an honor to meet you, I've come to pick up the young lady in the name of my master," the person said in Autumn's voice and when they met her gaze, they offered a quick little wink. The young woman couldn't help but grin, swiftly hiding it behind her hand when her parents glanced over.

"Oh, that is so lovely," her mother gasped when peeking outside and the young woman stepped forward to look as well.

Outside stood a gleaming carriage in gold and red-brown colors and it was pulled by none other than a unicorn. The very unicorn she had once freed. It looked at her, no bridle on its head and she felt as though it was smiling as it dipped its head a little.

The bags were swiftly loaded onto the carriage and a tearstained and heartfelt goodbye later, the young woman left for the first time in her life.

As soon as they were away from the village, she managed to clamber up onto the driver's seat to hug Autumn tight.

Autumn laughed, ruffling her snowy hair. "Now, you best learn how to drive because I do not have the time to take you anywhere, I still have to wrangle some lazy mushrooms."

After a quick couple of lessons, Autumn left, disappearing in a flurry of leaves and rustling clothes to continue on as it always did.

The young woman's heart was racing as she traveled on and on. Autumn visited often and in brief bursts, but soon the air grew colder and colder. The young woman felt excitement rise within her at the thought of Winter's return.

And then, one day, she felt ice winds brush past her. "I see you have found your freedom. I am glad."

"Welcome back," she breathed, her breath fogging in front of her. "I missed you."

Coldness that felt like fingertips brushed her hair back. "And I you. I am glad to see you well."

The young woman happily told Winter all about her plans, while Winter guided her to a place she could stay as it was too cold to travel. A cottage, recently abandoned, but it was easily made ready again. The young woman sold the carriage in a nearby town and the unicorn left after nuzzling her cheek.

She made sure to write home to her parents, while she explored the world around her temporary home with Winter often at her side. Sometimes Winter's other friends showed up, the fox hopping around playfully and the owl watching kindly from its perch in the trees. Winter told her stories all without prompting and showed her the hidden beauty of their season.

"If you wish, travel north," Winter told her as they laid together in the snow, watching bright, bright stars above them at night. "I will be able to show you dancing lights in the sky."

"Yes," she said and slowly, carefully, inched her hand across the space between them, until she felt that special kind of cold breeze. The wind slowly settled and she swore, from the corner of her eyes as long as she did not glance over, she could glimpse Winter's shape once more.

It was the best winter she had ever had and when it became clear her dearest companion would move on soon, she promised to meet the season halfway.

"Go north," Winter reminded her once more. "If you wish, I will wait for you."

She reached out and closed her eyes and this time she felt proper hands close around hers, though they weren't as icy as the blowing winds. Still cool, but she felt soft skin and elegant hands, the brush of a fur lined sleeve. "I will be there, I promise."

"Soon, then," Winter whispered, a smile in their voice, and she felt the brush of cool lips and a cold breath upon her cheek, smiling wide. When she opened her eyes again, she watched ice winds blow away, looking joyful as they trailed snow in their wake.

The young woman set out as Winter left, buying herself a horse and using the rest of the money from the carriage to have her things put in storage until she sent for them.

She left on her very first adventure, Spring urging her on, showing her the meadow of flowers and guiding her way across the land to where ocean waves lapped against fine-sand shores.

She got to meet and speak with many different people and sometimes Spring and later Summer warned her away from certain folks. But mostly, people did her no harm nor wished harm upon her. If anything, many approached her, concerned about her safety and offering to help her get where she wanted to go. She always declined kindly and smiled.

The young woman got to truly experience the world, listening to new music, visiting theatres when she came by cities and towns and eating food she had never dreamed of could exist.

She headed north at last, cutting her time with Summer short and meeting Autumn sooner. And then, the air grew cold and she felt a familiar, very dear presence.

"Hello," she said with a wide, happy smile appearing on her face. "I came, as promised."

"Let me show you everything," Winter breathed and there was excitement in that beloved voice. They traveled onward together and if the young woman tipped her head the right way, she saw Winter beside her, riding on a horse of snow and wind.

Soon she got to see the ocean frozen, as it had been in the very first true story she had ever heard. She watched reindeer trot across in big herds, holding out her hand and smiling when Winter took it, her heart so warm the cold around her might as well have stopped existing.

"Why chose me?" Winter asked as they settled down on a snow covered hill to watch the sun set. It looked truly beautiful. "There were many who tried to win your heart."

"But none understood it," she answered and when she looked up, she saw Winter truly for the first time, not as a season, but as the spirit it was. 

Tall and slim, with hair as white as hers and eyes as dark as the frozen ocean. Ice earrings as blue as glaciers dangled from their ears and snowflakes were woven through their hair like the finest veil, ending in a crown of icicles. Clothes in white and light blue draped across their form, lined with fur and half covered in frost.

"Maybe I would have fallen in love with one of the others, had they not offered me another cage," she admitted, giving that cool hand in hers a gentle squeeze. "But instead of expensive gifts and captured magical beings, you gave me stories and shared your friends with me."

One of those slim hands rose to cup her cheek, feeling a little frosty but not stinging her with its coolness. "You shine so brightly, I would never think about forcing you to dim."

"Then you have your answer." She tipped her head into their hand, letting it cradle the side of her face. "I have an idea. Let's make this place our home, so I can be with you for many months."

"Yes," they answered, brushing a cold kiss against her forehead and she could feel them smile against her skin. "And the rest of the year you'll get to be the adventurer you always wanted to be, my star."

That did sound like the best future.

*.*.*

"They'll love you, I promise," the young woman said, giving Winter's hand a gentle squeeze. "They've been asking to meet you and when our wedding will be."

"They will know what I am the moment they see me," Winter sighed but followed her up the path to her parents' house. It was dark and thick snow covered everything.

"They will, but they will also see that you never took me they way they feared and that I am happy." She looked up at the love of her life, the one who loved her for who she was in return. "Trust me."

Winter softened and pulled to a stop in front of the door, cupping her cheek in one elegant hand and leaning down to brush the loveliest of kisses upon her lips. "Always, my star."

The young woman grinned, happy and bright, like ice in the sun and cheerful snowfall. Then she raised her hand and knocked.

*.*.*

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[theladyismyshepard]

It Ain't Easy Being Green

(How you respond to jealousy)

Shadowheart –

Something awful and uncomfortable gnawed at your gut as you stared up into the endless sea of stars hanging above. Your brow was so creased that you could nearly see your own browline from your peripheral. Your teeth were clenched as you scowled at nothing but your own thoughts. You were being childish, you knew this, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to correct your mood– not when shared laughter out of your line of sight soured your tongue and churned your stomach. You would not think to ruin the merriment by turning into a fuming jackass or becoming physically ill at how close Shadowheart and Karlach were becoming – and fast.

It was hard to believe that your little group of oddities had only been traveling together for not even a full week. Sharing a common trauma bonded people quicker than usual circumstances, and emotions were rawer, prompting people to either shut off completely or open up. Shadowheart was a closed book, one that came with a lock and key, and while the tadpole in your head had been at the forefront of your mind, you also managed to find enough headspace to reserve entirely for the cleric and what might bring a smile to her face. And if you’ve taken to walking a little closer to Shadowheart during your travels? Well, you try to convince yourself that that was no one’s business but your own, but the arch of Shadowheart’s brow and shrug still had you blushing.

Back at the grove, there had been a gaggle of refugee children swarmed just past the merchant, Arron. They had been equipped with wooden swords and placed before training dummies and told to learn how to fight for their lives. It was a heart-wrenching sight, seeing their trembling frowns and unsure footing, and knowing that there was little chance of their survival out on the road to Baldur’s Gate. You were proving fruitless with Kahga, still needing to follow up on a lead, but you would make damn sure to not leave the tieflings with nothing.

You told Shadowheart, Gale, and Lae’zel to disperse for the time being before turning back to the group of kids and even young adults, clapping your hands once to get their attention. For the next few hours, you showed them common techniques and basic footwork, taking the time to charge a dummy with a cleaving attack and demanding the group mirror it, correcting here and there. By the time the sun was beginning to dip to the treelines, your muscles were achy and sweat had dampened your brow. The tieflings were beaming up at you, weapons raised high above their heads as they screamed their accomplishment to the Heavens. They encircled you and were jumping up and down, they were urging you to follow along, and after a moment of consideration, you shrugged and started whooping and jumping in place, smiling at their resulting laughter and excitement.

Your eye just so happened to catch the eye of Shadowheart and you immediately froze. She was wearing an amused smile and her eyes were bright as you regained your composure enough to give a departing word of encouragement before wandering over to her.

“No need to stop on my account, by all means, do continue,” said Shadowheart, her voice thick with amusement and her eyes shining.

“Relishing too long in a victory can be dangerous, you know,”

“Whatever would you be in danger of, pray tell,”

“Of making an ass of yourself,” You muttered, still fighting back the heat scorching your face, and her laughter did nothing to help, nor the glittering of her eyes.

“I found it… rather cute,” hummed Shadowheart, her eyes looking you up and down before she shrugged and turned on her heel, leaving you a floundering mess.

Then you found Karlach. You were the first one to step between Wyll’s blade and Karlach (even though there was no need to, the poor, misguided man immediately acknowledged he was wrong), knowing that the group needed Karlach just as much as she needed the group. She had a sunny personality, spoke her mind, and had a body that even had your eyes subconsciously glancing up and down. She was funny, every word spoke with humor that pulled a laugh out of even Lae’zel, and best of all, she appreciated wine as much as the next weary traveler.

Which was where you found yourself now, sulking on your bedroll alone in your space by your tent. You had pulled your roll out just enough to see the stars. There was wild giggling  and cackling laughter as Shadowheart and Karlach shared their spoils of pillaging the blighted town. The two agreed to split whatever wine they had managed to find, and you could hear them standing by their word. Shadowheart had refused to share with the rest of the party, and it made your skin crawl that the only one she allowed in was Karlach.

It wasn’t that you hated Karlach, far from it… It just gave you a headache that it wasn’t your shoulders that Shadowheart wanted to be thrown over. You had never heard Shadowheart speak so highly of you as she had about Karlach. You could barely get more than a couple sentences at a time from Shadowheart, and here Karlach was, pulling laugh after laugh from the woman you were crushing on. And there you were, pouting like a child… Such a contrast from this “hero” role that you keep insisting on filling. What was wrong wi-

“Hey soldier,” boomed a voice that startled you from your reverie, and you found Karlach’s wide smile obscuring your view of the stars, “I knew you weren’t asleep yet! Shadowheart was so worried that you were, but I said to myself, I said, “Karlach, Tav looks too tense to be asleep,” and here you are, wide awake! I knew it.”

“Er…” You trailed off as Shadowheart approached your bedroll just as Karlach did, and she was holding something behind her back.

“Tav…” Shadowheart cleared her throat, her cheeks pink and you were convinced it was from the wine she was consuming. “I was wondering-”

“Welp!” announced Karlach, her arms stretching above her head, her spine arching, and her eyes were closed as she relished in the stretch so she missed the mild glare from Shadowheart. “I’m gonna head to bed now,”

Your eyes were darting back and forth from Shadowheart to Karlach, unsure of what was going on, and the earlier bitterness on the back of your tongue had now vanished, leaving a blazing hope that you weren’t as cast aside as you initially feared. Shadowheart sighed, staring off at nothing while shaking her head before her eyes cut back to meet yours. She offered you a smile before she brought her arms out from behind her back and your attention cut to the wine bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“You’ve been working so hard to help people… to keep hope alive even when the rest of us couldn’t be bothered with it… I think you deserve a drink more than anyone else.”

Your heart fluttered so violently that you were afraid it would either combust or break free from the hold of your rib cage. The toe of her shoe was nervously shuffling the dirt at her feet, a foot from your head, and she looked so beautiful cast in shadows. Her mysterious edge drew you in from the get-go and her obvious reluctance to reveal anything about herself did little to deter you. There was still much to be learned about Shadowheart, her desires, her goals, there were still looks that would flicker across her eyes that you had to familiarize, but in that moment, underneath the stars that reflected off the glasses in her hand, you were more than happy to take it one step at a time.

Lae'zel –

Resignation tasted of ash in your mouth as the final battle with the Netherbrain came to a resonating end as the thrall of its influence silenced once and for all. You felt the initial rush of victory, your emotion too much to contain within your body and without thinking, you pulled Lae’zel into a bruising kiss to seal your success. One hand was still clutching her silver sword, refusing to let it fall to the ground, but the other reached up to tangle her fingers in your hair, keeping you close.

You wanted to live in that moment forever, to capture the contentment and relief you felt and never let it go because you knew deep down that life would continue and it would bring with it new trials that would scar. It wasn’t long before the moment passed and you were spiraling in your own head, filled with thoughts of a future you were almost uncertain you would get to have and whether or not Lae’zel planned on fitting herself into it.

From the moment you met the githyanki, her goals were straightforward: she would do anything and everything she could to purify herself of the parasite and get back to her people to fight another battle across the stars. You’ll always remember the feel of her sharp blade pointed threateningly against the column of your throat when she spotted you first upon the nautiloid, and even more so the flicker of her life across your mind once you two learned of the connection that came with the tadpole. She was born a fighter and your stomach churned when thinking of the tribulations that not only she, but her people had to grow up through.

Lae’zel wore her childhood with pride, and would scold you anytime she felt your sorrow or concern for it. If she was given the chance to do it all again she would, so your pity wasn’t wanted. No matter how many times you tried to convince her it wasn’t pity, it was compassion, she wouldn’t hear of it. Lae’zel was as stubborn as she was strong, and the more you traveled with her, you found that rather than animosity growing between the two of you, you grew comfortable with her presence by your side. You were assured victory of any battle commenced because you knew you had Lae’zel in your party.

What surprised you was the sudden pit in your stomach when the secrecy and distrust shrouding Kith’rak Voss was unraveled and Lae’zel was soon hanging onto his every word in planning to free Orpheus, the Prince of the Comet who would help free their people from Vlaakith’s rule. There were stars in her eyes upon so many promises made, and you practically saw the rift forming between you two rather than just felt it. There was a permanent lump in your throat that you refused to let show as you fought your way down the bloody path that led to Orpheus’ freedom.

Lae’zel earned the ultimate victory and the greatest satisfaction, and her people deserved to have the veil lifted from their eyes. You two were from different worlds, you could not fully comprehend the struggles of her life just as she could not fully comprehend the disturbances of yours… but that mattered not you. Not when there were so many similarities to counter that argument with, like the glaring observation that she was a living being with hopes and dreams just as you were. And you couldn’t fault her hopes and dreams leading her across the universe and back to her own life.

That didn’t stop your frown from scrunching your face when Lae’zel broke the celebratory kiss to turn back to Orpheus with a look of complete adoration that you yourself would’ve reserved just for her. Childish, you’re acting like a fucking baby! No amount of pep talks would fight the jealousy back and your fisted knuckles couldn’t strain any whiter even if the bone were to rip out itself. Your chest was burning because you knew that in the end, Lae’zel would always choose the githyanki over you, and you could never bring yourself to ask her to reconsider. Especially since she had fought with all her might to save your world with you… Why couldn’t you do the same for her?

“My people are leaving… And I must go with them,” said Orpheus, his neck craned up towards the sky as he watched swarm after swarm of red dragons soar across the sky, casting shadows beneath, before screeching forth purple portals that they traversed and disappeared through, “Come, Lae’zel. We will free the githyanki and dismantle the empire. Let them be imprisoned no longer!”

“Your duty is to your people, Lae’zel. Go with Orpheus, and lead them to freedom,” You could hear it was your own voice, but your tongue felt numb and lackluster in your mouth, and she was suddenly looking at you with a new fire in her eye.

“It will be done. I will never be free while my people are still bound by Vlaakith’s chains.”

You couldn’t help the rush of offense you felt at being easily cast aside when she turned back to Orpheus and watched on in fascination as his two dragons, Quulos and Quuthos, responded to his call. Orpheus didn’t hesitate to mount Quulos, his hands grabbing the reins before watching Lae’zel expectantly. She approached Quuthos and hesitated as she turned back to look at you, and you knew instantly that that moment had the potential to be the very last if you were foolish enough to let it.

“You called me Mla’ghir…” You called, taking a few steps forward to ensure she could hear you and wouldn’t leave you behind. “Your people aren’t liberated yet… Allow me to follow and continue aiding you… please,”

Orpheus proved impressed by your bold request, but you were more interested with Lae’zel’s reaction. She wasn’t able to conceal her gasp at your words, and she made no move to hide the tears swelling in her eyes. Her mouth was trying in vain to find something to say, but she was always more of a woman of action, and what better way of expressing herself than by grabbing ahold of the front plating of your armor, and bringing you back into a searing kiss that refused to end, even when Orpheus gave a polite cough.

“Let us ride… together into eternity,”

Minthara –

Your teeth clenched tightly as you battled against your agitation. Your eye twitched as you felt your rationality slipping. You repeatedly told yourself that your anger was justified and that you were in no way envious of the brazen display on the other side of camp.

Wyll, whose tent was adjacent to Mizora’s, had a dumbfounded look on his face as your eyes met before he pointed questioningly at himself. You rolled your eyes and shook your head no, in fact, you were staring at his left where Minthara was seated comfortably next to Mizora. There were nothing but devious looks shared between the two as they whispered amongst themselves. The sly smirks did nothing to ease your mood, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say they were leaning closer together now than when Minthara had first ventured over to the devil’s tent.

The part that made you sick to your stomach was that you could understand just how the two could get closer than the rest of the party. Minthara possessed a thirst for power; Not just over the world, but over you as well. Her wicked laughter never failed to echo behind the misery of the unfortunate souls who had crossed your path, and after a while, you stopped chastising her for it. You wouldn’t admit to her or yourself that it was because her evil chuckle started sending shivers down your spine.

Minthara originally wasn’t too keen on joining your party after you stormed the inner walls of the Goblin Camp, slaughtering Priestess Gut and Dror Ragzlin. You could still feel the cold steel of her blade piercing through your armor before tearing through the flesh of your shoulder even as you gazed upon her now. Minthara proved to be a powerful adversary against your already battle-worn frame, but you could still remember the way she stumbled before her body crashed to the ground. Her chest continued to rise and fall as her lungs forced the air in and out, and you could end it right there… You should…

But you saw something more than desperation shining in her eyes. You saw the fresh tears of fright as she knew deep down that she failed. Deep down she was afraid that if it weren’t to be your blade that cut her down, it would be the one ruling the entire show. Her bottom lip trembled even as she barked orders and cleaved her weapon through the air. Minthara was lashing out like a caged animal, her imposing composure long slipped away, and once Karlach had given the final concussive blow to her head with a warhammer, her wide, frantic eyes finally rolled back.

Even Gale had his magic crackling at his fingertips, ready to give the killing blow if need be, but you placated the party. As you spared her one last look, you couldn’t help but to ponder that she looked a lot smaller and frailer than before. You cursed your heart for constricting at the sight, and ignored the nagging feeling eating away at you with every step you took. She was surrounded by dead comrades, and Astarion looted her weapons and anything of use… Minthara had nothing left and you suspected she had more to fear than just you.

