#kingdom of decay chapter 1 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

curtins · 2 days ago

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GOO GOO MUCK #1 — jujutsu kaisen x reader choose a storybook to open. aka my mythos take on jujutsu kaisen.

you've turned the page to: CHAPTER I. ITADORI YŪJI go back to the table of contents.

"an unchangeable colour rules over the melancholic: his dwelling is a space the colour of mourning. nothing happens in it. no one intrudes. it is a bare stage where the inert is assisted by the suffering from that inertia. the latter wishes to free the former, but all efforts fail, as theseus would have failed had he been not only himself but also the minotaur; to kill him then, he would have had to kill himself." alejandra pizarnik

prologue. → there was no other ending for this story — none where you did not end up as fodder for the beast in labyrinth, not after the king decreed that you would be the next sacrifice. how ironic that itadori yuuji doesn't seem like a monster at all, just a brilliant boy who was marked for death and sorrow.

pairings. minotaur!yuuji itadori x reader (sfw!)

song inspiration. goo goo muck — the cramps / still monster — enhypen

warnings reader comes from the royal family, has a deadbeat + awful father, mentions of injuries, death, sacrifices, angst and hurt, comfort. mildly ooc yuuji because life has dealt him a rough hand. reader picks their skin and cuticles + mention of bleeding, ambiguous ending, grief. word count. 2.9k!

a/n. y'all know i dont play abt this little guy but omg i was literally scratching my head trying to come up with decent plot. also i'm not entirely faithful to greek mythology my bad 😧 i hate spelling the word 'labyrinth' bc who the fawk came up with all that?

ask/comment/dm to be added to a taglist 🩵

mp3. when the sun goes down, and the moon comes up, i turn into a teenage goo goo muck!

you're not quite sure how long it had been since you were thrown to the rough, cold stone of the maze, where each jagged groove bit into your skin as you traced the contours of your new prison. the walls rose ever so high, swallowing you in an oppressive and towering silence and had it not been for the cold that bit your bones, you might have sobbed.

what was the weight of family, or the worth of blood, when a father could offer his own child to the gods as casually as one might surrender a coin to the tides? you could still feel the rough ghost of his grip on your shoulder, his hand heavy with the ringed wealth that he refused to give up.

all his gold, all his riches, the coffers of a kingdom that was within your rights to inherit, what did it matter in the end — when it was you that he sacrificed? the gods did not care for mercy, was that not why they were gods? but they had demanded, and the king had answered. not with offerings from hoarded treasure, but a child of his own flesh and blood. you, stripped of finery and beaten gold, and left adrift in the maw of stone and shadow.

but now, you laugh, a bitter sound swallowed by the cold air, hoping that your nerves are able to rework themselves into something braver, to allow the maze to drink in your defiance. at this point, you're not quite sure where you'll meet your end, but you've been told the beast waits, a monster of bone and sinew and deific anger, bound to the hunger of the cruel gods.

your eyes have caught the faint outline of something strewn along the path ahead, a line of small and crooked shapes against the stone. brittle sticks left to decay? a morbid curiosity has stirred within you, drawing you closer, as you kneel in thin linen onto the grimy stone.

they are not sticks at all, but fingers. withered and mummified, bent in unnatural shapes as if frozen mid-reach. dark, claw-like nails tip each one, and the skin is shrivelled and taut over bone, in a faded mauve hue. something bruised and ever so ancient.

you just cannot help the sickened gasp that escapes you, lurching back and clutching a hand to your mouth as bitterness rises and makes a home in your throat. the grotesque trail stretches on before you, and you hazard a guess that this rotten path leads into the heart of the labyrinth. a warning, a lure?

but a sound has risen from the depths of the stone around you, a low and rumbling roar that makes the walls tremble, as if the maze itself is struggling to take a breath. the noise grows, and it sends a cold shock through you that drains away every shed of defiance you had clung to.

for a moment, you can scarcely breathe, chest tight with fear. the memory of all you wanted to be, all you dreamed of becoming, hands over you like a whisper, a fragment of hope already out of reach. you think of the things you will never see, the lives you will never touch, and it startles you — how your heart breaks with a quiet desparate longing as you regret the way you lived in this short life. you wanted more than this, even if you did not get a proper death. but you wanted more than to be swallowed up as a nameless sacrifice, your thread picked out of the tapestry of history.

a flicker of thought urges you to raise the torch in your hand, to wield it as some pitiful defense. you imagine the flames as a fragile beacon against the shadows, a last defiant spark in the face of the death that you have been handed. but even the flame trembles, casting erratic shadows, and in the pallid light, you feel the futility of it all.

your strength has failed, and you sink to your knees as a numbness overtakes your body, as you bow your head, pressing your forehead against cold, damp stone.

"please..." you murmur, the word a faint breath lost in the maze, a plea without direction or expectation. whether it is mercy you seek, or simply a swift end, you cannot say. but death has never been kind, and it would never hold its hand out to you in a painless way.

but in waiting for a blow to be delivered, your eyes crack open, vision blurred by the shadows that lovingly cling to the labyrinth. each muscle is tense as you struggle to rise from the cold floor that pressed sharply into your smarting knees. but slowly, a shape and a form comes into focus — broad and menacing, a silhouette bathed in the flickering light of your torch.

at first, he seems like a nightmare sprung from the depths of the eldest primordial myths, markings etched across his skin like a map of some forbidden world, as dark ink ripples down his shoulders, down his chest.

you blink, and your gaze adjusts to the strange half-light, and you're bewildered as the black lines begin to fade, dissolving as if they were never truly there. the intensity of his form softens, and you're not sure if the monstrous edge is beginning to fade away, leaving something...unexpected in its place.

the form before you now is young, hardly older than you, with a face that seems almost human in its expressionless calm, yet somehow haunted. your breath catches, air hitching as you take in his features — amber eyes so intensely golden that they seem to glow in the dim light, fixed upon your with a gaze that is neither hostile nor welcoming, nay. just unflinchingly steady. his hair is a soft, choppy pink; like the goddess of the dawn had run her rosy-tipped hands over his head. but he is bare-chested, the lean muscle across his torso gleaming with a faint sheen, and the broad lines of his shoulders and thickened waist speak of one who has been carved for war.

you fight to quell the tremor in your chest, a rising mixture of terror and something else — something you just cannot name. there is no cruelty in his face, nor hatred. but it is a sad emptiness, a blankness, as if he himself is lost and hollow, waiting in this forsaken pit for far longer than you can possibly imagine.

but the soft rumble of his tone pulls you back, "so, you are the next one they sent?" and his voice is coloured by a kind of bitter amusement.

his eyes, that haunting amber, crease slightly at the corners, and you cannot help but notice that despite his demeanour, his face is incredibly expressive when he speaks, with a warmth that softens his gaze, but the sadness remains. a quiet and relentless grief that settles around him like a shadow.

you feel the tremour in your own voice as you stammer, leaning back against your calves, and yet still kneeling. but your head is tilted up to meet his gaze. your heart races, an awful and unsteady ba-bump! but you force yourself to speak.

"i would ask only for mercy," you whisper, "for my only crime was being an obedient child of a harsher master."

for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. but the boy scoffs, a bitter sound that is not entirely unkind. he looks away, his mouth twisted into a grim half-smile with no real mirth, and you watch as the puckered scar on the side of his lips crumples.

"if there was any mercy in the world," he replies quietly, "they would have just executed me by now."

you pick at your nails, at the skin that is peeling off your cuticles with a sharp sting, "mercy is as much as a myth as the gods themselves."

"and yet you choose to kneel and ask me for it?"

you've looked down, focusing on the rapidly blooming crimson, "i do not want to die."

the boy does not answer at first. instead, he just stares at you with an intensity that feels as though he's examining you from the inside out. you're not sure if you meet a hint of suspicious flickering behind topaz eyes, as if you are the real danger here.

but you just test your luck, shaky but persistent, "why would execution be a mercy?"

it is no kindness to your nerves that the question hangs in the air like a fragile thread — and his response is a growl that rumbles deep in his chest, primal and sharp. it's shaken you to your core, and in that instant your gaze blurs, with your heart slamming against your ribs as a foggy vision plays before you like a twisted reflection.

you've pushed the beast too far. and for a moment in this haze you see him, this beautiful boy, morph into the very thing you had imagined in the darkness before. a four-armed creature covered in dark markings, his form expanding and distorting into something far more grotesque. would there be savage claws, reaching for your face as you recoil, tearing you into ribbons?

but the moment passes in a breath, and he's still there, slumped against the stone. no monster, just mortal fresh. no, he has not moved to strike, nor to rush at you.

instead he just sinks lower into cold stone, pulling his knees up to his chest, and resting his elbows on them, looking almost defeated. there's a strange heaviness in his posture, as if the weight of something much larger than the maze itself is dragging him down, something wide and unbearable.

"what did they tell you before they tossed you here, alongside me?"

"they told me that i was doing my father a service," you begin, and you wonder if there is a bitter drip that falls from your tongue as you let the words fall from your dry mouth, "and that the gods would award me for my pious duty and sacrifice."

the boy raises a thin brow, a faint flicker of surprise scattering itself over his faint, pale scars, "your father. the king i gather? he sent his only heir down here?"

what a sting. even a monster could understand. even the ones trapped in the dark can understand the greed that drives the hearts of men. you grimace, a fleeting shame twisting in your gut as you nod, but it is no surprise. your father's name had never been one to inspire reverence — only fear, and the hollow hope that the gods would look favourably upon his ritualistic sacrifices. it was hard not to feel small and broken in comparison to the king who stood tall in his halls of marble.

your new companion shakes his head, almost in acrid disbelief, but he continues, "i'm not the beast that they say lives down here," and at your look of disbelief and confusion, he grinds his heel down onto sharp stone, "it's not me."

your gaze drifts over him as he speaks, and your eyes fall on the harsh marks scattered over his chest. some are thin, barely more than pale lines, while others are thick and jagged — carved into him by hands that had no mercy. there's one in particular, a long streak that cuts across his face, something etched there by something far darker than any mortal blade. like patchwork.

there's a curl in your fingers, one that scratches at you. one that tells you to reach out and place your hand on thickened skin, but you tamp it down. he must have noticed the way your eyes linger on him, and for a moment, the corner of his scarred mouth quirks upward. he doesn't seem quite offended...just aware. you shift slightly, folding your legs beneath you, the thin linen shift you wear now soiled with the grime of the stone floors. the dirt clings to the fabric, staining it a muted grey.

"the beast is not me," he says again, and there's a quiet ache in his words, "he just lives within me. that's all."

you frown, trying to make sense of his words. "he?" you echo.

the boy glances at you, his gaze distant for a moment before he continues, as if he's not looking at you, but rather past your head.

"the council said they were going to kill me at first. said it would kill the monster that lives in here -," and he presses a hand harshly at his sternum, fingers splaying against his chest, "thought it would kill him if they just put an axe to my neck. two birds with one stone."

"and then...," and his smile is harsher, rueful, "then the king decided that it would be more useful to keep me down here, extend by sentence a bit. said that i could help them like this. said i could control the beast just enough to save the lives of others."

you curl your lip, and you can't fathom the cruelty of knowing your body is a prison. that your blood, bones and sinew is being used as the bars of an enclosure. such was your father's consistent cruelty.

"i am sorry that you suffered at the king's hands."

he doesn't look up at you at first. instead, his gaze drifts to your hands, where you've ripped at the edges of your cuticles, leaving faint scars that are prone to be reopened. your fingers tremble as you shove your hands into the folds of linen, hiding the fresher, red wounds.

his voice is low, but not unkind — with his eyes lingering on your hands, "i could say the same for you."

you almost smile, feeling as though a distant thunderclap has unsettled you and shaken you.

"what's your name?"

he doesn't answer immediately, the silence stretching just enough to make you wonder if he'll speak at all. but finally, his voice emerges, laced with a faint warmth, "itadori yuuji." now his eyes flicker to you, and after a beat, he adds, almost with a touch of irony, "your highness."

the title sounds wrong here, in the dark deeps, in the hollow of this wretched place, yuuji's home. you laugh, though you're certain the sound is thinned, "i'm sorry we met under these circumstances," you say, words slipping out before you can stop them. but you are sincere — and you wonder, briefly, what it would have been like to meet him in another life or another world.

yuuji laughs softly at that, and you catch the faintest glimpse of a smile, wan but genuine. it's a tragedy, you think, at how you cannot help but marvel at the way the torchlight catches onto his beautiful silhouette, illuminating small crescent marks that lay under his eyes.

"i am too," he says, and you wonder foolishly if he, too, regrets the way he lived. the strange fate that has brought you both to this moment.

your smile drops suddenly, "i will die down here, won't i?" the question slips from your lips, softer and more naive in a way that doesn't belong in the air of this place.

yuuji frowns, the furrow of his brow deepening, and his eyes darken — is there pity in his eyes? or something else that you cannot place?

"you don't have to."

you don't believe him, not truly. you know the customs of this sacrifice. the king's laws, and the will of the gods — they all point to the same conclusion. you know this, for all of yuuji's apparent mercy cannot hold back a four-armed beast when it catches the iron scent of blood in the air.

"and when the guards come with the next prisoner?" you ask.

yuuji doesn't look at you immediately. instead, he draws faint and absent patterns in the dust with the tips of his fingers.

"the guards will never be able to report back to your father then. maybe sukuna can be of some use, for once."

you frown, a thousand questions racing in your mind — about the finality of his tone or the underlying oath of blood being spilt. but the one that rises to the surface is the unfamiliar name, "sukuna?"

yuuji shifts slightly, his posture loosening, as if he's trying to make himself more comfortable in the cramped space between you. your gaze catches on his slender fingers tracing lines in the dust.

"the beast within me. gojo said he was my uncle too, apparently."

"gojo?"

yuuji's face darkens, "he was my - " he ends his sentence abruptly, as if he has not the heart to bite the last words out.

you stare at him, bewildered, your mind struggling to process the connection he’s just made so casually, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. what cruel fate.

he catches your expression and laughs softly, a sound that is more bitter than it is light.

"long story," he adds, as if that explanation is enough, his eyes glinting with something unreadable as he leans back slightly, his attention slipping into the distance.

"seems like you have a lot of those," you offer heartedly, but it darkens your heart. you do not see a boy capable of great violence in front of you. in another life, itadori yuuji would have lived a happier life — surrounded by those that he loved. but when the beast, sukuna, is unleashed, who will stand between you and the creature to protect you? how haunting, for the last face you believe you will ever see is the first face that you think you've ever loved.

#yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #yuuji x reader #yuuji x you #itadori x reader #works #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk yuuji

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delulu-is-the-soluluh · 3 months ago

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Scars of Flames and Wind | Chap 1

Previous Chap: Prologue

Next Chap

A Dark!Rowaelin x afab!Reader

(Temporary) Summary: Aelin and Y/N shared a deep bond since childhood, growing up together in the royal courts of Terrasen as their innocent crushes hinted at a future romance. However, the invasion of Adarlan shattered their world. Aelin was forced to become Celaena, while Y/N stayed behind, joining the rebellion and becoming their most lethal spy, never ceasing to look for the princess. That is until she accidentally meets with a famous assassin who’s eyes she knows for so long.

Author's note: This chapter is set one month before the events of AB.

Warnings: death, bar fight, daggers, mediocre writing.

Chapter 1 | Echos of the past

y/n pov:

After that fateful night, King Orlon and his court were slaughtered. Princess Aelin was presumed dead a few days later, as survival from her fall into the Florine River seemed implausible. The once vibrant magic of the land vanished entirely as Adarlan declared Terrasen under their dominion and the land was marred by despair; hundreds went missing, and thousands perished. Countless faes lost their minds without their magic, poverty gripped the families who had relied on their abilities for sustenance and hundreds were now trapped in their animal forms, gradually forgetting their true selves.

For eight long years, Aedion had to rise through the ranks of Adarlan’s army, gaining their trust, securing a position of power, orchestrating battles, and inflating body counts. All this to aid the rebels hiding in the Staghorn mountains. I trained as a soldier, after relentless begging for Aedion and Darrow. Soon, I proved myself as a military strategist and a well trusted spy, with “lethal combat skills despite being human” to Darrow’s headache and “a specialty on being annoying” according to Aedion.

All this to find her.

We often bluffed about her being alive to give hope to the rebels. And even if it was a dangerous gamble, it helped to ignite the spark of resistance. But I have never believed otherwise. Some part of me was certain that she was alive, that she’s surviving in her own way. Darrow often called me delusional and I often blamed him for his lack of will on tracking her. And even when Aedion tried to dissuade me, I couldn’t stop searching for clues. Looking for a familiar face in every woman I know. She could have changed her entire appearance, but you can’t hide those eyes. Those turquoise eyes with golden hues..

And working as a spy for them had me traveling around the continent: gathering information about the court, to recruit more allies, leaving favors to use in the future, tracking some groups to see if they’re doing any improvement, and to...seize threats, whenever needed.

Sometimes I wonder if she would feel disgusted of me, of Aedion, after so much blood in our hands. Some of them were innocent who accidentally got involved.. Just thinking that she might be repulsed by this path I took, terrifies me.

I just never thought my path would lead me to the most hideous and filthy part of Rifthold.

The smell of waste and sewage burned my nose, making my eyes water. Not even the night or the salt air could mask that stench. Each step through the narrow alleys and dimly lit streets painted a picture of despair and disgust.

I pulled my hood lower, trying to blend into the shadows as I navigated through the labyrinth of decay. The muffled clamor of a filthy bar nearby reminded me of my goal. The distant shouts, the clinking of bottles, the occasional scurrying of rats through the streets... Fuck this was disgusting, with all the blood money this kingdom has, I expect them to afford a little bit of soap or something.

Finally, I reached the abandoned house, the wood rotting and the stones cracked as I entered. Hunter and Louis were already there, their faces tense in the dim light. Hunter was pacing while Louis leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“So,” I greeted, pulling down my hood. “Any news?”

Hunter stopped pacing and looked at me, relief flickering across his face when he saw me. “Someone is trying to ditch us.”

I winded my eyes slightly in alert waiting for to continue but it was Louis, who pushes off the wall and nodded “One from the Finn’s group got caught by the guards talking to Lady Balanchine and was.. bribed by to be their informant on us”

“Bribed as beaten up, huh?” He nodded as I furrowed my brows “And Archer thinks the little fella knows about our contact on Eyllwe and wants her gone?

Louis went quiet as Hunter sighed “We just want to make sure nothing goes wrong. Having a royalty in the castle will be more efficient than a healer”

He was right. Sorscha has been doing a great job, but if we get a princess in there..

I bit my cheek in annoyance “And deciding, alone, to kill off the problem, will solve everything? Without giving a flying damn about how this will affect the other’s trust in the rebellion?”

Louis walked to me, handing me a dagger “Just make it look like a bar fight.” He shrugged his shoulders “Nicky was always volatile anyway.”

I looked at him in disbelief. What kind of people Archer has been recruiting? How can he be so nonchalant with this?

“It’s a life, Louis. A person. And, yes, she fucked up and I agree on this” I said pointing to the dagger with my head “but pull this shit and again I’ll show how volatile I can be.” I said, grabbing the bladed weapon and adding into my sheath. “Anything else?”

“It’s said Celaena Sardothien is around” Louis said walking past me

“Ah, the Adarlans Assassin” I smirked as I fixed hair into my hood. “She’s quite famous isn’t she? Love her style. Gotta be lucky to stumble on her, though.”

“I’m serious YN. She didn't get this title by nothing. She’s deadly, and if you get hurt, Aedion will kill me” Hunter said in annoyance.

I rolled my eyes, a smirk tugging at my lips. “I’m perfectly capable of surviving,” I said, striding to the table and grabbing a bag of coins. “Sardothien or not.”

Hunter sighed, his eyes serious as they met mine. “Y/N, this isn’t just about your survival. If Nicky says anything about this princess being involved, it could jeopardize everything we’ve worked for. We need solid intel, and we need it without drawing attention.”

I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. “I get it, Hunter. But we’ve handled tough situations before. We’ll get through this too.”

Louis crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “Just remember, if you encounter Sardothien, avoid her. Gather information and get out. She’s lethal, and we don’t need unnecessary risks.”

Adjusting my leather vambraces, I tightened the straps of my boots and pulled my hood lower over my face. My garments were dark and form-fitting, designed for stealth and quick movement. “Yeah, Got it. In and out, no heroics,” I said, my tone light but my resolve firm.

Hunter placed a hand on my shoulder, a rare gesture of camaraderie. “Be safe, Okay? I like breathing but I would be sad to lose a colleague” he smiled softly

I returned the smile and gave him a nod, “I’ll be back before you know it,” I promised, slipping out of the building.

The bar was as dirty as I had anticipated. The stench of stale beer and unwashed bodies permeated the air, and the floor was sticky with fluids that I really don’t want to know what they were. My eyes scanned the room, seeking out for Nicky: Beaten up women, brunette, medium height, and a scarface. Easy target.

I located her by the final table on my right, defeatedly drinking her beer. Poor thing, already knows what to wait for. I bit my lip, thinking how I could rile up this place towards her. Maybe stealing drinks on her behalf or bluffing to the bartender that she caused me a huge default and would do the same here.. it wouldn’t be suspicious if she ended up stabbed.

I was about to put my plan into action when my attention was drawn to a commotion at a table with five drunken men and women,who were dressed entirely in black, masked and hooded, standing out among them. They were accusing her of cheating at their card game,their voices grew louder as I stood from afar.

Perhaps I won’t be the one to rage up the bar, then.

"You think you can just waltz in here and cheat us?" a burly man with a scruffy beard shouted, his face flushed with alcohol and rage. "We don't take kindly to thieves!"

The woman, her masked face revealing nothing but the level of her eyes, remained calm and collected. She leaned back in her chair in feline grace, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn’t cheat. You’re just upset because I’m winning," she replied coolly, her voice carrying an overly sweet edge.

A second man, tall and lanky with a sneer plastered on his face, slammed his fist on the table. "Don’t lie to us! We saw you slip that card from your sleeve!"

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she stood up slowly, her movements controlled and deliberate. "I don’t need to cheat to beat you," she said, her voice dripping with contempt as she leaned onto the table. "But if you want to make a scene, be my guest."

The tension at the table was palpable, drawing the attention of the entire bar. I leaned back against the counter, smirking in awe, my plan momentarily forgotten, as I watched as the situation escalated. Damn, she was looking for ‘fun’ tonight.

"Enough of this!" the burly man growled, reaching out to grab her arm. But she was faster. With a swift movement, she twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him face-first into the table. The impact sent cards and drinks flying, and the bar erupted into chaos. The tall man lunged at her, but she sidestepped gracefully, delivering a sharp kick to his midsection that sent him crashing into a nearby patron.

Another one, bald with full beard, likely a regular at the bar, staggered towards her with a determined yet unsteady gait. The idiot raised his fists, clearly intent on joining the fray. But the woman barely seemed to notice him. With a flicker of disdain, she sidestepped his wild, clumsy swings, delivering a swift, expertly placed jab to his ribs. He crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, utterly outmatched. It only added to the mesmerizing display of her skill and power, deepening my fascination with her.

There was a primal elegance, a wild, untamed energy on her that seemed to ignite something deep within me. It was quite hypnotic as if she was dancing on the edge of a knife. Admiration mingled with a hint of something darker, that thrilled me as much as it intrigued me.

The masked woman smirked beneath her hood. "Come on, guys, this is too easy. What does it take for someone to have fun here," she taunted, her confidence unwavering, her blue eyes gleaming with savagery and rage. Blue eyes that seemed..

A bottle was thrown and smashed above my head, quickly bringing me out of trance.

The fight erupted into a full-blown brawl, as I shook my head to ground myself and seized the opportunity to move through the chaos undetected. I crossed the bar avoiding the people who were now fighting among themselves, ducking and dodging bodies and fists, eyes locked on Nicky, who was retreating towards the corner of the bar. Nicky's eyes were fixed on the growing fight, her body tense and ready to slip away unnoticed.

