#namor fics

[inklore]

listen as a namor whore (namwhore?) i think that he loves marking you as his like man would go nuts with the hickeys and bruises (and bite marks too). on the off chance he lets you return the favor he’s surprised by how much he loves seeing the love bites and bruises on his own godly self >:)

pairing: namor x princess!reader

word count: 962

warnings: eighteen+ content, mentions of p in v but not shown, teasing, bites and marking, established forbidden relationship.

note: ok see i love this concept, this take, this thot!! but i fear he’s not completely into you returning the favor because for him it’d be more of a ‘i want everyone to see and be reminded who you worship to’. and i think he likes to stay looking proper to his people, but he does let you get away with bites left under the shorts!!

You were supposed to have left your room and met your mother and the council minutes ago—almost an hour ago you now see as the clock on your bedside reflects back to you in the mirror you’re standing at. Trying to right yourself back into looking presentable, kept, like you’re not running late because the man at the foot of your bed used his sweet siren song of pretty compliments, and words that had you out of your dress just as fast as his fingers had torn at the undergarments underneath it.

Leaving your balcony door open for him was seeming more and more like a curse than a blessing.

Letting him come and go as he pleased, when he cared to visit you after days of being MIA. Sometimes only noting his presence with a saltwater covered gift he’d leave at your doorway, when you’d stayed up as long as your body would allow to. As you waited to see if he would come to you; or when duties like council meetings and required dinners were demanded of you—events a Princess was supposedly meant to attend.

You’re surprised your mother hasn’t sent someone to fetch you. You expect it anytime now, ever the punctual woman your mother was. Being tardy was surely going to get you a stern look and deep questioning.

“Jats'uts,” he mumbles against your shoulder.

Beautiful.

Pretty.

Your heart soars, fingers only wavering a little as you do your best to right the necklaces adorning your neck. Your body having just been molded pudy in his hands mere seconds ago. Your thighs still sticky from having his mouth and cock between them. Your legs still feel that heady wobble from post orgasm. Your mind and body still coming off of that beautiful precipice of want and desire, of falling against his body like you couldn’t stand up straight, or function properly, without him being there to sink into—or onto on most nights.

You had told him how urgent it was that you make it to this meeting. How he needed to turn around and make his way back to his beloved ocean before someone saw him, and your mother had both of you locked away.

A threat he laughed at. A threat you knew meant nothing to someone as powerful as him; a God.

“If this were Talokan I’d make our people come to you. You’d never have to lift a finger, princess.”

Our people.

As if there were some alternate reality in which that could come to formation. Where the two of you would rule as equals and not something forbidden, and secretive.

There had been too much death and destruction on both sides, from both of your people, for either groups to be happy to be ruled by the both of you.

But the fantasy was nice to dream about—get lost in the idea of actually being able to flaunt your love instead of hiding it.

When his arm wraps around your waist your body works on instinct, on knowing the hands and warmth of the man that’s touching it. Guiding it into his chest to lean and rest against. His lips brushing at the side of your neck, mustache burning your skin.

“Or you could stay naked, spread out for me. Waiting for my return while I handled everything.”

“Mm.” You let your eyes close as you grin, “no responsibilities other than pleasing my king.”

“Precisely.” His teeth take a hold of your sensitive skin, his tongue following after the sting like a salve. Making your body tremble against him, a gasp falling from your lips. “You’d never want for anything. I would have it brought to you. Made for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to you, princess.” His mouth repeats it’s actions against your neck, his hand creeping lower to the start of your thigh.

That ache between your legs quickly making a home once more at your swollen clit.

“K’uk’ulkan,” his name falls from your lips, practiced, known, worshiped—as you moan softly. As you let him suck and bite at your skin, letting his words coax you into that fantasy world you want so badly.

You don’t come back to reality until you feel his fingers start to pull up the bottom of your dress, the cool air against your damp underwear bringing you back down from that building high.

“Nononono,” you pull away from him. Untangling his arms from your body and sending him a scowl at the way he’s smirking at you. “I’m already late because of you!”

“My apologies, princess.” His hand waves towards the door, “don’t keep your people waiting any longer.”

“I won’t! You-” your quick movements stop abruptly when you see it, when the deep hue catches your eye in the mirror. And maybe it’s half your own fault for not stopping him, for once again falling victim to the hot-tease of manipulation of his beautiful words.