You always felt a rush when you were proven right, and you certainly felt a rush of something when you passed through the Absolute’s Door of Moonrise Towers and stumbled upon the scene of Minthara conscious and swallowed up in oversized clothing that you knew (with a twinge to your heart) she had to scavenge around for. Your eyes cut to Astarion’s body, which was draped in her former armor and you weren’t entirely sure if their relationship would be immediately soured, or soundly built on a foundation of mutual respect. She also wore a look of pure humiliation even as she fought to defend herself, and then Ketheric’s mouth pulled back into a smile so deformed that it could have doubled as a snarl as he gave Z’rell the order to be creative with the Nightwarden’s death.

You knew she had someone higher to answer to… What you weren’t aware of was that it was Ketheric Thorm, in all his cruelness. You felt the varying looks of your party as you made your presence known to the Chosen. You felt the need to speak of her absolute loyalty and how she never swayed, just as you felt the need to descend the stairs to the dungeons below and fight the guards for her freedom. There was a deep appreciation she held for you once the artefact connected her mind with yours and the rest of the party’s, and you felt it just as if it were your own warmth spreading through your chest.

You even found yourself grinning when Minthara then moved to tangle her fingers into the base of Astarion’s ivory locks before tugging his head until his face was mere inches from her own. She had demanded her armor back and the trek back to camp was an interesting one consisting of an also newly-recruited Halsin’s confused glances at Astarion, who was striding confidently in all his half-nudeness. You were soon noticing that when you saved someone’s life, they felt the urge to join your party, and you weren’t complaining when your company looked as great as they did, and even proved useful.

Just because you saved her life didn’t mean her snarky attitude was suddenly displaced and her enjoyment of malicious proclivities was tamed, and for some reason unknown to even you, you found that you wouldn’t have it any other way. She disapproved of your helpful habit of sticking your nose into others’ business and solving their problems for them, but she wouldn’t have you any other way… or so you liked to think.

As your eyes continued to burn holes into Mizora, you didn’t even have enough time to glance away and play cool before Minthara’s eyes cut over to you, her brow arching and her smirk slow-building. You flushed and stared down at your feet, your self-criticism roaring displeasure into your brain. You could practically taste your own bitterness and it wasn’t good at all. You heard of the… nefarious offerings that Mizora had to offer those she deemed worthy of her sexual prowess, and who else would be worthy than the Nightwarden?

“Something the matter, darling?” said Minthara, suddenly standing before you, her smirk very audible, and it only widened into a grin when your neck snapped at attention. “You’ve been watching me for some time now,”

“I was looking at Mizora,” You insisted before grimacing, and her resulting chuckle warmed your face yet again. “I mean-”

“Ah, ah, I’ve caught you, little bird… You were jealous,” Minthara drawled, almost predatorily, and she was soon backing you into your tent, each step slow and methodical. “You looked about ready to claim me.”

“I-”

“Take me then,” commanded Minthara, and when your brain short-circuited, she grabbed your arms and wound them around her shoulders, “If you are bold enough to make me yours, you better be ready for when I make you mine,”

She punctuated the suggestive remark with a nip to the flesh where your neck and shoulder meet, and before your eyes fluttered shut, you caught sight of Mizora grinning wickedly as she watched on.

Gale –

You would never forget the moment Gale opened your mind to the weave and helped you embrace the charged magical aura. It was after saving the Druid camp, and you couldn’t ignore the gleam of approval clear in his eye. The entire camp along with the grove celebrated their victory that night when you approached Gale. Many attempted to stop and talk to you, but at the moment, you only had eyes for the wizard and the way he was smiling softly.

Before that night, you never even thought yourself capable of wielding magic, but he was a great teacher. Gale knew exactly how to set a mood, and you imagined yourself leaning into him and savoring the moment, enjoying the tension of just almost grazing lips before he gently pushed forward and pressed your lips together in a sweet kiss. He pulled back, almost startled himself, and became quite bashful the rest of the evening.

As your affection grew for him, your concern and worry for his condition deepened. You scoured the lands, looting where you could, and accepted all rewards for your assistance in hopes of finding more magical artefacts to help ease the chronic agony that threatened to nearly tear him apart from the inside. With time, it wasn’t enough to satiate the deeply rooted hunger, and Gale realized he wasn’t responding to the magical essence as he once was.

Your sweet Gale, he forced a smile all throughout the pain, even when it tightened the skin around his eyes and mouth with the strain. He had previously shared his fearful insecurity that he was a burden weighed heavily upon you and the group when it came to his addiction to magical artefacts. Even though you tried your best to soothe Gale and reassure him that you seek out the artefacts because you want to help him, that you refused to let him succumb to his chronic pain alone, you could see that he couldn’t bring himself to fully believe in your words. Even the glazed look of satisfaction in his eye after your night of lovemaking wasn’t enough to conceal the insecurity.

Everything came to a halt when the old man Elminster appeared before Gale with a message from Mystra, practically demanding he detonate the malevolent magical orb in his chest in a suicidal act against the Absolute. The goddess suggested it was a means of atonement for what he had done. You argued vehemently on his behalf, and you couldn’t help but to notice that he wasn’t fighting at all. He accepted her word immediately and you couldn’t help but to falter. He wouldn’t look you in the eye at first, but you knew he was processing all of the options before him.

Elminster came with his threatening message, but he also came with a merciful gift. He produced an enchantment on Gale to help ease the task– one that stabilized the orb within his chest, negating the need to consume more magical items. Gale’s shoulders had never looked so light as when he felt the incessant hunger pulling at him finally curbed. He could have dropped to his knees in relief, and you briefly wondered which god he would thank if he did. Would it be Mystra?

The petulant thought burst forth before you could really register it, and you felt selfish for thinking of yourself in a moment that Gale was waiting so long for. For so long, the wizard braced himself with a forced smile for your sake, and now, it was you who was grinning and bearing it for the sake of Gale’s health. You supported him through his mission of searching for The Annals of Karus and all the secrets it contained, and you stood by his side when Elminster appeared yet again with another message from Mystra.

Gale was a storm-wracked boat that was crashing against the rocky face of turmoil upon his former goddess’ request to meet her at her shrine. You were thoughtful enough to assume his inner struggle didn’t consist entirely of previous feelings and devotions to Mystra– His very soul was always a step away from being in question, and his life was a very complex puzzle that you kept at, even when it puzzled you, and you couldn’t act as though you could fully relate.

However, as Gale’s lover, you couldn’t help the small part of you that was fearful that he would slip back into his old mindset. You were afraid that he would happily kill himself just because Mystra asked it of him, leaving you behind to mourn his loss as his soul rested easily with her. With each time he looked to you, your smile grew more and more strained as you bit your tongue. Every time her name left his lips, your smile would twitch into a near-grimace before smoothing away entirely. Everything you did was slowly shifting in the direction of his sake… Everything he did seemed to be in the name of Mystra these days, and it weighed heavily on your chest.

Everything seemed one step away from breaking once the Netherbrain was weakened to the point of desperate bargaining. It spoke of even the most unspeakable of power it could grant using the Crown of Karus, and you could feel the call reaching home in the wizard beside you. Gale’s face was always expressive and you soon caught on to what he was thinking or feeling by a certain look that so much as flickered across his features. He turned to you imploringly, already seeking an answer before the question even formed in his mouth.

“This is our chance… Mystra-”

“Forget Mystra!” Even you were surprised by your outburst, but you’d be damned if you didn’t take the opportunity for what it was, “You don’t need to appease her, not anymore, my love,”

“I’m not-”

“I feel like I’m slowly losing you to her, like you’re wanting to go back to what you used to have once you give her the crown.” You admitted, and Gale instantly took you into his arms, holding you tight enough to leave no room for doubt between the two of you.

“Don’t worry about it, soldier, we got it from here, yeah?” called Karlach, waving her arm above her head dramatically even though she knew neither of your attention was on her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” He choked, his shame bleeding through your connection one last time. “I would never trade your love for what once was… She cursed me to die a horrific death and to bring with those around me. She hated me with a passion, and after what felt like an eternity of isolation, I felt as though I could slip away and let go at any moment… But in my time of basking in your love and adoration, I’ve come to realize it feels purer than even Mystra’s.”

You opened your mouth to cut in, to say something, but Gale was quick to beat you to the punch, silencing everything but a gasp with a promising kiss. It was one of apology, to make up for the insecurity he had put you through, but it was also a kiss that banished any doubt from your mind, and with one last quiver through your connection before the Netherbrain fell, you felt a sense of mutual peace and trust between the two of you.

[lipglossanon]

And Now For Something Completely Different

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The Merchant x fem!reader (one shot)

Such a random thought I had and quickly wrote out while I made coffee lmao so have this total and complete one off from my normal 🫣 please don’t expect more from me 🤣 also have a screenshot I took cause I thought he looked cute 😉

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, unprotected sex, creampie, slight dirty talk? 😆

not proofread or even looked over lmao ✌️

Title pulled from Monty Python 😜

part ii

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“I’ve got something that might interest ya,” the strange man murmurs as you step up to the rickety table. 

The purple flame‘s the only light source in the area casting strange shadows on the walls and across the man calling himself the merchant. 

You pull out the few rubies you were able to scrounge out of some old barrel and hold them out to him, “Is this enough to get an upgrade and a first aid spray?”

His dark eyes look down at your palm and back up to your face, “Well no stranga, I can do one or the other, but I’m afraid it’s not enough cash for both.”

You slump in on yourself, exhaustion writ all over your features as you sigh, “I’ll take the first aid then.”

He hands you the aerosol can with one hand as you drop the rubies in his other. 

“Thank you,” you smile at him, genuine and warm, “next time hopefully I can swing that handgun upgrade.”

He hums at you, watching underneath the hood as you pocket the first aid and double check your pockets to see if there’s anything else worth trading. 

“I wonder if you might be interested in less acceptable means of trade?”

You attention moves from your pockets up to him leaning against the table, shadow looming into your space. 

“Sure, I need all the help I can get.”

⊰❀⊱

“Oh oh my god,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as his cock bullies its way into your fluttering walls. 

He has you pinned down, back on the table he set up, and legs parted as he fucks into your wet and willing pussy. 

“What a lovely cunt,” he chuckles down at you, face still covered making you clamp down harder on his dick, “haven’t felt something this warm in a long time, stranger.”

“Mmm it s’good,” you whine, letting him push your knees up to your chest so he can plunge his cock in your pussy even deeper, “gonna make me cum so fast.”

“It’d be such a shame to end our fun so soon, love,” he groans, slowly rutting his fat cock into your clenching pussy and grinding against the spongy spot at the front of your cunt. 

Your eyes flutter shut and he smacks your swollen clit with his hand making you writhe under him.

“W-what’re you—“ a keening mewl leaves your lips as he slaps your pudgy clit again. 

“Behave, let me take my fill and I’ll give you what you need,” he laughs, “not a bad deal eh?”

You shake your head no as you gasp and moan. He rocks himself in and out of your pussy, never fully pulling out so you’re constantly stretched around his thick cock. The tip knocks against your cervix every time he bottoms out making you claw at his chest weakly, powerless as a kitten, too overwhelmed with pleasure to do anything but take it. 

“Bigger is better or so they say. At least I thought so as a lad,” he huffs with a laugh, burying himself so deep that his tip is grinding against your womb making you wail and thrash under his heavy body. 

“Shh, shh, you must take it, love,” he grits out, holding you down as he bruises your cervix, “let me give you what you need.”

“I-I need your mouth,” you gasp out, eyes wet with tears, “kiss me, please, sir, I—“

He yanks his mask down but before you get a good look a wet hungry mouth is kissing your greedily. One of his hands comes up to cover your eyes once he pulls back to catch his breath. 

“Such a sweet little thing,” he noses at your cheek and you can feel the grin on his mouth, “calling me sir like I’m some posh gent.”

He licks across your jaw and his tongue feels—odd, tapered but before you can process anything else he’s licking into your mouth again. 

You whine and suck on his tongue eagerly, rocking your hips down into his slow, punishing thrusts. You whimper when he pulls away and only quiet when he kisses you again, pressing his tongue deep into your mouth making you moan. 

You can feel how different his tongue is compared to yours and it makes your pussy gush slick around his thrusting cock. 

He pulls away with a hum of amusement, “You sure do enjoy that. Like my tongue, stranger? Like imagining it in other hot wet little holes?”

Your spine arches as you cry out, “O-oh god.” 

He finally uncovers your eyes but his mask is back firmly in place. You look into his eyes and see the corners are crinkled as he laughs at you. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” his hands shift down to your hips to pull you tighter to him, “but I’m pretty close to filling your lovely little cunt full.”

“Please,” you whine, hands scratching at the rough material of his cloak, “want it, please cum inside me.”

“Hell,” he groans, hips rabbiting into your squelching cunt making the table slide with his movements. 

“Touch yourself,” he directs you, “play with that slippery clit for me, love.”

You quickly listen to him, fingers moving to circle the swollen bud until your thighs are tensing and toes curling as the band of arousal snaps in your belly. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming oh—“ your back bows as you moan loudly, pussy milking his cock as he keeps fucking into your clenching walls. 

“That’s it,” he grunts, snapping his hips even harder against you until he burrows himself deep in your pussy. 

You feel the warmth of his hot cum paint your walls white as his dick fills you with rope after rope of sticky jizz. He yanks you even closer somehow as his cock kicks and throbs against your pulsing walls, tip spurting the last of his cum inside of you. You watch as he slowly pulls out, creamy slick and cum oozing from his drippy tip as it spills from your well used hole. 

“I’d say that’s a deal well struck,” his eyes seem to gleam down at you as he helps you up to redress. 

His cum is still oozing inside the gusset of your panties as you watch him quickly tinker with your handgun before giving you back your now upgraded weapon. 

He winks at you, “See you soon, stranger.”

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

Oh, Brave and Loyal Knight

○ fandom: fantasy high

○ main pairing: fabriz (fabian x riz)

○ characters: fabian | riz | penelope | dayne

○ genre/warnings: king + knight au

○ tags: King Arthur Vibes | But also The Goblin Emperor Motifs | King Fabian | Knight Riz | Court Politics | Mostly Fluff

○ word count: 2,654

→ summary: It's a lovely morning in Fallinel, and Riz is a horrible (yet loyal) knight.

○ note: based on a post by @/plumerii.

“Dude, your brave and loyal knight fucking bit me.”

King Fabian Seacaster pursed his lips as his gaze lazily drifted from Mr. Blayde’s bloodied hand to where the aforementioned loyal knight, Sir Riz, stood, licking the last of the young man's blood from his lips. Doing his best to hide a smirk, particularly at how the brief bout of pain had made Mr. Dayne Blayde's Solsian use of “Dude” slip through his halfway decent Elvish.

Fabian’s sure that in any other situation, his fianceé, Lady Everpetal, would admonish him for it. However, she was too busy glaring daggers at Fabian and his knight as she shielded Mr. Blayde’s thoroughly punctured hand with her own. Haughtily huffing so hard that they managed to echo in the vastness of the throne room as she did so.

By the third huff, Fabian decided that he’d made them squirm long enough to finally deign Mr. Blayde with a response. Especially with the way some of his other guards were eyeing him. Sighing, he sat back on his towering, ornate throne, caught the young merchant’s eye, and asked, “Well? Did you do something to provoke him?”

Indignation erupted on both Mr. Blayde's and Lady Everpetal’s faces. Blayde could only gape at Fabian, momentarily struck speechless, while Lady Everpetal’s pale complexion reddened as she cried out, “Did he—you can’t be—that little—”

“Oh, stop with the sputtering, your Ladyship. It’s beneath you. Here, look,” Fabian said, holding up a bejewelled hand. Tilting his head toward his knight, who caught his blasé look and returned it with one filled with mischief. “Sir Riz, why did you bite the good merchant’s hand?”

Making a point to deliberately lick the blood off his teeth before speaking, Sir Riz cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Blayde took a tone with his majesty that I didn’t like. Alluding to threats to your rightful reign that he is too cowardly to say plainly.” He turned his head toward an aghast Lady Everpetal with his ears pinned back and a sneer on his lips, hissing out, “Be happy that I chose his hand and not his eye.”

Sir Riz had wanted to say worse; Fabian could tell. Worse about the merchant punching above his status and far worse about the Lady with monarchal ambitions. Yet, he held his tongue, not wanting to show those cards lest the Everpetals wise up to their ruler knowing of their unabashed treachery and become more challenging to hinder.

Fabian’s quick ascension to the throne of Fallinel after the Elven Oracle (and best friend) had gifted him Fandrangour had left him in a position in want of allies and with a plethora of enemies. Yet, thankfully, his inner circle of confidantes had formed swiftly in the days preceding his coronation. And no one was more loyal to him than Riz Gukgak of Solace. A former detective Fabian had met during one of his many adventures across Spyre. Over the years of knowing each other, both had saved the other countless times and had grown closer than either of them had originally planned to. So, when the Court of Stars had backed him into a corner, demanding the ancient position of the King’s Nohecharei (a knight sworn to die than allow harm to befall the King) be filled, Fabian knew of the only person in the multiverse that he trusted enough to take up the mantle.

“I see. Sir Riz, refrain from biting next time. Use a dagger, far more sanitary.” Fabian said to his knight with a firmness that tried to mask the amusement at the situation underneath. In return, Riz bowed deeply and gave a quiet affirmative. Satisfied, Fabian turned back to the couple before him. Paying no mind to the steam coming out of Lady Everpetal’s ears, he told the dumbfounded Mr. Blayde, “One of the healers in the palace infirmary will see to your hand. I’d hurry before it gets infected. Now—”

“Your Majesty!” Leaving her fiancé behind, Lady Everpetal lifted the skirt of her flowy, green gown to rush closer to Fabian. Stopped only by a warning hiss from Sir Riz. She only spared Riz a single glare before softening her countenance to something sickeningly sweet as she turned to the King and said, “The Everpetals have been loyal to the Crown and the Court of Stars for eons.”

Don’t roll your eyes. Don’t roll your eyes. Kings don’t roll their eyes, Fabian!

“Yes, you’ve made that notion quite clear, my Lady,” Fabian said, arching one of his well-kept brows at her. “How that fact seems relevant enough to remind me every time we meet astounds me.”

“I only mean that, as my fiancé, Mr. Blayde should receive the same dignities as any else of my esteemed and ancient House,” Lady Everpetal said. Her expression strained to keep pleasant. Making it hard to tell whether her narrowed eyes were because of the raised cheeks of her smile or the fury burning within. Nevertheless, she let out a tittering laugh as she went on to spit out with barely concealed rage, “The fact that you're about to let that little—”

Fabian shot up on his throne. His hands gripped the armrests, threatening to scratch the golden embellishments, as he hissed, “Watch your tongue, Everpetal.”

“—knight—” She **quickly pivoted like the expert courtier she was, yet was still picking up steam.*“—*Of yours get away with injuring a soon-to-be member of your court i-is unconscionable!”