I moved swiftly, coming up behind her and, with a precise motion, plunged my dagger between her fifth rib. “Sorry about this,” I murmured in her ear, my voice laced with sarcasm and a hint of pity, as I twisted the dagger and pushed even more inside her. “But it’s necessary. We can’t afford any risks.” Nicky’s eyes widened in shock, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me, her mouth forming a silent scream.

I felt my eyes soften a little. No matter how many I kill, this never gets easier. I’ll always remember them. Agreeing or not, won’t change the amount of blood I have in my hands.

I took the dagger out of her and turned away without looking back. The soft tremor under my boots was the confirmation that she collapsed. The fight was still raging, with the bar’s patrons, already on edge from too much drink, joined in. bottles flew, chairs were overturned, and the air was filled with the sounds of shouts and breaking glass as walked towards the secondary door

The bartender still yelled for order,voice drowned out by the cacophony, when someone slammed into me from the side. Instinctively, I shifted my weight, performing a swift maneuver to regain my balance and avoid falling. As I pivoted, I found myself face-to-face with the person who had collided with me.

The masked woman. And her eyes were turquoise and gold.

Even with smeared black kohl, it was unmistakable.

The world seemed to stop as her eyes widened, as if she recognized me.

Before I could react, she bolted for the door. I sprang to my feet, weaving through the crowd in pursuit. The night air hit me as I burst outside, the woman already disappearing into the shadows. But I won’t let her go, not again. I ran after her, with my heart pounding with the need for answers.

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scary-grace · 2 months ago

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Expiation (Chapter 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2

Chapter 3

Since you’re new to this, and Sir Tomura has no squire, Itsuka is kind enough to tell you which pieces of equipment a knight requires for a duel. Gauntlets, vambraces, pauldrons. A breastplate, but Sir Tomura’s is damaged. A shield, but Sir Tomura fights without one. And of course, a sword.

Most knights have auxiliary weapons, less valuable than the named swords they carry into important battles. Sir Tomura has no sword other than Decay, but Itsuka assures you it’s all right – Sir Katsuki intends to fight with his own magic sword rather than an ordinary weapon. You gather up Sir Tomura’s equipment, wrap the sheathed sword in a swathe of fabric to further protect yourself from its edge, and chase after Itsuka, tripping on your skirt with every step.

It’s been raining on and off all day. The training fields are a sea of mud and wet sand, but the walkways and viewing platforms are dry, and the nobility of the High Kingdom is arrayed upon them, peering down into the largest arena. On one side of it stands Sir Katsuki, attended to by his squires and friends. On the other side, attended by no one, stands Sir Tomura.

You’re sure there’s a proper way to get down into the arena, but you can’t see it at first glance, and the need to reach Sir Tomura before Sir Katsuki’s finished arming himself overpowers everything else. You pick a likely spot, squeeze through the railing, and slide and stumble the ten feet or so into the arena. It’s all you can do to keep your grip on your Lord’s armor and weaponry, and keep it out of the mud in the bargain. The sound of it clashing together in your arms draws everyone’s attention, but most importantly Sir Tomura’s. You pick yourself up and hurry towards him.

“I didn’t call for you,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“A squire told me,” you say. Sir Tomura’s eyes narrow. “Did my Lord intend to fight unarmed?”

“If necessary.” Sir Tomura lifts one pauldron and moves to secure it over his shoulder.

He’s slow. You can see that the movement pains him. “Let me,” you say, and he nods once. Once you have the laces firmly grasped, you admit the truth. “I don’t know how.”

“Secure them loosely. Then place the other, connect them, and tighten both.” Sir Tomura speaks so quietly that you can barely hear him, but you follow his instructions to the letter. “Tighter than that. If I must wear them, I’d rather they didn’t slip.”

You pull them tight, the way Lady Nemuri made you pull her corset lacings when you used to wait on her, and Sir Tomura grimaces. “Better. What are you doing?”

“Hiding your laces. He’ll cut them if they’re visible.”

“You’ve seen Sir Katsuki duel before, I take it.” Sir Tomura’s mouth twists disdainfully around his opponent’s name. “Does he have any other endearing habits?”

“He aims for the face,” you say, and curse yourself. “My Lord, your helm –”

“I’d rather my vision was clear,” Sir Tomura interrupts. He’s putting on his vambraces and gauntlets – or one of his gauntlets. The gauntleted hand is too indelicate to accomplish the laces. H holds his arm out, and you slide the second gauntlet into place before tightening the laces yourself. “If you are entertaining notions about serving as my second, stop. I have no need of one.”

“I had no such notions,” you say. Sir Tomura gives you a skeptical look. “I have so little skill in combat that you would be better off with no second at all.”

One corner of Sir Tomura’s scarred mouth pulls slightly upwards. “If you continue to serve me, we will have to remedy that,” he says. He pulls his hand from your grip, flexes his fingers inside his gauntlets, and frowns as you hold Decay out to him. “I told you not to touch that.”

“I was careful, my Lord. It never left its sheath.”

“And it shall not.” King Izuku’s voice rings out from a platform higher than the rest, exactly midway down the field. “Sir Tomura, you may not wield that sword within Castle Ultra’s walls.”

Sir Tomura raises his eyes from the sheathed sword to meet the king’s. “I have no other weapon. Do you mean for me to face your champion unarmed?”

He said he would earlier, but – “Sir Katsuki does not speak for the High Kingdom in his challenge,” King Izuku says. His eyes are clear and hard. “In this castle are weapons of every kind. Any one of them is available for your use.”

“Any of them,” Sir Tomura repeats. Your stomach lurches. “What about that one?”

A shocked, scandalized gasp echoes through the training ground. Sir Tomura is pointing at the king. Sir Tomura is putting King Izuku’s word to the test. The offer of any weapon in the castle includes the king’s own sword, One For All, and no one wields One For All but the rightful ruler of the High Kingdom. Not even King Izuku’s most loyal councilors would dare to ask to hold it, and yet Sir Tomura is demanding it for his own use in a paltry challenge. If King Izuku refuses, he goes back on his word in public, proving that there are some things honor demands which he will not do. Sir Tomura doesn’t repeat the demand, and King Izuku doesn’t answer.

Finally, Sir Tomura laughs, a low, harsh sound that sends chills down your spine. “Your sword would ill suit my hands,” he says. “I will go without.”

“You think I won’t face an unarmed man? Think otherwise,” Sir Katsuki sneers from the other end of the field. “If you choose to fight weaponless, my victory will be even more certain.”

Sir Tomura ignores him. He rewraps Decay more surely than you had done, then catches you by the arm, pulling you towards the edge of the training field and the nearest viewing platform. He looks up and addresses the nobles there. “Does your distaste for me stretch so far that you will not help one of your own out of the mud?”

“I would help were she one of our own or not.” Lord Tenya crouches at the edge of the platform, hands outstretched for yours. “Hurry. Sir Katsuki is unlikely to wait long.”

Sir Tomura says your name, and you glance over to find him forming a step with his hands, ready to help you up. It doesn’t seem at all like the sort of thing a noble should do for a maid, and it crosses your mind to refuse – but then you hear Sir Katsuki’s battle-cry from the far end of the field and step up in a hurry, Decay cradled in the crook of your arm. By the time Lord Tenya has helped you over the edge, the battle has already begun.

You’ve witnessed Sir Katsuki’s duels before. Hard not to, when they occur so frequently. They’re cacophonous affairs, full of war cries and insults and clashes of metal against metal – and, of course, explosions. Explosions are difficult to generate and control with ordinary magic, but Sir Katsuki’s sword Dynamight generates them at will, in the exact intensity he desires. Sir Katsuki’s duels are noisy. And Sir Katsuki’s duels are brief. In the time it takes you to get to your feet again, most are concluded already.

But the battle with Sir Tomura is ongoing, and the battle is silent, other than a strange low crackling that occurs every few seconds. Ordinarily you would have nothing approximating a view, but Lord Tenya hasn’t ordered you away, and he’s at the edge, watching intently. He glances sideways at you, and you freeze, expecting to be banished to the servants’ viewing platform. Instead: “It was not chivalrous of the king to take Sir Tomura’s weapon and allow Sir Katsuki to keep his.”

You stare at him, as much as you can stare while keeping one eye on the field below, where Sir Katsuki has yet to generate an explosion or land a direct hit with his sword. “What other course of action could the king have taken?” Lady Momo murmurs. “Dynamight is a terrible weapon to be sure, but it cannot kill with a single touch as Decay can.”

“Then his Majesty should have removed both weapons.” Lord Tenya’s frown doesn’t fade. “If Sir Katsuki had refused, then we might have dispensed with this an hour ago.”

“My Lord,” you venture, and he looks at you, “may I ask what happened?”

“Indeed you may, as it concerns he whom you serve,” Lord Tenya says. A yes would have served to answer, but you keep your silence rather than saying so. “The council met to address the issue of the borderlands. Sir Katsuki was angered by Sir Tomura’s suggestion that we had sacrificed them deliberately in favor of a more defensible border, and challenged Sir Tomura after Sir Tomura stated that deliberate sacrifice was a more noble motivation for our abandonment than simple cowardice.”

“It wasn’t cowardice,” Sir Ochako says sharply from Lord Tenya’s other side. “We did not know.”

“We did not know because we did not wish to see,” Lord Tenya corrects. He glances down at the training field, frowns, and removes his spectacles, polishing them with a cloth before replacing them on his face. “I am surprised that Sir Katsuki has yet to strike in earnest.”

“He has not had the opportunity,” Lady Momo says. “Sir Tomura moves too quickly for an accurate strike, and Dynamight is not without its limits.”

Too quickly? To your uneducated eyes, your Lord appears to be standing still – aside from quick steps to one side or the other, which seem to cover far more space than they should. You never doubted that the rumors of Sir Tomura’s fighting prowess are true, but this is something else. “It’s magic.”

“Indeed. A most delicate and exacting magic – the brief folding of space, allowing one to traverse more distance than a single step can allow,” Lady Momo says. She’s a skilled magician in her own right. You’ve heard that when she and Itsuka fight side by side, Itsuka protects her from physical attacks while she casts enchantments that shield the king’s soldiers while striking out at his foes. “It is not the sort of magic one would expect the White Death to know.”

“It is a wise strategy,” Itsuka adds. You’re always amazed when squires speak out of turn, but you shouldn’t be. Nobles require much more from their squires than their maids. “Sir Katsuki is frustrated. When he is frustrated, he makes mistakes.”

You’ve seen Sir Katsuki frustrated before, but you’ve never seen him make a mistake. On the field, he lowers Dynamight, its edges smoking. “Damn you, Shigaraki. Why accept my challenge if you don’t intend to meet it?”

“You wish for me to meet it?” Sir Tomura sidesteps, then sidesteps again, appearing well inside Sir Katsuki’s guard. “As you wish.”

A feral grin crosses Sir Katsuki’s face, and he lunges forward, closing the scant distance between himself and Sir Tomura to strike at Sir Tomura’s head with the hilt of his sword. It’s a move you’ve seen him execute a dozen times, but Sir Tomura whips his head sideways to avoid it, then steps closer still. His body is angled, blocking the view from one side of the platform, but you can see it clearly – he’s trapped Sir Katsuki’s arm at its full extension, pinned between pauldron and vambrace. Then he raises the other hand, closes his fist, and brings it down.

Sir Katsuki roars in pain as his arm dislocates at the elbow, and a collective gasp rises from the onlookers, you included. But although you’ve never seen Sir Katsuki wounded, you know better than to think that a single wound will stop the kingdom’s most vicious knight. Sir Katsuki’s right arm is still trapped, but he curls his left hand into a fist and drives it twice into Sir Tomura’s unprotected ribs. Sir Tomura’s body jerks from the impact, but his expression doesn’t change – and you don’t understand. You know your Lord feels pain. You know Sir Katsuki’s blows must hurt. But Sir Tomura sidesteps as smoothly as ever, leaving Sir Katsuki’s arm limp and dangling, Dynamight all but useless at his side.

Sir Katsuki is ambidextrous. He switches Dynamight from his right to his left. “You should have finished what you started,” he spits at Sir Tomura. “Is the White Death so cowardly? Who’s the coward now?”

You don’t think Sir Tomura is a coward, but it’s strange that he retreated – and strange, too, that he’s holding still as Sir Katsuki charges him. There is nothing magical about his sidestep this time, nor about the strike to his torso that he blocks. Still, his expression doesn’t change, and you’re struck suddenly with a realization you can neither explain nor doubt: Sir Tomura doesn’t care about the outcome of this fight. He is not fighting as the White Death is rumored to. He’s barely fighting at all. And even when he’s barely fighting, he’s Sir Katsuki’s equal on the field.

Sir Katsuki swings at him in an overhand chop, and Sir Tomura catches Dynamight’s blade on his gauntlet before the strike can reach its zenith. Sparks fly as he tightens his grip and twists hard, and you hear the blade crack even before the first fault line appears. Faced with losing his sword temporarily or losing it permanently when Sir Tomura wrenches the blade from its hilt, Sir Katsuki chooses the former – but he calls up a final explosion as he’s letting go. The sword flies upwards, leaving both Sir Tomura and Sir Katsuki unharmed.

The explosion carries the sword high into the air, and on the ground, Sir Katsuki and Sir Tomura grapple for the best position to catch it. Sir Katsuki closes the distance between them, trapping Sir Tomura’s arm with his injured one and forcing it upwards, past the angle Sir Tomura would have needed to secure his pauldrons without help. “Fight through that,” Sir Katsuki snarls, and at last Sir Tomura’s expression shifts, “or yield now. I thought the White Death would give a better fight.”

A smile hundreds of times worse than any you’ve seen on Sir Katsuki’s face distorts Sir Tomura’s mouth, and a chill goes down your spine. “As you wish,” he says, and smashes the elbow of his supposedly trapped arm into Sir Katsuki’s face.

Sir Katsuki howls, staggers back. Sir Tomura shoves him the rest of the way without looking, sending him sprawling into the mud. The sword Dynamight plummets towards the ground at last, hilt first, and lands squarely in Sir Tomura’s hand.

It landed in Sir Tomura’s hand, but it’s the White Death who turns to face Sir Katsuki, that awful smile still fixed on his face. Sir Katsuki curses at him. “Dynamight will never bend to your will. You don’t know its true name.”

“I don’t need to bend it to my will to kill you with it,” the White Death says, and Sir Katsuki blanches beneath the mud. “But as it happens, I know its name, too.”

“What?”

“The same name they all share.” The White Death speaks a single word, quieter than the whisper of a shade, and Dynamight blazes to light in his grip. He points it at Sir Katsuki. “Yield.”

Sir Katsuki summons magic – a spear, or perhaps a shield. Whatever it is, the White Death blasts it aside with a flick of the fingers of his free hand. He takes a step closer. “Yield.”

“To a monster like you? Never.”

“Yield.” The White Death closes the distance completely as Sir Katsuki struggles to his feet. He smashes Dynamight’s hilt into Sir Katsuki’s face and knocks him down again. “Yield, or I will defeat you the hard way.”

“Do it, then!” Sir Katsuki says through gritted teeth, as blood flows from his nose. “What are you waiting for, White Death? Kill me and show everyone what a monster you truly are!”

The White Death considers for a moment, and for that moment only, you think Sir Tomura might relent. Then he raises the sword again, an explosion beginning to boil along its length. “When you reach Hell, true knight, tell them who sent you.”

Someone cries out from the crowd for the White Death to show mercy. Someone else curses him. Sir Katsuki’s blood-spattered face is frozen in defiance, his eyes flickering with fear. The White Death’s red eyes are illuminated by Dynamight’s flame, or by some mad light from within, so different from Sir Tomura’s empty, hollow gaze. Even as others beg for him to stop, he aims the growing explosion directly into Sir Katsuki’s face.

“Enough!”

The voice is King Izuku’s, and if he wasn’t already capable of bringing everyone in Castle Ultra to heel in a heartbeat, the fact that he’s thrown down One For All between Sir Katsuki and the White Death would silence all. Where the blade strikes the earth, there’s a brilliant flash of light, and each of the combatants are thrown back by it. Sir Katsuki skids a few feet through the mud and comes to a stop. The White Death, by contrast, is hurled nearly the length of the field, landing hard and sprawling out on his side, mud staining his pale skin and his armor and his hair.

“That is enough,” King Izuku says again. He climbs the railings on his platform and drifts down to the retrieve One For All. “This duel is concluded. The victory is Sir Tomura’s.”

Another gasp from the crowd, and from his place in the mud, Sir Katsuki protests. King Izuku ignores him and looks to the far end of the field. “Sir Tomura, what forfeit would you claim?”

For a long moment, Sir Tomura doesn’t stir. In spite of what you just saw him do, your heart goes temporarily still in your chest, only returning to life once he pushes himself to his knees. “I would claim nothing,” he says, his voice flat like it was when you first came to his rooms. “There is nothing in your kingdom that I want.”

To fail to claim even a nominal forfeit is already a breach in propriety. To reject one so harshly is unheard of, and a disapproving murmur runs through the crowd. “Back to your daily work,” King Izuku orders, and your fellow servants scatter. “Councilmembers, we will adjourn and resume debate in the morning. And someone call a healer. Sir Katsuki has need of one.”

You wait for him to make a similar call for Sir Tomura, but none is forthcoming, and just as Lord Tenya was displeased with the breach in chivalry, so too are you displeased with this. King Izuku ordered the servants back to work, but last night he made Sir Tomura your only task, so you choose another likely spot and slide back down to the training field at your Lord’s side.

His clothes are stained with mud. His shirt is ripped open along his flank by the spikes of Sir Katsuki’s gauntlet, and beneath it, you see bruises already beginning to form. “My Lord,” you say, and he looks up. “I’ll call a healer.”

“No need.” It begins to rain, and Sir Tomura lurches fully upright with a grimace. All traces of the White Death are gone from him. “Show me back to my room and leave me be.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You have the length of the walk to change his mind.

You say nothing, and neither does he, but he does not attempt to banish you again. When you reach his room, you leave him by the armor stand and hurry to the bathing chamber to draw a bath. You set out towels and the collection of soaps and oils you cobbled together based on what you’ve seen while cleaning other knights’ rooms. By the time you’ve finished that, Sir Tomura is out of his gauntlets and vambraces and working on the laces for the pauldrons. The sleeve of his shirt is pulled up and you can see a bruise blooming on his forearm, too. He’s grimacing as he pulls at the laces.

You remember how easily Sir Tomura shook off Sir Katsuki’s maneuver, the one that trapped his shoulder and forced it high, and a question leaves your mouth before you can stop it. “Do you not feel pain in battle, my Lord? I saw you raise your arm without flinching.”

“Pain doesn’t matter to me.” Sir Tomura says that, but once you come forward to help with the laces, he lowers his arm at once. “Sir Katsuki’s maneuver was reckless, and he made it believing that pain would prevent me from making him pay. Do you think I succeeded in breaking his nose?”

“Yes,” you say. “On the second blow, if not the first. He won’t forgive you for that.”

“I neither seek nor desire his forgiveness,” Sir Tomura says. “If there was justice in this world, your kingdom would seek forgiveness from me.”

You remember Sir Tomura alluding to a wrong done to him by the High Kingdom, but you’re unsure whether asking will irritate him, and whether he would answer at all. You have the sense that while serving Sir Tomura you will need to choose your questions carefully. You lift the pauldrons from his shoulders and set them on the armor stand for cleaning later. You’ll have to ask one of the squires how it’s done.

You step back from Sir Tomura and lower your gaze. “I drew a bath for you, my Lord. The water will remain warm as long as you desire it.”

Steam is leaking out of the bathing chamber already. Sir Tomura glances at it. “And where will you be?”

“There are more tasks I must complete,” you say. You’ll need to secure new clothes, first and foremost. “Otherwise I will be present, should you require anything.”

That’s something else you need to find, perhaps before you find new clothes – the tokens personal servants wear, by which their masters can summon them at all hours. You don’t give Sir Tomura the details, and he doesn’t ask for them. He nods and turns towards the bathing chamber, and you take off as soon as he’s looking away.

You find Mei first. Mei has already crafted paired tokens for you and your master, but she’s upset with you for failing to recommend her skills as an armorer, and not at all dissuaded when you tell her that there hasn’t been time. “The man just fought a duel against an armored knight. There’s no better time to discuss his armor,” she snaps. You reach for the wrapped objects she’s holding and she holds them out of reach. “Tell him. Or I’ll pay him a visit myself.”

You know he’s speaking truthfully; Mei is the most fearless person you’ve ever met, and nothing will stop her in pursuit of plying her trade. “I will tell him,” you promise, and she smiles and relinquishes the tokens. You unwrap them and get a surprise. “The colors were chosen just this morning. How did you –”

“The old king stopped by.” Mei shakes her head. “It seems there are there of us interested in the White Death’s welfare.”

Mei’s interest is less in his welfare and more in his armor, but you elect to set that aside for now. You thank her and set off in search of Hakamada. Hakamada has been hard at work. When you arrive at his workshop, he meets you at the door and thrusts a pile of clothing into your arms. “Here. This will do for now. I will have the rest within the week.”

“Thank you,” you say, then cringe. “I mean, my Lord thanks you.”

“I very much doubt that. In any case, thanks are appropriate for you as well – I have included your new uniform,” Hakamada says. You blink. “In your Lord’s newly chosen colors, of course. And since it seems you will be playing the roles of both squire and maid, you will be wearing trousers.”

“Trousers,” you squeak. “I – what?”

“For your Lord’s dignity and your own, whatever remains of both. It’s shameful to see a maid carting around arms and armor through the mud,” Hakamada says. You wonder if he was watching the duel, or if news has simply spread at lightning speed through the castle. “Sir Katsuki was not honorable in his intentions or his conduct. Next time, recommend to Sir Tomura that he not rise to the bait.”

You nod and bow and back up into the wall by accident, nearly dropping the clothes. You manage another set of thanks to Hakamada before setting off again. You’ve spent more time sprinting around the castle today than in all the previous years you’ve dwelt here. It’s unwieldy enough to carry things and run at the same time without the complication of picking up a skirt.

When you get back to Sir Tomura’s room, he’s nowhere to be seen – but there’s a pile of filthy clothes just outside the bathing chamber and steam still billowing out, and if the White Death was wandering the halls naked, you’re fairly certain you’d have heard about it by now. You set the new clothes down on the end of the bed and inspect the old set. The shirt is ruined beyond your ability to mend. The breeches are salvageable, and the belt and boots as well, but all three are in bad shape. The boots in particular. They look like they’re falling apart. You sigh inwardly and add yet another item to the list of things that must be addressed.

But you’ve bothered the artisans of Castle Ultra enough for one day. The boots will keep until tomorrow. You wipe your muddy hands clean on your apron, then turn your attention to dusting out the wardrobe. Clean clothes won’t be much use to Sir Tomura if you store them in a place that’s coated in cobwebs and dust.

You’ve almost finished both the dusting and the storing of the clothes when Sir Tomura calls out from within the bathing chamber. It startles you badly to hear your name in his raspy voice – until this moment, you’d forgotten that he knew it. You calm yourself with an effort. “Yes, my Lord?”

“Bring me a knife.”

A sharp jolt of fear runs through you. “My Lord?”

“You heard me,” Sir Tomura says. He sounds rough, frustrated. “Beneath the mattress, on the right side. Now.”

You go to investigate, moving on shaky legs, and discover the knife. No magic radiates from it; other than its hilt, crafted to resemble clasped hands and interwoven fingers, it’s completely ordinary. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, before you make your way into the bathing chamber. Why does Sir Tomura need his knife in the bath? You’re about to find out.

When you part the clouds of steam, however, you find nothing out of the ordinary occurring. Sir Tomura sits in the raised basin, the water deep enough that only his head and shoulders and the tips of his knees when he draws them up are visible. Another man might look relaxed, but your Lord looks uncomfortable and angry. He’s wrestling with his long white hair. As you come closer, you see for the first time that it’s full of knots.

He doesn’t look at you, but he extends his hand for the knife. “Give it here.”