There’s words of anger and disbelief in the back of your throat, ready to come up and spill over at the man whose eyes are locked onto yours in the mirror. Who is still wearing that signature cool as can be expression, that you really want to slap off of him.

Your mother was going to kill you.

String you up as a pariah!

“My mother–”

“Will not be pleased, no.” He finishes for you. Steps back into that space behind you, returning his heat to your back. His thumb runs along the bruised area, eyes gleaming at his creation before flashing back to yours. “But now everyone will know you belong to someone.”

You belong to me.

Unspoken in words but not in the way he presses a kiss to the love mark, lips soft and endearingly sensual.

[buzzkillers]

Fables and Parables 2/5

Pairing: Namor x Black!Reader

Chapter Summary: you begin to feel the affects of the curse.

Warning: NON-CON, religious themes, non-consensual voyeurism, magical sex pollen, dream-walking, mentions of abortion, attempted forced pregnancy.

PART ONE

It rained the next day. 

It's so bad that you're forced to braid your hair. The gel wasn't working and the frays of your edges curled underneath the humidity.

Lucky you, but that's not where your bad day ended, of course not. 

The storm had forced you all inside, the rain battering against the very thin walls of the hostel. All plans for exploration were delayed. Quickly, your discomfort turned into irritation and then your period started. Of course it did. Thankfully, there was no blood yet but it was the beginning of it. You could feel it in the twist of your gut, the odd ache in your pelvis. It's so subtle that it could’ve passed a stomach ache

But you've never felt your stomach twist like this before. Like there was a needle in your guts that pulled and twisted.

 So yeah, you were on your period and the weather was shit and you were starving. But you didn’t mind, you really didn't. Until then it rained the next day and the day after that and you never bled. 

“It’s global warming,” your roommate whispered, her face still shoved into her book. 'Art and Society of Mayan culture ' it read, the bind of it worn and dirty. 

You relaxed in your own bed. Your leg splayed off the edge.“-just think about it,”

“I'm thinking about it,” You lied. Because you’ve actually been reading the same  ‘Wikipedia’ page for the last five minutes and you were afraid that if you moved a muscle, something just might burst. 

The other didn’t know this though. How could she? So she rolled her eyes, lips pinched. “Im serious,” 

“I mean it's May—May," she turned a page, "We're supposed to be touring temples but instead we're-" she looked over at you and then winced. "-I actually don't know what you're doing," 

"Waiting for this bootleg ibuprofen to kick in," you muttered, your phone now fallen asleep. You took a strangled breath. 

"I don't think it's working," 

“Are you sure you don't want tea?” she asked cause she was nice and didn’t know that every word she spoke made you want to bite bricks. You shoved your head into the pillow and tried to suffocate yourself. “Nah, rather vomit,” Last night, you only had one cup and instantly spat it out. You’d rather stick to sink water. 

“I think I'm just gonna die here,” you groaned, ‘cause it would just be your luck really. Then you curled into a ball, your arms wrapped around your knees. The position only made it worse.  Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes. 

The woman sucked her teeth, “Right, die in a run down hostel, in the middle of nowhere, that's not inconsiderate,”

“Kindly fuck off,”

“To get tea? Yeah I'm suddenly in the mood,” you shot the woman a glare, and suddenly it's her that's ignoring you. The look on her face smug as she jumped into some trousers and walked out the door. 

You took the moment to look out the window. It faced the front streets, above all the pop shops and grocery bags. Below you, people ran to get away from the onslaught. No one wanted to drive today, clearly. People bustled in the streets, business men went home and school children ran with their bags over their heads. Anything to get out of the rain. 

Except one, a lone figure at the edge of the sidewalk, who stood straight, unaffected. He did not wear an umbrella or a raincoat for that matter. Instead, his shelter was the leaves of the sidewalk trees. It flicked and fettered over him, it also did a shit poor job of actually keeping him dry. He looked at your Hostel. Unmoving. In your delusion, he was also blue, he looked very very blue.

Your face pinched and then the needle in your stomach twisted and your intestines curled and you forgot all about it. At least some people didn’t mind the rain. 

—-

It never stopped raining. Not truly. It might've drizzled, or splashed or allowed a pause within the bulging of clouds and the clap of thunder but it never actually stopped. Not for more than a few minutes anyway. 

Time only existed within the ratatat typing of rain. Between the moment where it splashed and melded into the streets. 