“Lady Everpetal—”

“Don't **you understand that you are throwing out centuries of noble tradition for a Goblin who was a peasant not a year ago?”

“Penelo—”

“Why must the Court of Stars have their way of life thrown to the wind all because of the arcane technicality that was your royal inheir—”

Fabian hadn’t realized how close Lady Everpetal was getting to him until Sir Riz swiftly imposed himself between them and slammed the tip of his Sword of Shadows into the marble of the dias.

CLANG!

The sound of sleek, sharp metal against stone echoed out into the great hall and drew everyone's eyes onto him—something his wasn’t want to do. Yet still, Sir Riz stood solidly, back straight, shoulders squared, and a tight grip on his blade. From behind, Fabian couldn’t tell what expression was on his beloved knight's face, but by the way, even Lady Everpetal had gone ashen and stumbled back toward Mr. Blayde; it was chilling.

“Yes or no?” Sir Riz began, his tone firm and fierce as the bright lights of the throne room dimmed at the sound of his voice ringing out. The newfound shadows clung to the knight’s blade, swirling around his hands and feet. “Does his Majesty not wield Fandrangour, The Sword of Elven Kings, Lady Everpetal?” He asked with a snarl. Mr. Blayde flinched. “Does the crown, enchanted only to let the true ruler of Fallinel wear it, not sit happily upon his head?” Lady Everpetal winced. “Did the Elven Oracle herself not foree his reign?” The shadows grew darker, grew in number, and grew in size as Sir Riz, despite his tiny form, also seemed to grow. His commanding presence filled the chamber as his voice, vexed and indignant, raised to almost a shout. “Does the Court of Stars move against him? Do you dare commit high treason?”

Sir Riz’s final question hung in the air for a few long moments.

No one dared even to breathe as perhaps the tentative peace Fallinel had might unravel before their eyes in the following moments. Fabian could feel every guard that lined the hall tense. None more pulled taut than Sir Riz, his tail still and his hackles still raised.

Mr. Blayde looked at a loss for words (then again, what else was new), while Lady Everpetal looked like she knew exactly what she wanted to say but kept her tongue still so as to respond to an accusation of high treason thoughtlessly.

Neither party dared to make another move, whether on the offence or defence. A moment so fragile a wrong single word might break it. Luckily, Fabian always considered himself a deft touch.

Fabian’s soft chuckles broke the silence of the throne room as he pushed himself to stand, gaining the hall’s attention in one easy movement. With a gentle hand on Sir Riz’s shoulder, the shadows receded, and the room's brightness returned as Fabian said, “Settle yourself, Sir Riz.” After a couple of extra moments, Sir Riz did what he was told and turned to acknowledge Fabian with a bow. Giving him a tiny, reassuring smile, Fabian looked out at the pair in front of him, his smile turning intimidating as he continued, “I’m certain that Lady Everpetal did not come here to list her grievances with my rightful reign before contesting me for the throne in an official capacity.”

Fabian certainly wasn’t in the mood for the trials and duels that come with the arduous process that was the Court of Stars’ official channels for contesting the ruling monarch for the Fallinese throne. And he’s sure Lady Everpetal wasn’t either.

Yes, yes, he was granting her a way to slither out of treason.

A way that would, he had no doubt, allow her to go back to plotting to overthrow him in secret. But it also got her to leave him alone for the next couple of days, or maybe, Gods willing, weeks. And that prospect of peace and quiet allured him deeply.

For her credit, Lady Everpetal took it immediately. Her too-sweet smile was back on her fair face as she bowed and said, “Of course not. Apologies, your majesty, for my outburst.”

“We all have our bad days, my Lady,” Fabian said back, ignoring the scoff that fell from Sir Riz’s lips. “Now, I do believe I’m quite finished taking audiences for the rest of the morning. Lady Everpetal, take your fianceé to the palace infirmary and see yourselves back to your fiefdom. Sir Durden, make sure they find their way there swiftly. Good day.”

And with that, Fabian swept out of the throne room, his silvery Elven robes fluttering behind him as he went. His steps were quick and filled with purpose, even if that purpose was to get back to the King’s—to his tower and collapse in a heap of rich, silky fabric and heavy opal and sapphire jewellery. He didn’t hear Sir Riz’s footfalls behind him in the same way he heard the clicks the heels of his own boots made, but then again, Fabian never did.

Riz was a damn good Rogue; moving silently through the halls of the palace was so second nature to him that he often unintentionally startled other members of the Court of Stars—even other spies. Fabian had heard many complaints about the phenomenon and fielded even more demands that Riz wear a bell. He waved them all off, noting that his nohecharei had never managed to frighten him. Leaving out the many times Riz had scared him at the beginning of their friendship and the years it took to hone his ability to notice Riz’s faint tells.

So, Fabian walked, head forward and held high, not needing footsteps to know that Riz was only a couple of steps behind. The way his claws tapped the hilt of his blade and the faint swish of his tail was enough.

It wasn’t until Fabian had reached his chambers within his tower—the Alcethmeret—and fell onto one of his couches that he got a good look at Sir Riz again. Turning to see him standing by the grand double doors, a soft smile on his face, he took a moment to enjoy the view.

Standing as tall as he could, a few inches shy of four feet, Riz’s slim frame was wrapped in only the finest dark leather armour over tawny brown robes. Far from the starched shirts and vests he wore in Solace. Sword of Shadows on his back. Arquebus at his hip. Fabian’s personal sigil embroidered onto his armour right over his heart. Same as the one he used to seal his letters and appeared on banners throughout the country. He’d never admit it, but the possessive part of him always preened at the sight of it. Physical proof of Riz’s connection to him. One that would protect him from all harm that might’ve befallen him as a lone Goblin in this den of High Elves.

His seal.

His knight.

His Goblin.

“You just had to bite him, didn’t you?” Fabian asked with a drawl and a wide smile.

Riz shrugged, his grin growing to match. “You told me I could bite whoever I wanted if you or the throne were in jeopardy.”

Fabian couldn’t help but roll his eyes, letting his head fall back onto the antique couch’s pillow. And apparently, he was the drama queen. “I wasn't in danger, The Ball.”

“If you allowed a foreign merchant to be so brazenly disrespectful—which Blayde was, threatening to stifle Solsian imports if you did not bend to his fianceé’s wishes—then the rest of the Court would start acting up.” “Besides, I thought you didn't mind my bites.”

Fabian’s head shot back up. Locking gazes with Riz, whose canny, amber eyes held a spark of defiant teasing. Narrowing his eye, Fabian crooked a finger at him and said, “Come hither, oh, Brave and Loyal Knight.”

Riz obeyed, striding from the door to bend a knee and kneel before him. Fabian immediately took advantage of their closeness to cup Riz’s cheek, running his thumb across a field of deep evergreen freckles. Riz's slitted pupils dilated at his touch, a catlike pur emanating from the ferocious knight as he leaned into it.

They stayed like this for a few long and peaceful minutes. There were no words between them, only sighs and grunts as Riz guided Fabian’s fingers to run through his greenblack curls. All was well until the palace clock tower rang, shattering their little personal bubble and bringing Fabian back to reality.

Still playing with the soft hairs at the back of Riz’s neck, Fabian pouted and quietly said, “Blayde and Everpetal are going to continue to be a problem.”

In a flash, Riz’s pupils go razor-thin once more. “I’ll handle them.”

Fabian's sure he would, but—“Word of her outburst will reach the ears of the other Houses and the rest of the country soon enough.”

“No other House will publically align with House Everpetal so soon after Penelope's stunt today,” Riz said with absolute certainty. “Neither will the rest of your subjects.”

“The Court of Stars could be moving against me,” Fabian shot back, feeling anything but certain about what their future held. “A coup could be on the way sooner than we think.”

“It’s not.”

“How are you sure?”

“Because,” Riz said slowly as he pulled away from Fabian’s hand so that he could take it in both of his. “I’ll squash its embers before it can catch,” he continued, staring into Fabian’s eye with the same conviction he had on the day he took his oath as a nohecharei. “Don’t worry about any of that. I’ve got your back, Fabes.”

“What would I do without you?” Fabian asked, his voice cracking and his chest full of warm, soft feelings as a sense of breathlessness overtook him. He knew the answer was collapse under all the weight and pressure of the life he never thought he’d have to live, though Riz would never say that.

Instead, Riz feigned thinking for a moment before he answered, “Die in a ditch thanks to a sabotaged carriage.” Fabian gasped in fake outrage. How so very dare he! Yet before he could complain, Riz pressed a kiss to Fabian’s ringed knuckles as he let out a laugh. “Not on my watch, though, my King.”

No, Fabian thought to himself, never on his Brave and Loyal knight’s watch.

[nellycanwrite]

An Order

Part 2 of “A Request”  ||  Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader

Summary: Your kingdom was at stake. Your thoughts are conflicted, your duties now weigh heavily on your shoulders, and the expectations of being K’uk’ulkan’s daughter puts you at risk as you try to talk with Princess Shuri of Wakanda. But you never had to worry—not when your lover, Attuma, was by your side to give you counsel.

Or, in which Attuma would soon realize that his own counsel would put you in jeopardy—bloodied and near death in his arms as you gave him your first order as princess.

Rating: 16+ || Viewer Discretion is Advised.

Word Count: 11.4K

Warnings: A very very angry Attuma and Namor. Heavy angst (oomph). Mentions of violence and near death experiences. Some bits are suggestive if you squint hard enough. Allusions of death. And if it’s any kind of consolation then tooth-rotting fluff too. 

Note: It is worthy to note that I have not included any deep Yucatec Maya phrases (besides the terms of endearment) despite the Talokanil speaking in their native tongue as respect to their language. Therefore their mother tongue shall be labeled with italics.

Part 1  ||  Part 2  || Part 3

As the daughter of the feathered serpent god, king of the great nation of Talokan, there were many things expected of you; the wisdom to rule with both mercy and hardened fists, the knowledge and wit that could challenge that of a merchant to negotiate terms to benefit your kingdom, and the grace befitting that of both nobility and divinity.

 Of course, you were also expected to be as strong as your father. So strong, in fact, that they had compared the ire of the king to a great catastrophe that equaled the eruptions from the Pacific Ring of Fire.

 It was impossible for you to achieve such a level of skill.

 But that is why you train.

 “Your attacks are still weak, in yakunaj.” My love, he said with an amused smirk. Even with a mask did he extrude such sly confidence that made you weak to your knees. 

 Attuma made a show of twisting his spear, droplets of sea water splashing across the walls that glowed with luminescent algae. You huffed and poised yourself to attack, your own vibranium spear pointed towards him in warning. 

 “You forget yourself, Attuma.” With the speed comparable to that of a great missile, you launched yourself forward with a beat of your feathered ankles. You heard him grunt when he put his spear up in defense, the clashing of vibranium creating an unpleasant screech as it collided with each other. 

 Despite you pushing against his weapon with your enhanced strength, Attuma far overwhelmed you with raw power. He slowly pushed you away and dove down to miss your incoming swing, taking your hips and slamming you into the ground. You felt the air escape from your lungs at the force, the grip of your weapon now long gone and away from your hands. 

 Attuma took your wrists in his large hand and pinned you against the floor, his masked lips dangerously close to yours. You used this time to catch your breath, your eyes boring into his own.

 “Do you yield?” He asked. The blade of his spear had now lodged itself beside your head. You gave him an amused chuckle. 

 “Never.”

 With a beat of your winged ankles, you tucked your knees in and kicked his stomach until he lost his balance. You wiggled your wrists out of his hand and flipped you over, the spear that was once beside you now thrown into the shallows of the underwater cave.

 His sheer size required the aid of your two hands, your fingers dwarfed in comparison to his wrists. You leaned forward as you breathed hard, your legs locking his hips into place.

 You stayed there for a while; your chests heaving in and out, your breaths falling into sync with each other, the drops of sweat and saltwater mixing together as you gazed into each other's eyes. There were unspoken words of ardor, the promises of a lifetime, and unwavering stubbornness that the both of you possessed in your mock fight.

 “Yield.” You gasped out, your hands tightening around his wrists. He chuckled.

 “Is that an order?” He cheekily asked. You playfully glared at him.

 “I would very much appreciate it if you finally admit the better fighter between the two of us, my love,” you leaned in closer and ghosted your lips over his mask, “now yield.”

 “What shame if her majesty's guard was weaker than she, no?” 

 You yelped when his hulking gait now rose and trapped you in his arms. He slammed you back into the rocks, this time pinning both of your wrists with both of his hands. His powerful legs secured yours in place, and the amused smirk still never left his lips behind that mask. His chuckle was low and sensual, a shiver running up your spine as he leaned in closer to you. 

 “I would not dare overpower her highness, but I have honor to uphold as your aide.”

 You struggled against him, your wings fluttering and aiding your movements. But he held you with all his might—a being such as you had to be held with such great strength that it needed all of his attention. And he was the strongest man in Talokan besides your father.

 “You dare pin your princess down?” You asked him with a smirk. His voice was gruff as he hummed, the gritted but silken sound sending heat to the tips of your pointed ears.

 “Forgive me for being so shameless.” He did not sound apologetic, rather, he found the situation amusing. The oaken sheen of his eyes held a mischievous glint that made you become hyper aware of the warmth that somehow sent a shiver up your spine.

 You found yourself becoming bolder under the influence of his own mischief. 

 “What punishment do you fancy, oh shameless warrior?” You challenged him while leaning up to press your lips against his mask. You heard the ever so subtle hitch from his breath and felt the grip of his hands tightened around your wrists. “Whatever shall I do to you for this treachery?”

 “Yield and I shall let you do your bidding, in princesa. Anything you want.” His voice dropped and made your thoughts hazy; you would have mistaken him for using his hypnotic melody to control you to his bidding.

 You bat your lashes at him in faux admiration, over acting the delightful gasp that came from your mouth. You pressed your chest against his, the jewels that adorned your neck making it impossible to satisfy the itch that you desperately wanted to satiate.

 “Anything?”

 Attuma tightened the hold on your wrists and licked his lips behind his mask, his piercing eyes darkening as he slowly lowered himself against you.

 “Anything.”

 “Ehem.”

 Namora stood by the water's edge, one hand planted firmly in her waist and the other carrying the spear you gifted her for her achievements as the new general. She gave both of you a pointed look and groaned in mock disgust. 

 “Must you always do that when you train?”

 Attuma removed himself from you slowly, careful not to hurt you in any way. He helped you up to your feet and kissed the side of your head as you finally stood. You smiled.

 “Whatever do you mean, Namora? The General and I are merely sparring.”

 “Don't play coy with me, princess,” she groaned, “you know fully what I mean. And Attuma, have some shame. You're training her, not winning her affections.”

 “Everyday is a quest to win my beloved's affections, no?” Attuma made his point by taking your hand and kissing the healing scars from your earlier spar. You felt heat crawl from your neck as he did so.

 Namora's face contorted to one of incredulousness. 

 “Unbelievable,” she almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but she meant it in good faith, “ever since you have asked for her hand you have been quite bold. Whatever happened to the oh, so patient Attuma who was willing to wait three centuries before confessing to the princess, hm?”

 “He could not wait any longer, I suppose.” You laughed when Attuma hissed at your best friend and relative, your hand now resting in his plated chest to calm him. You felt him shiver under your touch.

 Attuma rolled his eyes at the both of you. “You speak as if I am not here.”

 “And what of it?” Namora challenged playfully. Attuma kicked his spear up from the ground and caught it mid air, pounding it against the rocks as a declaration.

 “I'll let you know that I am not to be ignored, especially if it's concerning my love for the princess.” He pounded the brunt of his spear to the floor again, but this time with much more strength that left dents on its wake.

 “You dare challenge me? Oh, how frightening.” she twirled her spear around her head and poised it to attack.

 “Can we please not do this today?” You groaned. Attuma and Namora always found a way to initiate a mock battle between the two of them. Although the show was impressive in its right, they would often make it more of a spar for endurance; their fights lasting half a day if left unsupervised.

 But you had to admit, their battles—especially ones that concerned you or your father—is their little show of friendship. And it was their way to stay in their peak conditions as warriors. 

 “Is that an order, in princesa?” Attuma turned to you with a wide grin. You sighed. 

 “It's a request, my love. You know I don't like giving orders.”

 “Then consider it fulfilled.” Attuma lowered his spear and stood in attention by your side as if nothing happened. Namora followed suit and cleared her throat, the playful disposition both of them had now fading. 

 “Thank you, my Generals. Although your love for battle is admirable, I think we have more pressing matters to attend to, no?” You looked at Namora in question. She straightened up and pounded her spear on the ground, the sea water splashing to your feathered ankles.

 “K'uk'ulkan wishes all of his fighters to gather, in princesa,” she glanced at Attuma and shifted her eyes back to you, “and your presence is needed as well.”

 “Whatever for?” You asked her, your head cocked to the side. Attuma used this opportunity to pick up your spear from the shallows and handed it to you, his fingers brushing over your own. You smiled at him thankfully, your body gravitating towards his out of habit.

 “There have been…reports about the surface. I have been spared the details until all of us are present.”

 You and Attuma looked at each other in question, but you followed Namora into the water to meet with your king.

 Compared to the last few decades that you and Attuma have been together, he now had it in him to swim in stride with you. He didn't lower himself so far down to match the decorum of his nameless self, instead, he could now stand by your side as if you were equals, the titles he had garnered for himself speaking volumes of his place by your side. 

 He still submitted to you, his oath of piety resounding loud and clear through both words and actions. But you never really did find it in yourself to use your authority to such an extent. He would still follow your words as if they were the Word of truth, and he would still do your bidding even if you didn't ask him to. 

 Truly, no other man beside him could match the splendor that came with your name, and you had fallen harder for your warrior as soon as you learned that he had done all of this for your sake; so that he could stand by your side without anyone questioning your choice.

 You had arrived at the bottom of the underwater coves that led to the entrance of your great city, your Generals now swimming back in respect. You nodded at them as you put your hand through the rock as a key, of some sort, that responded to the vibranium from your decorated vambrace.

 Not a second later, a current formed in front of you that pulsed with the energy to propel you forward. You turned to your Generals and grinned. 

 “Shall we?”

 You smiled bashfully when Attuma took your hand in yours as Namora swam forward to guide you. The strong current pushed you forward in speeds that only K'uk'ulkan could even fathom to achieve with his winged ankles. Although you bore the same likeness as him, you never did achieve his speed no matter how much you trained.

 As soon as the rapid currents stopped, you waved by passing sea-life and greeted the whales that swam overhead with a joyous laugh as you approached the capital city of Talokan, the rays of the underwater sun now drawing closer as you approached.  

 “My daughter.” K'uk'ulkan greeted you with a soft smile as soon as you had arrived the throne room. You swam up to him as your Generals stayed behind, your father eyeing the lingering touch of your fingers on Attuma's bicep. 

 “I hope you are well, father,” you rested your forehead against his, his hands finding purchase on the back of your neck, “Namora told me you wanted to see us.”