You hold it out in response, but you’re hesitant, and Sir Tomura notices. “What?”

“Do you intend to cut your hair, my Lord? I can summon a barber, or find some shears.”

“I need no help.” Sir Tomura frees his fingers from the knot they’re trapped in with a sharp yank, one that has you wincing, too. “I will do it myself. I should have done it –”

He curses, and although you shouldn’t speak, you find yourself – once again – opening your mouth. “If you untangle it first, it’ll cut easier. And look cleaner, in the end.”

“Untangle it,” Sir Tomura repeats. “You see how well that has gone.”

“I can help,” you say. Sir Tomura looks up, eyes wide – shocked, or maybe affronted. You’re unsure which, and you can’t withdraw your offer. “If you would like, my Lord.”

He continues to stare at you, and you wonder if what you’ve offered is really so strange. When you waited on noblewomen and lady knights, they often expected help with their hair, in the bath and after. It’s not so different. If you set aside your Lord’s monstrous nature, and the fact that he’s your Lord and not your Lady, there are very few differences at all. After a long hesitation, Sir Tomura gives a curt nod, and you kneel alongside the basin. “Wet your hair first.”

“I tried that.” Sir Tomura sinks beneath the surface again regardless, then sits up. “Now what?”

You uncork one of the vials of oil and empty it over your hands. “I thought you intended to use magic,” Sir Tomura says warily. “You do not fear to touch me?”

“My magic doesn’t work that way,” you say. You reach out slowly towards him. “May I, my Lord?”

He nods again. You lift a section of his hair, one containing several knots, and run your oil-slicked hands over it before beginning to tease the knots apart from the ends and upwards. “You did not answer me,” your Lord says from where he sits with shoulders stiff and back hunched. “You don’t fear to touch me?”

“I touched you yesterday, my Lord.”

“Yesterday you had not watched me fight.”

The smaller knots come undone easily, if not quickly. You’re moving with the utmost care to avoid pulling even slightly. “My Lord expected the duel today to change my opinion?”

“Yes.” Sir Tomura’s voice hardens. “If you cannot give me a reason, you are simply addled, and I will dismiss you in favor of someone in their right mind – or no one at all.”

“I know little of fighting,” you say. Little about the mechanisms, the maneuvers and exercises, at least. “But I know a little of honor, and it was not honorable of King Izuku to bar you from using your sword, nor of Sir Katsuki to attack an unarmed man.”

“I was far from unarmed.”

“The nobles I observed with were impressed with your skill,” you say. “Some of them agreed that the duel was not conducted honorably. And it seemed –”

You trail off, fingers working mindlessly through Sir Tomura’s hair. “What?” he demands. “Speak.”

“It seemed you did not care about the outcome of the duel,” you say. “Not as your opponent did. At least not at first. Once you did, it was different.”

“Yes,” Sir Tomura says. “My opponent, in spite of an advantage in arms and armor, chose to strike at a perceived weakness. He did not fight with your oh-so-precious honor. It freed me from my self-imposed obligation to do the same.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “The High Kingdom wished to see the White Death. I simply gave them what they wanted.”

You haven’t heard Sir Tomura speak his own epithet before. His voice is bitter, mocking, cruel, and it leaves no space for a response. You continue to work your fingers through his hair, smoothing out the tangled section, then reaching up to his scalp, checking your work along the length of the strands. Once you’re sure, and you’ve tucked it away over his shoulder, you pick up another set of knotted strands and get to work once more. You try to get your thoughts in order in the bargain.

“You have yet to answer my question,” Sir Tomura says after a little while. Another bruise is darkening on his shoulder. “Why are you still here?”

You have an answer for him, maybe. “May I speak freely?”

“I am not some highborn fool. You do not need my permission to speak.” Sir Tomura’s voice crackles with frustration. “You do not need theirs, either. If you continue to serve me, you will speak to me as you would speak to those you consider your equals.”

The idea of speaking casually to a noble makes you anxious, but you choose your words carefully as a rule. Perhaps this is not so different. “My Lord, I do not doubt your past deeds, good and bad.”

“More bad than good.”

“That said,” you continue, smoothing out more strands from scalp to end, “I think that a man who was nothing more than the White Death would not have spent the first half of an unfair fight behaving otherwise.”

Sir Tomura makes a discontented sound. “Perhaps I was simply denying my true nature.”

“If it was your true nature, my Lord, you would feel no need to deny it.”

Sir Tomura says nothing in response, and you come to a knot that’s a true struggle to untangle. Your own thoughts are sorting themselves out slowly, and you share them as they go. “A person can be more than one thing at a time. Sir Katsuki is a valiant defender of the high kingdom and a cruel man. King Izuku is a kind man, and still dishonorable in his conduct if it will smooth his way. Most people are many things, all at once.”

Part of the knot comes loose, but the other is even more tightly wound than before. “I believe you are the White Death, my Lord. I do not believe that is all you are. Have I answered to your satisfaction?”

“Yes,” Sir Tomura says. “I am convinced that you are not mad. At least no more than I am.”

A small flare of triumph blooms in your chest, even as you give up the fight against the second half of the knot. “This piece is more than I can undo. May I cut it?”

“And any others you find.” Sir Tomura raises one hand from the water, grasps the sheath, and holds it steady as you draw the knife. It’s sharp enough to sever the strands neatly an inch above the knot, and a twist of matted white hair falls to the floor. “Cut it all, if you choose.”

“Is there a reason you chose to grow it out, my Lord?” You spill another vial of oil over your hands and begin untangling the newly cropped strands of hair, beginning at the scalp this time. “I only ask because long hair is more difficult to manage than short, and with a helm involved –”

“I fought without a helm more often than not.” Sir Tomura’s head tips ever so slightly back against your hands and you freeze. You don’t know if he even knows he’s doing it. “What would you suggest I do with it?”

Your chest feels tight. You don’t know why. “I will have more of an idea once I know how many more knots must be cut out,” you say. Sir Tomura nods. “Do I have your leave to continue?”

“If I’ve given you leave once, continue the task until it is complete or until I tell you to stop.” Sir Tomura glances at you over his shoulder. “That you feel the need to ask my leave for breathing in my presence speaks poorly of the freedom your realm is famed for.”

You nod and go back to your task rather than admit the truth – you’re more deferential to him than you’d be to anyone else, simply out of fear of arousing the White Death’s infamous rage. But now it seems that you’re more likely to irritate Sir Tomura with continued deference than by speaking your mind. You have no response to Sir Tomura’s statement, so you don’t waste your breath, and eventually he turns away again, staring off into space as you continue to untangle his hair.

It’s a slow process, made slower through pauses to add more oil to your hands and pauses to cut free the knots you can’t untangle and the fact that Sir Tomura’s head continues to tip backwards into your hands while you work. At first it confuses you, but then you notice that he’s no longer sitting hunched, that his shoulders aren’t quite so tense. He’s relaxing. He’s relaxing for you.

No. You push the thought aside at once. Baths are relaxing. Being tended to is relaxing. You’re incidental. You could be anyone. Any of the five maids who fled from him, any of the squires who refused the role. Sir Tomura fought a duel today against the kingdom’s fiercest knight and won. Relaxing now is a natural response. It has nothing to do with you.

But something catches in your thoughts when you consider the duel, something that slips to the forefront of your mind. “My Lord, when you bent Dynamight to your will, you said that all swords bear the same name.”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“I suppose you should know, if ever you should need to turn one aside.” Sir Tomura leans back against the side of the basin, looking up at the ceiling. “The true name of any weapon is Death.”

He speaks the name in the language of magic, and a shiver runs through you. You know only a few scattered phrases – your own magic requires none – but it’s impossible to mistake words of power when you hear them. “Repeat it back to me,” Sir Tomura says, and you stumble through the syllables. Match my inflection. Death.”

“Death,” you say hesitantly, and Sir Tomura nods. “My Lord, what sort of magic is this?”

“It’s not dark magic, if that’s what worries you,” your Lord says. “Dark magic is not the only magic without mercy.”

That’s not difficult for you to believe. Alchemy is a kind of magic, too, and you’ve seen how cruelly it can be wielded. You go back to your work, this time evening out the length of the strands you’ve untangled to match the spots where you had to cut knots away. It’s not until sometime later, when you’re setting out towels and bringing in a set of clean clothes, that it occurs to you that you’ve forgotten something.

You dither for far too long over whether to speak, then decide that late is better than never, and throw it over your shoulder as you scurry for the door. “Thank you for the lesson, Sir Tomura.”

“Save it for when it counts,” Sir Tomura says. He has yet to rise from the bath. Instead he’s running his hands through his hair, first one hand and then the other. You wonder if he’s displeased. “And to you in turn, for – this.”

Nobles don’t often thank their servants. Acknowledging a job done well is not the same as offering thanks, as thanks implies that whatever service was provided was more than expected. But you’re learning quickly that you cannot treat Sir Tomura the way you would treat another noble. Telling Sir Tomura not to thank you will provoke frustration. So instead of accepting or refusing, you bow your head. “It was my honor.”

#shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #fantasy au #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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loulislife · 1 year ago

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Chasing Shadows

chapter 1: a dangerous game | Viper x fem!Reader |

The night air was cool and crisp as I sprinted through the dimly lit streets of an unfamiliar city. My heart pounded in my chest, matching the rhythm of my swift footsteps. I couldn't afford to slow down, not with the Kingdom Company hot on my trail.

I was a Radiant, one of the most sought-after and powerful beings on this Alpha Earth. My abilities were unique, a gift or perhaps a curse. I could absorb and replicate the powers of other Radiants. It was a skill that had the potential to change the balance of power in this world, and the Kingdom Company knew it.

I had spent most of my life on the run, evading their relentless pursuit. They wanted to harness my abilities for their own gain, to use me as a living weapon in their bid for dominance. But I couldn't let that happen. My powers were not meant to be controlled by any corporation or government entity.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I quickly glanced at the message. It was a warning from an anonymous source that the Kingdom Company had activated the Valorant Protocol. They were escalating their efforts to find me, and that meant I had to be even more careful.

I ducked into a narrow alley, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The faint hum of distant sirens echoed through the city, a chilling reminder that time was running out. I couldn't stay in one place for too long, and I needed to find a safe haven.

As I rounded a corner, I stumbled upon an abandoned building, its windows shattered and walls graffitied with faded symbols. It seemed like the perfect place to lay low for a while. I slipped inside, the darkness swallowing me whole.

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, trying to calm my racing heart. I needed a plan, a way to stay ahead of the Kingdom Company and their relentless pursuit. The thought of using my abilities to defend myself crossed my mind, but I knew that would only draw more attention.

Hours passed as I huddled in the abandoned building, my thoughts racing. The world outside was still and silent, the calm before the storm. I couldn't stay hidden forever, but for now, I had to bide my time and wait for the right opportunity to reveal itself.

In the distance, I heard the faint wail of sirens growing louder. The Kingdom Company was getting closer, and I needed to move again.

Day after day, I continued to elude the Kingdom Company's grasp, but the pressure was mounting. The Valorant Team, their elite Radiant operatives, were now on my heels. Their determination matched my own, and their skills were formidable. I couldn't afford to underestimate them.

I moved from one abandoned safehouse to another, leaving behind nothing but fading traces of my presence. My days became a blur of constant vigilance, always one step away from capture. I knew that I couldn't hide forever, but I was determined to make the Kingdom Company's pursuit as difficult as possible.

One evening, as I crouched in the shadows of a decaying industrial complex, I sensed a presence nearby. It was subtle, but I had learned to trust my instincts. Someone was watching me, studying my every move.

A faint, sardonic laugh echoed through the darkness, sending shivers down my spine. A figure emerged from the shadows, her silhouette illuminated by the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp. It was Viper, one of the most enigmatic members of the Valorant Team.

Viper was known for her cunning and her ability to manipulate her surroundings with toxic chemicals. Her eyes bore into mine, a predatory glint dancing in their depths. She tilted her head, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

"Well, well, well," she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed malice. "It seems we've been chasing our elusive little Radiant for quite some time now."

I remained silent, my muscles tense and ready to react at a moment's notice. Viper was not to be underestimated, and I needed to choose my words carefully.

"You're a tricky one, aren't you?" Viper continued, circling me like a predator stalking its prey. "But you can't hide forever."

I took a step back, my mind racing. I had to find a way out of this situation, to outwit Viper and her team. But she was a master of psychological warfare, and I was treading on dangerous ground.

"Tell me, Radiant," Viper hissed, her eyes narrowing, "do you really think you can escape us? Your powers are impressive, but they won't save you from what's coming."

I clenched my fists, my resolve hardening. I couldn't let fear or doubt cloud my judgment. I had a duty to protect my abilities and prevent them from falling into the wrong hands.

"Time will tell, Viper," I replied, my voice steady. "But it was a smart move to send you and not one of your Radiants."

Viper's laughter echoed through the empty industrial complex, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. She stepped closer, her eyes fixed on me like a predator closing in on its prey. Her intent was clear: she wanted to capture me and bring me into the fold of the Valorant Team.

I frantically searched my surroundings for a source of Radiant power, my fingers brushing against the cold, damp walls of the abandoned hall. My abilities were formidable when there were other Radiants nearby, but in this desolate place, my options were limited.

I could feel the panic welling up within me as I realized the gravity of my situation. Viper wasn't a Radiant herself, and that meant I couldn't tap into her abilities. The only powers at my disposal were a flash of bright light and a power field, which would destroy everything in my surroundings.

Viper's grin widened as she saw the fear in my eyes. "Running out of tricks, Radiant?" she taunted. "You can't escape me now."

With a sudden burst of desperation, I summoned a flash of blinding light, hoping to disorient Viper and create an opportunity for escape. The corridor was momentarily bathed in brilliance, and Viper shielded her eyes, cursing under her breath.

I seized the moment and dashed toward the exit, my heart pounding in my chest. But Viper was quick to recover, and she lunged after me, her fingers grazing my shoulder. It was an electrifying touch, sending a jolt of adrenaline through me. I was so close to escaping, and yet, she was even closer.

Before I could make it to safety, Viper's swift movements closed the gap between us. With a forceful shove, she pressed me against the cold stone wall, our breaths mingling in the dimly lit corridor. Her green eyes bore into mine, a dangerous glint of desire mixed with something darker.

"Running away won't save you," Viper murmured, her voice low and seductive. Her gloved hand traced a line down my cheek, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

I couldn't help the shiver that ran down my spine, both from fear and an undeniable attraction that pulsed between us. It was a dangerous combination, but in this moment, it was impossible to ignore.

"Is this how you plan to capture me?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly, though not entirely from fear.

Viper's lips curved into a wicked smile, and she leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. "Oh, my dear Radiant, capturing you is just one option. There are so many ways we could play this game."

Her words sent a shiver of anticipation through me, and for a moment, I considered the unthinkable. The chemistry between us was undeniable, a dangerous dance on the edge of pleasure and peril. But I couldn't forget the stakes—the Kingdom Company's relentless pursuit, the fate of my abilities, and the potential consequences of giving in to temptation.

With a surge of determination, I summoned my power and pushed against Viper's chest, creating enough distance between us to break free. I didn't dare look back as I continued my frantic escape through the labyrinthine streets of the city.

But I couldn't shake the memory of Viper's seductive gaze, the lingering taste of our dangerous encounter, and the knowledge that our paths were destined to cross again. The hunt was far from over, and it was uncertain who would be the predator and who the prey when we met once more.

#valorant #valorant viper #valorant viper x reader #sabine callas #sabine callas x reader #valorant x reader #valorant fanfiction #valorant viper fanfiction

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uzumaki-rebellion · 1 year ago

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"King Killmonger: The Golden Jaguar" Chapter 1

Author's Note: You must have read the "Black Boys Bloom Thorns First" series before trying to dip into this new book!

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"I will be one of the greatest That is a vow, yeah, that is a promise Always wanted to be famous Just being real, yeah, just being honest

My haters gon' always be nameless Give them no cloud, I give them no power

Creators built different, they ancient Sooner than later, all will be ours…"

Iniko—"The King's Affirmation"

King N'Jadaka Udaku of the Panther Tribe from the kingdom of Wakanda sat at the head table for the Congressional Black Caucus's newly minted Pan-African symposium/dinner. Housed inside of the National Museum of African American History and Culture, the event brought together Black leaders from all over the world that wanted to shape their future with the influence of Black American politicians after the great disaster of the Infinity War.

The king sipped from a glass of lemon water with his young Executive Assistant Mpilo by his side, very much aware of the eyes dragging across his intimidating figure in the midst of seventy-five world politicians of African descent with their various entourages. Women and men allowed to participate in the momentous occasion chanced glancing his way to assess what kind of man he was on this rare occasion that N'Jadaka visited Washington, D.C.

He grew accustomed to the staring. King N'Jadaka became the legend made flesh among them, the rare Black man of real power surrounded by other Black leaders that tried to balance governing in the face of American neo-imperialism. The people in that room would've given up their firstborn child just to be in his presence, especially the representatives from Sudan and Ethiopia. Thanos's ridiculous plan to snap problems away only created more dire ones on earth and Africa suffered as a result. The rise of new warloads and the loss of faith in democracy sprouted far and wide. Slavery, coups, and genocide had ramped up. Troubled nations in the motherland looked to Wakanda and not the U.S. for leadership, and that made N'Jadaka's stay in his former homeland dangerous. The C.I.A. had a bench warrant of death on his head. Western powers wanted the king of Wakanda eliminated.

The Golden Jaguar sighed and pressed his hands on his thighs and flexed his fingers to offset the ribbons of tension coursing through him. Despite it being an all Black affair, there were enemy ops in the conference hall among them. The Dora Milaje and his Onyx Squad remained visible and dispersed throughout the perimeter, their smart-looking uniforms marking them as superior protection among the American security hired to keep unwelcome outsiders from trying to sneak an audience with the Wakandan king.

This attempt at a heavily-publicized gathering of Black international elites became a way for powerless Black politicians in the U.S. to rival and possibly supplant N'Jadaka's influential UDC creation that made waves in under a year. No matter what power-to-the-people slogans were used to get them in office, Black American politicians were still…politicians. No different than their white counterparts that only worried about getting re-elected and stuffing their pockets with money, connections, and a fat board member assignment or consultation position on some corporations dime after retirement. No matter the pithy declarations about supporting the Black community he heard all evening, there were wolves in the room seeking access to more power. The white American power structure lit a fire under the CBC's ass to put together something that would convince diaspora Africans to join with them instead of the Wakandans. N'Jadaka knew what it was and decided to participate anyway. Just to let the CBC know he was watching them closely and feigning diplomacy. America was a weak and decaying order. The bored king found solace knowing he would be its demise.

N'Jadaka tapped his hand on the fancy table cloth. Mpilo took note of his mood and quickly checked his comm tab for the expected time of arrival for Yani and the children. The trip abroad had lasted over two weeks, most of it spent at the United Nations in Geneva, and meetings in New York, London, and South Africa. N'Jadaka cancelled a trip to Saudi Arabia when one of the crown princes of an oil billionaire insulted him on a viral vid. He made an example of them by snubbing a much-anticipated visit there. Any form of anti-Blackness anywhere was swiftly aired out. Mexico, Argentina, Spain, France, Italy, and the Dominican Republic were already smarting from his public call-out of their treatment of Black people due to an increase of racialized violence targeting poor Black citizens in their nations. With Yani's urging and Ramonda's powerful voice as an ambassador, there was a rallying call against global femcide in the wake of the disappearance of so many people.

The U.S. didn't let the great loss of citizens stop their continuing encroachment of resources and they took advantage of pumping predatory capitalism along. What could've been a moment of self-reflection, a shift in priorities, and a new way of being for the country as a whole was simply an opportunity to prey on weaker nations even harder. Their only hindrance in achieving more power was the rise of Wakanda under N'Jadaka's leadership. He instilled fear in every nation that wanted life to go on the same way, and he also gave hope to those parts that saw a chance at progressive changes aligning with Wakanda. The western powers still gasped at his U.N. speech criticizing colonial apartheid in Palestine and Gaza. The gasp turned into full-fledged choking when he charged genocide co-signed and funded by the Americans. Once he pontificated on the historical similarities between Gaza, South Africa, and the Black American segregation of his own people, his War Dogs got wind of Mossad operations trying to penetrate Wakandan intelligence through the C.I.A.

Back home, the continent was split.

African nations that had long been ignored and left to suffer on their own benefitted from supporting Wakanda. N'Jadaka flooded their lands with tech support, agricultural advances, doctors, and a quick rebuilding of infrastructures with his Wakandan Humanitarian Corps that embarrassed the U.S.. At N'Jadaka's urging, Azania and Caanan had stopped selling uranium, colbalt, and platinum to anyone outside of Africa in exchange for advanced agricultural expansion. Mining had ruined and polluted their lands with run-off depleting usable soil and water. Rapid climate change didn't help them either and the neighboring nations were on the verge of famine. Wakanda helped clean their water, soil, and air for free, allowing farmers to produce a bumper crop that saved millions from starvation and prevented them from becoming refugees in other nations. Those who had been malnourished received the best medical treatment, and once snatched from the brink of disaster, Azania and Caanan were staunch allies for good.

Niganda and Mohannda were a different story, currying favor from the CBC leaders and complaining to the U.S. president that Wakanda was a global threat to sovereignty. The other African nations galvanized by the freely given help, threw all of their allegiance to the Wakandans, thus leading other unaligned African nations to fear him creating a United States of Wakanda to rule them all.

It wasn't a bad idea.

He never acknowledged those types of concerns and just let the rumors grow to keep his enemies on their toes. His own father N'Jobu had flirted with visions of a united continent under Wakandan rule in his journals. Currently, N'Jadaka scrambled to replace War Dogs lost to the blip in order to keep his finger on the pulse of other nations.

"Princess Yani will arrive within the next two hours. They have crossed onto the Atlantic," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka nodded. He gave Mpilo a full-time job as his personal assistant since the loss of his father in the snap. The king had no idea the young man suffered that loss until months after the memorial honoring the lost ones. Mpilo continued to do his work professionally until Yani brought the news to the king's attention. She recognized Mpilo's family name from one of the palace attendants sending personal condolences to their staff on her behalf. When N'Jadaka questioned him, Mpilo broke down in tears in the king's office. His father and two oldest brothers had vanished leaving behind his mother and baby sister. Barely an adult, Mpilo now had the responsibility of looking out for his immediate family. N'Jadaka terminated his fellowship and gave him a permanent job title as his executive assistant.

The king let out a sigh of relief.

He needed to be with his family again. Normally Yani would be with him, but she was on her own global tour promoting her book, "The Wakandan Way of Birth". Their children traveled with her and he caught interview segments of her in three countries. The world was enamored with the exotic princess. It was her first appearance outside of Wakanda representing the nation. N'Jadaka grinned thinking about the reaction of the Caribbean. The entire region went nuts finding out officially that an island girl had snagged the most powerful man in the world.

She promoted the book in St. Thomas first, and he hated not being there with her. She traveled to Jamaica next to visit the land of her father and paid her respects to their relatives there. In the midst of the new global normal, Yani's book became a smashing success. All proceeds went to funding her midwifery scholarships to further the number of Black and Native midwives and doulas learning at the Wakandan birthing centers. The money allowed women to focus fulltime on their craft without monetary constraints. She planned to give more once she became queen because the palace allotted a salary for Queen Consorts that she planned to use for more income-based scholarships. Wherever there were Black and Indigenous women in need, Yani made sure they took priority over anyone else.

Everyone wanted their hands on the book. A Wakandan publishing company mass marketed the coffee-table sized manauscript, and they looked exquisite. The cover was created by a Birnin S'Yan artisan who made a vibranium-tinged dye that was threaded into a gorgeous royal purple and silver cloth overlay. The book had fifty full-page color photos that Yani spent months agonizing over from a total of 200. The cover photo itself deserved to hang in a museum. It showed a young woman holding her newborn daughter and they were both dressed in the vibrant colors of the River Tribe.