You didn't know what was more irritating, the cramps or that sound. After a few moments, your roommate picked the sound and that was all you needed to hear before you popped another ibuprofen and migrated to the play rooms of the hostel. 

Play room was stretching it though. It was simply a small living room with an ancient boxed tv and folding chairs. It's crowded when the two of you get down there. An odd mix of your classmates and other residents and they’re all watching the news on the weather. 

‘Unexpected’ they said, ‘unlikely to stop anytime soon,'  which in other words meant your earlier sentiment was right. 

You were never leaving this hostel and you were all feeling it. You've never felt so bored, so hungry. And the daily work assignments and sandwiches in the fridge weren't cutting it. You guys were going to have to leave the hostel for food eventually. Maybe that's why you were feeling the way? 

 It was a good hypothesis as the pangs in your belly tightened. You've never felt a hunger like this before. Strong and potent. 

So, a few hours later you're outside now. A few blocks away from the hostel and filled with enough ibuprofen that it might not be the storms that’ll kill you. There's only one grocery store on your street. It's an artificial beacon of fluorescent lights, the door rung when you opened it.  

With wobbly knees, you walked inside and the weather followed. A man with a mop looked up and glared at you. You ducked into one of the aisles.  

You needed something sweet, something heavy. Bread? No. Ice cream? You ran through each aisle. And then you walked and then your just sort of sludged your way around. Each movement made the world curl into itself, your floor tilted beneath your feet. 

By the time you actually got to the front again nothing looked appealing. Tortilla bread suddenly looked too heavy and chorizo looked too much. You looked at your basket, lips downturned. 

Maybe you should just get a drink instead. But even that made you want to curl into yourself. Soda was too much. A lemonade too sweet. What about water? At that your stomach twisted and turned, cold than hot. The cashier looked at you plainly. 

“¿Eso es todo, señora?" you blinked.

He was an older man, with sunken eyes and gray hair that was long but tied into a tight ponytail. He gave off a scent of artificial pine tree, his fingers battered with callouses. He had a gold tooth and his shirt, although clean, was translucent due to the rain that battered through the window every time a customer came in. 

You licked your lips, warmth in your belly overflowed. You wondered if he’d let you get on your knees. If all it would take was a look and sweet words before you led yourself behind the counter-

“señora?” the man's voice boomed you out of your thoughts, you flinched back. “Sorry, I-” you shook your head, “¿Tienes uh agua?” 

His eye twitched. “pasillo 10,”

Your mouth went dry. You looked to the back aisle, at the long tiled floors that seemed to drag on forever. On a back shelf the water sat pretty.  You licked your lips again. Something in you bloomed. It was exactly what you needed. Water.

With a fevered glance back, you battered your fingers against the counter. One gallon would be just as much as the food. It looked more appetizing too, like it would belly over the thirst that ran in your tummy. 

Like a great way to wash the taste of the man off your tongue.  

You shook your head, “Actually-” 

“-¿Te importaría conseguirlo para mí?” the man just looked at you, their mouth downturned. He looked ready to stay no. 

The aisle wasn’t that far away. And anyone with working legs would be able to make it to the back. But something in your face made the man's face relaxed, the corner of his lips pinched. “fine,” then with a glance, “Pero no vomites en mi suelo,” 

Unlikely. In fact vomiting was a very real possibility. You felt it in your throat, in the overtone and queasiness that slobbed in your tummy. 

You looked at him as he left. Watched the skin on his back, the sweat that twinkled down his spine. Your stomach flipped and turned. Suddenly, your hands were clammy and your lips dry. What kind of hunger was this?  

What kind, made you want this? Claws in your back, and kisses on your chest. You wanted it bad, like a bird wanted murder and a plant water, it was a need, a cancer that furloughed in your deepest cavities and bloomed. Ricocheting like a bullet before you fell to your knees and vomited it all out. 

—

You don't go out much after that. 

[milkfromcats]

Some snippets of the fic I'm working on!!! I wanted to write Namor smut so bad, but my brain decided I needed to set the stage before diving in (pun intended).

This doesn't have a title yet, but here's some info:

18+ 🔞🔞🔞

Namor x Afro-Latina OC

OC is female and a mutant

Warnings: there will be smut in this.

Translation:

Chan ch'úupalo : little girl

[to note: OC is of appropriate age, Namor never knew her as a child, there is none of that here. He simply says this to be condescending.]

[saiilorstars]

Serious question here I have not seen one Namor fic//one-shot where the OC /reader is the Talokan Queen where is it!?!?! You don't understand that I NEED this okay 👌

@ me , tag me, I NEED IT.