 “Yes. It is an urgent matter, my child.” His eyes flickered to that of a dark hatred that you could only remember him showing to surface-dwellers. You couldn't help but slowly pull back, your hands holding his and rubbing circles on the back of his own to somehow calm him. You resisted the urge to show fear—fear of such raw emotion that was but a fraction of a second from your own father.

 “Then we mustn't waste a second longer.”

 You took your place on your throne as a steady stream of other generals, warriors, and council members alike gathered below to wait for K'uk'ulkan's next words, murmurs erupting from your subjects about the possibilities of such a gathering of strong fighters. You had to wonder as well—why did your father call you all here? What had happened on the surface for this to be such an urgent matter?

 In the middle of your own thoughts, Attuma swam forward to drape you in your royal robe and rested his forehead against yours.

 “Your thoughts are loud, in yakunaj. Your people are worried.”

 Your face broke into a grin. 

 “You mean you are worried.”

 “How can I not? I worry for you everyday, my love. Especially after…” You silenced him by putting your pointed finger to his lips. 

 “It was six years ago, Attuma. I am well and alive. I will not disappear again, I assure you.”

 Six years ago the ocean shook with Talokan's grief and rage when you, their darling princess, had suddenly disappeared and turned to dust along with half of your citizens. When you had magically appeared again, materializing on the same spot on your throne, Attuma was the first to cradle you and hold you tight—as if you were to become dust again if he did not hold you any tighter.

 He never left your side since, and he constantly doted on you.

 “You cannot blame me, my love,” he clasped the gold and jaden pins together and leaned into your ear so only you could hear, “I fear for what is to come. I have a bad feeling.”

 “Purge your worries, my darling. Whatever may come we shall resolve together. Now swim back down before father decides to fight you again.”

 You smiled and gave him a chaste kiss to the cheek before he descended down to join his ranks with an amused smile, but his worry lingered on his brow, still.

 K'uk'ulkan put his hand up to silence his subjects. Not a moment later, the throne room fell into a hush. The water felt still and tense, tension practically surrounding all of you as you waited for your king's next words.

 “There are whispers amongst the sea about the surface dwellers' activities. We had let them do as they wished far from our home, deterring them in utmost secrecy of our location. Although Talokan has remained safe, I'm afraid their next mission might compromise our well kept secret for centuries…”

 Your father proceeded to tell you all about the vein of vibranium found in the Pacific and the intentions of surface dwellers to mine them dry. Reports from your scouts say of a machine that could detect vibranium—something that filled your subjects with great worry. If that machine could detect the smallest vein of vibranium on the bottom of the deep Pacific, who was to say that they would not find your kingdom rich in the precious metal as well?

 Panicked murmurs coursed through the throne room, the voices of your worried citizens reaching a peak that buzzed the waters with anxiety. Fear. 

 You slammed your spear beside your throne, the vibranium reverberating and beckoning everyone to quiet down. You saw Attuma smirk—what great power you hold to silence warriors of great renown to your beck and call.

 “Let the king speak, my brothers and sisters. Do not let your fear consume you. We are Talokan; we do not yield under the threat of surface dwellers.”

 “The princess is correct,” your father rose from his throne and held his head up high, “there is no need to worry. We shall attack their base at night, covering ourselves in the darkness of the new moon. We shall eliminate the threat swiftly and disappear as we always have.”

 “And what if we are to be discovered, in ajawo?” My king. An old council member voiced his thoughts, “their technologies have grown. There is no guarantee we can hide our attack.”

 “The Wakandans will take the blame,” he said darkly, his voice sure and his strategies thought out, “they have so foolishly revealed themselves to the world and given the surface dwellers the opportunity to discover us. It is the consequence of their own actions. And Talokan will remain hidden. I shall discuss our course of action to your Generals—until then, you must prepare for battle.”

 You stood and bowed your head before your father and king, putting your hands in the likeness of a serpent's mouth. Your subjects followed suit in reverence to their ruler. 

 “Líik’ik Talokan!”

Attuma was a man of few words, his actions spoke louder than his verbal promises. Yet in your presence did he always find his tongue spilling with praises for you, vows of his loyalty, and the whispers of his unending love for you at every moment that you were together. 

 He often told you that you were the very sea that sustained him—gave him life—whilst you placed your forehead unto his. He would pick up his spear and tell you that he was yours to use as you wished; but you never did use such authority.

 He was enough. His love was always more than enough.

 He told you that you were a strong woman. So strong, in fact, that he would often tell you that you would make a greater ruler than K'uk'ulkan (such a thought would have been treacherous, but he found comfort in voicing his deepest thoughts to you no matter how audacious it would be in the ears of the council.)

 But in the face of a great threat, where your father had given you a task that far towered over you in dangerous foreboding, did you doubt those very same words that he would whisper against your skin.

 “Are you alright, in yakunaj?” Attuma asked you, his hand caressing your waist as you sat by the rocks of the surface. You leaned into his shoulder—now stripped of the spiked armor that he always wore—and sighed. 

 “I'm alright. Just…nervous,” you intertwined your hands with his as you watched the stars that littered the sky, “father gave me such a big responsibility. I have never even set foot outside the reef but he expects me to lead a platoon of our finest sirens to initiate the strike. What if I fail? What if I start on the wrong note? What if I disappoint my father? What if—”

 “And what if you don't?” He asked you, his thumb painting circles on your sun-kissed skin. “No one doubts your abilities. You will do just fine.”

 Attuma watched as your eyes glazed with unshed tears. They were magnificent in every way; even in your sorrow did you outshine the moon that graced the sea. 

 He caught the saltine gems of your despair on his thumb, wiped it clean from your cheek, and brought his masked lips to kiss the trail that it left in its wake—just below your eyes that fluttered close as he drew near.

 “And what if you are wrong?” You asked him, your voice cracking and stuttering.

 His brows furrowed.

 “Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever been wrong?”

 “Well, consider this, what if—”

 He silenced you with a thumb to your lips, grazing the supple flesh as he cooed for you to hush. For you to lay your worries at ease.

 “What if I kiss you right now to silence your thoughts, my love?” 

 You blinked in surprise. Only have you noticed the proximity of your lips, of your eyes, of the touches of his fingers across your damp skin. 

 But you did not pull away.

 He ghosted his fingers down to your neck, his touch lingering on the base of your pointed ears. You felt heat crawl up to your cheeks as he did so. 

 Attuma stared into your eyes, waiting for your response. Your eyes flickered to his lips, then back to his earthen gaze, and then back to his lips.

 You burst into fits of laughter.

 “...Your mask, my dear,” you giggled, “you cannot possibly kiss me when your lips are sealed in land.”

 He pressed his forehead against yours and laughed with you. 

 “But have I not calmed the storm of your thoughts?” He inquired cheekily. You laughed in disbelief and rested your hands on his barren chest. 

 “You are an insufferable man, Attuma.”

 “And you are simply exquisite, my princess.” He drew himself closer, your bodies sharing what little heat the both of you had from the cool, night air. You felt him playing with the ends of your hair as he continued to dig deep into your very soul with his piercing eyes. He continued.

 “You are the darling pearl of the sea. Your wisdom equals that of the king. Your subjects adore you, your warriors revere you, and the council already see you as a prospect to rule in the foreseeable future. K'uk'ulkan assigned you to lead your own platoon outside of Talokan for he knows you are ready. Prove to him that you are worthy of the responsibility he entrusted you with, just like how I had proven to you that I am worthy to be by your side.”

 Your breath stuttered as you felt his heart thump in his chest. He chased your hand and held it tightly, as if to tell you that his heart only beats for you. That it would bleed and cease and skip only for your majesty.

 What such blessing fell into your hands, you wonder, to grace you with the magnificence of a man such as Attuma? 

 “...How did I ever become so fortunate to have been given a lover such as you?”

 “I am hardly worthy, in princesa. I should be the one to ask that of you,” Attuma tightened his hold, “and I have not become your lover just yet—not when I have yet to prove myself to K'uk'ulkan.”

 “Forget what my father thinks, Attuma,” you brushed away strands of wet hair that stuck to his face and gazed lovingly into his eyes, “you have proven more than enough to me that you are worthy to be by my side. He is simply stubborn.”

 He scoffed as if he was amused.

 “And rightfully so. No one should be able to win your hand without great deliberation.”

 “And yet here you are.” You cheekily cooed. His chest rumbled as he chuckled merrily. 

 “I have not officially won your hand yet.”

 You brought his hand to your lips and kissed the knuckles that were littered with scars from his battles.

 “Hush now. You have won my hand the moment you have made your vow. I simply cannot think of anyone else to love this much other than you,” Attuma's heart blossomed with pride and adoration as you continued, “and you would make a great king someday. You are perfect.”

 “That is for K'uk'ulkan to decide.” You gave him a pointed look.

 “That is for me to decide. I will not allow anyone to sit on that throne unless it was you, in yakunaj.”

 What such bliss does Attuma feel, you wonder, as soon as you witness his very being light up with such love for you as he hears those words come out of your mouth?

 What such contentment did you bring him for the warrior you so loved to laugh in earnest for the joys that you had given him?

 Under the witness of the full moon, free of the prying eyes of both land and sea, Attuma grabbed you by the waist and plunged into the shallows of the reef, his mask now discarded with such haste, and his hands tracing your features with such tender adulation that made your heart soar into the heavens.

 You were a sight to behold—a goddess, that you were. Basked in beaming light of the late night, fractals of lustrous gems dancing across your skin, and oh, what to say about your twinkling eyes that the stars of the Atlantic would pale in comparison to? 

 “I love you.”

 And with those words of pure ardor, Attuma planted his lips on yours.

 And you love him too, you wanted the words to fall in pure ecstasy. But you settled with wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss.

 For your lips were enough to tell him all he needed to know.

The sea was quiet, darkness surrounding you and your platoon as you watched two surface dwellers probe with the machine that connected itself with the veins of vibranium that throbbed on the seafloor. It wasn't much, barely a morsel compared to Talokan's own mines, but in the wrong hands it would cause catastrophic damage.

 You resisted the urge to call off the attack—they were still living beings, ones that have family, friends, even lovers. But you gritted your teeth and strengthened your resolve. There was no time for mercy when your nation was so close to its discovery.

 “Attuma. Namora.” You called out. They nodded and stood in attention, spears ready and poised.

 “Yes, princess.” They replied. You nodded, satisfied with their attentiveness. 

 “Leave one alive. The man. Father needs information.”

 You turned to the platoon under your command, all women whose voice exceeded anyone else's. Their voices reigned supreme in every aspect, their enchanting melodies the testament to the many legends surface dwellers passed on to their kin as bedtime stories. 

 And you were their leader, the forefront to the hymns of your people. 

 Attuma resisted the urge to follow after you as you swam forward under the guise of the inky depths. As if sensing the imminent danger the divers are under, they looked around in haste, their nerves up high. He positioned his spear to attack when needed—he was not going to let you get hurt. 

 You focused your gaze on the man, his eyes flickering with fear. He talked into his comms in panic, his mission now long abandoned as his adrenaline peaked.

 And then you started to hum.

 It was an enthralling sound, one that your father had taught you when you were younger. It would lead surface dwellers into your arms, charmed by the promises that lay in each note. One of the divers looked around, trying to find the voice that called out to him so warmly—like a mother would to her children.

 And you swam forward, just in the line of his sight and away from his partner's eyes, and beckoned him forward with a smile.

 “Come to me, child. Come to me.”

 Dazed and enamored, he took a step forward. He could not hear the calls of his superiors nor the worried cries of his crewmate. He just had to sink into your arms; mission be damned. 

 With a speed comparable to the fastest of missiles, you cut the cord that connected him to the surface and dragged him away into the inky depths. You made sure to give the diver a charming smile before you smashed his helmet open—cutting any sort of communication that he previously had—and replaced his supply of air with the mask your people used. 

 “Breathe, child. You may close your eyes and dream.”

 Warriors came to take the surface dweller away upon Namora's instructions. You felt Attuma's hand on your shoulder, his lips landing on your cheek so tenderly. 

 “You have done well, my love.” He whispered. You gave him a grateful smile before turning to Namora.

 “You may do as you wish with the other surface dweller. K'uk'ulkan has no use for them.”

 Namora nodded and did her bidding with the other diver, beckoning her squad to wreck the machine as she stabbed the surface dweller and dragged them into the depths of the ruthless ocean. 

 You could only look away. 

 “Sisters,” you turned to your platoon and held your spear up high, “it is time. Let the surface dwellers hear the hymns of our people and guide them into the sea. There shall be no mercy for them.”

 Attuma joined you as your group ascended to the surface, his hand holding on to your own tightly. You knew he was to rejoin his ranks, so you savored his comfort a little while longer as you started the first notes of your siren's song.

 With one last squeeze to his hand, you used your feathered ankles to finally surface in full.

 Attuma could not hold back the awe from his face—you were ethereal in every way, ascending into the air like a deity of the sea. The jewels that adorned your body glistened under the artificial lights of the ocean rig, your hands extended out to call forth the charmed souls into your waiting arms. 

 An enchantress.

 Your group of singers eventually followed your melodies, the haunting tunes now taking full effect. Not even a few seconds later, splashes reverberated from the sides of the rig, all reaching out to you and clawing at the air in hopes to get to you; to touch you, to worship you.

 Their last sights were that of a goddess, an angel, their deliverance. You had smiled upon them with pity as you sang the hymns of your people.

 How these woeful souls longed to even touch your feet and kiss it in full before they succumbed to the frigid waters and met their demise

 Their ends were silent. They showed no signs of struggle and surrendered to the arms of sweet death.

 At least you had given them sympathy in their last breaths, even if it was in the influence of your hypnotic voice. 

 But you knew it was just an excuse to justify your guilt. 

 You closed your eyes as soon as you heard the gunshots from the rig, the company under your father's command now boarding the infrastructure and attacking any leftover surface dwellers that remained. You slowly descended into the water and dove into the awaiting arms of Attuma, your breath hitching as you calmed your racing heart. 

 “I am still weak.” You whispered, the songs of your people drowning your own voice. But Attuma still heard. 

 “It is okay, my love,” he caressed your back and placed a kiss on your forehead, “you have done your part beautifully.”

 “Must there be death in every battle? In every war?” The answer was obvious, but Attuma still took the time to humor you.

 “It is inevitable.”

Following your successful attack on the facility, you had coaxed your surface dwelling captive to tell you everything about the machine they had used to find the smallest hint of vibranium in the Pacific. You had used your voice to allure him into your bidding, and with a simple caress to his cheek and hypnotizing hum against his ear, he had submitted to you and forgot his loyalties.

 When the surface dweller finally cracked under your fake attention, there you found the information of the young female scientist who created the whole machine. 

 Attuma wasn't so happy that you had to use such tactics, but it was the most effective. You made sure that he watched the whole exchange to ease his mind—but it only ended up with you being pinned to the wall and being winded by his lips.

 It was to claim you, he insisted. He will allow no man to receive the feathered touches that you gave him, to hum against their ear with your allure whilst he watched. 

 Your dear warrior was just possessive, you thought in amusement. 

 Your father was satisfied with your findings. It was added to his already growing pride for your successful first mission away from Talokan. K'uk'ulkan was sure that the kingdom will be left in good hands once he passes his title to you. 

 And your heart swelled when your father praised you for your exploits and gave you access to explore beyond the reefs of the surface—you were now free to fly wherever you wished so long as you were careful (and of you will be careful. You didn't want this opportunity taken away from you).

 Your father had taken it upon himself to go to Wakanda and demanded their queen mother for the scientist. He had deployed his soldiers (including Namora and Attuma) to be wary of the movements of the princess and her warrior aide, the Dora Milaje's general.

 “I want to fight that warrior. The female general.” He told you as soon as he came back, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face on your shoulder from behind. You cocked a curious brow.

 “Oh? Pray tell, do you fancy them?” He huffed.

 “Not as much as I fancy you, my love,” he peppered kisses on the jewelry upon your skin, “I simply admire their skill as a warrior—but you far outshine them in every aspect.”

 “Ever the charmer I see.” You laughed. He grabbed your hips to turn and face him and pressed himself closer, your arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

 He smirked.

 “For you? I’ll always be.”

 After they had fought near the waters of the Western surface dwellers, Namora and Attuma had brought home the princess of Wakanda and the scientist that you had sought out for their brilliant minds. 

 Only, you did not expect the scientist to be a child.

 Your father had gone to talk to Shuri, a diplomatic way of coaxing her into a more peaceful negotiation, you gathered. You were left to sit on your throne and rule in your father's stead. 

 “What is on your mind, in yakunaj?” Attuma asked beside you. You sighed and fiddled with your grandmother's bracelet, the jade from the jewelry shining brightly under the underwater sun. 

 “Nothing, really. I was just hoping that the talks would go well. There's no reason for this to escalate further than it should.” You urged Attuma to stand closer to you.

 He did so without question.

 When he finally placed himself by the seat of your throne, you leaned your head against his waist and just surrendered yourself to the safety of his presence. He held you closer to his side, his hands now drawing comforting circles on your shoulders as you overlooked your kingdom.

 From the corner of your eye you could see your father talking to Princess Shuri, her being clothed in a suit that could protect her from the pressures underwater. 

 You watched them attentively.

 “Do you think father will allow me to talk to her?” The hands that drew circles around your shoulder ceased.

 “There will be no such thing,” he chided, “what if she will hurt you?”

 “Do you really think a lone surface dweller, of all things, is enough to hurt me?” You joked lightheartedly. But Attuma did not take it well. 

 “I promised you that no surface dweller shall ever rest their eyes on you without meeting their death. That will not change now.” Your heart pounded against your chest at your lover's protectiveness. But you just needed to find a way to convince him somehow.

 “Maybe I can help my father with the negotiations. From where it stands, I doubt the Wakandan princess will even agree to father's terms.” You tore your eyes away from the Princess of Wakanda and your father as they swam away. Your eyes furrowed when you saw the downcasted look on K'uk'ulkan's face—you took note to approach him about it later.

 “A foolish decision, truly.”

 “And I understand her sentiments,” Attuma looked at you in question, his head cocking to the side. You continued, “that scientist is merely a child. People stole her inventions and took credit for themselves while she received our ire. And to declare war on the surface…even I could not fathom such scale.”

 “The surface dwellers' shortcomings come from their own negligence. If they were to be more careful—”

 “I do not wish to kill the scientist, Attuma, nor do I wish for war.”

 He paused, the only sound from the throne room were the hums of the vibranium sun and the slow moving currents from the tide. You looked up to him as he shifted ever so slightly, the grip on your shoulder only tightening.

 And after a few beats of silence, he asked.

 “Why?”

 Why indeed, you wondered.

 You were sure you were prepared for war. You were sure you were ready to fight for your nation and reclaim the land that you rightfully owned.

 But something was holding you back.