When the pre-release online sales skyrocketed, Yani made the decision to only provide non-online sales out of Wakanada through global Black bookstores. The international brick and mortar stores made bank with the flood of non-Black customers wanting their hands on something from Wakanda. Even people who weren't even interested in childbirth or culture clamored to snatch up a copy just to get a glimpse of what Wakanda looked like from the inside. The first print sold out in one week.

The talks finally ended and the affair moved into a spacious outdoor dining area where a small jazz trio played music in a corner. The balmy weather made it comfortable to be outside and he took in a deep inhale of D.C. air.

Okoye and Ayo kept the pre-dinner rush to talk to the king at a distance, giving N'Jadaka time to snag a moment of peace. After ten minutes he shook hands and greeted caucus leaders, trying not to look annoyed at their requests for selfies with him. He obliged to be polite and to give an air of camaraderie. Everyone wanted everyone else to think they had connections to him by how loud they talked or laughed with him. He knew the drill.

The hosts ushered his entourage to their dining seats near the front of another podium. No one pretended to be sly about sneaking candids of him with their smartphones.

"King N'Jadaka, your son is here to see you right away," Ayo whispered in his ear.

N'Jadaka looked around and spotted Riki walking out from the museum with his personal Dora, Quamba. All the diners stopped to watch the prince of Wakanda walk through with his hands behind his back and his eyes searching for his Baba. Some people tried to snap photos of Riki, but all of N'Jadaka's children wore necklaces that thwarted any cameras from getting clear pictures of them by jamming up electronics and flash photography cameras.

Riki looked too clean.

Yani braided his hair in the spiral style of his Wakandan ancestors, threaded with shells and beads that bounced around his shoulders. This week, Riki wore jade and black fingernail polish decorated with mini panther claws in bright gold which was the rage of young children in Birnin Zana who loved their local team that played a popular sport called ukudlala ngomlenze…leg play. It was a game that required balance, and intense leg flexibility as two teams battled each other on a low swinging wooden bridge that moved across a deep body of water. One member of each team took turns standing in the center of the swinging bridge as the other team members of the challenging team split up on either side to rock the opponent off their feet, without any of their own teammates falling over too. The narrow bridge swung higher and higher, pushing athletes to go against gravity, their exhausted limbs put to the test for long durations. N'Jadaka had promised Riki a trip to the national competition in the River Tribe territory once they returned home.

Riki's black royal sash rested snug across his chest with the family crest emblazoned on it. The boy was seven-years old and sprouting a bit of height. He was almost as tall as Sydette and would probably surpass her by the time he was eight. The freckles on his red-brown skin were more pronounced, covering his nose and cheeks. Riki's eyes lit up when he spotted N'Jadaka.

"Baba!"

The boy ran past chuckling adults who admired the tailored royal suit and polished shoes. N'Jadaka held his arms out and his son jumped onto his lap and kissed his cheek. The happy king wrapped his child up in love.

"I've missed your busy behind," N'Jadaka said. "Where's your Mama and the girls?"

"Changing clothes. I couldn't wait to see you," Riki said, squeezing his arms around N'Jadaka's neck.

"Good trip, Dumplin?"

"Yes. People went crazy for Mama and her book. I'm ready to go home though. I don't like this country…the people here are so fake. They only like you if you're rich or famous."

"Hungry?"

Riki nodded and scanned the tables for the evening's selection. He scrunched up his nose at the servers placing rolls and butter on the tables.

"Can we eat this food, Baba?" Riki asked.

"We have people watching the chef in the kitchen."

The Udaku children had been taught to reject outside food unless their parents permitted them to partake. N'Jadaka had become cautious with poisoning and normally had his own personal chef make all of their food, but he opted to watch the American cooks this time around instead of turning down a plate. The head chef for the evening was a famous Black American from New Orleans who read that N'Jadaka liked food from that region and wanted to create a menu to impress the powerful king.

"Sit next to me," N'Jadaka said, pulling out a chair for Riki.

Mpilo took a seat across from them at the circular table that seated twelve. Members of the CBC organizing committee greeted him then took their seats at other tables. The jazz music grew softer as guests took their seats all throughout the guarded space. A congresswoman from Philly took to the podium near N'Jadaka's area and announced the arrival of Yani and Ramonda. Eager applause broke out and N'Jadaka stood up from his seat. He helped Riki stand in his chair so he could see his mother and aunt enter.

N'Jadaka's Uncle Bakari escorted Yani and Ramonda together as Sydette and Joba walked in front of them wearing matching purple dresses with their hair twisted and pulled back with amethyst panther-shaped hair clips. Yani mesmerized the crowd in a shimmery emerald green dress that revealed all her rounded curves. She styled her hair with extensions in an upswept fancy roll that denoted her status as queen-to-be. Ramonda had the crowd transfixed with her tall purple isicholo and deep purple gown. Uncle Bakari appeared dapper in his black tux. N'Jadaka's grandfather Dante escorted Bakari's wife Shavonne and they all made their way toward the front where their Dora Milaje escorts brought them to the king's table.

Sydette and Joba dashed to him first and he picked up both girls and smothered their faces with kisses amidst their squeals of delight for being with him again. He put them down the moment Yani reached him and he couldn't hide from the world his love for her.

He wrapped eager arms around her tight and pressed his forehead against her brow. The tense energy in his body drained down into the floor and he exhaled a long breath. Yani rested her arms around his massive shoulders, her perfume drowning him in memories of their shared bed and the last time they had been alone without the world watching their every move.

"Baby, I missed you so much."

"I know. I couldn't wait to get here and hold you."

"You know these niggas is starin' so we better play it cool for Ramonda's sake."

Yani giggled and pulled away from him. He kissed her hand and turned to Ramonda, giving his auntie double kisses on both cheeks. He hugged his grandpop next and finally showed love to his American aunt and uncle who raised him after his parents died. They all took their seats at the dining table. Yani sat at his right, and Riki, Joba, and Sydette took over his left side.

As the first courses of salads, soups, and finger foods were brought out, announcements were made. The head chef was brought out and recognized. N'Jadaka allowed the nervous man to take a picture with him holding up a plate of sausage gumbo with rice. There was special recognition given to Yani, along with a surprise plaque presented to Ramonda for her role as an ambassador fostering goodwill between America and Wakanda.

N'Jadaka caught up with his aunt and uncle and the family chatter reminded him of being home except they were being watched like fish in a fishbowl. When dessert and coffee were brought out at the end of the meal, Ramonda switched seats with Riki and leaned in toward the king.

"President Mubiri would like to have a nightcap with you during the mixer inside the museum," Ramonda said.

"Why?"

Ramonda's sharp eyes observed the guests.

"He believes D.C. is neutral ground and he would like to discuss rumors of you inciting a coup in his nation."

"Sounds like C.I.A. bullshit."

"Even so, it wouldn't hurt to appear cordial. Get some photos taken that shows two rival nations talking together. Yani is your icebreaker. Madame Mubiri is here, too. A nice photo-op of beautiful African women mingling will make the CBC very happy."

N'Jadaka glanced at Yani's fingers. She had on her deadly finger armor. Hopefully she wouldn't threaten the man again.

He signaled for Quamba and several Onyx Squad security to take his children and grandfather back to their penthouse suite at the hotel they were lodged in for the weekend. He hugged and kissed the children promising to read a bedtime story to them later. People moved out of the way and stared at his heirs. All three children walked like royalty, heads held high, backs kept straight.

The after dinner mixer started inside the lobby of the museum where a giant abstract art installation above their heads looked like the unfurling of giant bronze ribbons. N'Jadka read the description of the sculpture that was supposed to represent the swinging motions like a band of angels coming down to carry Black Americans back home like the old spiritual "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot". The artist, Richard Hunt, used suspended cables to anchor the work, and the swooping arcs of the bronze bands reminded N'Jadaka of his mother's arms around his body when he was small.

Several servers traipsed the lobby carrying drinks and savory finger foods. A D.J. played contemporary R&B and the guests relaxed into full-blown partying mode. Bakari and Shavonne headed toward a display of Harriet Tubman's shawl further inside the museum and Mpilo escorted Ramonda to meet some caucus members who were dying to be seen with her.

N'Jadaka held out his arm and Yani rested her hand on it. She walked with a majestic stride that matched his and they mingled for a bit. Yani's charm was her greatest weapon and they spent a considerable amount of time discussing her book and tour. Her radiance overwhelmed a few people who couldn't stop admiring her even as they moved on to other guests. The allure of power was a true aphrodisiac, and Yani wielded it well. All of her Wakandan training and years of experience dealing with all sorts of people paid off in spades as she delighted American dignitaries. He couldn't stop staring at her himself. Her voice lit up his face and he smiled at everything she said. Yani's youth also surprised people. She would be entering her late twenties soon enough, but carried a greater maturity and self-awareness in the last year representing Wakanda internationally.

They worked the first three corners of the lobby before the mixer branched out to the rest of the museum, and they headed toward President Mubiri and Madame Mubiri who lingered near a replica of a slave quarter. The Mohanndan president stood with a glass of liquor in his hand entertaining cronies as his wife watched her husband's dour animated face with his uppercase gums spilling over his lowercase teeth. Her eyes sparked up when Yani approached holding out her hands toward the woman.

"Madame Habiba Mubiri, I finally get to see you again in a less formal setting," Yani enthused.

Yani ignored Mubiri and immediately pulled Habiba away from her husband, touching her hand in informal friendship.

"Mubiri," N'Jadaka said, offering his hand. Mubiri shook it.

"King N'Jadaka."

Yani reached for a glass of wine from a server that had been freshly poured from the bar. She presented it to N'Jadaka using the ancient submissive stance of queens in Wakanda, holding the glass up to him with her right hand, while her other hand cradled the elbow of the serving arm. N'Jadaka caught the lust in Mubiri's eyes again for his fiancé. He took the glass from Yani and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you, baby," he said.

"May I please borrow Madame Mubiri? I would love to introduce her to the head organizer," Yani asked Mubiri.

It was clear that Mubiri didn't want his wife to do anything, but Yani's seductive voice couldn't be denied. She played on the man's need to control women by asking his permission. Her earlier exaggerated submissive act toward N'Jadaka fed into the man's cultural ego. Yani upped the ante by touching his arm and squeezing it. Her touch ignited something in the president and he lifted his wife's arm and practically threw her at Yani.

"I'm sure you two have some important things to discuss without us present," she added.

"Enjoy yourselves," Mubiri said, his gaze plastered all over Yani's figure as the two women strolled further into the heart of the museum.

N'Jadka pretended to drink his wine while being focused on something else until Yani was gone.

"I thank you for the personal invitation to your wedding King N'Jadaka. I didn't think you would extend us any welcome to your country again."

"It's a time of celebration, not political intrigue. Yani wanted your wife there. They have been corresponding for a time getting to know each other. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"And miss the nuptials of that delightful woman you parade around like a trophy? Never. We will attend and enjoy the splendor."

They both drank in silence.

"Did you like the tour of the museum earlier?" N'Jadaka asked.

"An intriguing history lesson. You must be proud of your heritage here."

"I am."

"Rebels at heart. I see why the Americans want to control you."

"I know you don't want to stand here and shoot the shit about my lineage. You want to know if I'm plotting to throw you out of office."

Mubiri choked on his drink as N'Jadaka stared at his face. The Mohanndan's cronies flicked their eyes away in embarrassment, not expecting the king to be that blunt.

"What would I gain from having you taken out, Mubiri? There would only be another leader who thinks the same as you, so nothing would change. Pinning your hopes on the Americans holding me in check has not paid off in a year. I offer nothing but hope and a chance at directing Africa's vast internal wealth and ancient wisdom back to where it belongs…on all of our people."

"Our people? You Wakandans are stand-offish and think only of yourselves. These little excursions into other African nations giving them little trinkets of your resources reeks of a ploy to rule over us all. At least your uncle acted like a benevolent father-figure in the west."

"My uncle was not the man you all think he was. I am telling you now, to your face Barasa Mubiri…I have no plans for a coup, an assassination, nor war with your country. Did you not read my fiancé's book? Wakandans value peaceful living, enhancements to prolong life, and self-actualization that benefits the whole and not just the individual. We kept to ourselves for centuries even when we had the means to colonize the world and bend it to our will. But we didn't."

"I still think that is an option in your arsenal, King N'Jadaka."

"I am from the school of 'don't start none, won't be none'. My goal is transformative liberation for whomever wants it."

"So-called liberators often transform into something sinister, if given the chance."

The king moved closer to the east African president, closing the small gap between them.

"I only plan to bring hell to those who mean us harm. Do you plan to cause problems for us with this U.S. administration?" N'Jadaka asked.

Mubiri shook his head and smiled.

"I want peace and prosperity for our people too."

"Good. You have heard directly from my mouth what I want. Let's spend the rest of the evening showing the world that Africans can co-exist on the continent without people confirming their biases about us being warlords and despots. We can be civil with our disagreements. Everything doesn't have to be bloodshed, or rumors of hostile take-overs."

N'Jadaka excused himself with Okoye by his side.

"You were very civil, kumkani," Okoye said.

"I promised Umama that I would control my hostile tendencies here."

"She would be very pleased. Princess Yani is speaking to a delegation from the Sudan. Ambassador Udaku is with the Press Secretary for the American President."

N'Jadaka peeked at his kimoyos. He wanted to leave as soon as possible without making it glaringly obvious that he was ready to dip. His declining of the White House meeting with the President didn't sit well among the ruling Republican party.

"Kumkani!"

Mpilo rushed to him breathing heavily.

"You must come immediately," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka quickened his steps with Okoye at his side. Mpilo led them through a throng of people and Yani rushed forward, clasping his hand in hers.

"What is it?" he said.

He squeezed a protective hand around hers and she pulled him toward another room. His family stood with other guests admiring a wall display. Ramonda stood with Dante and his uncle Bakari had taken off his glasses. Shavonne held an arm over Bakari's shoulder and they made room for N'Jadaka to move in front of them. Yani linked her arm with his.

"We didn't know this was here," Yani said.

N'Jadaka looked at a series of life-sized color photos of his mother Califia leading a Berkley BSU meeting. Her young face looked on fire like her hair as she held up a fist, her brows knitted together, and her mouth open spitting fire. A second photo connected to the first in a collage-styled presentation showed her carrying N'Jadaka on her hip. He was four years old wearing intricate cornrows and they both looked directly at whoever took the picture for a public event in Oakland. A deep inhale filled his lungs. The third image brought the handsome beauty of his father N'Jobu to life. He wore the dark ceremonial royal robes of Wakanda looking noble and fly as fuck. A fourth photo made N'Jadaka blink trying to figure out where it came from. He sported an MIT sweatshirt and his grin looked so innocent long ago. It came back to him. Chocolate City. A school paper had done an article about him and his dorm mates The final photo was a formal publicity photo of himself as the king of Wakanda. The entire collage mural threaded his Black American roots to his Wakandan roots, forming a romanticized link of the diaspora back to the motherland.

He appreciated his family becoming a historical footnote in the museum. Dante wiped his eyes and Yani wrapped an arm around him, helping the older man to reconcile the pain they felt in not having Califia and N'Jobu there with them.

The museum director approached N'Jadaka with a timid smile, her pale brown eyes dazzled by how close she stood next to him and his entourage. She down casted her gaze quickly when he stared directly at her.

"We hope you like this new installation King N'Jadaka. Unfortunately, the artist has been ill, or else he would've been here," the director said.

"Very impressive," he said.

His eyes lingered on his mother's image holding him while Ramonda gazed at N'Jobu's image. He wondered what thoughts went through her mind. Was there regret? Any remains of sadness that he had chosen someone else over her?

"Every time I see your parents, I see our children," Yani said. "You look so much like Riki in this one."

Yani reached out and let her fingers hover under the chin of his childhood image. He wanted to go home. Back to Wakanda. He whispered in Ramonda's ear and she slid next to the director to heap praises on the installation. Clasping Yani's hand, he guided his relatives toward the nearest exit. The Dora snapped to attention flanking them while the Onyx squad scanned for any problems.

Five dark SUVs pulled up to the side of the museum with Kingsguard drivers. Their entire party was whisked away to a luxury hotel in the heart of the capital and they disembarked in an underground parking garage to avoid paparazzi.

N'Jadaka entered his suite with Yani, and their children tackled him onto the floor wearing their pajamas. Dante watched them from a couch for a few minutes before standing up.

"I'm heading to bed, JaJa. What time do you need me to be ready for Joba's grandma?" Dante asked.

"She's arriving with the rest of Disa's family in the half cruiser around noon. We'll pick up some family in St. Thomas and Jamaica too before we travel back to Wakanda. The wedding rehearsal happens on Wednesday instead of Thursday."

"Yani's still doing the Today show interview?"

"Yes," Yani said, pulling Sydette from on top of N'Jadaka's head, "It's the only place I'm promoting the book."

Dante looked surprised.

N'Jadka gave Yani a look to take the children to their shared junior suite. Dante watched the family leave and he moved closer to his grandson.

"What's going on?" Dante asked.

"I don't want Yani in this country any longer than she has to be. We have some credible threats here in the states, and we're doing some culling of problems."

"Culling? You mean killing right?"

N'Jadaka glanced over his shoulder. Yani's voice gently scolded the children from being so hyper and loud before bed.

"Grandpop, things are escalating. Neutralizing threats will become more common for me."

"I don't have any issues with that."

N'Jadaka nodded.

"I'm turning in. See ya in the morning."

"I'm sleeping in."

"That doesn't surprise me."

He squeezed his grandfather's shoulder and watched the older man shuffle off to the adjoining door that led to another private suite. A Dora on night duty greeted Dante and closed the suite door behind him.

N'Jadaka stepped into the bedroom with his children frolicking across two queen beds. Sydette bounced on hers and played with her kimoyo beads while Riki and Joba tried to sidestep Yani's attempts to get them under the covers. N'Jadaka clapped his hands and all three children stopped goofing around and centered their attention on him. Yani placed hands on her hips, her long extensions fallen over one shoulder.

"Hey, what's going on in here? Mama said it's time for bed. Stop playing around."

"You promised us a story," Joba said.

He sighed and tread softly to the younger children's bed and plopped down on it. Pulling Joba onto his lap, he nuzzled his chin on top of her head. She touched his cheek.

"Are you too tired Baba? We can wait for another time," Joba said.

Her soft voice and soft hands brought forth all the mental exhaustion of the day.

"Thank you, Sunshine," he said.

He kissed Joba's cheek and she scrambled under the covers next to her brother. Riki patted his hand and he stroked the boy's braids.

"Night, Baba," Sydette said.

His oldest climbed under thick blankets and blew him a kiss. He pretended to catch it and place it lovingly on his cheek.

"Tomorrow you will go with Grandpop to have breakfast with Uncle Bakari and Aunt Shavonne, then Grandma Theresa will arrive and we'll all meet up for lunch," Yani said.

"When are we leaving this place?" Riki asked.

"Soon," N'Jadaka said. "Get some sleep."

All the children looked relieved. He slipped his hand over Yani's and pulled her out of the room, turning off the lights and closing the bedroom door. Yani threw her arms around his waist and they hugged each other, allowing their mutual warmth and affection to flow through one another. He had his family back.

N'Jadaka's sleep was interrupted not by a sound, but by the missing softness removed from his side. Opening his eyes, he spread his hand out feeling for Yani. A toilet flushed from the bathroom outside of the hotel bedroom and she padded in quietly, closing the door before re-joining him. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand he was surprised to see it was only three in the morning. His body felt like it had slept later than that. He spooned back around Yani's lush form and they threaded the fingers of their right hands together, tucking them under her breasts.

The TV they watched before nodding off played a twenty-four hour news channel. Broadcasts of his visit stayed on loop most of the night, but the current images flashing onscreen highlighted the weather and celebrity gossip.

"At the end of this week we will be married," he whispered into Yani's ear.

She giggled and pushed her rump against his crotch.

"Queen Yani and King N'Jadaka," he said. "Nervous?"

"A little. Our counseling sessions with Elder Efetebo gave me a lot to think about. Umama and Ramonda have helped me too. Feels like I'm a part of something bigger than anything I have ever known in Wakanda…and yet…"

N'Jadaka reached over and turned on a lamp. He turned her face toward him.

"What is it?"

Yani's eyes watered and she blinked quickly. Two small tears trekked a lonely trail down her round cheeks. He kissed them away and cuddled her in his body heat and strength. She continued speaking in a low voice.

"At times…I know many still see us as outsiders on the noble court. They don't come for mi like they used to in the beginning, but I see it in their eyes. I know they want you take a Wakandan concubine. As modern and visionary as our country is, they hold on to these old timey ways to discredit our reign. I can see if they don't want Sweet Pea to have claim to the throne, but Riki and Joba have the bloodline in them. That should be enough. They want you to have a legally sanctioned child with a second wife to make the new line more legitimate…more Wakandan than diaspora. Everyone is scared to say this to your face, so that is the only thing that keeps them in line."

"Zola and Ilana tell you this?"

"They tell me everything. They love us."

"I've been on the elders' asses about that shit."

"There's only so much they can do. They can't stop other people from talking what they feel to be true in their hearts. A segment of the population will always see us diluting the bloodline."

"I will have Zola and Ilana tell me who the gossipmongers are and I will cast them out on their asses."

Yani sighed and burrowed into his arms.

"That will only make them feel justified and maybe cause more trouble for me in the palace. I will deal with it in mi own way."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Right now I'm a weak piece on the chess board. But once that royal isicholo is on my head, I will have more power to play a different position. I won't need to run to you all the time complaining."

"You don't run to me."

She rubbed his bicep and kissed the skin there on his arm.

"I can stand on my own. I have to in order to survive the politics as queen. The more time I spend in the throne room with you, I see why you wanted me there so much."

"Does it overwhelm you?"

"Sometimes. The Council of Elders are so particular…so strict. Like I said, we have the most modern country and I can't get over how backwards they can be with a willful adherence to tradition without even considering the impact of our population being made up of so many young citizens. Nearly half of our citizens are under the age of twenty. Even before the Infinity War. These young people are hungry for change. They want to create new traditions. Look at Zola and Ilana, my staunchest supporters…their desire for new things spills over into every conversation we have together. So much goes on back home and yet, we both have to deal with the rest of the world's problems too. I tell myself I'm up to the challenge, that I can multitask and handle every little fire that breaks out in the Court of Nobles, but it can look daunting at times."

"We have each other. We have our family. There's nothing we can't get through together. I put us all in hell and we climbed back out… you and me. I plan on protecting you Yani, and providing you with anything you need for yourself or our children. The nation will know your power and influence for generations to come. I mean…look at your book tour. The world knows who you are…"

Yani's eyes drifted away from N'Jadaka's face. She reached for the tv remote on the nightstand and turned up the volume on a previously broadcasted segment. Onscreen a male news anchor out of D.C. spoke over a background image of N'Jadaka back in his Killmonger days. Mercenary fatigues covered his body and his short locs had barely curled over his forehead.

"They outed you," Yani said.

N'Jadaka listened to the anchor list his accomplishments at MIT and the Navy before cutting to alleged covert missions for various off-the-grid companies and ghost units. He sat up on the bed as a female political analyst sat in front of an image of the Pentagon. She shared a clip of N'Jadaka's speech to the U.N. and inferred that the Wakandan king's connection to the C.I.A. and mercenary past would prove to be a detriment to African nations seeking true democracy. The overall segment painted N'Jadaka in an unsavory light.

"…King N'Jadaka has stated publicly at the latest U.N. gathering in Geneva that he will continue to interfere with African nations that are in turmoil. Our government can't afford to have Wakanda becoming the world police if the U.N. can't rally around the support of ending genocide in the Congo or demanding that Rwanda and Uganda stop their pillaging of coltan in that region. His calling out of multinationals is dangerous to the progress America is making to help the DRC put an end to the loss of life there. We've sat on the sidelines long enough waiting to see what direction Wakanda will move in since the mysterious ousting of King T'Challa, and now that we know the full background of the rebel king…this by the way is what he is known as in Mohannda and Niganda. Those two nations also have large deposits of colbalt, coltan, and uranium, and their leaders have hinted King N'Jadaka may wage war to secure those resources just like he hoards vibranium from the rest of the world."