 “I do not wish for violence. And I pity her, that is all. She is a child whose work was stolen and discredited for. Her mind is great, but she is unaware of the damages she would have caused. And…and I do not wish for more deaths, especially one that is as young as her.” You glanced at your hands—the hands that held blood of countless surface-dwellers. A necessary sacrifice, but it did not mean it felt right.

 “Your mercy is worthy of praise, my love. But one wrong move will lead to our discovery. It will lead to war. One surface dweller's life for the life of your kingdom—those are the options you have to choose from.” 

 He swam in front of you and knelt before your feet, his headpiece now lay discarded beside him as he rested his head on your lap. You wove your fingers through his dark tresses; they were soft as silk.

 “Is there no other way?” You asked him. He trailed his fingers up your lap and took hold of your hands, his lips lazily kissing your knuckles.

 “Perhaps not. But the king sees this as the best course of action. Believe in his plans; believe in your father.”

 Your head dove down into deep thought, your hands mindlessly playing with Attuma's long hair. He leaned into your touch as you massaged his scalp, the delightful rumble from his chest giving you enough motivation to continue.

 “...If that is what you think, then I shall listen.” He peered up to you with those fierce eyes that only softened for you. 

 “And what have you chosen?”

 You swallowed the lump on your throat, the decision weighing heavily on your shoulders.

 “I choose to trust you and my father. It might be against my heart, but if it is for Talokan, if war is necessary for our people, then it shall be done.”

 He slowly rose and took your cheeks into his hands, his forehead now pressing against yours. In those moments did you relish the assurances from his touches, his thumbs unraveling the lines of worry from your troubled brow.

 “There is no need for you to spill blood. You only need to give the order and I will do it for you. This is why I am here; it is my purpose.”

 You shook your head and placed a chaste kiss on the side of his lips. He chased you as you retreated, your hands now finding purchase on his strong jaw.

 “Thank you, Attuma. But I need to do this on my own.” He snapped his eyes to yours indignantly.

 “In princesa—”

 “I can't keep depending on you, my love. I want to become a better partner for you, to become strong and protect you as well. What kind of a queen would I be if I can't protect my future king?”

 Attuma felt a thousand sparks lifting him up to the heavens as you said so. You were strong, stronger than you would admit to yourself. But you always doubted yourself; doubted your abilities, your choices, your authority. 

 But now, he was honored to witness the paradigm shift of your conviction. It was like the embers he had heard stories of in his time on water—where it was hotter than the vibranium sun that shone, more persistent and brighter than the light from the luminescent algae of your father's hut, and it burned so elegantly while still maintaining its power.

 You were beautiful. Strong.

 How could he ever say no to you?

 “Then let me have the honor to witness your first steps of your will. I want to see you shine, my love. My queen.”

 You laughed and drew him closer to you, his body now suspended into the water until his eyes were level with yours, and his lips now mere inches away from you. His arms trapped you in your throne—but you were more willing to submit to him and held prisoner to his affections if it meant you'd spend a lifetime in his arms.

 “I am not queen yet.”

 He smirked, his leg snaking between yours; anything to be closer to you. 

 “In my heart, you already are.”

Your father called Attuma and Namora to join him to meet Queen Romanda. You had assured him that you will be alright, that meeting with the Wakandan princess will not harm you in any way. You already had K’uk’ulkan’s permission to talk to the surface dwellers—he trusted that you could protect yourself whenever the need arises (not that you needed much protection. They could not even put a scratch on you even if they tried). 

 “Be careful,” Attuma told you as he caressed your cheek, his mask covering the purse of his lips as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your pointed ears, “I will not be there to protect you when anything happens.”

 “You worry too much, my love. I’ll simply talk to the princess, nothing more.” You cupped his strong jaw and placed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

 You heard the sound of splashing beside you, your father and Namora now ready to dive into the water to meet with the Queen of Wakanda. You stepped back and bowed your head low to your king and generals.

 “Please return safely.” K’uk’ulkan gave you a nod. 

 “We will.” 

 And before Attuma could even hug you goodbye in front of your father, Namora dragged him by the back of his spiked armor and plunged deep into the water. You couldn’t help but laugh when Attuma huffed indignantly, but he obeyed Namora nonetheless.

 You took your time to change into far less intimidating garb—one that is free of your armor and only left jewels around your neck, ears, and wrists to show your authority. Beautiful articles of your traditional clothing wrapped you in the finest material that your people could provide. Only the best for their princess, they always told you, wrapped in jades, gold, and pearls.

 You brought a basket full of corn and fresh fruits from the surface to offer your visitors something to eat whilst you spoke with them, waving to some of the nearby guards who stood in attention around the frightened women. Their hushed whispers soon come to a halt when they finally see you enter the caves they were held in, the warriors and the attending maid present all bowing their heads in respect.

 “Be at ease.” You called out to them. Although your people understood and resumed their positions, the surface dwellers cocked their heads in confusion. You cleared your throat. 

 “I am not here to harm you.” You spoke in a tongue they would most likely understand. They straightened up and watched you cautiously.

 “You speak English.” The Wakandan princess, Shuri, said. You nodded.

 “English…yes, that is what you call this language,” you slowly set your basket down and gave them a smile, “I have always been fascinated with the way surface dwellers speak amongst each other. It is diverse.”

 “You and Namor are related.” Princess Shuri put the scientist behind her and tried to put as much distance as she could between you. Both their eyes shifted to your pointed ears and the wings upon your ankles that fluttered as it landed on them. The girl, Riri, could only look at you warily.

“Fear not. I swear I bring no harm to you nor your people. And I apologize for not introducing myself,” you bowed your head and stepped back. You wanted to know that you were not a threat, that you could be trusted. You told them your name first, the surface dwellers testing the way it rolled on their tongue. You continued, “my people call me many names, but you are free to choose which name makes you comfortable. Or you can address me by my titles.”

 “And your titles are?”

 “Radiant Pearl of the Sea, Child of the Feathered Serpent God. Or if you'd prefer princesa, or princess, in your language,” you heard their breaths hitch as you continued, “beloved daughter of Talokan’s king, K’uk’ulkan.”

 “So like, what, you’re royalty?” Riri suddenly asked. The bluntness of her question elicited a chuckle from you. It was light, almost enchanting. They couldn’t help but loosen up in your presence. 

 “I suppose so, yes. But I treat my people as my brothers and sisters. And while you are a visitor to our home, I will treat you the same.”

 “And why have you come?” Shuri asked you, her guard still noticeably up. You walked closer to her slowly, your steps deliberate and unthreatening. 

 “I have heard how you had rejected my father’s proposal. You wish not to make an alliance for war, nor do you wish to give up this child’s life in exchange for Wakanda’s safety.” Shuri’s eyes hardened.

 “Either option is out of the question.”

 “And I agree with you, Princess Shuri.” Both of their eyes widened in surprise.

 “Then—”

 “I am not finished,” you put your hand up to silence them. They immediately did so. Riri shrunk down at the sheer power of your words, but Shuri managed to hold her head up high. You sighed, “both choices require sacrifice. Both have consequences. We are both heirs to our kingdoms; we are the same, you and I. Surely you should know this much.”

 Shuri’s jaw tightened. You could see her body tense, and her eyes burned with such hatred that were reminiscent of your father’s own fury. You held your chin up high and held your ground.

 “And I do not accept such terms! If you claim to agree that such choices are madness, then why have you not said anything?”

 You straightened yourself and pursed your lips together. 

 “Because my feelings do not matter when it comes to the betterment of my kingdom. I act upon what is necessary, not what is wanted.” Your heart lurched as you said those words, but you knew it had to be said.

 Your response had left both of them shell-shocked, at least, how could you say that your feelings don’t matter with such a straight face? And follow it up with a formal smile, no less. 

 You turned to the scientist and offered her a sympathetic look. “Your mind is brilliant, child. I cannot deny that. But your surface-dwelling companions have left you to receive the ire of our nation. I do not wish to kill you, nor do I want to wage war. But if you pose a threat to my people then I will not hesitate to end your life.”

 Shuri hid Riri behind her and regarded you with a frown. “Then we are not the same, princess.”

 You sighed.

 You knew the Wakandan princess would not yield to your words so easily. But there was a hope inside of you that she would understand your words, especially when you and her share the same responsibilities as heir (even if the role was forced upon her after the death of her king brother). 

 “Your spirit is strong, Princess Shuri. I admire that about you,” you walked forward and untied the bracelet from your wrist—the same bracelet that your grandmother once owned before she passed it onto your father, “but I must abide by my father’s will. I only hope that you understand his intentions; he only wishes the best for his people, even if it means he needs to force his hand into violence.”

 You gently grabbed her hand and watched her carefully as you lifted it up. She did not do anything to stop you, nor did the scientist who now watched you in curiosity (her eyes were now rid of fear, which you were glad about). You saw this as a signal to continue, to wrap your grandmother’s bracelet on her wrist and secure it tightly. 

 “What is this?” She asked you quietly while admiring the jade on the jewelry. You smiled.

 “An apology, of sorts, for how my warriors and my father had treated you these past few hours. It was my grandmother’s. My father gave it to me as a reminder of our roots,” you caressed the back of her hand with your thumb, the jewels on the bracelet making you smile, “he had seen…many things throughout his life. Things that even I could not comprehend. He protected us all these years and kept us hidden from evil doers and conquistadors of the surface world. He had set aside his own desires to put our people first. All he has done is for the benefit of our nation—of our Talokan...”

 You stepped back and rubbed your bare wrist. It felt odd that your hand was empty of the bracelet that you always wore, but it felt right to give it to her. 

 “I only wish that you reconsider my father’s offer, perhaps reach a compromise. Before he is a man—before he is my father—he is a king. He made sacrifices for our kingdom, and this one is no different. I’m sure you have seen what we are set to protect.”

 For the first time you had seen the princess of Wakanda, she smiled. It was small, barely even there, but it settled the unease that you felt in your heart.

 “...I will try. But I cannot guarantee anything.” She told you. Riri finally eased up when your face broke into a delightful grin—one of genuine joy.

 Hope blossomed in your chest. Maybe things will be different. Maybe you can avoid the dreaded bloodshed once the Wakandan princess and your father find a compromise. 

 “That much is enough for me. Thank you—”

 “Princesa!” 

 Just as you were about to turn to your soldier, a stinging pain lodged itself into your abdomen and drew blood. The sheer power sent you flying to the ground, the wings on your ankles trying their best to steady yourself before you fell. You did so with little success, your back now pressed against the damp stone of the alcoves and dyeing it in an eerie scarlet.

 Your eyes caught sight of the lifeless forms of your soldiers just behind the rocks, your heart aching at the glimpse of your unmoving brothers and sisters.

 An unpleasant rage filled you to the brim, all the stories that your father had told you surfacing into the forefront of your mind.

 They were your brothers, your sisters. They stood by you and protected you, always helped you improve the ways of your spear, always teased you when Attuma was near, always the people that you looked upon with favor as your loyal subjects to rule one day.

 And now you didn't even know if they were breathing.

 The attending maid yelled out your name just as the intruder shot your guard. It filled you with an unfathomable anger. Despite your wound, you found the strength to stand straight and glare at the woman with all the hate that your forefathers bore for the surface world.

 A surface dweller dared hurt your people.

 “You dare shoot me and my kin?” You asked in your mother tongue. The intruder, a woman in a green and gold diving suit with Wakandan patterns, gaped at the sight of you, her gun still poised.

 That shot should have killed you at that distance!

 “In princesa!” The attending maid lunged at Shuri and brandished a knife to her neck. You groaned as you put your hand up to the intruder in warning, your other hand pressing against your wound.

 You were proud of your people's initiative—such a feat must be rewarded later, you thought.

 “You wouldn't want your princess to be hurt now, would you?” You asked the intruder, your whole body seething in fury. She diverted her weapon's attention to your attending maid, her finger so dangerously close to the trigger.

 “Drop the weapon and I won’t have to kill you.” She threatened her in your mother tongue. You narrowed your eyes and used your wings to slowly ascend into the air, the wrath that you felt bubbling in the pits of your spirit now overflowing in waves.

 Was this the hate that your father had felt all those centuries ago?

 You felt the hope that settled into your heart slowly crumble into nothing but pure repugnance.

 “You do not speak to my people that way.” 

 You lunged at her at such a speed that left her gasping as soon as she had witnessed it. You were considerably slower, the wound from your abdomen weighing you down like lead. You ignored the pain and the spurts of blood even as the intruder ducked out of the way just in time to dodge your attacks.

 You propelled yourself to twist mid-air, your feet hitting the stalactites on the ceiling and using it to kick yourself forward and into the back of your enemy. You drew your fist back, her body practically open to your strikes—

 “Stop! Don’t hurt her!” You heard Shuri yell. In a moment of hesitance did you slow your ascent and shift yourself to the side, your fist now creating a well-sized crater on the stalagmite just beside the Wakandan intruder as you landed. 

And in that instant of panic—where your back was turned to her—she shot you again at the back, just barely missing your spine.

 You cried out in pain, the stinging sensation pulsing through you tenfold. Whatever hit you had slowed down your enhanced regeneration. In the haze of your thoughts did you hear your attending maid wail and drop her weapon. You felt cold hands cradle your face, shook with great distress, and pressed down your wounds as you heaved in great gulps of air. 

 “Princess!" You heard someone call out your name—your real name. It was slow, almost echoey, lost in a chasm that was your own dwindling consciousness.

 You were getting more and more tired. 

 “Sister,” you called out to nothing, your hands trying to find something, anything, to hold. You felt cold hands finding purchase on your own, grasping you so tightly that it felt almost painful if it weren’t for the existing pain on your back and abdomen, “are you safe? And—and the o-others…”

 “You mustn't speak! In princesa, please, save your strength. K’uk’ulkan will come—the General will come! Until then, you must hold on and heal!”

 You could feel it; your consciousness fading, the darkness that beckoned you forth. You could also feel your body heal. A pitiful attempt, really, but it was something to hold onto whilst you tried to battle life and death. 

 You dangled in the edge of a precipice, desperately grasping what little strings of your life you had left.

 You knew you should be worried about something else, but you could not remember what it was. A person, a princess, maybe, who had escaped under your watch. Or has she been captured again? What of the scientist; that brilliant child who you only got the chance to see smile? How did the intruder get in whilst you were present, to shoot you when your guard was down?

 How disappointed would your father be, you wonder. 

 In such a shroud of your uncertainties did you only have one thought, only one name that continued to echo through the abyss that was sweet slumber. He was your only saving grace, the only man who would ever put your mind to rest.

 You wondered if he would chide you for being careless, gently knocking on your head teasingly while you try to slap his bicep with a pout. You longed to see that insufferable smirk of his whenever he won a petty argument, how you longed for him to kneel before you and swear his oath again and again. You craved for the adrenaline you always got while sparring him, that sweet joy of winning and losing by his hand.

 You missed him, truly, even when you had only parted for a few hours.

 “Attuma…”

 You wondered if it was the delusions of near death that prompted you to conjure the image of your beloved above you, the feeling of his touch far, far away from your skin as he cradled you closely. Was it the heavens that took pity on you? To have summoned the image of your darling warrior whose tears cascaded down his cheeks whilst you chased the last beats of your heart?

 You must have gone mad at this moment—for his lips felt so close to you, his scent almost wrapping you in an embrace, and his fingers held the back of your neck as he spoke to you in great panic. But you were far too gone to make sense of them. You were far too deep into the darkness of sleep to hear his promises, his apologies, his weakness. 

 And maybe you were crazy enough to believe that he was there.

 “In princesa!” You heard him through the fog of your mind. You managed to crack a shaky smile. 

 “What—” your body jerked up at the pain, his hands steadying you as you heaved a great intake of breath, “w-what troubles you, my love?”

 You felt his forehead press against yours, the tremors of his hands going unnoticed as you still writhed from the pain. You felt salves and cold medicine being applied to your wounds—but you did not care at that moment, not when Attuma kept you afloat through the darkness that danced through your vision.

 “Who did this to you?” He growled. His eyes were dark, almost murderous. You felt his anger, his rage, the pure unbridled hunger for vengeance.

 “Are you really here?”  You asked him, your hand now trying to chase the saltine crystals of his misery. You had to make sure that he was truly here; holding you, speaking to you, crying with you. He took his hand in yours and leaned his cheek into your palm. You could feel him—he was real. He was really here.

 His first question was lost as he pressed himself closer to you, careful not to disrupt your wounds. Your vision glossed over, the blankets of darkness now taking hold of you, but you tried and tried to push them away. Anything to see him, anything to burn his very image to your memory before you closed your eyes. 

 “I am here. I—I am here, my love,” he pressed his masked lips on your forehead and rocked you back and forth, “whoever did this will pay.”

 “I was—I was wrong to believe in them. I was wrong to…t-to hold on such hope,” you felt his tears mix with your own, the pictures of your soldier’s unoving forms flashing through your minds’ eye. You hoped they were okay. You hoped that they would still be able to open their eyes and see the kingdom under your reign, “they hurt them, Attuma. They hurt my people.” 

 “And they will pay with their life for their sins threefold.” His anger was apparent again. If you were his enemy, you were sure you were to be buried deep into the earth with his spear plunged into your heart. But his anger calmed you; it was an assurance that your people’s sacrifices would be paid in full.

 “Are they—?” You choked out a sob. Attuma shook his head. 

 “Your soldiers have been caught off guard, but they are fine. They are recovering, my love. And as should you.” 

  You felt yourself slip into the darkness for a short while as you relaxed. Your people were safe. They did not perish like you had feared they had. 

 That was enough for you.

 “Stay awake, in princesa! Stay awake!” You felt Attuma shake you, the feeling of his warm hands now drifting farther and farther away. Your wounds that throbbed suddenly numbed, and your world spun so fast that you eventually felt nausea kick in.

 “Attuma,” you called out, your senses fading in and out. You could feel him any longer, you could not even feel his anger, his love, his worries. You called out to him again, “Attuma…in yakunaj…”

 “Stay strong. Save your strength, please. The healers will come for you. For now you should—!”

 “Burn them.”

 There was a pause, a vacuum of undisturbed silence.

 And then you heard him ask.

 “What?”

 Your breath stuttered. Your voice was raw; harsh. Unforgiving. 

“They hurt my people. They hurt my brothers and my sisters. They—they gave me hope…”

 You felt yourself finally fall into the abyss of your thoughts. It was raging like a hurricane and beat you with the waves of your feelings of betrayal. Treacherous fools who had so dared to harm you, the princess who holds authority over the seas, who so dared strike down your people in your presence, who so dared force your hand to violence for they had so proven that they are willing to strike you down when you were nothing but understanding to their strifes. 

 And you continued. 

 “No one dares enter Talokan, strike down my people, and flee unscathed. This—this is an order, Attuma. Burn them all and let them feel the wrath of Talokan.”

Attuma held you in his arms, all the weight of his rage now pulling him down to the depths of the earth as you finally closed your eyes. The attending maid wailed for their princess to stay strong, for you to keep fighting despite your weakening self. 

 No one could ever match the beauty you possessed despite the scars from your battle and the blood that smeared the gold of your skin. He wondered how much of his wrath would have shook the earth if he didn’t have you in his arms right now; how much blood would have been spilled, both from the enemy and his allies, if your cold hands did not hold him right now? How much destruction would he have caused for this grief if you had not smiled at him when you closed your eyes and given him the orders that he had to fulfill?

 “They will pay,” he found himself gritting his teeth, his jaw tightening, and his body trembling with searing hot fury, “the surface dwellers, the scientist, the whole of Wakanda…they will pay.” 

 He gently wound his arms beneath your legs and hoisted you up, his masked lips kissing your cheek as he let your head rest on the dip of his shoulder. Your breathing was shallow—just barely there. You were in dire need of a healer. 

 He heard the frantic splashes of water from the pools leading to the great city. K’uk’ulkan and Namora emerged from the water, and before they could ask why Attuma had swam off in such a hurry, their eyes widened in horror at the sight of you; bloodied and near death in the arms of your lover whilst your attending maid wailed behind you.

“What happened?” Attuma could practically feel his king’s fury. He pushed forward in long strides and shakily caressed your cold cheek, wiping the blood that was smeared on your lip. “Which fool would dare harm my daughter?”

 “T-the Wakandans, my king,” your attending maid answered for Attuma, her head bowing in fear at the angered visage of the feathered serpent god. She collected herself and dared not to quiver in his presence, “an intruder struck down the guards and shot the princess twice. They have escaped with the princess of Wakanda and the scientist.”

 The room felt heavier now, the ire of the feathered serpent god now shaking the sea with an unsatiated itch for vengeance. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, the grip of his spear tightening, and his eyes darkened viciously. 

 “Namora.” He called out. Namora’s jaw clenched as she hit her spear on the rocks, shockwaves reverberating from the vibranium on her weapon. She will never forgive the surface dwellers for what they have done. She will make sure that every blood spilled will be in honor of your name.

 “In ajawo.” She acknowledged. K’uk’ulkan turned to her, his bloodlust apparent to all his people to see.

 “Gather all our warriors,” he declared, his voice low and deadly, “Wakanda has waged war.”

 Attuma reluctantly handed you to K’uk’ulkan upon his command and lingered his hand on your cheek. The king submerged you down the depths in haste, his godlike speed the only way to bring you to the healers as fast as they could. 

 Namora and Attuma were left in a deafening silence. It was heavy, almost suffocating.

 “We will burn the surface world for their crimes against the princess,” Attuma finally said, kicking his spear up and catching it mid air. He pounded it against the floor, cracks and craters now left in the aftermath of his anger, “they will know suffering. They will know pain.”

 “Of course,” Namora’s eyes narrowed as she slowly stepped into the shallows, “our people will be ready to avenge her.”

 Attuma’s mind flashed to the image of you; your body all bloodied, your hands desperately trying to find him, the way your eyes did not focus on him as if you could not see him crying for you.

 You clung to every bit of hope that you might just avoid war. You were clawing at the loose ends of an alliance without the need for bloodshed. But the surface dwellers shot you down despite your mercy. Despite your kindness.

 Attuma wondered if he were to be blamed—he should have been more stern with his counsel. He should have told you that there was no mercy to beget on the battlefield. He should have joined you to converse with the surface dwellers and protected you when you were attacked.

 He had broken his vow. He did not serve as the shield who would lay its life for you in your times of need. He was not there to keep you safe. 

 But by your orders, he would gladly become your spear. 

 “The surface world will know the wrath of Talokan…” he growled, the hate he once bore for the surface now intensifying a hundredfold. Namora could only watch as he swung his spear at the stalagmites and broke the rocks clean in half, his voice now echoing through the land and the sea with a ferocity of a man who had lost their world.

 Attuma will burn the world down and show the ashes of their bones in a jaden chest for he was your warrior that took oath upon your throne.

 He will dye the sea red with the blood of your enemies for he was the spear that was to be used by your whim. By your beck and call.

 He will serve you until his last breath and follow your will to the ends of the earth for he was your beloved to whom would love you without fear.

 And he will die for you for his life mattered not when you lie by the feet of your deathbed from his own negligence as your guard. As your lover.

 “... for the crimes they have committed against the future queen of Talokan, they will perish by my hand. They will burn down in the name of retribution.”

 He looked down at his hands that were still stained with your blood and clenched it into a fist. Attuma hardened his jaw and growled. 

 “This is an order from the princess.”

Whoops >:))

Taglist: @w0niecult @abbyeliza28 @fckwritersblock @chaoticevilbakugo @cascadingbliss @erisandra-noir @queen-bee-32 @rheannaaaz @antisocial-architect @lunamoonbby @lilchickensworld @kellzsthings @sodonuthideout @vilentia @llamayom  @violet-19999  @f-ergj @daddyslittlevillain​

[lilacxquartz]

uncanny valley;

summary: being a travelling merchant, you often sold all sorts of oddities to willing collectors, however, something was surely off about this client in particular.

a/n: for that one ask that requested something darker & lore accurate. reader insert but mostly to explore their character, this is not x reader. • masterlist, ao3

themes: lore accurate kenjaku, torture using gravity CT, disturbing themes, violence, hurt/no comfort, unending yapping, gender neutral reader • w.c: ~3k

Travelling across the world to both curate and sell strange artefacts had become something akin to second nature for you. At often times, these things were tied to jujutsu—so you’d part with varying sorts of cursed objects, scrolls and trinkets that felt as though they were imbued with an unseen energy.

At least to you, given that you were not a sorcerer.

Collectors were usually a mixed bag of people; sometimes it would be private hobbyists or institutions seeking to expand their wealth of knowledge available—but nothing could have prepared you for an interaction with one collector in particular—oh no, no, no, they were different.

You would often zone out as they spoke too, simply because it was partially nonsensical but also because it would be long and unwinding. Such words that were otherwise spoken with velvety smoothness only to offer very little explanation or even comfort beyond their chilling tone left you feeling nothing short of wary.

And yet, it wasn’t as though you had the option to just walk away either with something unseen that willed you into listening—that compelled you into staying against your own innate fear. It was as though when they spoke, your gut instinct anchored like an unseen weight, binding you to the ground.

“You know, you claim you still can’t see them,” the man spoke, their words oozing from their lips like molten honey; slick like velvet yet stagnating with unsettling stiffness.

You cleared your throat. “Pardon?”

“The entities that are invisible to the naked eye for the majority of humanity,” they clarified, but only just. “You claim to only be slightly put off the trinkets you curate and sell, likely due to the unseen cursed energy, but what if I told you that you could see those things too?”

Once again, you were lost. Something told you that this person must have been a trickster of some sort; a devil disguised as a human being. They were certainly charming enough and the mockery that laced every word that rolled off of their tongue was surely telling too. For that reason, your gut instinct screamed at you to not trust a single word that this individual spoke.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” you carefully replied as to neither dispel your curiosity nor their claim without giving into it.

The man stayed silent for a moment while allowing a slow, creeping smile to stretch onto their face, creasing the almost perfectly marbled skin they wore. No, this being couldn’t have possibly been alive, at least not in the same way as you. Jujutsu was still a foreign subject on your ears and there was a whole lot that you still didn’t know, but you could at least recognise this entity as being far from human. Perhaps at one point they were, but the way they acted felt almost rehearsed, as if they didn’t quite belong in the body they lived in. There was something rather telling about that deep blank stare and the eyes that looked right back at you; void black dots that were unyielding like space itself—except unlike the vast stretch of eternal darkness adorned by the glitter of stars—there was instead nothing that could be reflected in their gaze.

Just pitch black vastness.

Humans—regular humans, non-sorcerers—did have a term for something like this; a feeling that someone or something was out of place. What was the name for it again? The unease that you felt when looking back at this entity was not unjustified nor was it a reach, but rather perfectly well appointed. You were feeling that currently, you were pretty sure, because you weren’t being looked at by this thing—you were being analysed—maybe even dissected.

“Technically speaking,” the man continued, leaning in ever so slightly so that their long black hair swayed forward, “all of humanity, sorcerers or not, regardless of origin, are able to see these manifestations that the Jujutsu community is gate keeping the existence of,” they added, snapping their fingers to hold your attention. “Ever had a nightmare that left you feeling off in the waking world? Or have you ever felt… watched in your bedroom late at night? Perhaps it’s something that you have convinced yourself over the last couple of years in your time as an adult that being afraid of the dark is childish, so you pretend that the threat isn’t real nor there. But why is it otherwise that humans had long feared the dark and all of those things that go bump in the night?”

“Well you can’t see in the dark,” you muttered out, trying to follow their line of thinking, “so it’s a fear of the unknown, isn’t it?”

They hummed, seemingly satisfied with the direction of where your train of thought was headed. “Correct. Now, it’s mostly children who have these retained fears. A fun little fact is that children under the age of ten, gifted or not, have been speculated to be ten times more likely to see cursed spirits than in adulthood, so let me ask you this: why is it that children are more likely to see them than their adult counterparts?”

You shrugged that time. “A more active imagination?”

They half scoffed, shaking their head. What a boring answer you just gave, they thought. You were being purposefully vague and withholding the true extent of your answers just because you didn’t want to entertain them due to a lack of trust. While this might have all been fair enough, it was surely concerning to them that this was the norm; people simply didn’t thirst for knowledge nor practical answers anymore. How bleak your life must truly be for you to purposefully shelter yourself from their fleeting tidbits of acquired wisdom that made life better worthy of living and dare they even say, exciting.

Was your sense of self preservation truly that important?

Was your life truly that worth living if that was all you had to say for yourself?

They sighed, wanting to lead the lesson in a particular direction instead. Your insolence for ignorance will be punished all in due time, regardless. “Because of a lot of things,” they continued once again, “but for the most part, it’s due to their lacking rationality.”

“Yeah?” you replied, feeding right into their trap. “Because they’re naïve?”

The entity nodded as they plucked a trinket from your stall, their voice adopting a more casual tone, “Correct. By having less control in their emotions and less understanding of the world around them, they’re more freely exposed to the chaos otherwise left unchained by the cursed realm. Which leads me to my next big question; where is a place that exists in the adult mind to let go of such sensibility and let our thoughts run free?”

Admittedly, this was fun in a way. You couldn’t help but want to solve the riddle they kept tempting you with. Perhaps you could technically dip into the depths of hell and indulge in something not too terribly condemning, after all, just far enough to get your answer.

“A dream?” you answered, thinking back to the mention of a nightmare from earlier before.

Suddenly the man erupted with almost excited glee, settling the object back into the stall as though reaching some sort of breakthrough with you, “So you were listening!” they genuinely praised, their voice becoming playful. “Very good, very good indeed. Dreams are where our souls roam free, succumbing to the chaos of irrationality and lacking structure alike. When you go to sleep, you’re entering the space between dreams and reality, potentially opening your mind up to the cursed realm and I'll bet you that any sort of oddity that you’ve ever come across while asleep, be it in an oddly realistic dream or nightmare, that you’ve witnessed it first hand yourself.”

“And you’re saying that dreams are a gateway to seeing those creepy things, or…?” you asked, trying to keep up yet again.

“Something of the sort, yes,” the man replied as they widened their creepy smile, “now, think clearly for me, will you?” they requested, snapping their fingers yet again as though to hold your focus lest you drifted away. “As an adult, just as you are now, when is a time that you can catch a glimpse into something unseen that lacks that same sort of rationality? You’re not a kid anymore, so you’re very likely at least a little jaded to the world, either through the hardships of life or due to possible trauma that has sculpted your reality... If one isn’t dreaming, then what option does that leave a non-sorcerer to be able to see cursed spirits?”

In a way however, you hated this guy for churning your mind and making you think such odd things.

…Something that existed between irrationality and the dream world?

Your head went to all sorts of places, but it seemed to all be herded towards one point in particular, leaving you suddenly uneasy with where this was all going as it all finally clicked.

With a lower voice that was just above a whisper, you entertained the question once more but with less confidence this time, “…a hallucination?”

“Very good! How clever you are,” the man replied although their voice seemed to now carry a particular coldness to it. “Let’s consider the fact that in order for a hallucination to bleed into the waking world, there have to be certain conditions applied to their psyche that are strong enough to both bend and warp their reality. This can be accomplished through a sudden trauma response such as psychosis or when facing something extreme. For example, for you, I’m going to give you a demonstration of something far simpler than driving you to insanity just yet, because you see, there’s a point in everyone’s lives that people all get to experience a great emotional stir—a moment that invites vulnerability to awaken, where hope no longer exists—such a slip of weakness right before the embrace of—“

“—death?” you finished up their sentence, interrupting their spiel.

“What a good student you are,” they praised once more, “such an academically gifted mind is surely worthy of a demonstration, don’t you think?”

Your mind blanked upon those words, opening itself up to both doubt and negativity just as they had planned for you to do so. So suddenly were you caught in between all of the readily thrown implications that they had otherwise casually implied.

You didn’t want any hand in any sort of offered demonstrations and yet you already knew that you very likely didn’t have a choice.

Without warning, you felt as though your own two feet fused themselves into the ground yet again but it wasn’t a fear response this time around. It was a slow pull that followed, but you gradually could feel as the air left your lungs by a squeezing unseen force. From a glance up, you could tell that this was their doing and that they were taking their good sweet time in doing so.

“Now, I must warn you…” the man threatened without as much breaking a sweat; their expression unwavering with nonchalance with their tone returning to something jovial, “my demonstration is likely to leave you… breathless, for a lack of better words.”

Unable to protest against the warning, you could only endure as the shifting weight of the air around you locked tight against your chest. The air, thick with something dry yet salivating at the same time scratched at your throat as the simple act of breathing quickly turned into an impossible task. It was as though the oxygen that was otherwise plentiful around you had turned solid and thereby became inaccessible.

Following another attempt, you desperately attempted to inhale only to be met with a pause. The air quite literally refused to enter your respiratory tract and your chest was left unable to expand with a breath no matter how hard you tried.

Panic was secondary upon the realisation that manifested in your system. You tried again and again to gasp, finding that it was all pointless—aimless even, since try as you might—the air remained static and unmoving.

But then a small fleeting sliver of hope slid through your system, whether it was accidental or on purpose, a slight teasing gust of air was granted back into your lungs. Such an act left you with very little comfort however as the world was already blurring all around you; dampening your barely contained light.

All that you could otherwise hear was your heartbeat that hammered loudly in your chest; reverberating like a stray bullet in a metal barrel, darting around in a deafening crescendo. Your chest then tightened once more, forcing your movements to feel sluggish, as though wading through condensed waters.

Yet, surely desperate as you were and refusing to meet your end just yet, you held on out of spite and then finally, you saw it.

Movement that wasn’t from the man alone.

Your vision still blurred, but just out of the corner of your eye, something sinister had since then materialised. Something that scurried off into the clinging shadows of the vicinity in the dead of your blurring eyes. Twisting forms of something grotesque that stared right back at you with skittish eyes.

So these were… cursed spirits?

You understood at long last and so perfectly well too. In a hurry to break away however, you backed up against your flimsy stall, not quite caring about the fragile trinkets that despite looking so dull clattered against the soft ground like clashing steel.

Swallowing hard, you felt your sense of rationality slip away as you caught sight of something malevolent and uninvited but then, as if suddenly, it all stopped. The burning in your lungs had subsided and clarity within your vision had been regained.

Looking up, you could see that their hand was no longer raised, although you were regarded with a curious, unblinking stare.

“W-what was… w-why did you…?” you couldn’t help but blabber as you tried to make sense of everything.

“Why?” they asked in the same tone of voice you cried out in as if to taunt you. “No reason, I just found you both… simultaneously boring yet curious, I suppose. Sorcerers offer their fun at times, but just regular old folk like you are worth the trouble too. It’s fascinating though, don’t you think? You have so little idea of the world around you and even with the amount of knowledge I keep repeatedly providing to you—you still insist on attempting to stay deliberately… ignorant.”

“K-keep on…?” you replied, simply repeating their words at this point. “I keep—what?”

“…Or are you finally getting it?” the man enquired, tilting their head to the side as they looked at you. “You know, I have been… studying you for this whole interaction, even way before you manifested yourself into being a merchant. Interesting choice by the way. I find it especially peculiar how you, someone otherwise unfamiliar with Jujutsu, were able to not trust me or what lies within me. Very observant, indeed. Last time this silly game of ours happened, you were much more lenient with my company, but I suppose you have learned since then.”

You stammered out another response yet again, “Manifested myself…?”

They hummed, seeming almost amused. “That’s right, manifested. But before that, do let me finish, why don’t you? I was going to say that your accusatory self wouldn’t have made it far, had you been a sorcerer with a mind like that. Could you believe it that the modern sorcerers of today aren’t paid to be so questioning and sceptical? They simply exist to do as they’re told and expel the endless negativity that is otherwise forged through the burden of humanity. It’ll never end, mind you, not as long as we as a species continue to exist.”

“So you’re… what? Against humanity or…?” you croaked out.

They shook their head with a refuting motion, “No, I’m for humanity, believe it or not. I want to see it prosper, grow and maybe even evolve. That’s why I have my interest in people like you, because why should the fun be limited towards curse users alone?”

“And you’re…” you tried to piece it all together, but couldn’t quite do it as nothing made sense anymore, “you’re… doing what exactly with me?”

“Or haven’t you realised it yet?” they questioned you, their smile faltering to a disappointed frown. “You have been flicking your eyes around the space from the moment we began the conversation, but you surely must have felt it from the very beginning, no? That this was no ordinary exchange and that your undoing had been predetermined from the start. Nothing is real; everything you see before you is fabricated and carefully orchestrated as a response from your own mind. I’m just playing along with it. You’re being distrusting because you don’t believe the faint glimmer of hope that I’m offering you because we had already been acquainted before. But worry not, the end is much closer than you think.”

You paled. “I’m dying…?”

“Maybe,” they replied almost playfully, not quite offering you a solid answer, “or maybe not. I’d prefer you didn’t let go until I’m done with you, but then again… you’re also no use to me if your brain has turned to mush.”

Not bothering with another reply, you tried to make sense of this whole thing by yourself instead. It was surely jarring as you made the realisation though, the hallucination left your immediate vision and revealed that you were instead in some sort of dingy, dank room instead.

A basement, perhaps?

Your eyes crept down, noticing that you were tied down to some sort of patient chair, like the type you would see at a dentist’s; your ankles and wrists strapped into looping holes that were drilled to the edges. Assorted bloodied instruments lay both on the tiled floor and on metal trays with strewn teeth and pried out fingernails collected in little glass jars.

Come to think of it, your hands felt surely raw and your mouth festered with the taste of trickling copper.

The man before you hovered nearby, holding onto a scalpel in one hand and a marker in the other.

With an almost excited tone, their voice now promised something chilling, “Now let’s see just how far these visions go if you were to be skinned alive.”

Blanking, you panicked and refused.

Which was how you now found yourself plunged somewhere new, playing the role of an adventurer roaming around an unreal world.

(And who truly knew what your next encounter could bring?)