"Janice, are you suggesting that King N'Jadaka's background as a C.I.A. operative may provoke a World War Three scenario in the future? He is in our country right now, in this city exactly with other African leaders and Black politicians from around the world. You really believe he will bring us to the brink of another global disaster after we've gone through so much?"

"He is a threat to our national security and the security of other African countries who desire peace and free-trade without violence. It is our duty to protect those people, and to protect the leadership who want to sell resources that benefit all. We are all witnessing the emergence of a secretive superpower under the leadership of a man we trained in black ops and who has no allegiance to anyone. I find this disconcerting and frankly, Bill, I'm shocked at how casual the leadership in this country is taking this troubling revelation."

"Excluding his recent U.N. speech, King N'Jadaka has only spoken out publicly against the on-going genocidal war in the DRC. As far as we know, he hasn't done anything outright on the continent of Africa that should warrant the type of forceful caution you are suggesting. Why are you so adamant about this discourse in the capital?"

"Wakanda is an unknown factor in global conflicts to date. U.S. officials and the Pentagon would like to see it stay that way, but King N'Jadaka appears to be rattling his saber. His training and access to the most powerful weaponry on earth scares me. It should scare everyone, especially with his negative views toward the United States…the land of his birth."

"Genius…decorated solder…Navy SEAL…C.I.A. operative…mercenary…king…you've given us a lot to think about with your upcoming book about Wakanda's place in geopolitics."

"Here's something else to think about. King N'Jadaka —Erik Stevens when he was an American—used to have Tony Stark as a mentor."

"Iron Man?"

"Yes."

"Are you implicating the billionaire superhero in anything to do with King N'Jadaka's spectacular political trajectory?"

"I'm only pointing out how entrenched the Wakandan king is within bleeding edge technology in the military arms race and his close proximity to someone many found problematic years ago as an industrialist. Who knows if these two men are still in contact with one another? Tony Stark should be called to Washington to answer pertinent questions about his past with this king."

N'Jadaka flicked the off button for the tv. Yani placed it back on the nightstand.

"They've been sitting on this shit for a year. Been wondering when the C.I.A. would drop it in the court of public opinion. Of course that bitch pushes her upcoming book during the last leg of your international book tour. I bet all of your book sales that Everett Ross had a hand in being a ghostwriter for it."

"Will they connect me with your mercenary past? Klaue?"

"No. Klaue used aliases on St. Thomas."

"What if they ask you about how we met?"

N'Jadaka lifted a long braid from Yani's face and tucked it behind her ear.

"I was on vacation in paradise and met you…a beautiful island girl. We fell in love and that's all there is to it."

Yani kissed his lips gently and rolled back on her side. He curled around her and they snuggled for a bit. He whispered in her ear.

"I don't want you to worry about anything that woman said. They've been looking to smear me every chance they get. It doesn't take away from those who support and believe in us."

She nodded into his arm and he kissed her temple.

"These people can only speculate from afar. We'll always be ahead of them. The only thing I want you thinking about is how you'll look in that wedding dress when I see you walking down the aisle," he said.

"That woman on tv tried to make you look like a monster, but all of your achievements only made you look like a man they should praise."

"I came up out the mud and took my talents to the last place they expected. They're starting to see what Africa could become once I get these wars abolished. Africa has always been the center of the world. Once we get the rest of these colonial shackles off her feet, I'll make her flex."

"You sound like you want to be king of the motherland."

"Don't tempt me."

Yani glanced back at him.

"Would you do something like that?"

"No more talk about the world. The sun hasn't come up yet and the children are still asleep."

N'Jadaka smashed his lips against hers and hurriedly slipped his tongue in her mouth to hush more inquiries. Her watery mouth tasted of 7-Up that she must've snuck a sip of from the suite's mini-fridge. His mind slowed down the way it always did when he kissed her. The heartbeat thumps in his chest matched the speed of hers. His long locs fanned out around her face and his Golden Jaguar necklace claws grazed her throat. Yani hummed into his mouth while sucking his tongue and he gasped at the initial thickening of his dick.

Pulling away, he stared down at her face, taking in the wide round eyes with curling lashes that fluttered whispery kisses against his neck as he kissed her forehead.

"I hate when we're apart," he said.

"I know."

"I love being with you like this when the children are in the next room asleep and safe…when no one from the outside bothers us. I can have you all to myself…oohhh…."

Yani slid her hands down his chest and squeezed the growing bulge in his pajama bottoms. He leaked a growing spot of precum and she toyed with it through the silk barrier. Her fingers became sticky and slick. He groaned and murmured her name into her hair, lifting his body higher so he could watch her hand do wonders teasing his erection.

Resting against her, he slid his fingers across her chest, fondling her breasts through her gauzy nightgown top. He pulled down on it until her titties spilled out, the plump nipples feeling like fat grapes on his fingertips. Pinching and plucking at them gently, he played with her breasts until he was ready for more. He climbed above her and pushed his groin into her mound, the friction swelling his dick until it poked out of the waist band on its own. He tugged his pajama pants down and gripped the thick erection in his eager hand. Yani lifted off her gown and he pushed the covers back so he could see the blessed globes jiggle.

"Oh shit," he groaned.

He pressed the tip of his dick against her pierced clit and a glistening long thread of precum shined up her labia. Swiping the bulbous head back and forth, he smeared the clear fluid on her fat vulva like icing on a chocolate cake. Yani shifted her big thighs and her ass cheeks jiggled. He smacked the underside hard and the recoil from that position forced a heavy moan from his lips. She had gained weight. He knew her trip back to St. Thomas and Jamaica meant eating good childhood food, and his woman didn't miss nary a meal. It was a gift to him no doubt.

Kicking off his pajama bottoms all the way, N'Jadaka played with Yani's breasts and labia until he was ready to penetrate the pretty pink opening flashing at him. Yani turned on her side and he parted her labia with one fluid motion of his dick sinking deep into her. She whimpered at the stretching of her walls after a long absence.

"I won't go crazy, baby…I promise. Too many people close around," he huffed.

Her pussy accommodated his girth with a tight wetness he was accustomed to having mold like a second skin around his dick. All he could think of was President Mubiri ogling Yani's body, especially her ass. It looked so round and ripe in her dress. He thrust forward knowing that man would never know pussy as sweet and juicy as the one sheathing his exceptional length. Only kings deserved the clenching his dick received at that moment.

"Yani….dassit…baby…damn…"

He grit his teeth trying to keep from shouting. Lowering his head, he dropped his face into the back of her neck and muffled his vocal straining. In and out…her perfect gushy cavern squelched and he dug in deeper, wanting to hear the sounds of his balls smacking her ass.

"Fuck…girl…"

She arched her back and he smothered his body over hers, preventing her from taking control and making him nut too quick. His dick needed to marinate in her pussy. He held Yani's back against his chest and reveled in the snug pussy cradling his dick. Keeping still, he played with her clit without thrusting, making her indulge in the pressure off all that meat stuffed inside of her. She huffed into her pillow and wiggled her hips, but he kept her anchored against him without mercy.

"You miss Daddy's dick?" he asked.

"Yes."

She whimpered pitiful sounds and clawed the sheets, eventually wilting in his arms. His dick could stay hard for hours, the gift from the heart-shaped herb's power flowing through his blood. He rested in her walls for an hour, teasing her clit and whispering nasty things in her ear. She started crying from the delicate teasing of his fingers all over her jewel-pierced vulva for such a long time without release.

"You betta not cum until I tell you…okay?"

"Okay…okay…I can't take much more…"

She bit into his arm and the heat from her mouth made him chuckle. Yani sat on the edge of her orgasm. Her legs shook from the anticipation. He needed the slow revving from her to keep himself in check.

They shared a sex routine they always adhered to on their reunions since their year of living together in the palace. It was a way to protect her pussy from his veracity. He was never allowed to cum in her pussy first when they joined. It took too much out of her to handle him regularly, so he learned to control his first release and saved it for her submission to him on her knees. The king's affirmation was always a facial for his beautiful queen.

If Yani orgasmed too quickly first, he would head straight to pound town, spurting too much semen that always released the beast in him. Uniting their bodies in slow methodical build ups kept him manageable for her. As he resumed stroking her walls after the long delay of cockwarming, he kept tabs on his arousal levels. When it was time to shift the pace before he wore her down, he pulled his dick from her precious pink sanctuary. Yani scrambled off the bed to submit to his need for dominance.

He moved his legs over the bed and spread his thighs wider, giving Yani room to position her knees on the floor properly in front of him. She offered him her tits, smacking them together playfully, and he fondled a nipple, fisting his dick, and watching her big beautiful brown eyes stare up at him.

"I love you like this…looking up at me…yeah baby…open that mouth…stick out your tongue…yeah, just like that. You gon' let me fuck that pussy some more after this?"

She nodded, looking innocent and expectant.

"Sexy ass…" he hissed.

He bent down and kissed her and she sucked on his lower lip, tugging on the skin with her teeth. Pulling back he shoved his dick down her throat, the girth hallowing out her cheeks on both sides as she sucked and worked her neck. She smacked her lips against his tip, releasing it with a loud pop and a sliding of her tongue across her top lip.

"Suck dick so good…suck it some more…right there…let me stretch that mouth. Stop playing with it Yani, take that shit the right way…"

He reached out and softly slapped the side of her mouth and she gave him a sly grin and licked the underside of his thick ridge. He grabbed her hair then, yanking on the braids to remind her of her place. She hit that itchy sensitive part of his dick with the friction of her scandalous tongue. The thinnest part of the dermis seemed to rest there in that spot that gave her tongue-tip the secret combination to start making his dick leak with clear fluid again. His erection was like a rigid pole vault in her mouth and he was so ready to dismount with a fat nut. Yani hummed, and slowly licked along the sides of his dick. His breathing quickened to a pace that alarmed him. She was beginning to control him, making him react like a desperate man under her spell, and that was being disobedient. Her bratty behavior couldn't be corrected in the heat of her deep throating him. That would require major spanking and loud cursing. The last thing he wanted was for their children and security team to hear him curse a blue streak while spanking Yani's ass. She wanted him to hurry up and ejaculate so she could ride his dick and cum.

A surge of semen rose up through his balls. He slapped Yani again for putting a super charged gwak-gwak 3000 on him too soon. She became obedient again and squeezed his fat sack, staving off his release. He thought about letting her milk him and cumming in her mouth, but the decadent and demanding king wanted to paint her face with hot semen when he was ready. It was his way…he craved the ritual of it between them, and also because he knew a little secret about her.

He grinned slyly thinking about it.

Yani had been sneakily watching old videos of him with past lovers. Months earlier he had scanned old computers that he planned on destroying until his spyware cam detected unusual activity in secret files. The spycam revealed Yani's viewrship and he chuckled at the thought of her using him for her personal porn collection. He said nothing, and left the old computers where they stayed in their home, pretending to ignore them as old artifacts from his past life. The most viewed images were his cum shots on women's faces, and he clocked the intense looks of pleasure on her face when he did it to her. She loved submitting to him that way and it was a great help to their energetic sex life. Lovemaking wasn't as frequent as it used to be because their lives were so busy, but the intensity increased because of it.

Yani continued the arousing slow sucking. He watched her glossy plump lips slide back and forth across the top half of his dick. Her fawning eyes stayed locked on his, riling up his body because she made the act of dick sucking look so illicit. So pornographic.

Every now and then she would stop sucking and rubbed her lips back and forth across the mushroom cap creating a delicious tickling. His balls throbbed. She twisted her fingers around the head to give him new sensations, never once breaking eye contact. Yani knew how to chip away his defenses by giving off innocent vibes. She'd stay on her knees looking up at him with her big titties all out, nipples perky and offered to him like delectable appetizers. That look took him back to St. Thomas and the first time he ever touched her. His dick felt heavy between his legs. Thoughts of her back then being a little spitfire towards him ratcheted up his emotions for her in the present. In six days he would wed the most beautiful, cunning, and loving woman he had ever had to call his own. She latched onto him like a ride or die and he never wanted her to be that way ever again. She deserved better…she deserved more from him. His best. No, he would be a ride or die for her. Always.

He palmed her breasts and squeezed them. Lifted them up and down. Thumbing her nipples with wide circles, he listened to her breathy pants of pleasure. She stroked his dick. Yani would soon be the composed queen of a mighty nation in public, but at night, she would always be his nasty little slut…on her knees begging for Daddy dick to be stuffed in all of her orifices. That turned him on as he pushed her tits together. Her eyes were glassy. Lips pouted. She reached down and peeled back the wings of her inner labia giving him peek-a-boo glimpses of her wet pink. She needed his dick and slapped her pussy lips to ignite a wild fire in him.

"Taste mi," she purred.

Yani held up her wet fingers scented with her love and he licked them, opening his mouth wider so she could stuff three digits inside to paint his tongue with the dew. He swallowed her offering and she traced the shape of his lips with her own until the swollen skin on his lips itched for more.

"Killmonger."

Her moist lips pushed out the air to say that name. It ended him. He jumped to his feet and leveled the deep slit of his dick toward her cheek.

"Yani! Fuck! Fuck!"

Hollering out more expletives, a rush of thick hot cum splashed all over the side of her face. It dripped down to her neck in a sticky white deluge. He gulped for air and groaned to the ceiling.

Cumming on her face soothed the raging libido in N'Jadaka long enough for him to gather Yani in his arms and put her back on the bed. She leaned on her side again. Curling around her ass, he lifted her heavy thigh and pushed back inside her pussy.

"…fucking this pussy…."

He groaned and pumped, letting his lust take over, grateful he ejaculated on her face first because he would've broke her back if he hadn't. She took the pounding like a graceful queen, fully aware that he was lost in the pussy, her pleasure forgotten because her loving blotted out all of his senses. He took advantage of his selfishness because once she became queen, their sex life would switch over to ancient protocols that dictated that the queen had to cum first with her pussy being eaten before the king could even put his dick inside of her. Yani looked forward to that, and he plowed into her knowing that he had a week left to be a bedroom bully.

He smacked her ass cheek harder, talked his shit in her ear and knew his dick tugged on her labia long enough. The king pushed her onto her back and mounted her with one purpose: to hear her scream his name in his ear.

"Cum all over this big dick. Show me how much you love me."

Rocking into her, he held onto her bouncing tits and they both watched him pump long strokes into quivering walls. Her mouth fell open and he crushed her with his full weight. Her lips brushed against his ear and he waited to her that old name of his called out.

It didn't take long.

"Killmonger…Killmonger…fuck me…fuck me Killmonger…."

The silky muscular walls of her pussy squeezed around his dick in a constant flow of contractions that only added to his pleasure listening to her cry out for more. The ecstasy of her voice spiraled him out of his soul.

Hunched over her, N'Jadaka pressed his face into her pillow and roared into the cotton. His dick swelled inside of her and the intense throbbing rippled all the way to his anus and down the back of his ankles. He gasped like he was dying, mashing Yani's breasts into his sweaty chest and enjoying the rooted sensation of his balls throbbing and pushing out semen.

"Goddammit," he sputtered into her hair.

His eyes rolled back into watery sockets that blurred his vision. He rolled over and she climbed on top of him, breasts swinging in his face. Yani bounced on his dick and he thrust up to meet her passionate energy. He settled into sucking on her nipples and areola, letting her rock the bed with her own efforts. She gave him nurturing with the fucking, cooing to him and rubbing his locs.

"My man works so hard…you like your queen taking care of the royal dick, Daddy?"

He nodded, groaning at her soft accent and the way her pussy yanked on his dick with perfect timing. She went at his stiffness at the speed and depth that was comfortable for her and he submitted to whatever she wanted to give him. He watched the up and down movements and admired how shiny she made his dick. Her sticky wetness overflowed and made his lap slippery. The sounds of a fat ass smacking on his balls pleased his ears.

Yani leaned forward and her breasts covered his face entirely, smothering him in buttery softness like a fleshy curtain hiding him from the world. Grateful to be hidden inside her warmth, he relaxed into letting go of all of stresses, all of his problems, all of his worries. He let his queen carry him away to physical delights that poured life back into him. That's what she had always been for him. A life giver. A true goddess the way Tahir had called her.

He started hollering and Yani slammed her hand over his mouth. His heels pressed down into the mattress and his toes curled. Yani panted above him, her voice going up an octave as her second release ascended its peak.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming on your dick, Killmonger!"

She whipped her head back and forth. Arching her back, her nails clawed his chest.

"Oh, God….oh god! Killmonger…!"

He grabbed her arms and pressed her against his chest. Thrusting his hips upward, he forced Yani to take all the dick as her pussy contracted and milked every drop of cum he shot into her. Their cries of lust co-mingled into an ancient primordial release.

N'Jadaka's voice became hoarse and Yani cradled his face and kissed him, uniting all of their parts together. Her slow languid kisses centered him once more. He hugged her tight, his face mashed into her breasts, and she rubbed his head. They both could feel his stiff dick still throbbing inside of her.

"Can you take more?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Go to the restroom and come on back," he said.

He smacked her ass cheek and she climbed off of him.

Waiting for her to urinate and put special lubricants on her vulva and inside her vagina, N'Jadaka stretched his body. His dick fell back onto his stomach, the head pulsing and dribbling semen above his belly button.

"Fuck, I miss this shit," he said to himself.

Yani returned and they kissed. He licked a trail down to her pussy and pampered her with plenty of earned licks and kisses. The sweet odor of the lubricant she used to protect her womanly parts excited him. He blew a soft breath on her clit and the lubricant warmed up on her vulva adding more pleasure to their adult play time. The pale lighting of the sky heralded the new morning. Yani came in his mouth with her thighs covering his head.

Before the children arose to greet them, Yani rode his dick reverse cowgirl so he could watch the new weight of her backside gleam from the sunlight. Each time she rose up, he watched how tight her pussy gripped his dick. He kept quiet, swallowing his groans, nearly crying himself looking at how big her ass had gotten. N'Jadaka knew the weight gain wasn't from pregnancy. They had been apart since her last period, but he imagined how she would look with pregnancy weight. He liked her chunky and round like a butterball. Her weight had fluctuated over the last year, but it had settled down in the last two months until she did her book tour.

He watched the massive orbs of jiggly ass cheeks bounce on him. It was insane to have a body like that. But it was all his. Her voluptuous gifts belonged to him.

A new thought floated in his mind.

Part of the royal protocols meant that Yani wouldn't be permitted to take birth control during their wedding and honeymoon. Any child conceived during the first month of marriage to a royal couple was a sign of a prosperous future. The world was missing billions of people. Wakanda needed to repopulate. That meant she couldn't be on the contraceptive shots Wakandans used. She would already be weaned off of it to match the timing of their wedding.

He could get her pregnant right then and there.

Yani arched her back and wiggled her backside. She studied his face over her shoulder as she made love to him in the best way for him to admire her body. His dick seemed to get harder thinking about impregnating her before the wedding.

"Do that shit, Ma. Shake that ass."

Yani giggled and tossed her braids over her one side of her head and continued watching him watch her move.

"Look at all this ass…."

She reached back and lifted her ass cheeks for him, her light pink manicured nails looking lovely splayed out to tease him by digging into the ripeness of that bubble. He smacked her butt hard. They'd been fucking for three hours after the troubling news broadcast. He gripped the sheets admiring the dimpling in her backside. If she grew bigger back there during a new pregnancy, she would probably get stretch marks. Titties would get bigger too. He remembered what they looked like filled with milk and he rubbed his large hands all across both ass cheeks, sinking his fingers into the weight.

Sweat dripped down her body and pooled around the indentations on her lower back. She wound her waist teasing the tip of his dick before sliding back down, clapping her own cheeks for him. The woman knew how to keep him satisfied. He gripped her waist and kept her bounce steady. His balls ached to release. He already knew she was fatigued but kept going because she missed him so much and wanted to show off for him longer.

"Such a good girl, Yani. You took good care of this dick. I can't wait to put some more babies in this pussy."

His loose talk brought a glance back at him. Her pussy squeezed his dick with his baby talk. He laughed.

"You heard me girl. Might get you pregnant right now if you keep playing with me like this…shit. Get down for me…just like that. Arch that back. Yeah baby, givin' me that right triangle action…yeah, there it go…head all the way down…big ass up…"

N'Jadaka wistfully stared at Yani in the doggy position, her head to the side so he could watch her face while he smashed. He held onto her waist and pushed in. They had to hurry or else there'd be a pounding on the door with three sets of feet jumping up and down to get their attention.

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

Loud. So loud.

Perspiration dropped down from his face onto her spine. His kimoyo beads lit up bright yellow. Okoye was notifying him of incoming reports from Wakanda. He had an hour before the general came to him.

He groaned once Yani hit that spot on his dick with her pussy that felt like lips and tongue suction. The queen had skills that were mindblowing. She started cumming before he did so he rode her wave of pleasure, encouraging her to squirt all over him and fuck up the covers even more with all their fluids on the blanket. He pulled out and palmed her ass, holding the tip of his dick close to her entrance where he shot ribbons of heat all over her labia. Sitting back on his haunches, he admired the way her tight pink opening throbbed and glistened with his cum covering it. She moaned softly at his gentle fingering of the pretty mess he made.

He rubbed her booty and then helped her get under the covers. Kissing her forehead he wasn't surprised to see her drift away quickly from exhaustion. She knew more than anyone it would be some time before they could be like that again until their wedding night. Once back in Wakanda there would be a whirlwind of duties and ceremonial events for their betrothal march.

His dick finally went limp.

He showered and changed into a saffron yellow lounging tunic and slacks. Kora arrived on time to get the children up and ready for breakfast with the rest of the family. He kissed them goodbye and welcomed Okoye and Ayo into the suite.

"Sit," he said.

He poured himself fresh orange juice and nibbled at some breakfast pastries his personal chef sent down from the half cruiser floating invisibly above the hotel roof. Getting comfortable in a side chair, he watched the two Doras on the couch.

Okoye tapped her beads and ten pictures of African men floated above her wrist. She flicked the images above the hotel coffee table and N'Jadaka peered at each one with stern eyes. Each man came from various nations on the continent in service of genocide and predatory exploitation. Okoye tapped each image as she spoke.

"Angola, Congo, Rwanda, Uganda, Sudan, Nigeria, Central African Republic, South Sudan, Somalia, and Ethiopia. Each man neutralized as requested," Okoye said.

She gave him time to inspect the stats on each man's file report before swiping them away and bringing up targets in Eastern and Western Europe.

"Ukraine. Russia. England. France. Germany. Spain. Turkey. Italy. Norway. Sweden," Okoye said.

She went through all twelve countries in South America and ended with combined targets in the U.S. and Canada.

"Any blowback yet? Suspicions?"

Ayo spoke up.

"None kumkani. Each target was studied for months before our War Dogs acted. If there were pre-existing medical conditions, we exacerbated the problem. Others were set up with accidents or placed in precarious positions through threats of exposure. Several committed self-harm when faced with public humiliation," Ayo said.

The women led him through detailed intelligence. Yani eventually woke up and padded past a narrow hall in a long ivory robe to shower and dress. Okoye and Ayo didn't notice her.

"Kumkani, there is one more target," Okoye said.

She tapped her beads and Agent Everett Ross's image popped up along with his ex-wife, C.I.A. Director Valentina Fontaine.

N'Jadaka tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair.

"Since Nick Fury has been gone, Ross is our only reliable plant. I can't take any chances trying to turn anyone around from the inside. None of them can be trusted. Not even the Black ones," he said.

"We are on standby to neutralize them as soon as you give us word," Okoye said.

"I want Ross dead, but not until I've used him up. As long as he thinks he's cool with us, I'll string him along. We can use him to get intel on Fontaine. She's making waves in the intelligence community and they're still somewhat close from what we've gathered so far."

"He wants to meet with you before you leave," Okoye said.

"Nah. I have no desire to talk with him. Just tell him I'm busy with my nuptials and will be unavailable for a month. I'm honeymooning with Yani in Umbono Cove on the houseboat. I don't want to be bothered with anything. Ramonda will oversee everything in my absence. Understood?"

They nodded.

A knock at the entrance door brought them all into guarded attention. Ayo answered. N'Jadaka spotted an Onyx Squad captain standing next to Mpilo.

"Kumkani, sorry to disturb your meeting. I have a private message from the President of the United States," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka waved the young man over to him. Mpilo handed him a thick beige envelope with the Presidential seal on it. He read the short message inside.

"The President would like a private meeting with me too before we leave," N'Jadaka said.

"Your schedule is under tight security. We would need adequate time to set up additional protective measures inside the White House," Okoye said.

"They don't want to meet at the White House."

"Where then?"

"Camp David."

"The American Department of Defense already has additional surveillance on us since our arrival in this country. Nothing we can't handle if they try something there," Ayo said.

N'Jadaka thrummed his fingers again on the armchair.

"They've set the meeting a day after Yani's television interview."

"Will you go?" Yani interjected from behind them.

Everyone lowered their heads to Yani. She stepped into the living room area dressed in a long cozy pocket dress with vivid colors that reminded him of Black Creek in Wakanda, the place where his parents were entombed. Her hair was elaborately wrapped in a matching headwrap. She took a seat at the small dinette table by the window where their morning meal was set up. Pouring herself fruit juice, she sipped and stared at him. N'Jadaka tossed the invitation on the coffee table.

"I don't want to be bothered," he said.

"I think you should go. At least see what he wants. You won't come here again for awhile and it's time that he gets to see you in an informal place. Maybe you'll catch him off guard without all the eyes here in D.C.," Yani said.

He considered it.

"Leave us," he said.

Mpilo, the Doras , and the Onyx Squad guard removed themselves from the suite. He joined Yani at the table and they fixed themselves plates of food and ate together.

"You really want me to go?" he asked.

Yani stuffed a small Wakandan red berry pastry in her mouth.

"I think President Matthew Ellis needs to see the man that frightens him so much. Think of it as a flex if you want," Yani said.

N'Jadaka grinned.

"And people out here think you're just some sweet faced beauty on my arm," he said. "That means I won't be able to travel back home with you and the kids."

She shrugged and sipped on more juice brought from their new homeland.

"It just means I get to miss you again and we can have another reunion in our bedroom back in Birnin Zana."

He widened his legs and patted his thigh. Yani left her seat and sat on his lap. He rubbed on her booty again and rested his head on her breasts.

"I want to be on a houseboat with you…naked. Making long slow love under the moon and stars."

"We will do that soon enough."

"A whole month, you and me…partially alone."

"Don't remind me. Riki has already complained that they don't get to join us until two weeks into our honeymoon."

"Man, two weeks off with just you and me. Yeah, you definitely getting pregnant Yani."

She slapped his arm.

"Stop putting that out in the universe. We said we'd wait two more years before trying…and trying is the operative word, sir. I'm not taking the man-made contraceptive shots as tradition dictates, but I am taking precautions."

She held up the bluish drink she sipped on.

"This was given to me by Umama. Two glasses a day and it inhibits any eggs from fertilizing. You can shoot up the club and I won't be penalized for forsaking tradition…technically."

"Alright then…practice getting pregnant is good enough for me."

"Aren't three children enough for you already for the time being?"

"Nah. I'm making a whole new tribe with you."

"Easy for you to say, I'm the one who has to carry your big babies."

"I'll be right by your side spoiling you every step of the way. You make pretty babies, Yani, and my family's genes are strong. They all gonna look like me."

He kissed her neck and let his full lips linger there.

"Tell me you love me, Yani."

She cupped his chin and raised it.

"I love you."

"Say it again."

He nuzzled against her breasts and she stroked his lengthy locs.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she said above his head.

Closing his eyes, N'Jadaka listened to Yani's heartbeat and rested in her bosom of peace.

Chapter 2 HERE.

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#King Killmonger #King Killmonger The Golden Jaguar #Killmonger Fanfiction #Black Panther Fanfiction #Wakanda Forever Fanfiction #Namor #Uzumaki Rebellion #Uzumaki Rebellion Writes

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pininghermit · 1 year ago

Text

Dare I Desire (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Adrian x Male Reader

AN: Introducing a bunch of OCs

“How do you know my name?” Adrian asks you, who sat opposite him. He was still taking in the clean castle and changed surrounding and now this… The plate of food in front of him felt foreign. How long had it been since he had such food and not just alcohol.

“Why yes Adrian, it is nice to meet you too. My name is y/n by the way.” you cross your legs as you rest your head on the chaise’s arm. As if the debacle in the storeroom never happened. Adrian felt a pulse of annoyance the more time he spent with the intruder.

Stormy grey eyes stared back at him in a silent challenge. The suave smile that concealed fangs similar to his was equally infuriating. Anger, rage, wrath Adrian felt them all at once.

“Ai, don’t glare at me like that!” you said in pseudo hurt voice with an extravagant motion of your hands. “Believe me,” with a dramatic hand on your heart you continued. “I will tell you everything but right in sequence. I will reveal to you who I am and my reason for being here but before that we need to go back in time. The story goes like this-

Long ago, maybe decades, maybe centuries or maybe millennia ago there was a world that housed both the evil and the good equally. Elves, men, vampire, dwarves, faerie, even dhampir must I say, lived on the same planes. In those times monsters were not labeled by a kind. It was the deed that labeled right and wrong, not the specie or race.

However, such a world had to come to an end when humans grew. With their growth came the need for land, the need to conquest and conflict. Soon the world that once housed all now fell into the struggle of survival and death. One had to die for the other to live.

Wars raged and monsters came to being. Our kind was not different. Born with unageing bodies that withstood decay our kind wielded the weapon of pride. But that’s just the boring part of history. Do you want the juicy part?” Adrian blinked. He had been too engrossed. Almost enough to forget about the vampire sitting in his study.

“Ahh I must say my story telling skills are quite impeccable.” Ignoring Adrian’s snarl, you continue. “Let’s skip a few years. So, the humans, vampires, elves, fae fought blah blah blah. You know the boring parts.” No. Adrian in fact did not know. None of the books in his father’s study mentioned this. Whatever you were spouting. All his curiosity was shattered by the man child, who probably was way older than anyone he had ever met. Adrian would not grant you any of his curiosity.

Slouched on chaise you spoke of war like a bedtime story. “Whatever my parents were pretty sick of all that and decided to leave the humans alone. They created a veiled world for us magical folk. Of course, superior to the rest.” If obnoxious were a person, it would be you, who sat, in front of him.

“In return they pledged to give up on blood. A bargain made with the spirits of the land that offered them a hidden valley. And so came to be Asor, the kingdom and refuge for the beings of the past world. Humans were given their world and we were given ours.

With peace came time and oh boy did my parents use it well. Now, now no judgement of course but I do have six other siblings.” Well, that was hard not to judge Adrian wondered.

“Eldest are triplets Cenfrith, Estrid, and Rowena. Close knit than any of us. They gave up their right to the throne for the sake of their weird bond. Don’t ask me…I don’t know either. Then came Yorick, the second eldest or fourth if you do the math. He rules now. Being the most responsible of us it made sense.” Despite the light manner of your speech Adrian could sense the tightness in your voice at the mention of Yorick. A weird tension that did not suit you.

“After Yorick is Harold, the artist of our family. A lone soul, very hard to find on any given day. And then comes Saewig ten years older than me and the menace. Brutal with his words and bows Saewig is the hunter who is almost is a beast himself.” You take a deep breath and pause as if to gather your marbles after that long list.

“Last and the most precious is me,” you gesture extravagantly. “Of course, having me made my parents realize that a greater perfection could not exist.” With an unabashed smile you jump up from the chaise.

“And how does this all matter to me,” Adrian mutters his heart beating wildly with an emotion he did not know of.

“You,” you point with a finger that makes Adrian want to snap it. Somehow you are now sprawling on his couch, “have the immense privilege of being the mate to the youngest lord of Asor.”

A second later you crouch on the floor as Adrian’s fist throbs from the impact of his punch. Unfortunately, Vampire bones don’t break easily.

#alucard #castlevania #alucard x male reader #castlevania alucard x reader #mates au #male reader

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fertilize-my-eggs · 5 months ago

Text

King of decay ch.3

Kidnapped a new bride

A03 ch.1 ch.2 ch.4

A/N: trigger warning this chapter get violent, shigaraki is misogyny violent individual so you have been warned!! Reader get sexually assaulted by him.

“ YOU KILL MY FAMILY!! YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!! "You're sobbing on my back as I enter the kingdom, I smirk as I tilt my head at you.

“ Well maybe if you were single and pure this wouldn't happen. ” you blink a few times as you slam your fist on my back in rage.

“ FUCK YOU!! GO TO HELL! ” I hear you screaming loudly calling me all these names as I shrugged it off.

You're so adorable when you're aggressive, it turns me on… I smirk as I slap your ass hard.

“ if you keep this up, I'll send you to my doctor to get you fixed… would you like your ill mind to go under surgery? ” you gasp as you stare at me in anger.

“ What the hell is that supposed to mean? Let's go!!! I'll have the king send you to the dungeon!! ” I chuckle at you as I smirk wide as I look directly at you.

“ … I am the king. What do you think you're here at my kingdom? ” I tilt my head at you as you suddenly pause as the realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

“ your…. You're…. ” you begin sobbing heavily as you cover your face with your hands.

“ you're worse than the original…” I rolled my eyes at your statement as it was close to morning, it's probably like one am.

“ sweetheart.. at least I didn't starve you and the village like he did.. ”

“ Still, that doesn't matter!!! You murdered my family for no reason. ”

“ no there is a reason baby~ ” you tilt your head as we're getting closer to my master bedroom.

“ What do you mean?!?? ”

“ well see my hands on your cute body? ” You thought about it as you looked at me.

“ yeah and? ”

“ I'm cursed with decay so it doesn't affect you when my hands touch your skin.. meaning you're the only one but everything can easily decay just by me touching them with these hands.”

“ you're immune to my curse and the reason is to make you my bride and to bring heir into this kingdom.” I smirk at you sinisterly.

“ You'll be my queen… a special diamond for me to keep, I'll treat you well. ” you roll your eyes as you lean your head downward in pain.

“ you…. Kill my son Leon and my daughter… Felicity.. you monster. ”

“ You should be grateful that you can survive this curse that I deal with. ”

“ be grateful?? I didn't know you existed until you bump into me.. just… ” you cry out.

“ Please just murder me so I can rest without this misery. ” I huff out air as I grab the door knob as I hear soft humming as I sighed in annoyance.

I look forward to seeing the maiden leader toga himiko as she skips freely towards me.

What the hell is she doing at this hour?

She bowed her head as I heard you plead for her help.

“ good night your Majesty~ what ya doing? ” I tilt my head as I hold you tight so you won't escape.

“ nothing… just found myself a bride~. ” toga gasp as she clapped her hands together.

“ ohh how romantic your majesty!! Are you two going to make sweet love? ” her sinister smile wide as her eyes narrowed in pure evil and joy.

I smirk at her as I tap your thighs.” not yet, I'm planning on marrying her and we'll do it on our honeymoon... Well I have this planned for a new child to rule this kingdom.“

Himiko gasps loudly as she puts her hands on her cheeks.

“ that wonderful your highness-..”

“ you two… are insane.”

“.... ignore her maiden, she's just a bit tired and needs rest… right my beautiful wife? ” I give you a sinister stare as you close your lips tight.

“ As I was saying.. for this honeymoon, she’ll be locked in my room for days until she's pregnant with my first child. ” tilt my head as I think, putting my thumb on my lip.

“ planned on having five or more children with her. ” your eyes widen by this as you softly cry, you grip my red cloak.

“ aww such a big family your highness!! How sweet and romantic~!!! ” She cooed sweetly as she said.

“ I bet the children will come out as beautiful as you fair bride!! ” toga sweetly coo at you as you had a disgusting look towards her.

“ Be gone maiden, I have to rest well.. let's the others know there will be a wedding tomorrow afternoon. "She's bowing her head as she has a smile on her face.

“ as you wish your Majesty~!! ” I smile as I open the door heading inside as toga skip off to tell the kingdom about the wedding tomorrow.

I lock my door as you slap my back weakly.

“ you're a monster… I won't give you anything!! ” I smirk at you as I put you down.

“ we’ll see about that, my love~. ” I yawn out as I grab you by the hair as you're screaming in pain.

“ WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME LET ME GO, IT'S HURTS!!! ” I look down at you with a smirk.

“ you're flirty, I can't have you sleeping on my sheet with these old rags.”

“ stop stop stop!! Let me go, let me go immediately, it hurts.” I rolled my eyes as I dragged you into the restroom.

It's was massive as I ripped your clothes off, the decaying helped a lot easier as I saw your naked body.

I bite my lips as it's the first time I'm seeing a woman being nude in front of my eyes as I lick my lips.

I removed my clothes immediately as you scream.” no no no! I'm not letting you take advantage of me. ”

I chuckle as I grip your wrists tight as I lean in.” relax woman, we're taking a bath. I won't do anything… yet until our honeymoon begins. ” I kiss your neck as I pull you close.

“ This is what husband and wife do together, right? Spend time together and have rough intercourse like animals of the night? ”

You grind your teeth together as you growl.” you're not my husband… ”

“ not yet until tomorrow. Let's enjoy our first time taking a bath and you sleep naked with me.. ” I widened my smile.

“ I'll let you wear anything you want but in my bed, you'll sleep naked. ”

“ as if!!! I would rather be dead than be near you!! ” I chuckle as I drag you into the bath where I focus you to clean.

You whine as you begin to scratch my skin as I get into the tub, pulling you onto my lap.

I put on shampoo as I began to scrub your hair and body parts. You didn't like how my hands touch inappropriately as you slap my hands away when it was getting close to your crotch area.

I pull your waist closer to my chest as I coo at you.

“ I'll destroy your mindset and you'll become my loyal obedient wife to play with. ” you gulp as you stay still and I gently rub soap on your skin.

I press a kiss on your neck as I grip your hips tight, moving it back and forth on top of my cock, I smile softly with low hooded eyes as I bite my lips.

Soon… soon I'll impregnate you but not yet.

I groan loudly feeling your bare butt touch my hard thick cock.

“ not yet.. I promise~. ” I coo at you as I hold you still from leaving, I lean on your shoulders as I begin to rub your breast.

I pinched and pulled your nipples as you gasp out.

“ please… stop.. I don't want-.. ” I pull you into a heat kiss as I wish to take my virginity away by sticking it inside your sweet warm wall but not right now.

I groan away as I begin to clean myself as you squirm on my lap.

Once I think we're finished as I pull you up and begin to dry you off, you would slap my hand when I touch your bare ass.

“ You will let me touch whatever I want!! You're my bride and I own your body as the king!! ” I raise my voice as you flinch by my reaction as I growl at you.

You're scared by this reaction and you realize there is no way to escape from me.

Once we're dry off our bodies, I grab your wrist to drag you into the bedroom as I throw you into the bedsheets.

I pounce on top of you as I begin to wrap my arms around your body as I hear you begging and pleading quietly.

Tomorrow will be an amazing day as I whisper sweet nothing into your ear as I cuddle your body close.

#tw abuse #tw sex assault #tw noncon #shigaraki tomura #x reader #fanfic #minors dni #mha #bnha #anime #mha au #king shigaraki #dark fantasy #dead dove

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halloween-neko96 · 4 months ago

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Black like the night, his fluffy fur.

Deep like the sea, his glassy eyes.

Under the moon, he is lurking.

Like illusion, gone in the mist.

Into forest of unknown land,

At the witch's house, live a black cat.

#Halloween_Neko

Master List

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halloween_Neko/pseuds/Halloween_Neko

One Piece 🏴‍☠️

Dream Catcher | ASL Solo Trio AU

That day, he didn't lose one brother. That day, Luffy lost both of his brothers. And everything changed.

This is a story about a Luffy who lived through his childhood alone, about a Luffy who lost both of his brothers.

eclipse (the day the sun was eaten)

stardust (crossing path of two supernovas)

The Ocean Where The Stars Follow You | ASL Never Met AU

The one Roger trusted his son with wasn't Garp. That one small difference created a whole lot of changes.

In which, Ace was raised by Rayleigh, Sabo still tried so hard to leave the Goa Kingdom, and Luffy grew up without brothers.

ASL - Intro 1 | Early Childhood

ASL - Intro 2 | Career Choice

Butterfly Choices 🦋

A little flap of a butterfly created millions of changes.

In which, a slightly different Luffy in a slightly different world picked up a slightly different crew.

Prologue - Romance Dawn

Entry I - III

senbazuru (a thousand paper cranes) | Reincarnated Semi-SI AU

Before meeting and swearing siblinghood with Ace and Sabo, Luffy had sworn siblinghood with two others when he used to live in Foosha Village. In Luffy's old fashion, he forgot to tell them about it.

In which, Luffy has more sworn siblings besides Ace and Sabo, Uta wishes that Luffy bothers to inform her about the new siblings he has added to their sworn siblinghood, and Sally should have seen this coming when she realized that Luffy forgot to tell them about Ace and Sabo.

Intro 1 - Sally ♣︎ Starting Point

Bungou Stray Dogs 📖

For Wanting A Page | Exploring The Worlds Within The Book

Within The Book, there are multiple worlds, each with a different story to tell.

section 1 - the book

the other me (whom you met in a dream) - The very first part of this series, portraying my theory about Atsushi, The Book, and their connection.

section 2 - looking mirrror

through the looking glass (broken mirror, echoed images) - A multi-chapter fic where an ability replaces canon!Atsushi with a bunch of AU!Atsushi, causing everything to go haywire. Set after Cannibalism and at the start of Decay of Angels saga.

kaleidoscope of a certain weretiger (into the pages) - An index about all versions of AU!Atsushi in my collection.

snippets between the pages (a moment within the book) - A collection of snippets of moments that happened between the worlds within The Book.

section 3 - into the pages

the ghost of an old time (of river and bandages) - An adventure of canon!Dazai into the world of teal!Atsushi, set before the event of through the looking glass (broken mirror, echoed images).

there are no bandages on me (to mourn the death of a stranger) - The world of teal!Atsushi, the ghost of yokohama from the divergence point up to Atsushi’s 18th birthday.

Of Poet and Novelist

A list of my Bungou Stray Dogs Original Characters (all based on real-life authors/poets)

Naruto 🍥

Aka no Sakura (red is our color) | Reincarnation Team 7 AU

Six Paths (someone takes me home) | Sannin-Mentor Swap AUs

Mitsuki and Team 7 [Moonlight and Snake Vessel] | Alternative Team Konohamaru AUs

Mitsuki and Team 7: [Three and Seven] - Mitsuki and the collection of his teammates in Team 7 across multiple dimensions. (This also includes the details on each AU.)

Boku no Hero Academia 🥦💥

The Omniscient Outsider | Yuubi Naga's Guide Into BKDK-Verse

The Masked One | OC with original quirk

Boboiboy 🍊

The red means i love you | Canon Divergence Red Duo-centric AU

Cake 🍰 | Halilintar with cakes and mystery plot

Miraculous 🐞🐈‍⬛

Shatters Alters | Into Miraculous-Verse AU

Adrien woke up in a strange Paris where no one seemed to know him and everything was so different. Meeting up with unfamiliar people with familiar faces, will Adrien figure out what happened to him?

LEGO Ninjago 🥷

Garden With No Flower

Kai heard Lloyd a bit too late in the volcano and everything changed.

In which, one single moment changed all.

#master list #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #one piece #bungou stray dogs #boku no hero academia #naruto #miraculous ladybug #boboiboy #me holding a bunch of aus and fandoms:#me: i can live with this #halloween_neko #ninjago

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ao3feed-brimsleyreynolds · 1 year ago

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forget me not

by jadoresari

Like flowers, love blooms from the thorniest of gardens—but flowers decay, and petals are bound to wither away at some point.

Queen Charlotte helps Edwina and Prince Friedrich plan their royal wedding, making the ceremony the talk of the ton. As the date draws nearer, Charlotte recalls times with King George that seem to be stained memories among the halls of Buckingham house.

Words: 6321, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Queen Charlotte (TV 2023), Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Queen Charlotte (Bridgerton), King George (Bridgerton), Agatha Danbury, Brimsley (Bridgerton), Reynolds (Bridgerton), Princess Agusta (Bridgerton), Violet Bridgerton, Edwina Sharma, Prince Friedrich (Bridgerton), Lady Whistledown (Bridgerton)

Relationships: Queen Charlotte/King George, Queen Charlotte (Bridgerton)/ King George (Bridgerton), Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (1744 - 1818)/George III of the United Kingdom, Brimsely/Reynolds, Prince Friedrich/Edwina Sheffield | Edwina Sharma

Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Oneshot, Flower metaphors, Banter and Bickering, Missing Moments, Unconditional Love, Canon Compliant

link

#brimsley #reynolds #brimsley x reynolds #ao3feed #IFTTT #fanfic

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snapmite1998 · 11 months ago

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A/N: This story is inspired by Anna's Adventures by ChocolateCookieCream, but instead of that story set in the modern era, this story is set towards the end of the Viking era and medieval times. If the title of this book isn't clear to my more... ignorant readers, this book will contain PLENTY of sex, smut, sin, and all manner of sexual intercourse. Not only that but there's more to this story than Hiccup having a large harem of Viking women and other women from other fandoms, you'll see that as the story progresses. Also, in this story, Scandinavia has become unlivable: plague has spread like wildfire, killing off a vast number of Viking tribes and kingdoms, not only that, but starvation has swept through which only ups the death rate for the Scandinavian Vikings and dragons too, yes, the dragons will be returning. So, what's left of the Viking people rally to Hiccup as their last hope and crown him king of all Vikings, they essentially become migrant people that set out to conquer new land where they can settle and begin anew. It's during these conquests that Hiccup will create his harem, but I'll get into more detail on how it works in the story. But, of course, we're starting this story off with some passionate Hiccstrid smut. Now, sit back, and enjoy!

(Normal pov— New Berk)

The Vikings of Scandinavia were by no means strangers to strife, hardship, and conflict, it was part of their way of life and what made them strong and feared by many who had encountered them throughout the centuries. However, the Viking people's hardship now was unlike anything they've encountered before. It had been two years after the death of Grimmel the Grisly, the destruction of the Northern Alliance, and the departure of the dragons. Since that time, the people of Berk had been settling into their new home and once again adapting to a life without their dragons, it took some time, but eventually, the Vikings of Berk once again relied on themselves and not on their dragons.

But all the hard work the Hairy Hooligans had put in to make their new home livable was now in vain.

Carrier messages via hawks came flooding from a number of Viking tribes and kingdoms that found their way to New Berk, specifically its chief, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, informing him that the lands were not yielding crops, and the fisherman were returning with less fish every day and that their cattle were succumbing to sickness which ultimately rendered them useless to eat. As a result of this drastic decline in food, starvation swept across Scandinavia like wildfire. They purchased what they could from traders and merchants, but since the lands were withering like decaying corpses and the seas were not providing them with the excess food they needed, they had begun debating whether or not to abandon their lands which they had staked a claim to for several generations.

Starvation and the loss of arable lands, however, wasn't the only problem the Viking people now faced. A horrifying plague had spread almost overnight, worse than anything the Viking people have encountered, this plague was even more ruthless than the Scourge of Odin. Entire tribes and kingdoms were lost to this plague, and those who showed signs of the plague were killed without pity or mercy in order to protect those who had yet to become sick. Fire was then set to the abandoned villages and kingdoms in an effort to keep the plague at bay, but to no avail. If starvation didn't kill you then the plague most certainly will.

It felt as if Ragnarök had descended upon the Viking people.

In spite of all the horrifying events taking place throughout Scandinavia, New Berk was among the last of the Viking tribes that had not been touched by the plague or loss of arable lands, however, Chief Hiccup had received several reports from those among his people who stood as farmers that their cattle are being affected by the rotten air, resulting in them to become weak and not aiding the farmers in plowing through the fields they farm. With this setback, food needed to be used wisely, meaning they couldn't throw feasts or celebrations which would only see their food stores severely depleted, and then they would have to resort to taking food out of the reserve stash houses throughout New Berk and the Archipelago.