[theluckywizard]

Kiss Me Moonstruck, Ch. 6: Incorrigible

Hawke x Trevelyan | DA2 | Matchmaking Mischief | Fluff and Smut | Fish out of Water | Romantic Comedy

Gif by @lazysunjade

Chapter Summary:

Garrett and Rose trip deeper into this Maker-damned game they're playing.

Fic Summary:

Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue by the string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

A few short blocks later they come upon a narrow street laced with vibrant banners in scarlet and amber. Painted signs with provocative names. The Crowing Cock. The Blooming Rose. The Sheath and Dagger. Taverns, Rose suspects, since the street is all but deserted at this relatively early hour save for a few workers sweeping. Rose looks back into the barouche to see a little war playing out between Leandra and Garrett—  Garrett urging the driver to stop while Leandra furiously waves him on. The driver stops.

“And this is the—”

“Tavern row! Where people come to relax after a long day!” hurries Leandra.

Garrett’s eyes twinkle at his mother. “A kind of relaxation anyway. And I suppose they’re technically taverns.”

Rose’s brow lifts as she takes his meaning. Houses of ill-repute stacked one on top of the other and so near to the fine homes of Hightown. She cranes her neck and assesses them with a curiosity that pops and snaps inside her. The potted topiaries seem a bit out of place she admits, and all the signs seem finely carved and painted— though she detects the vestiges of mischief, the scrubbed off remnants of a G on the The Crowing Cock . By her mother’s twitchiness she must also have her suspicions but Leandra begs the driver to continue and the barouche lurches to life once more. 

“And this is the Guild Quarter! It’s where Dwarven merchants negotiate and tra— is that blood on the cobbles? I think it is! Looks like the city guard had their hands full last night.”

Indeed, here and there the crevices between the cobbles pool with drying blood. Alsatia draws a handkerchief over her lips. Leandra shoots her son a stony look. Rose makes a show of stroking her chin and then speaks. 

“Well, I think that shade of red really sets off the banners,” she says, daring a glance at the man across from her. She’s practically drunk on the little game between them, her pulse thumping in her wrists as she folds her hands across her lap.

Garrett bites down on a sudden grin and shakes his head.

“Really, Rose,” hisses Alsatia under her breath. Rose smiles knowingly to herself.

“It’s not as violent as everyone makes it seem ,” insists Leandra. “If you read the broadsheets I’m sure it must seem like Kirkwall will collapse under the weight of all the crime. But I assure you that is anything but the case. Viscount Dumar has a firm grasp on the reins of our dear city!”

Garrett slowly looks over at his mother with a cocked eyebrow.

“I won’t pretend that the reports of elevated criminal activity haven’t given me pause,” says Alsatia. “But surely the gates of Hightown will hold against the riff raff.”

The blood on the cobbles might suggest otherwise, but Rose bites her tongue.

Read the rest here! | Start the fic here!

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[cassiefromhell]

Bats and Fire 04

"The Calendar Situation"

Last time on bats and fire... 01 02 03

a/n: it turns out that i have bad writing motivation and love bouncing between projects, lol (also you can blame late updates on my current bg3 phase and jjk hyperfixation). so expect BAF 1-2x monthly. once again, i am very open to suggestions/themes for future chapters/episodes, so leave them in comments or my inbox!! and my requests are always open <3 enjoy!

warnings: smut, mdni/18+. p in v, oral (f receiving) morning sex, character watches while y/n is eaten out, interruptions, slight overstimulation, etc...

wc: 3.4k

Things were thoroughly out of hand.

Your mates were incapable of not fighting over every single second of your free time. And that turned into tug of war games where you get the lovely privilege of being the rope, and you know what you also weren’t getting? 

Sex.

You had not had sex in two weeks.

But you have five mates? How’s that possible?

Because you are almost never left alone with any of them long enough to get someone’s shirt off, nevermind a hand in your pants.

And a girl will get fed up after a while.

But luckily, on your first expedition after your cycle ended, you found the perfect solution…

You stumble into the old shop, wiping your dirtied hands off on your pants. The scent of magic immediately hits your nose, and you bite your tongue to distract yourself from it.

“You look like you’ve been to hell and back,” the female behind the counter says, her sunken gray eyes tracing over your tattered clothing.

You clear your throat, approaching the counter. “Do you carry any blade polish, or leather cleaner?”

She pauses, then opens and closes her mouth. “Say… are you the hunter that our mayor is paying to clear our woods of those damned Puca?”

“How could you tell?”

“I had a feeling.”

The female hobbles her way around the counter, and leads you to the left. She opens a cabinet door, and pulls out two glass containers, one with a clear liquid and the other a slight brown. She hands them both to you. “Your polish and cleanser.”

“Thank you,” you say, turning to head back to the counter. But something shimmers in the corner of your eye, and you pause, turning to face it.

It’s a pile of calendars, the edges glimmering with the sparkle of spells. But who would need a magical calendar? 

“Eyeing the Mrythat Calendar?” the shopkeeper asks, coming up beside you. “No one ever buys ‘em.”

“What do they do?” you ask, reaching out to take one and examine it.

“You buy a few, sign ‘em with blood, and then they’re connected to you. Write something on one, it appears on all the others. Useless, if you ask me, but a merchant came through ‘ere with an offer I couldn’t refuse,” she explains, then starts back towards the counter.

You take six of the magical calendars, tucking them under your arm.

“You’re sure ‘bout that, hon?” the female raises a brow at you. “Don’t know what you’d use ‘em for.”

“You don’t even know,” you grin, dropping the calendars on the counter. “You don’t even know.”

The next time you were at each of your mates’ residences, you spread the calendars. Of course, you happened to be with Azriel and Cassian in the House of Wind next, so you got to work...

The sound of the hammer nailing the calendar into the wall echoes down the hall. You step back, satisfied, admiring the shimmering calendar mounted over the soft blue paint.

Cassian rounds the corner, slacks hanging low on his waist, rubbing his eyes. “Love… what’cha doing at four a.m…?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you beam up him, gesturing to the glorious calendar — the solution to all of your problems. “Too excited. Look at it!”

“That’s… that's nice, love,” Cassian mutters, walking up behind you and putting his hands on your waist. “But let’s go back to bed, hmm?”

“No, no,” you gesture to the calendar once more. “I’ve gotta explain to you both how this works— hey— Azriel! Azriel, are you up?”

In response, a shadow comes to your side, winding around your leg.

You frown. “Did your master send you?”

The shadow tightens its grip.

“Is he just avoiding getting up?”

Even tighter.

You huff, poking Cassian’s shoulder. “Go get Azzie. This is important. And now I know he’s awake.”

The Illyrian nods and trudges off, cursing under his breath and running a hand over his face.

You almost feel a little bad, but then you’re distracted by your calendar again.

You did research on how these work. They were invented specifically for managing one person’s schedule, like a boss giving them to his employees to find time for meetings with them. Whoever’s schedule was being managed, just had to mark the calendar with a bloody fingerprint, and then all the calendars they marked would sync up. 

You grin, sticking your thumb into your mouth and piercing the skin, then you press it to the back of one of the pages. Instantly, the calendar glows, and then stops, but when you flip it to the current month, you find that it’s been filled in with all of your missions and plans — the magic has even sorted out what days you’re in which court, with which mates.

You grin maniacally.

Shadows slide around the corner, and out come your two Illyrian mates, bleary-eyed and wings damn near dragging.

You grin and clap your hands, pointing at the calendar. “Lookit! Look at what I did!”

“What did you do?” Azriel asks, coming to stand at your side and placing a hand on your lower back. It’s obvious that he’s trying his hardest to sound interested.

“Cass, c’mere,” you grin, tugging him to your other side. “Okay, okay, so, how this works. I have six of these calendars. They’re all enchanted, and they’ll soon all be connected to me by blood. When someone marks one, the others get the same marking, and I simply have to think it in order to add something. Each of my mates will get one, and so my schedule can be fairly organized.”

Cassian nods slowly. “Okay… but I thought normal scheduling was working fine.”

You bark a laugh. “No, no, no. You all are rather fond of interrupting each other’s dates and alone time, claiming to have ‘forgotten’ that I was already scheduled. This fixes that.”

“I do not,” Azriel grumbles, wings twitching.

“Well, see, the main inspiration here was my sex life,” you explain, perfectly calm as both your mates’ eyebrows shoot up. “I haven’t had actual sex in a week and a half, did you both know that?”

Cassian narrows his eyes. “No, no— how is that possible?”

You point to last Friday on the calendar, when you were marked to be on a date with Rhys. “Look, here; at this time, I was on the riverbank of the Sidra, about to be fucked against a tree, until Cassian came in and stayed for the rest of the date— and was completely oblivious to the mood and the arousal drenching the air.” You point to two days ago, when you were supposed to be sleeping at Eris’s palace. “At eleven p.m. that night, I was fully prepared to be ravished and yet Lucien needed me for something. And that’s not an issue, right, because two is better than one! But no, Eris and Lucien refuse to be naked in the same room at the same time.”

“…I see why you want the calendar,” Azriel murmurs, walking away and coming back with a pen and approaching the calendar. 

“What are you doing?” Cassian asks, tilting his head to the side.

“We’re the first ones to have this, right?” Azriel looks at you, and you nod in confirmation. “We have all the empty slots. I’m filling them all in with me.”

Cassian blanches, and then steps forward, promptly shoving Azriel to the side and stealing the pen. “Give me that! You can’t take all the slots!”

“You were just too slow,” Azriel grumbles, gesturing to the calendar, which is now half-filled with dates… all with Azriel.

You snort, and then turn on your heel, heading back down the hall. “I’m going back to bed. Whose bed am I getting in?”

“Mine,” they both say at the same time, and you can feel the glare they give each other. 

You grin, and turn the corner, knowing one — or both — of them is bound to come running after you.

All goes well with your visit to Rhysand, and he was very happy with his new calendar. However, things get a little bumpy when you’re at the Autumn Court…

“Fuck—” you whimper, gripping Lucien’s hair as his tongue works at your clit, fingers pumping in and out of you steadily. You’ve already come twice, and he’s damn close to working you up to a third.

The bliss is nearly lighting you on fire, legs shaking as you finally approach that cliff again, climbing higher and higher and—

“Cum for me,” Lucien murmurs against your clit, the vibrations nearly tipping you over the edge. He looks up at you with those eyes from between your legs, and you whimper as you reach that—

A knock comes on the door.

Lucien pauses, and you whimper, desperately bucking your hips into his hand and lips.

“Shit, what time is it?” he asks, sitting up and looking at the clock, mouth glistening with your slick. 

“Lucien,” you grit out, “please.”

“Times up,” a familiar voice calls from behind the door. “Your slot is only from seven to eight, I have her for the full night from eight p.m. to sunrise.”

You hiss in frustration, gently tugging at Lucien’s hair. “Ignore him.”

Eris slips into the bond immediately. Ignore me?

Eris, give me five minutes. Please.

That’s not what the calendar says.

Does it sound like I give a shit about what the calendar says? You growl down the bond, frustration only building.

Lucien has obediently gone back to working your cunt, sliding two fingers back in. His mouth latches around your clit immediately, and the wondrous sensations start to build up again.

Two minutes later, Eris is speaking down the bond again.

I’d have already gotten you off by now.

Your only reply is an audible whine, surely loud enough for Eris to hear on the other side of the door.

And clearly he does hear it, because he’s winnowed to your side within seconds.

“Add a finger, it’ll make her come faster,” Eris idly comments, taking a seat next to you on the bed. “And harder. That’s important.”

You’re now completely naked and vulnerable in a room with two fully clothed males. Because apparently you’re the only one getting their clothes taken off today.

“What are you—”

“Shush,” Eris hushes you with a gentle kiss, stroking a hand down the center of your torso, rubbing circles on the sensitive skin of your belly. “Let us take care of you.”

Before you can reply, his head dips down to your left nipple, licking a circle around it. His thumb runs circles around your other breast, all while Lucien increases his pace.

With very little warning, your climax creeps up on you, pleasure suddenly spiking. You cry out, gripping Eris’s shoulder for support as you tip over the edge, stars and flames filling your vision as the waves of your orgasm crash over you again and again and again and—

“What does that make?” Eris asks, stroking your hair.

“Three,” replies Lucien, who is gently rubbing circles over your clit, coaxing you through the last waves of pleasure with gentle kisses along your thighs.

The High Lord clicks his tongue. “That won’t do. She needs at least five, else apparently she’ll get needy at an ungodly hour.”

You try to protest. “Will not—”

He stops you with a quirked brow. “Two weeks ago. You woke me up before sunrise by humping me. Like a puppy in heat.”

You open your mouth, and then close it. He’s right. You did do that. But he looked so damn sexy like that, features relaxed and mouth parted and—

Lucien licks a stripe up your folds, and all your thoughts screech to a halt.

“Love,” Rhysand whispers in your ear, pressing kisses over your cheek and hair. “Love, time to get up.”

You blink awake, squinting in the early morning light. “Mm... what time is it?”

“Seven,” he murmurs, slipping his hands up and under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — and rubbing your skin.

You groan. “Cass isn’t picking me up ‘till seven-thirty. Why’d you wake me?”

“Because I was thinking we could squeeze a little something in,” Rhys kisses your neck, pressing his hips to yours, letting you feel his bulge beneath his pants. “If you so please.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you bite your lip. You run your hand down his chest, finding his bulge and palming him through his pants. “Needy, are we?”

“Please,” he groans, rutting against your hand once, twice, then pressing more kisses across your collarbones.

You smirk and nod, spreading your legs for him. His reaction is instant, making quick work of your panties and discarding his pants. 

He presses a finger into your entrance slowly, hissing as it comes back soaked. “Fuck. So wet for me, love.”

You tilt your hips up for him, and he strokes himself twice, then slowly slides in, stretching you wide. You whimper, gripping his shoulders and chewing your lip to stay quiet. “Fuck…”

Rhys picks up a slow pace, gentle and loving as the kisses he’s pressing along your collar and neck. He rubs your hips in time with his thrusts, each time hitting just a little deeper, each push a little more pleasurable than the last.

“Please,” you moan, desperate for more, deeper, harder, faster… and he doesn’t give it to you.

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, shaking his head. “Impatient little thing. It’s bright and early, and you want to have the shit fucked out of you?”

You nod, and he merely chuckles. The sound is low and deep and effectively makes you even wetter around him. 

He pulls out, and you open your mouth to whine, but he sweeps you up into his arms, picking you up out of the bed. Before you know it, your bare back is against a wall, and he’s entered you once more, this angle deeper than before.

He picks up a bruising pace immediately, and you moan, capturing his lips in yours to swallow both of your noises. You can’t help but tilt your hips with each thrust, desperately matching his pace as that coil in your abdomen begins to grow tauter.

“Fuck— fuckfuckfuckk—” you hiss against his mouth, clutching at his biceps, his neck, his shoulders — anything to ground you as you’re pulled higher and higher.

“I’ve got you, love,” he groans, slamming into you harder, brushing that spot so deep inside of you—

You come immediately, clenching around him and squeezing your eyes shut, moaning loudly as the pleasure drags you down, down, nearly into unconsciousness as your thighs cramp. Rhys has to hold you up to keep you from falling out of his arms, and he follows you with three sharp thrusts and a low growl, spilling into you.

He kisses you, gently, and you run your hands through his hair, rolling your hips against his once. 

“God, I love you,” you murmur, between gasps for air.

“I love you too, darling. I love waking up to you next to me,” he murmurs back, nosing your neck. “I love fucking you first thing in the morning.”

“Round two?” You run a hand down his abdomen, licking your lips. You can’t help it; you want to taste him.

He grins deviously, opening his mouth to reply — but then footsteps sound down the hall, accompanied with what is obviously Cassian whistling. He’s definitely giving you a warning that he’s coming — he could be quieter than that.

“Fuck,” you grumble. “Just a sec.”

Cassian, you speak down the bond. Not done here. Give me half an hour. 

What? No. He whines, but his footsteps halt. I’m scheduled to pick you up at seven thirty. It’s my time.

I’m aware. The schedule isn’t supposed to be exact. You guys seem to have an issue with that.

…Isn’t exact reserved time the point of the schedule?

You sigh, shaking your head. “Change of plans. I’m calling a mates’ meeting.”

Half an hour later, all of your mates are gathered at Rhys’s dining table, their calendars sitting in front of them. You sit at the head of the table, decidedly unhappy…

“Alright,” Azriel starts, leaning forward on his elbows. “I’ll break the ice. What’s got you upset, love?”

“What do you think has me upset?” you grit out, glaring over at him.

Azriel suppresses a flinch, leaning back in his seat.

“I’m assuming it has to do with the calendar?” Eris says, gesturing to the calendars in front of them all. 

“Uh huh. And why, exactly, did I enact the calendar rule?”

There’s a short pause, and then Lucien responds. “To organize your schedule?”

“Because you wanted more sex,” Cassian corrects him, rubbing his chin. Lucien, Eris, and Rhys whip their heads to look at him, having not been there for that conversation. “But hasn’t that succeeded?”

“More sex, yes. But short sex. Painfully short. You know why? Because I start having sex with one of you. We do the deed. I want more. You want more. Then what happens? Knock knock, someone else comes along and refuses to give up precious time from their slot.”

Cassian looks down and away, making a face. Eris doesn’t look pleased either.

“You guys,” you sigh. “The calendar is flexible. You can deal with having half an hour taken off of your slots. It’s supposed to be a guide, not a strict schedule.”

The males before you begrudgingly grumble in agreement, and you gesture to the calendars. 

“Okay, thank you. Now that that’s understood, it’s time to schedule next month’s times. Please open your calendars,” you instruct, opening your own. Everybody follows your lead, so you continue. “I’ve marked in all the slots available, and when I’ll be gone. I have two missions next month; a dragon study and a job for the Winter court clearing out a pair of Banshees. The dragon study I have to do alone, but one of you can tag along on the clearing.”

Azriel immediately reaches for a pen, but not before Eris has already winnowed one into his hand, already writing his name.

“Ah!” you hiss, grabbing Eris’s wrist. “We’re drawing sticks.” 

Eris snarls at you on pure instinct, then his face goes slack. “Sorry, sorry— I didn’t mean to—”

Immediately, your four other mates are up out of their seats, teeth bared and ready to attack Eris.

“Dear mother,” you groan. “It was instinct. Everybody down.”

Everyone sits. 

“That’s the other thing,” you sigh, waving your hand to winnow in a cup with five sticks in it, all marked with a name. “You all need to work on the hostility. I know it’s difficult. But mistakes will be made, fights will be had, and instinct is instinct.”

Lucien mumbles a ‘sorry’ to Eris, and the rest follow, some less apologetic than others.

You carry on with the meeting, and you draw sticks, deciding the order of who gets to pick first. Cassian, much to his joy, gets first, then Azriel, then Lucien, followed by Rhysand, and in dead last — which you’d bet money was influenced by someone’s magic — is a very salty Eris.

Nevertheless, the dates are set, and you dismiss everyone—

“Hold on,” Azriel cuts in, holding up a finger. “There was a prearranged date with Rhys on here. Why only him?”