Not only did starvation affect the Vikings, but it also affected the dragons as well. Apparently, the abundance of sustenance in the Hidden World had become null and void, this resulted in the dragons that resided in the Hidden World emerging in great numbers, and their numbers threatened to darken the skies. Luckily, the King of Dragons, Toothless, was able to keep order among the dragons, and when the dragons returned to New Berk, it was a shock to all of them, but the reunion was sweet, despite the dire circumstances. However, with the dragons back in droves too numerous to count, it meant there were many more mouths to be fed. Although the Hairy Hooligans did what they could for their dragons and their hatchlings, there wasn't enough food to go around for both men and dragons.

Hundreds of Vikings who had escaped the plague had all come to New Berk, seeking out Chief Hiccup to lead them out of this crisis. The Viking people looked to the Æsir for guidance, of course, yet their cries and prayers were not answered and it only led to more of their people being killed thanks to malnutrition and plague. The most recognizable of these Viking tribes included the Outcasts, the Bog Burglars, and the Berserkers, who not only held a vast armada holding their warriors and people, but also a large number of the Defenders of the Wing, who wished to remain at Queen Mala's side after she had married Dagur the Deranged after the war with Viggo, Krogan, and Johann many years ago. Hiccup and his people were happy to see many of their old friends and allies, but many more Viking tribes and kingdoms flocked to New Berk, some came in only a handful of longboats while others came in large fleets, seeking respite and provisions after the strife and hardships they had endured.

Hiccup, being the compassionate man that he was, did what he could for the Viking migrants at his door, but he also had to keep Berk and its inhabitants in mind. After all, a Chief protects his own, as his father, Stoick the Vast, had told him before he sacrificed his life to ensure Berk's future chief lives and leads the Hairy Hooligans into a prosperous future. Not only did the responsibility of his people bear down on Hiccup's shoulders but so did making sure his allies, countrymen, and the re-emerged dragons didn't die out from starvation and this ruthless plague only added another weight of burden on Hiccup's shoulders. Currently, the chief of New Berk was in the Great Hall, gathered with the various Viking chiefs, jarls, earls, kings, and queens from all over Scandinavia, Iceland, and even Greenland. All of these leaders had convened to discuss a course of action— whether or not to remain in Scandinavia or to become a united migrant people and go out into Midgard and conquer new lands for their people to begin anew and thrive once more. Using this crisis to convene The Thing, which was an assembly to resolve conflict or otherwise, Hiccup found that Scandinavia's present circumstance was an appropriate time to gather and come up with a solution that works for the people of Scandinavia and the dragons.

For several hours now, these great Viking leaders were discussing what to do and it seemed as if they were getting nowhere thanks to each leader wanting to go off and do their own thing, despite Hiccup's efforts to calm the masses down, his words fell on deaf ears.

"This argument is a waste of time!" Alvin the Treacherous boomed out, slamming his meaty fists against the table they were gathered around. All eyes turned to him as he then stated the obvious. "Our lands are being ravaged by plague, our people are dying from starvation, and despite our devotion to the gods, our pleas for help by their divine hands have gone unanswered! Our course of action is plain as day, we must leave Scandinavia and conquer new lands if we are to survive!" Roars of agreement filled the air while others remained silent.

"Aye! We're Vikings, this debate is useless! Since our homelands can no longer sustain the dragons and us, we must go and do what our ancestors would do— raid and conquer!"

"Let us go to England! Many of our people reside there. Why not rip away that land from the Christians and claim it as our own?"

"Why England? There's much more out there! We aren't just conquerors, but we're explorers too. We must expand our vision and go beyond what we are familiar with."

Again, the Hall erupted with the Viking rulers exclaiming and barking at each other. Hiccup pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily in frustration while also murmuring for the gods to give him patience in dealing with his guests who all had a difference of opinion on where they should begin anew.

"There's nothing more stubborn than a mob of tired, hungry Vikings."

Chuckling to himself, Hiccup turned to his beautiful mother, Valka, who approached him with a warm smile on her face. His mother was wearing a sleeveless green shirt over her tunic, and a fur wrap over that as well. Her belt has a large buckle in the front and brown armbands cover her forearms. Her long auburn hair was still kept in three separate knotted braids, and there were still signs of greying in the elder Haddock's hair. Despite being in her early forties, Valka was one of the most capable women on Berk, something Hiccup admired and was strangely attracted to, even when meeting her for the first time back at the Bewilderbeast nest.

Not only was Valka a capable warrior and leader, her beauty was blinding, many men attempted to claim Valka as their own, but she firmly refused them all, she stated she wouldn't dishonor the memory of her late husband, Stoick the Vast, by whoring with other men. She also voiced with a firm voice that she was loyal only to Berk and to her son. However, when a group of more brazen and witless Hooligans attempted to rape Valka, Hiccup had them all relieved of their cocks and then branded them all as skóggangrs, outlaws. Full outlawry meant that the outlaw lost his right to live as a full member of society for the rest of their life. And because these Hooligans thought they could defile their chieftain's mother, they were cast out of Viking society and could be killed without repercussions.

The now twenty-three-year-old chief of Berk was currently seated on his throne with his wife, Astrid, seated by his side as well. Perched in Hiccup's lap was his two-year-old daughter, Zephyr Haddock. She was currently playing with a stuffed doll of Toothless, a doll that Valka had made for her granddaughter, similar to how she made a stuffed Deadly Nadder doll for Hiccup when he too was a baby.

"It's bad enough with the weight of chiefdom on my shoulders, but now I need to make sure my guests don't shed blood in my Hall," the young chief murmured to his mother. He then turned to Astrid with a questioning look. "Where would you like to go? England or somewhere unknown?"

Shrugging, Astrid tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. "Well, I've never been to England before, and aside from Dragon's Edge, I don't know what else Midgard has to offer," she then gave her husband a curious smirk. "What about you, oh great Dragon Master?"

Rolling his eyes, Hiccup smiled as Zephyr giggled to herself while hugging the doll of Toothless to her small chest. Looking back to his wife, Hiccup gave his sarcastic reply. "As long as I'm not surrounded by tired, hungry Vikings, all be happy," his response made Astrid and Valka giggle quietly.

As the Viking leaders continued to bicker amongst themselves, one of the older earls stepped forward and voiced his own opinion. "Where would we go, my friends? Our people have pillaged and gone out on raiding parties many times before, some of them never returned to tell their tales back in our Great Halls." The earl then looked to everyone gathered and continued. "It is true that sooner or later, we must leave these lands, or else we risk killing off the future generations of the Viking people and newly birthed dragons because our food reserves will have been depleted. Many among us have children or are expecting children soon, the decline of crops, cattle, and food will not help our women remain strong whilst they carry the future of our people in their wombs. And this plague is more fatal than anything we've encountered before, it too is a threat to our survival and future," hums and grunts of agreement filled the air as the old earl then concluded his words with a question. "And so, this is what I say: where will we go when the time comes to abandon our ancestral lands? We must decide as one people."

Yet again, the leaders of the Viking people all spoke at once, making it impossible for anyone to understand each other due to the ugly panic that had gripped them. Hiccup, who had decided it was time to step in, suddenly rose from his throne, but not before handing Zephyr over to Astrid. As Berk's chieftain approached the massive table where all his allies and guests were discussing a course of action, everyone soon stopped talking when their host was by their side. Hiccup looked down at the table and laid eyes on one massive map he himself had created, it was a map of the entirety of Scandinavia and the Barbaric Archipelago, but he also possessed maps of lands far beyond their world and he possessed knowledge of numerous suitable lands for their people to begin anew from traders New Berk had dealt with over the years.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Hiccup lifted his up to look his allies and guests in the eyes. "We face a difficult choice, leave behind the only home we've known or venture out into the unknown and tame those who seek to prevent us from securing the future of our existence. I don't know about you, but I would like to see my daughter and heir, Zephyr, grow up in a world where she will flourish in, many of you stand as mothers and fathers, and I believe I speak for you when I say you want your children to grow and to live long lives, do you not?" Many hummed and grunted in agreement, causing the leader of the Hairy Hooligans to nod before continuing. "We're no strangers to making hard choices, for the sake of our people, families, and those we hold close to our hearts. You all came to me because you know my saga: the once laughing stock of Old Berk who shot down the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death Itself, and instead of killing the last Night Fury, I bonded with him, and we ended three centuries of war between Vikings and dragons by slaying the Red Death at Helheim's Gate, turning our world upside down. You know of my many great accomplishments, and the losses I've suffered, and you all know that I seek what's in the best interest of my people, the dragons, and my allies, especially in circumstances like this."

"We are well aware that you prefer the peaceful route rather than bloodshed, Hiccup Haddock, as any wise leader should," Queen Mala spoke with respect and deep admiration. Her pixie cut was longer the last time Hiccup had seen her, but she was as beautiful as ever. She then gave Hiccup a look of desolation. "However, since we've placed our lives in your hands, it is imperative that we all agree on making the right course of action, for the sake of our people and those we hold close to our hearts. I lost many I loved to this severe plague that has spread like wildfire, among our dead are Throk and... my now late husband, Dagur."

"Did he die by the plague?" Hiccup inquired after several minutes of silence.

Shaking her head, Mala clarified. "He met a warrior's death. A handful of Berserkers sought to take advantage of the chaos our home was going through by trying to steal a great many barrels of supplies and food, leaving those less able among the Berserker people to starve. However, Dagur stopped them before they could flee, and though my late husband fought valiantly and killed all of those who put themselves before their people, he was fatally wounded by the leader of those renegades," releasing a shaky exhale, Mala then smiled sadly. "His dying wish was that we all seek you out for refuge and that he could think of no one better to tend his people and the two of us." Referring to both herself and Heather.

"Of course, I'll see to it that you two as well as the Berserkers and the Defenders of the Wing are tended to," he then looked to all his allies. "That includes all of you as well. I swear, on my sacred arm ring that I will ensure the Viking people have a future and that we find a new place to call home."

"Thank you, Hiccup," Heather said with heartfelt gratitude. "I truly appreciate that you're willing to do that for my people. For all of us."

Sympathy struck Hiccup like a knife embedding into his flesh, he looked to both Mala and Heather, both women's faces were twisted with mourning and melancholy. It was hard to believe Dagur the Deranged was defeated by cowards that would endanger helpless women, children, and the elderly by taking what little the Berserkers had left. Hiccup's relationship with Dagur had always been... complicated, especially when they were younger, but ever since the two of them mended old wounds and became allies during the war with the Dragon Hunters, Dagur and the Berserker Tribe had been solid allies with Berk. Although Dagur was now drinking and feasting with the gods in Valhalla, Hiccup would make sure the Berserkers and Hairy Hooligans would remain strong allies

Giving both Heather and Mala a warm smile, Hiccup nodded firmly at them, silently promising them that they would be safe with him. He then turned back to the maps before them, Hiccup then looked to his own map which had been completed throughout the years' thanks to multiple voyages throughout Scandinavia, his map contained the entirety of Norway and lands beyond the Barbaric Archipelago. But since Norway and all of Scandinavia had become unlivable, Hiccup gestured to the maps of Europe.

"Ever since Ragnar Lothbrok first raided England, he showed the Viking people that this world is far bigger than we could've ever imagined. If we are to find a new home and ensure our people thrive for many more generations, we must go out into the unknown and be prepared to fight for our futures," Berk's chief then continued. "Many more of our people reside in England to raid and conquer that land, but I believe there is a greater bounty than England."

Crossing his beefy arms across his chest, Mogadon the Meathead, Chief of the Meathead Tribe spoke up. "Oh? And what bounty is that, lad?"

"Beyond England, there's vast territories and land that could be large enough for our people to settle, the land is rich for farming, and we can begin anew—"

"And how do you know these vast territories and lands exist?"

Looking up at the bold Viking who interrupted him, Hiccup looked up at a proud, well-built Viking who was draped in a thick bear fur cloak. He appeared to be in his early thirties, he had a well-groomed beard on his tattooed face, his dark brown hair was done in a man bun hairstyle, and he was twiddling with his gilded arm ring on his right wrist.

"If you want to know if something is real or not, we sail and once again, fly there," Hiccup said before narrowing his eyes at the man who interrupted him. "I don't know you. What's your name?"

"Prince Harald Haraldson," he said with pride. "I'm the grandson of Harald Fairhair, King of all Norway."

Many of the Vikings of Norway murmured amongst themselves, although Hiccup was a Viking whose saga and fame threatened to eclipse all the Viking heroes of old, many still regarded the old heroes, including King Fairhair, the very first king of all Norway. With Harald Haraldson asserting his heritage, Hiccup could tell this was intentional, a man of great ambition, and if not kept in line, Harald's ambitions could threaten the Viking people. And at this moment in time, Hiccup could see that this man threatened the lives of everyone in this room because of his ambition alone.

"You wish to become king over the people of Norway," Hiccup stated before continuing. "But I have an inkling you want more than that. You want to be king over us all. Am I right?" The response Harald gave was a smirk, causing Hiccup to snort and then nod. "Well, seeing as though these great leaders have come to me and not you speaks volumes about you as a ruler. Perhaps your people aren't so content under your rule, and the only people who benefit are your inner circle and your personal guards," Harald's smirk disappeared as Hiccup then looked to his fellow Vikings. "I look to you all and ask you this: which of us should become the very first King of Vikings? I, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III or Harald Haraldson, Prince of Norway? Talk amongst yourselves for a while and cast your vote when you've made your decision."

As Hiccup seated himself back on his throne, his people gave him looks as if he had suddenly grown two heads, it was a look that Hiccup was intimate with, specifically when he was still a boy and he was looked down upon by his people. But now, he was giving these leaders the choice to elect a king that would rule all the Vikings of Scandinavia.

While the leaders spoke among themselves, Hiccup saw Fishlegs approaching him. The large, knowledgeable Viking murmured in shock. "You wish to become King of Vikings, Hiccup?!" When the young chief of Berk shrugged in response, Fishlegs gave him a confused look. "Why do this? We all know you're not fond of being chief. So why take on the burden of kingship and well-being of all Viking people in Scandinavia?"

"Because that arrogant, pompous fool will drive us all to our ruin," Hiccup murmured lowly while referring to Harald Haraldson who was speaking with those in his inner circle. "He could be the grandson to Odin Himself, but I could care less. That man is using the suffering of our people as means of securing power and abusing that power. I won't let his greed, ambition, and lust for power drive our people and the dragons into the dust. If becoming king is what it takes to secure all our futures, then so be it."

Blowing a raspberry, Tuffnut then chuckled. "Wow. Don't get me wrong, your motives are admirable, Chief, and that will most likely be the reason all these leaders choose you as the very first King of Vikings, but... to become King of Vikings, means you'll need to sacrifice your own comfort and pleasure for the sake of the Viking people," he then turned to the leaders talking amongst themselves and then back at Hiccup. "Good luck, Hiccy, you're gonna need it, especially now."

"Thank you, Tuffnut," Hiccup said in a dry manner. "Your words fill me with confidence."

Grinning, Tuffnut gave a firm nod. "Glad I can be of help, Chief!"

Rolling his eyes, Snotlout stepped forward and gave Hiccup a reassuring smirk. "Whatever happens, cousin, I'm with you," he then turned to Eret and jabbed at his arm in a playful manner. "You, however, might not--"

"I'm with you too, chief," Eret said firmly while giving Snotlout an annoyed glare. Looking over towards Haraldson, he then inquired. "What if these great leaders rally to him?"

Shifting in his seat, Hiccup shook his head. "Then I follow my father's words, and protect my own," he looked to his wife and daughter with a smile. "If Haraldson is chosen as King of Vikings, then I will look after my people and my family, not a man who walks around and believes he's descendant from the Æsir. Such hubris will endanger the lives of our people, not just the Hairy Hooligans, but every Viking tribe and kingdom."

"Well said, son," Valka then looked to the leaders and added. "I hope these noble leaders feel the same way you do."

Finally, when the leaders had all talked amongst themselves, they informed Hiccup that they were ready to cast their vote. Summoning Gothi and the hofgothi priests to bring forth two basins of water, Hiccup had them collect stones that bore the emblem of the Hairy Hooligans and Fairhair dynasty. When the voting began, many of the smaller, yet more vulnerable leaders cast their votes for Harald, believing that his luck and his bloodline can lead them to good fortune. However, many more cast their votes for Hiccup, mainly those that the former heir of Berk had once fought against or was on shaky terms with. When all of the Viking leaders had all cast their votes, the scales were perfectly balanced, either Hiccup or Harald would become the very first King of Vikings, and the only ones who could tip the balance in each man's favor was Queen Mala of the Defenders of the Wing as well as Berserkers and Chieftess Atali of the Wingmaidens.

And unknowingly to Harald Haraldson, his chance at ruling over all Viking people was lost forever.

Both Mala and Atali cast their votes for Hiccup, tipping the scales in his favor. Haraldson's mouth was agape in shock, disbelief, and anger. The grandson of King Fairhair then slammed his fist against the table. "You place our lives in the hands of this boy?" Many of the leaders grunted in agreement with Harald while many more frowned upon his words.

"Clearly, you underestimate Stoick's son, Haraldson," Alvin said with a roll of his eyes. "If anyone is capable of leading our people to prosperity, it's Hiccup Haddock."

"I agree," Big-Boobied Bertha looked at Haraldson while shaking her head. "True, Hiccup Haddock is not your normal Viking, his saga and fame speak volumes of what kind of man he is."

Bearing his teeth, Haraldson seethed. "I don't care what you say about this runt," he spat out before continuing. "He doesn't deserve this privilege and honor—"

"I'm sorry, but have I done something to offend you, Harald Haraldson?" Hiccup demanded in a tone firm.

Approaching Berk's chieftain, Harald sized him up. "Yes," he said in an intimidating manner. "I'm offended that what's left of the Viking leaders in Scandinavia are relying on a hiccup who allowed his own father to give up his own life so that can lead the Hairy Hooligans and now lead us—"

Harald's witless words were cut short when Hiccup seized him by the back of his head and pressed Inferno against his throat. Everyone fell silent at the display, Harald's bodyguards attempted to come to their princes' aid, but they were stopped by Hiccup's own guard, as well as Snotlout, Fishlegs, Tuffnut, and Eret, Son of Eret who had weapons drawn and pointed at Harald's men.

"You are a guest under the roof of my Hall and on my island, Harald Haraldson, so I will forgive you of your insolence," bearing his teeth at the Prince of Norway, Hiccup seethed out. "But if you ever speak to me or about my father in such a manner again, I will cut out your tongue and Blood Eagle you myself. Am I understood?" Nodding furiously at Hiccup's threatening words, Harald was then released and he backed away from Hiccup's fuming gaze. "If you're unhappy that you'll now be under my command, take your people and leave, find a new place to settle and rule—"

"T-That won't be necessary... King Hiccup," Harald sighed before shaking his head. "My people don't have enough supplies and food, if we were to part ways, we'd be sailing into the unknown and I would be sentencing my people to their deaths."

Grunting, Hiccup then crossed his arms across his chest. "Ah, that means you need me," getting in Haraldson's face, the now King of Vikings spoke in a cool tone. "With the power of kingship bestowed upon me by these noble leaders, I can see to it that you and your people starve and fend for yourselves." Hiccup then snorted. "But I'm not going to do that. Like it or not, you and your people are now my people. The same is said for every Viking tribe and kingdom gathered here on my island," stepping away from Haraldson, the King of Vikings then returned to the table full of maps and charts before gesturing to a map of Europe, Hiccup pointed out to a vast section of land that was connected to Denmark. "From the traders and merchants that I've interacted with who deal in this land, they say there's vast, rich land that has been untouched by man, it would be perfect for our people to begin anew. It's called Germany, and it's where I believe we can begin again and prosper."

"The Christians are expanding to new lands with each passing day, this... Germany is neighbors with the Franks. And if we've learned anything from the past, the Franks are a formidable opponent," one of the Viking queens stated, causing every Viking to grunt and hum in agreement. "What if Germany is overrun by the Christians?"

Hiccup pointed to England. "We go to England first and convince the Vikings who've settled there to join us. After all, the remaining kings of the English kingdoms have been trying to expel our people from their lands for decades, I have no doubt that any Vikings or Danes who desire a new homeland will want to join us," he then shrugged. "Once our numbers continue to swell, we go to Germany, and if the Christians or anyone is brazen enough to challenge us and the dragons, we'll deal with them, as Vikings." A chorus of "ayes" filled the air, causing Hiccup to nod. "Then it's settled. Inform your people of our plan, we leave these lands at dawn tomorrow."

Before leaving, however, the leaders of the Viking people watched as Gothi and the hofgothi returned with a crown suited for a king. After praying to the gods to bless the Scandinavian people's future, Gothi crowned Hiccup and every Viking leader began banging their fists against the table, signifying their respect and loyalty to their new king, everyone except for Haraldson and a few other Viking leaders. After dismissing his people, Hiccup was hugged from behind by Gobber, causing the young king to yelp when he was lifted off of his feet.

"Oh, lad, if Stoick were here with us now, he'd be so proud of you," Gobber then set his old blacksmith apprentice down and offered him a crooked grin. "Anything you need, my king, don't be shy."

Smiling, Hiccup patted his old mentor's back. "Thank you, Gobber. I know that if my father were still with us, he'd be supporting me in every way he can," he then looked to his friends and gave them a smile and nod. "You all can go now, get some rest. The day ahead of us will be long." Obeying the command of their king, everyone left, but not before offering more congratulations.

Valka gave her son a kiss on the forehead and smiled warmly at him. "I'll see you in the morning, my king," she said in a playful manner while bowing her head. Hiccup rolled his eyes but smiled at his mother's playfulness before he bid her goodnight. After sharing a kiss with Astrid and placing one on Zephyr's forehead, Valka left, leaving the King of Vikings alone with his wife and daughter.

"Looks like our daughter is out like a light," Astrid chuckled softly while cradling Zephyr against her breasts. "I'm going to place her in bed in the back." Nodding at his wife, Hiccup watched as his wife made her way to the bedroom that had been made whenever the two of them would be far too tired to walk back to their own house.

While looking over the maps, Hiccup removed the crown that had been placed on his head not long ago, he found it hard to believe that he was not only a king, but now he was king over all Scandinavian people. This new responsibility was another weight that had been placed on Hiccup's shoulders, and although he despised the duty of leading, he knew that he needed to step up and ensure the Viking people aren't erased from history.

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

Chuckling softly, Hiccup recalled his father's words of wisdom echo in his mind, and although he favored freedom to explore new lands and discover new species of dragons, the King of Vikings knew his desires would have to come last, especially when the lives of his people mattered. Not only did Hiccup now need to worry about the lives of his fellow Vikings as well as the dragons, but he also knew the perils of being king, he knew that assassins or mercenaries would be sent to take his life and the life of his mother, wife, and daughter, effectively eliminating his bloodline.

Strong arms wrapped around Hiccup's middle, causing him to sigh as Astrid embraced him from behind. "You're stressed," her statement caused Hiccup to snort and roll his eyes. Pressing her lips against the back of his neck, the king then inhaled sharply when his wife's hand then cupped his groin while purring against his ear. "Let me relax you, my king."

"A-Astrid—"

"Shh, relax, babe. I've got you," Astrid slipped her hand into her husband's pants and the both of them moaned as she grasped his cock which was growing more erect by the second. While massaging her husband's groin, Astrid bit her bottom lip and exhaled in a husky tone. "Gods, you're so hard, babe. Let me get you out of those pants." Moaning in relief when Astrid yanked down his pants and undergarments in one hard tug, she then began expertly stroking him from base to tip.

Closing his eyes, Hiccup moaned in delight at his wife's touch, despite the fact that anyone could barge in on them, Hiccup could care less in this heated moment he was sharing with his goddess of a wife. Pre-cum wept from his tip, serving as a lubricant for Astrid to increase her strokes until her hand was almost a blur. Releasing a pitiful whine when Astrid ceased her ministrations, the young king allowed his wife to take off his fur cloak, leather armor, and tunic while he stepped out of his right boot, leaving him shamelessly naked.

Spinning him around to face her, the Queen of Vikings pulled her husband in for a deep, passionate kiss, causing him to groan in contentment while he too returned her kiss. Eventually, Astrid pulled away from his lips and soon began descending down to his razor-sharp jawline, his jugular, and his chest. Hiccup gasped as Astrid lapped his nipples, her skilled fingers dancing over his hips and thighs, and then slowly wandered back down to his pulsing cock and balls. Growling that he was the only one undressed, Hiccup tugged at Astrid's blue short-sleeved tunic, her signature spiked skirt, her knee-high fur boots, and the white fur cape around her shoulders until she too was naked. Suddenly grabbing two handfuls of his wife's pert backside, Hiccup lifted her off her feet and laid her on top of the maps and charts. The sight of his naked wife radiating in the firelight with her azure eyes burning with love and desire for him made Hiccup growl in desire, causing Astrid to grin.

"Like what you see, my king?"

Kneeling before his wife, Hiccup murmured against her right thigh. "I do," savoring the moans of anticipation from Astrid, the king then ghosted over her sopping sex. "Now, just lay there, and let your king worship you like the goddess that you are." Releasing a chuckle and moan at the same time, Astrid threw her head back and placed a hand in Hiccup's hair as he began to devour her as if he'd never have the chance to do so again. Taking hold of her legs, the king threw them over his shoulders and intensified his ministrations, his tongue delving deep into her folds and collecting her sweet nectar. Seeing his wife writhe and moan against the maps made Hiccup fully erect, just as he and his new subjects had made plans to conquer a vast section of Europe, here he was, conquering his wife with his tongue.

"G-Gods, yes! Hiccup, you're so good with tongue," Astrid mewled while clawing the maps and table beneath her. "Ah! H-Hiccup!" The whimpers that came out of his wife's mouth told Hiccup that her climax was approaching, so he continued to drive his wife towards that cliff's edge until she finally reached her climax. While she was catching her breath, Astrid's eyes were closed, but they opened again when Hiccup pressed his lips against hers. Moaning at the taste of herself on his tongue, Astrid wrapped her arms around her husband's broad shoulders, pulling him on top of her. While the two of them slid against each other, Astrid reached down between them, taking hold of her husband's cock, and guiding him to her wet center until he slid inside her.

The heat. The tight grip of smooth muscles. The sight of Astrid's flushed face, so utterly debauched caused Hiccup to release a ragged moan. Gazing into her eyes with each thrust, Hiccup could see Astrid beaming up at him, she reached up to caress his face, and he leaned into her touch while pressing a tender kiss against her palm. Taking hold of her legs, Hiccup continued to thrust into the silken heat of Astrid's sex, causing him to close his eyes and savor the moans of pleasure that came from his wife and the blissful sensations that threatened to consume him. Astrid's husky voice when she begged him to go on and take her, the way their intertwined hands pressed to the table, and the rhythm of their heavy breathing and sweaty skin slapping against each other. The way they kissed and rutted, pressing and clutching each other, it was like a spell.

Perfection.

Astrid then began massaging her own breasts while encouraging her husband to continue with coy eyes and a mischievous smile. She then shrieked in laughter when Hiccup lifted her off of the table and carried her without detaching her from his cock. Now finding herself pinned against a nearby pillar, Astrid found that in this position, she and Hiccup were exposed and that anybody could walk in on them at any moment. But that only added to the thrill and excitement, because despite what anyone would say, she was Hiccup's wife, and she was unashamed to be intimate with her husband no matter where they were.

"Look at me, Milady," opening her eyes after savoring the immense pleasure washing over her, Astrid could see Hiccup's gorgeous forest green eyes were brimming with love for her, but also that his pupils threatened to consume his iris'. "I would look into those gorgeous eyes of yours, knowing that no other man in Midgard can reduce you into such a wanton state like I can."

"Yes. No man can or ever will make me reach bliss like you, babe," cupping her husband's face, she beamed. "No man, but you." The two then came in for a deep, heated kiss while Hiccup continued to thrust up into his wife and Astrid would meet his thrusts by lifting herself off of his cock and then coming back down on him. The lewd sound of sweaty skin slapping against each other, their moans entwining together, and the scent of their lovemaking were what drove Hiccup home, he groaned loudly against his wife's lips and planted rope after rope of seed inside his wife's womb. Feeling his seed inside her made Astrid moan weakly against Hiccup's lips and she too reached her climax, she felt lightheaded, but thankfully Hiccup kept her pinned and secured against the pillar until her vision cleared and she no longer felt unsteady.

Once the feeling of their climaxes had faded, the two Haddocks collected their clothes and made their way into the bedroom. The day had been long and exhausting, and although the prospect of having another round of lovemaking was tempting, they needed to be prepared to depart Scandinavia at dawn.

"So, what was that for?" Hiccup inquired after a long but comfortable silence while settling in bed.

Turning to her husband, Astrid gave him a look of mock offense. "Can't a wife show her husband how much she loves him?" She then continued. "After all, you're stressed. With our world coming to an end, I wanted to help relieve you of the stress on your shoulders." She then snuggled against Hiccup, he pulled her close, kiss her sweaty brow and murmur words of love against her head, causing her to sigh in contentment.

"Hiccup, I know that you already have enough to worry about: the continued survival of our people, the burden of kingship, the continued safety of the dragons, and where we Vikings settle and thrive, but what of the Haddock bloodline?"

"What of it?"

"Every king needs more than one heir, yes, we have Zephyr, and I love her with all my heart, but what if she died of the plague or by some unfortunate tragedy?"

Sitting up, Hiccup gave his wife a reassuring look. "My bloodline is secured, Astrid. With you, the woman of my heart's desire. Unless, you're suggesting that I..." his eyes widened in realization at what Astrid was getting at. He then gave her a disbelieving look. "A harem? You want me to establish a harem?"

"Now that you're king of all Vikings, you need to ensure the Haddock bloodline remains strong, especially now that you're the king. What if assassins came and managed to kill you, Valka, me, and our daughter? The Haddock bloodline would be no more. I'm suggesting a harem because even though I would love nothing more than to bear your children, eventually, someone will send worthless men to take our lives, and we need to be real with ourselves and dwell on the possibility that I may die because of an assassination attempt on your life," Astrid said while shrugging. "If you don't want to establish a harem, you don't have to, I'm just offering a suggestion. Just... think about it, and if you decide to go through with this, I won't be jealous, but I'll constantly remind you that I'm your first and the Queen of Vikings, which means I stand in higher regard, no matter what woman you choose to produce heirs with." She then kissed Hiccup one last time before falling asleep on her husband's chest.

For Hiccup, the prospect of having a harem was insane, almost laughable. The only woman he had eyes for was Astrid, she was his first love even as children, and throughout the years of battle, adventure, and near-death experiences, they shared together only brought them closer until they finally decided to enter a proper Viking marriage. Not only did Hiccup have the most beautiful woman in Midgard as his wife, but he was blessed with a beautiful daughter, Zephyr. It's hard to believe that he had a family of his own, the gods had truly blessed him in that regard.

However, the threat of plague and attrition, thanks to starvation not only threatened the Viking people who had sworn fealty to Hiccup but also threatened the future generation of dragons and the Scandinavian people, including his own children. Surely, the gods wouldn't be so cruel and rob him of his only child in such a short time, would they?

As Hiccup finally succumbed to sleep, he decided he would follow Astrid's crazy suggestion and begin a harem. He would start small, of course, and if it didn't flourish then Hiccup would dismantle it.

But that was tomorrow's problem, tonight, he would savor much-needed sleep with his one true love, Astrid, by his side.

A/N: This story is a multiverse story, so women from medieval times or around this era are gonna be in the mix, as well as some... surprises that you'll see eventually. If you have any suggestions on who else Hiccup could have sex with or add to his harem, don't be shy to leave feedback. Hope you guys enjoyed this teaser chapter!

#httyd #hiccstrid #viggo grimborn #how to train your dragon #multifandom writer #eret son of eret #valka haddock #tuffnut thorston #ruffnut thorston #snotlout jorgenson #fishlegs ingerman #queen mala #heather the unhinged #gobber the belch #alvin the treacherous

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scary-grace · 6 months ago

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Expiation - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

This is a birthday gift for @sophsiaaa based on a suggestion of a fantasy AU Shigaraki x reader. Happy birthday (although it's definitely a bit late)!

Chapters: 1 2

Chapter 1

You hear the rumors long before you see him, but the story of his arrival is told to you so many times that it’s etched into your head. It was a beautiful spring day, the fields surrounding the castle bright with wildflowers, the air humming with butterflies and bees – the kind of day on which nothing bad is allowed to happen. And then the world went still. The sun seemed to dim. The air fell silent, empty of insects and birds, and even the flowers cringed away as he led his horse past, walking so slowly that it seemed he knew his presence poisoned the world, and reveled in it. The dark knight, the one they call the White Death. Shigaraki Tomura.

The rumors are terrible, and most of them are true, but no one finds the High Kingdom unless they were meant to be here. You remember the day you stumbled out of the Forest Perilous, last of a party of dozens who had all set out together, the only one to reach the castle. The castle chose you, the same as it chose everyone born outside the walls who now resides within. The same is true of Shigaraki Tomura – Sir Tomura, or Lord Tomura, anything but the dread title he’s earned on the battlefield. There is some purpose to his presence here, although neither you nor anyone else can imagine what it is.

Most knights come to the High Kingdom with squires and servants, hauling supplies and gifts and finery to please the king. The White Death comes alone, and bears no gift – no gift other than the one he’s rumored to have tossed at King Izuku’s feet. That rumor is terrible, too. But it it’s true, it means that Shigaraki Tomura crossed a line no one else had dared to touch – in taking on the King’s fated enemy, the man prophesied to destroy the High Kingdom, and slaying him himself. Tearing down his armies himself. Singlehandedly wrecking a prophecy that has hung over the Kingdom’s head since it was first spoken, a prophecy of death and destruction that would bring a mighty kingdom to its knees.

And you suppose it did. After all, the prophecy, never said it would be your kingdom that fell.

King Izuku offers Shigaraki Tomura a seat on his council, over the objections of the rest of the council. Shigaraki Tomura accepts. And then the question turns to where he should be house, and what level of opulence is appropriate for his room, and because the gods hate you or because you’re just unlucky, you’re assigned from all the servants to help him decorate it. To create a dwelling space fit for a hero, meant to house someone who cannot be called anything but a villain.

You knock hesitantly at the door, struggling to balance the heavy wooden chest you’re carrying at the same time. When that fails to produce a response, you call out, your voice thin as it echoes through the deserted wing of the palace. “Lord Tomura?”

The door unlocks with a sharp click, then swings open, and you suck in a breath. You heard he had magic – most in the High Kingdom do, you included – but it’s considered crass to flaunt it for things that could otherwise be done by hand. You step through the door into a large, empty room. The only features in it are a window without a single pane of glass, an armoire with doors gaping open, and a canopy bed bare of both canopy and sheets. The infamous white armor is piled in the corner of the room, along with the white sword his enemies call Decay. The White Death himself sits on the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t look away from the spot on the wall where he’s fixed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“My Lord.” You bow, or curtsy, or do some awkward mix of both at once. It doesn’t matter. He’s not looking at you. “I was sent to help you put your room in order.”

“This is fine.” Shigaraki Tomura’s voice is flat and icy, devoid of anything but apathy. “The window is a nice touch.”

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. You would be, if you were a knight and not a maid. “The window will be fixed, my Lord. In the meantime, I was sent to arrange the rest of your room. I’ve brought many things for you to choose from.”

“Many things.” He looks up at last, and you catch your breath at the sight of his crimson eyes. It’s all too easy to imagine his enemies freezing in terror, those eyes the last thing they saw before the darkness closed in. “That chest is too small for many things.”

“It’s larger on the inside,” you say. He raises an eyebrow – or he would, if he had them. “Do I have your leave to show you?”

“If it’s the case that you won’t leave me be until you do.” The White Death looks away, and you come a few steps closer. A few steps, and then a few more, until you can set the chest down within his eyeline and kneel down to open it. “What is that?”

“No one could tell me what you preferred, so I brought some of everything.” You were hoping to avoid being berated. You’re starting to think that’s unlikely. “There are sheets for the bed – and choices for the canopy, also. These are for the walls – most knights have tapestries made of your great deeds, but you’ve only just arrived. They won’t be ready for a little while.”

“Great deeds,” Shigaraki – Sir Tomura – sneers. Your ears burn. “Yes, I’m sure the weavers are lining up to chronicle mine.”

“If you say so, my Lord.” You lift out a set of curtains – curtains, for a broken window. Whoever left this for you to deal with, you hope they catch the plague. “Er, the window –”

“I didn’t say so,” Sir Tomura interrupts. You look up at him. “I have done no great deeds. It is no honor to be on your knees at my feet.”

“Pardon me, my Lord. I never said it was.”

You shouldn’t have spoken. You bow your head hastily, but not before you see a flash of interest in the White Death’s eyes. “A punishment, then. Tell me, who did you displease?”

“Nor did I say it was a punishment.” You’ve already gotten yourself in trouble. You may as well explain. “It is my duty to serve the nobles of the High Kingdom. You are one of them. And you’ve done the kingdom a great service.”

“I didn’t do it for you. Or for your wretched kingdom.” Sir Tomura is looking at you, still. You can feel the heat of his gaze on your shoulders, the exposed curve of your neck. “I might have destroyed your kingdom just as easily.”

You know that. It’s why everyone fears him, why a man with a lean, slender build casts such a long shadow. “Then why did you choose his?”

“You both wronged me. He wronged me worse.” Sir Tomura goes silent for a moment, and you dare a glance up at him. His face is still, the sneer long-gone. “And because you wronged me, too, you must suffer my presence. In honor of the great deed I have done.”

Now he sounds bitter, mocking – but not of you. He’s looking at you again. “And what terrible deed have you done, that you do not fear to raise your eyes to me?”

“Is that a requirement for meeting your eyes, my Lord?” It strikes you as an odd thing to say, when any other knight would remark on your temerity at gazing upon any noble’s face. “I did not come here to pass judgment on your deeds. I came to make your room a fitting place for a person to live.”

“Indeed,” Sir Tomura says. “But unlike the five maids who preceded you, you have not fled from the sight of me. Why?”

You would answer him if you knew, but you don’t. The rumors of him terrified you, the same as everyone else. You were frightened as you knocked at the door, frightened when you stepped into the room, and even though he’s weaponless, you have no doubt that he knows dozens of spells that will kill you where you stand. There is no doubt that the man in front of you is the White Death, the terror of battlefields across the known world, the ruination of a kingdom most thought would stand forever and the slayer of a king most thought could not be killed and the destruction of a prophecy that went unchallenged for a hundred years. You should be terrified, just as you were before, and you’re certainly wary. But you aren’t frightened any longer.

The White Death is waiting for an answer. “If I had an answer, I would give it, my Lord,” you say. You look away and begin to unpack from the chest. “Does my Lord have a preference as to colors?”

“No.” Sir Tomura’s voice carries an odd rasp, whether he’s scornful or not. “Do what you want.”

So he’ll allow you to complete your task. You wonder if the five maids who apparently preceded you tried to hold a conversation, or if they simply ran away the instant he opened the door. Some part of you wants to decorate his room in bright colors, something cheerful, but you don’t have the sense that he’ll appreciate it. You’d be better off giving him something to look at, since he spends so long staring off into space. You choose fabrics in muted colors, woven with small illusions here and there, patterns that move and change in response to the human eye. It’s likely that Sir Tomura will spend a lot of time here. He doesn’t seem to like people very much. His room should at least be a pleasant place to be.

When you’ve covered key portions of the walls, leaving space for the inevitable tapestries, you move on to laying out rugs. The stone floors in the castle are cool in the summer, cold in the winter, and Sir Tomura’s feet are bare, his boots kicked into the same pile as his sword and armor. You don’t have as many choices with the rugs. They are nothing but bright colors, woven together from scraps of fabric, and you lay them out hastily, hoping he continues to prefer staring at walls to staring at floors. Then you turn your attention to the armor. It needs to be stored properly, and there isn’t a stand in the room.

You turn to face Sir Tomura and find that he’s already watching you. “If you give me leave, my Lord, I’ll retrieve a stand for your armor.”

“It can stay where it is.”

Most knights pride themselves on their armor. Most pride themselves too much. “Won’t it rust?”

“Until it crumbles away. I don’t care.”

You don’t understand. “Sir –”

“It’s no use to me any longer.” Sir Tomura rises from the bed for the first time and crosses the room, moving with catlike grace. He lifts the breastplate from the pile one-handed and holds it out for you to inspect. You can’t miss the problem – it’s been cleaved almost in two by a single strike, torn apart as only cursed steel can do. “It can’t be fixed.”

“The best smiths in the world work here,” you venture. Sir Tomura scoffs. “They reforged One For All, and that sword was broken into nine pieces.”

“Yes, we’ve all heard the story. Good King Izuku gathered the nine pieces of One For All and proved he was the rightful king.” The disdain in the White Death’s voice is withering. “The rightful king, but not a good one. The king before him was worthless, and the queen before him, too – they let their greatest enemy grow and prosper, throughout their entire reigns.”

“They fought back,” you protest. “Queen Nana was killed fighting him – King Toshinori was badly wounded –”

“And King Izuku never tried,” Sir Tomura sneers. “In spite of their goodness, they turned away. They were too good to do what had to be done, so it fell to me to slay the monster and tear down his throne.”

Sir Tomura wasn’t mentioned in the prophecy. Why would it fall to him? “And look what I’ve done,” he continues. A harsh laugh tears free from his throat. “Spared a kingdom of cowards and fools from destruction they deserve only slightly less.”

The questions bursts out of you. “If you despise us so much, why did you come here?”

“This kingdom owes me a debt,” Sir Tomura says. “I have nowhere else to go.”

You have nothing to say in response to that. You expect Sir Tomura to look pleased at silencing you, but he doesn’t. “Receive a stand for my armor if you wish it,” he says, and you depart, feeling sick to your stomach.

The White Death’s words cling to you as you search for a spare armor stand. What had to be done. What could he mean by that? What would the White Death do that the good kings and queens of your kingdom wouldn’t try? The answer occurs to you at once. Dark magic. Magic that corrupts the mind and soul, magic that leaves cursed wounds and blighted lands in its wake. Of course the kings and queens of the High Kingdom would never do such a thing. But if that was what it would take to end the Enemy’s reign of terror, then maybe –

It’s not your place to decide such things. You find a spare stand in the armory and cart it back to the deserted wing of the palace, only to be accosted on the way by the tailor Hakamada. “You’re attending him? Good. These are for the feast tonight.”

He thrusts a package into your arms, even though your hands are already full. “Ensure he wears them. His presence is an affront, but he’ll be properly dressed if it’s the last thing I do.”

Given that Hakamada isn’t the one forcing the new clothes on Sir Tomura, it’s more likely to be the last thing you do. You set off again, struggling under the weight of both the package and the stand at once.

Sir Tomura seems surprised that you’ve returned, but he doesn’t mock you over it – yet. He allows you to set up the stand, and to begin to store his armor properly, although he refuses to allow you anywhere near the sword. “It’s cursed,” he says, even though you didn’t ask. “Once it tastes a victim’s blood, that person is doomed to wither and rot. Did you know that?”

“I heard rumors,” you say carefully. “There are many rumors about you.”

“They aren’t rumors if they’re true,” Sir Tomura says. “Almost all of them are.”

It doesn’t surprise you that the White Death knows his own legends. “Which ones aren’t?”

Sir Tomura doesn’t answer. He’s investigating the package from Hakamada, which you set down on the end of the still-unmade bed. You, meanwhile, find yourself transfixed by the tear in the breastplate of his armor. It’s been split nearly in half. You lean closer, paper and fabric rustling behind you, in order to peer at the edges of the breastplate, the padding inside, and a needle of shock and fear drives itself through you. All of it is stained with blood. “My Lord –”

You turn to find yourself facing Sir Tomura half-dressed, in clean breeches and bare feet, having just removed his shirt. His bare skin is laced with scars, some old and some newer, but none so terrible as the enormous wound in his chest, so fresh it can barely be called healed. It matches the tear in the breastplate exactly. Sir Tomura glances at the breastplate, then at you. Then he turns away.

“My Lord,” you start, “if you need a healer –”

“It’s a cursed wound,” Sir Tomura says. “It will never heal.”

That was in the prophecy, too – something about a blow from which the victor will never recover. You know it’s half the reason King Izuku held off. He has no heir, nor an obvious successor among his advisors, and everyone assumed the blow described in the prophecy would be fatal. You mind feels frozen, caught between horror and sadness and trapped in confusion. If what everyone says is true, and it is, Shigaraki Tomura is a monster. If what everyone says is true, and it is, King Izuku is a good king. If both of those things are true, then why did the monster fulfill the prophecy? Why has the good king offered him so meager a welcome? You don’t know what to do with the White Death, who saved your kingdom, whose infamous fury has yet to make an appearance since he arrived at the castle. Neither does anyone else.

Sir Tomura is fumbling with his new shirt, cursing. You abandon the armor and come forward. “May I help, my Lord?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t refuse, and you take the risk of helping anyway, straightening the useless ruffles, doing up the pearl buttons, staying well clear of the terrible wound. “It takes a monster to slay a monster,” the White Death says, as you smooth out the lines of his shirt. “And now you all must live with the monster that survived.”

He looks down at you, the ghost of the sneer from before distorting his features. “Is that pity I see on your face? Save your pity. It’s useless to me.”

“I don’t pity you,” you say. You can’t – not when he’s done such terrible things, not when you can’t begin to calculate whether what he did in fulfilling the prophecy cancels any of them out. But you do feel something. You can be honest about that. “I was thinking that it was a brave thing to do, my Lord. To face the Enemy when you weren’t the chosen one, and knowing that the consequences were severe even if you should win. That is all.”

A hint of surprise crosses Shigaraki Tomura’s face. “Do the words monster and villain mean nothing to you?”

“They do,” you say. “But I have never seen it written that a monster cannot be brave. Or that a villain must always be a villain.”

The White Death scoffs. “Are you waiting for me to become a true knight?”

“Only as long as you would wait for me to become a fair lady,” you say. “That is to say, a very long time.”

“A long time to become a lady, perhaps.” Sir Tomura extends one hand towards you, slowly, as though he’s expecting you to flinch or bolt. “You were fair before you knelt at my feet.”

You’re not sure what he means to do with his hand, but you reach out and capture it anyway. There’s only one thing you can think of to do, and you do it – bow low over it to kiss his knuckles, just as you’ve seen lords do for their ladies a thousand times. And you speak, words you’re certain no one has uttered since he arrived. “Thank you for what you did. Even if it was not done for us,” you say. “And thank you, too, for saying I was fair. You did not need to say that.”

“I didn’t lie.” Sir Tomura has yet to take his hand back. You don’t know what to do but keep holding it. “It seems that you are in my debt now.”

Just like that, you’re nervous again. You know what knights often ask, or demand, from the women who cross their paths. “How shall I repay it?”

“This feast,” the White Death says. You look up, startled. “You will accompany me.”

“My Lord –”

“Since I have arrived here, no one has met my eyes, nor spoken to me as you have.” He’s averting his eyes from yours now. “I would like to spend one evening in the company of someone who does not find my company torturous.”

“I would, my Lord, but it is simply not done.” You’re surprised at how upsetting it is to be unable to grant such a simple wish. You let go of his hand and drop into a curtsy, replacing the distance that should exist between you, rather than the odd intimacy of the last few moments. “No true knight would bring a servant as his companion to a royal feast.”

“I see,” Sir Tomura says. His hand slips beneath your chin, tilting your face upwards, and you see that same flash of interest in his red eyes. This time it has staying power, as his callused hand molds to the shape of your jaw and his lips curve into the first smile you’ve seen from him. “It’s fortunate, then, that I am no true knight.”

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