“Because he’s set to meet my parents,” the words fly out of your mouth before you realize what you’re saying, and you immediately clamp your jaw shut.

Damn your mouth.

All five heads turn to look at you, shocked faces adorning all but one — Rhys, who knew about this and didn’t question it.

“Why only him?” Eris asks, raising a brow. 

“I want to meet your parents!” Cassian pouts, leaning forward against the table.

“I do as well,” Lucien adds, scratching the back of his neck.

“Agreed,” Azriel finishes. “I’m free that time. We could just all meet them at once.”

Agreement runs through the circle, leaving you opening and closing your mouth.

Because there’s one issue.

One little, tiny issue…

“Cauldron boil me,” Eris murmurs, slowly leaning back in his seat. “They don’t know you have more than one mate, do they?”

Ah, yes.

That.

To be continued…

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[fortheloveofarchons]

Leon S. Kennedy tries on a... certain armour

C.W. Corsets, use of fleshlight, smut, masturbation, prostate milking, and a Leon x Merchant ship

“Is this… really necessary?”

 In the private confines of Leon’s and the Merchant’s shared space, he stood before the mirror. Wrapped tightly around Leon’s torso was a sleek black and gold corset, contrasting sharply with the chiselled muscles it compressed. The fabric hugged his form, accentuating the lines of his physique in a way that felt both daring and uncertain.

“Well stranger, it is armour, after all.” The Merchant stands in front of a window, not taking a peek at Leon when he’s changing. “And one where it is of limited edition. Don’t worry, don’t worry, take all the time you need” 

“Good to know…” Leon’s brows furrowed as he contemplated the choice he had made. After all, he only agreed to try on this corset the moment the Merchant said that it is durable and affordable. 

Leon fidgeted with the edges of the corset, the material unfamiliar against his supple skin. He then takes a deep breath, and proceeds to try and tighten the laces of the corset. Leon moistened his dry lips, his nails grappled onto the intricate laces of the corset that he was attempting to fasten around his torso.

“Goddamn it…” 

As he struggles to tighten them, he then lets out a groan of frustration. The room echoed with the faint sounds of the fabric rustling and strained breaths as Leon struggled with the delicate corset. 

Hearing his stranger’s struggles, the grey-eyed man turned around to help him, only to stop at his tracks once he saw that rare sight of vulnerability in front of him. The corset accentuated the curves and contours of Leon’s body, creating a sexy and alluring silhouette. The Merchant’s eyes traced the delicate lines and the subtle rise and fall of Leon’s chest, evoking a sense of lust at the exposed vulnerability.

“Stranger, stranger,” The Merchant finally steps in, grasping the intricate laces. Their fingers grazed against each other, and that made Leon put his hands in front of his chest. “Allow me to help you out. A thing of beauty, innit?” 

As the Merchant’s deft fingers worked skillfully on the laces, Leon’s cheeks flushed light pink, a subtle shade of embarrassment. After all, he’s never let anyone see this side of him. A side where he’s… wearing something different. As the Merchant tightens the corset, Leon could feel his chest sit upward, closer together, each so perfect and plump and slightly moulded to a new form. He could also feel a slight tinge of pain from the tightening of his rib cage, but he endured the mild pain as if it was a mundane struggle. 

As the Merchant finished tightening the corset, he saw Leon’s appearance in front of the mirror, where he could see the shakiness of Leon’s moist lips, his corset enhancing his chest upwards, making them more plump, and how buff his arms are from all the training. 

The night is long, and the Merchant gets that deep yearning in his chest. The urge to hold him tight, the desire to kiss him. Even more than that, the Merchant is getting the carnal desire to feel the vulnerable Leon S. Kennedy with his hands. Just by looking at Leon being so submissive in front of the mirror, he can feel himself stiffening. 

The Merchant’s tongue slides along his upper lips and his eyelids lower halfway, leaning into Leon’s back even more to which it feels like an approach to an intimate hug. Leon, sensing this subtle shift, raised his eyebrows.

“What are you–”

As Leon is turning his head to face the grey-eyed man, the Merchant slammed his lips into his, kissing him deeply. Leon tried to retract himself from the Merchant, but the laces were still in the Merchant’s hands, binding him in his place. The Merchant then pulls the laces, making Leon kiss deeply on his lips. His tongue gilded inside of Leon’s mouth, tasting and savouring him with every second. The Merchant’s hand slides down to the bottom half of Leon’s outfit, his fingertips squeezing Leon’s tight ass, making Leon let out a muffled moan while he’s still kissing him passionately. The Merchant lets go of the laces, his other hand touching Leon’s upward chest, feeling how soft and plump they are. 

After breaking apart the kiss with a string of saliva, the Merchant then takes his time sliding down the bottom half of Leon’s clothes, his fingers digging into his pants to draw them down, then sliding Leon’s underwear down as well. His grey eyes are locked onto Leon’s supple thighs after his lower half is exposed. 

“Stranger, stranger… Now that’s a weapon.”

The Merchant could see the glisten of arousal on the tip of Leon’s shaft, his eyes then travelled upward to see Leon’s chest twitching as his breathing intensified, and how Leon’s blush gets redder and redder. The Merchant can’t help but feel a surge of pride seeing how it was so easy to break Leon’s willpower to submission. 

“Come here,  stranger…” 

The Merchant then pulls Leon and slams him to a wall. He then grips both of Leon’s thighs and pushes them upwards, forcing Leon to wrap his legs around the Merchant’s waist. His grey eyes hold something so feral in their depths when he takes something out of his coat, and out it reveals a pink fleshlight in his hand. 

“I don’t always have this in stock, stranger. I’ve been saving this one for the right customer!” 

Before Leon could even say a word, the Merchant turns on the fleshlight, making a soft vibrating noise, and slips it inside of Leon’s shaft. So slick and wet already from the mix of the fleshlight’s lube and Leon’s precum that it made Leon’s hips buck at the sensation, his head falling back to let a choked moan escape his lips. The fleshlight clenched around Leon’s shaft, a wet sound forming from between Leon’s thighs. 

“Fuck… Mnngh…” 

Leon’s fingertips dig at the Merchant’s coat on the shoulder as he feels the fleshlight sliding up and down wetly against his warm shaft. The Merchant would then withdraw his hands for a few seconds so he could see the look on Leon’s face: His eyes looking like he’s seeing stars, his toes curled up and his hips lifted, and his chest heaving up and down with trickles of sweat from this pleasurable torture...

Full version down below!

[orgaslink]

Things to say after kissing. #18 with Legend and your choice!

Stormy! Thank you for the ask and I'm sorry it's taken so long.

There were so many options I could have chosen but apparently my brain chose Ravio.

Under the cut for length.

There comes a point when tension becomes so taut a snap is inevitable. Like a coiled spring that has been under far too much pressure for far too long suddenly releasing the tension in a significant and sometimes volatile explosion of energy.

For weeks now, Legend’s quaint little home had become stifling, every molecule seemingly compressed under a rock that had Legend feeling claustrophobic. Except, there was no rock, yet the pressure was palpable and getting heavier with every passing day. At this rate, he would ground his molars into dust with his furious clenching.

The cause of Legend’s woe? Him. The hooded menace that was the freeloading merchant who has taken to humming and whistling to himself in a cheery way that grates on Legend’s last nerve until finally–

SNAP!Footsteps stomping across the floor are Ravio’s only warning before he is nose to nose with an irritated hero, his whistled tune trailing off as his hood is knocked back by the force of Legend yanking him by the collar and pulling him close enough that Ravio can see the vein in Legend’s neck pulsing in barely contained anger.

“Now, listen here. I’ve been more than fair with you letting you turn my home into some kind of rental shop, I’ve put up with feathers everywhere from that winged beast you call a pet–” When Ravio opened his mouth to speak, the snarl on Legend’s face made him close it pretty sharpish. Probably best to wait until Link has said what he needs to, don’t poke the bear and all that.

“I can just about tolerate seeing this ridiculous purple hood everyday. Hell, I can even cope with you using my hairbrush and not cleaning it out. But the noise, Ravio? The annoying whistling and the nonsensical humming? Nope, na-ah, no way.”

“Mister hero, I–” Ravio’s protests or whatever it was he was going to say fall short.

“I’m not finished. If you can’t keep yourself quiet, I’ll have to do it for you.”

Before Ravio can question, Legend’s hot breath was ghosting against his lips. Hesitant, Legend waited for Ravio to pull away, allowing him the chance to give an indication as to if he’s okay with Legend’s action. The way Ravio’s breath hitched and he leant in closer gave Legend his answer.

In an instant, Ravio’s eyes were closed so tightly, he was seeing stars. Or maybe that was from the tongue plunging into his mouth and tangling with his own. It was difficult to tell really. The dizziness he was feeling could also be because of said kiss stealing his breath away or from the sheer unexpectedness to be playing tonsil tennis with someone he never considered was a possibility.

Yet here he was. Engaged in a saliva swap with none other than Legend. Fuck.

Legend’s kisses are as intense as his stares, as deep as his eyes and as rough as his personality. And Ravio was here for every single delightful second of it.

“O-kay,” Ravio is breathless when they finally part for air, lips shining with the evidence of their activity. “Should we dissect what just happened here? How are we feeling right now?” Ravio grins, exposing the gap in his teeth that Legend secretly thinks is cute (he would never admit it).

“Fuck you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ravio’s laugh followed Legend as the hero dropped his grip from the merchant and turned to leave, they can talk about this later when Ravio isn’t being such a smug and insufferable bastard.

At least he wasn’t whistling anymore, the giggling Legend could cope with.

Maybe.

[foster-the-moths]

adam from the weird tmc dream i had last night. more doodles and also an explanation under the cut

^these were my notes from last night LMAO. i was really tired. i remembered more as i was drawing. basically i was adam and i went into the vol 2 basement(?) and there was a tv (i think) and it was showing me advertisements for microwave dinners (one of them was fettuccine alfredo w peas) and some sort of news segment about a resident evil fan convention (????). can't remember what the 'evil merchant' was about??? anyways. kept walking and it became a brutalist concrete hallway with a glass ceiling and there was a fucked up creature behind the glass

^looked like that. its eyes kept following me. at some point the ceiling was concrete again but it was bleeding?? and then my body started splintering apart and it was basically catalyst but worse

^me (as adam) looking up at the ceiling as i became a creature. blood was dripping down the walls etc. some notes abt what i looked like after i transformed (some of this wasn't actually in the dream but i made shit up based on what my body felt like):

-iris/pupils have stopped bleeding, are now 'cracking' outwards (no clue what my eyes looked like. but there was a LOT of blood/'blood' on my face)

-mouth and teeth fused together, can't open (i couldn't open my mouth in the dream)

-two new mouths run down face from eyes. both have tongues and are fully functional (i remember having the vertical mouths w the tongues. super weird feeling. i licked my eye on accident it was gross)

-mouths on neck are cosmetic, not functional (i added them for fun. in the dream they were just holes i think)

-left shoulder got shifted around so much that it just sticks up like that. arm is broken and can't move much. (very stiff movement, just kind of hung there)

-just has a hole in the middle of chest. ribs are mostly normal but some of them can move/curl up like centipede legs. some ribs were sticking out of my back also (i think. felt like it at least)

-right arm got stretched out and fused to side of body, had to use it to walk (in the dream the hand itself was normal i just wanted to draw a weird hand. the arm rest of the arm was still weird tho)

-left leg was relatively normal, just a bit stretched out and broken.

-right leg was. long. it kept getting longer as i tried to limp away, until i stopped and then it stayed that length. i walked on the 'knee' and dragged the rest of it behind me

-also my bones were just. broken. just stabbing myself accidentally bc they stuck out weird and were VERY sharp. moving sucked

and thats all i remember. i know there was SOMETHING going on like. a plot or whatever but i forgot it :( like there was a REASON there was a beast in the ceiling but i cant remember WHY. oh well i got a sick alt adam design out of it lol. sort of. want to make an au based off of this ngl LMAO

[arclic-stuff]

Symbiotic Relationship - Chapter 1

PAIRING: Grayson x fem OC

SUMMARY: Besides her agreement with Zander, Grayson communicates with a reliable informant—her ex-wife, Tatianna. Tatianna is a Zaunite Merchant—a caterer by day and a smuggler by night. Together, they try to maintain peace between their cities, benefiting each other greatly and creating a symbiotic relationship they both have been craving. 

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Hehe guess who's finally posting! It's been hard finding the time to write and figure out the structure for this story but at least it's starting haha. Very excited to share it and write more of the chapters. I hope y'all enjoy it. Have no idea how quick I'll do the next chapters but I'm sure it'll be soon:)))

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Festivities were in full swing within the Piltover Country Club as the Kirammans prepared for an afternoon of celebrations. Outwith its walls in the calm countryside, two competitors engaged in friendly conversation. 

"I'm an enforcer. For me, knowing how to handle this weapon means being able to protect people. To be of service to the city. And that's trophy enough. Begs the question, young Kiramman. What are you shooting for?"

Before the girl can respond, her mother, Cassandra, beckons her inside. She dashes up the steps, stopping to look back at Grayson. "This isn't over, Sheriff," she narrows her eyes, pouting as she ascends the steps into the building.

Grayson continues to embrace the calm silence, the smell of the forest, and the taste of her wine. She takes one final inhale before acknowledging the familiar figure hiding in the background since she came outside.

"Are you going to lurk in the shadows all night, Ms Brauer?"

With that, Anna Brauer strides into view, her heels hitting the stone pavement and her jacket drifting in the breeze. Dawning an olive green jacket, she was also clad in an all-black suit, her white skirt's top buttons undone, showing her jewellery cluster around her neck. Her long black hair was pulled into a bun, elevating her appearance and almost making her look taller. Grayson made note of Tatianna's grey strands twisting around her head; she had finally stopped dying over them, which Grayson found admirable.

"Just making sure I didn't interrupt the fan club," Anna says, standing parallel to Grayson and leaning on the balcony.

Grayson chuckles. "She's a good kid. She means well."

"She insinuated that you took a bribe and threw the competition." Anna raises an eyebrow and looks at Grayson.

"Aw, protecting my honour? You'll make me blush," Grayson jests, poking Anna with her elbow, making the smaller woman roll her eyes in response.

"Just think the little gremlin should watch her tongue", Anna uttered at a lowered volume, tilting her head towards the party where the girl was now socialising.

Grayson moves closer to whisper, "You should lower your voice, dear. That 'gremlin' is the daughter of a councillor." She chuckles. "And besides, you know I'd never take a bribe". 

Anna put her hands up in surrender. "Or throw the competition? Right?"

Grayson doesn't respond; she simply rubs the back of her neck, looking anywhere but Anna's suspecting eyes.

"Oh, for fucksake, Grayson!" Anna groans, slapping Grayson on the forearm.

Grayson blocks the last few playful hits, laughing in the process. "What! She deserved the win! She's had a hard time with exams, and Cassandra put a lot of pressure on her to do well today. And anyway, I'm not beating my goddaughter."

Grayson had been a close friend of the Kiramans for a few years before Caitlyn was born, but it was still a surprise when Cassandra asked her to be her Godmother. As strange as it felt, it was one of the best things in her life—watching her grow up, teaching her to shoot, be headstrong, and do all the other things she had hoped to do one day with her own family.

Anna sighs, shaking her head. "You've gone, soft, Gray," she says before reaching into her jacket for a beige folder — the main reason for their meetup.

This month's conclusive report focused on the City of Zaun and all notable events or changes within its walls. Anna reluctantly slid the folder to the Sheriff. Even though she knew logically it was for the best, she still couldn't help but feel like a traitor to her people and to her home. The report showcased lists of new businesses, crime states, and this month's headliner: the death of a Chem-Baron.  

Although Chem-Baron Arlo passed peacefully in his sleep, he left behind chaos as his sons fought for the family business.

"All I can say is that I hope the youngest son doesn't take over; Finn is ambitious but reckless; Zaun doesn't need that" Anna waits for a response, then glances over to Grayson, reading, entirely focused on the pages in front of her. Anna takes the opportunity to watch her for a moment. She watches as her eyes dart across the pages, breathing steadily through her nose, the breeze shifting her hair into her eyes. As she flicks to the last page, her expression shifts from concentration to mild irritation, furrowing her brows before speaking.

Anna knows exactly what she's reacting to. Twice a year, Anne has a large shipment of stock transported into Zaun via Piltover's trade routes. Anne gets two shipments that aren't inspected yearly in exchange for being an informant. She uses this for her more valuable goods like medicine for the Zaun shelters - in the past, the shipments have been 'lost' or 'confiscated' by the enforcers with legal loopholes purely because of the shipment's destination. Grayson's leniency allows essential medicine to reach Zaun's unfortunate, something she holds onto to try to forget the dubious contents hidden within.

"This shipment is way bigger than last time." Grayson looks up accusingly, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"The demand increased; it's for the—" Anna tried to explain the changes but was cut off by a raised hand.

"I don't want to know Tatianna" Grayson sighed, shutting the folder in her left hand and downing her drink with the other. She regrets using that tone with Anne but doesn't want to know. She knows Anne has to smuggle for unsavoury clients to pay the bills and that the jobs allow her to give back to the poorer Zaunites, but it still makes Grayson feel dirty like she's no different from the corrupt enforcers she swore to root out.

It's for the greater good; it helps Zaun and Anna.

Anna felt the atmosphere shift and was reminded of the distance between them. It didn't happen often, but sometimes, when interacting with Grayson, Anna would be transported back to when they first met, when things were simpler. When she broke from this trance, she would feel the emptiness in her chest that always lingered in Sheiff's presence. As soon as she felt it creeping back in, she ran.

"As always, Sheriff, it's been a pleasure. See you next month," Anna said with a comedic curtsey before turning on her heels to walk past Grayson. However, before she could take her first step to freedom, Grayson stepped in front, slighting her, stopping her in her tracks.  

"Are you not staying?" Grayson sheepishly asked, avoiding eye contact. She knew the answer, but every time Anna tried to make a speedy exit, Grayson would try to make her stay in a last-ditch attempt to reminisce for a little longer in the fantasy.

"I can't. I have a meeting with a new client in the morning, some industrialist is looking for a new trade route. I'll see you around Gray." As she walks around Grayson to leave, she gives Grayson's shoulder a light squeeze. To onlookers, it was a subtle goodbye gesture, but they both felt Anna's hand linger a second longer than it should.  

Grayson is left outside alone, her own hand replacing Anna's, where she touched her shoulder moments ago. She looked out at the grounds, which were now shrouded in sunset lighting. The same surroundings Grayson had found peace in now felt cold and empty. Cold and empty like the house the first day she came home without Anna there to greet her. Even after all these years, Grayson always felt this way after their meetings. She wondered if Anna ever felt the same; maybe she had moved on or was just as miserable as Grayson felt now - Grayson didn't like either option for her ex.

Feeling her thoughts spiral, she shook her head and took a deep breath.

What good will those thoughts do? It's all in the past now, and that's where it should stay.