[3typical3]

Tip for non Hispanic ppl writing Spanglish

*I initially wrote this at 1 am so like, keep that in mind as you decipher this lol

*context is key when speaking Spanglish, if your character is in a professional setting they probably won’t speak Spanglish unless it’s to a fellow co worker who also speaks Spanglish. It’s more of a casual way a speaking yk?

Also parents, I avoid Spanglish with my parents unless we’re switching from just speaking Spanish to just speaking English. But that’s depends from family to family.

It’s typically like switching sentences and not dropping in random words.

Example “ es Que fui a la tienda, and they were out of milk”

Example “ te ves cansada, did you sleep last night?”

“La neta” is and extremely common Mexican slang term, typically means, honestly. It can also be used to mean ‘really?’

Honestly example:

“La neta, Im tired”

Or “La neta, estoy cansada. Im going to bed”

In the case it means “really?”:

ex.) “Neta?! They said that?!”

I personally say “ de que” which is basically saying “like”, it’s a filled term, before saying a sentence in either English or Spanish

example “ de que idk it won’t work”

I’m Mexican so I use “ósea” a lot in both languages. Another substitute for words like:

“I mean,” “it'd be,” ”like,” “so,” “that is,” “therefore,” and “or.”

Ex. “ ósea, it looks weird idk”

The famous “ pero like” I personally don’t use a lot but an example of how it’s used in Spanglish is “ pero like, how did it happen?”

Sometimes I Just say “ fuck” but like in my Mexican accent or in a sentence.

“ fuck, perdí mi pulsera”

When I get startled I cuss in both English and Spanish but a Spanglish example would be

*insert random startling noise

“ ala verga! That scared me” or “ hijo de tu puta madre!” when something REALLY scared the shit out of me lol

“Chingada madre, where did that come from”

Rlly insert any cuss word in there and it probably works in Spanglish.

Edit bc I thought of this the morning after

In Mexican Spanish for whatever reason the word “madre” can be used like kinda like a cuss word lol.

Example “ Me vale madres”

Which in English would translate to “I don’t value mothers” but in practice means “I don’t give a shit” or “I don’t care”.

Another Mexican deep cut is the word “pedo” which yes, means fart but we’ve really given the word so many alternative meanings like

“ no es mi pedo “ = “not my problem”

“Estoy bien pedo” = “in rlly drunk”

“Vas a la peda?” = “ are you going to the party/kickback”

There’s more but that’s like the basics lol.

Also another Mexican term is “Aguas”… which literally translates to “waters” but it’s used as a warning.

“Aguas, there’s car coming”

The most famous of Mexican slang has to be “wey” or “guey” depends on how you spell it. But it just means dude. Another term that goes in hand is, “no mames” which basically means “are you kidding me”.

*men for whatever reason hate when the girl they’re dating or are into calls them wey. I think it’s because it’s seen as either improper or as like friend zoning.

“Wey, you’re not gonna believe this”

“No mames wey, look at this”

Another term is “equis” which basically means whatever

“How was the party?”

“Estuvo equis”

Another example

“ now was she dressed?”

“Equis, nothing crazy nothing wow”

*I recommend for Mexican characters looking into the words, or you can just ask me I just don’t wanna make this longer than I already have lol, “mamar”/“mamo”/“mamon”, each you would think is the same but no, no they are not and using one in the wrong context could be catastrophic lol. They are vital words to our vocab

If you’re writing to a character from a specific country, take the time to learn some slang. Sometimes slang crosses over, sometimes even we use slang we learn from each others dialects. Personally I love “joder”/“no jodas” because of the shows from Spain.

But take the time because if you write a Colombian character using most of the slang I’ve used above, you’d get a lot of hate from Colombians lol.

Some bad Spanglish examples would be

“ why didnt you eat your comida?”

Like no. Just no. Inserting a random Spanish word doesn’t equate to Spanglish, at least not in most Latin peoples lives

“ you look cansada” also just no.

*Edit I saw someone post abt this and I felt like adding it in

If you do insert a random Spanish word or vice versa it’s because you forgot the word but that involves a lot of blanking and being annoyed you can’t dig the simplest word out of you sub conscience lol

Example: “ you look, FUCK what’s the word! You know when you’re cansada…TIRED. You look tired”

Another commenter addition I’ll be adding is using “eh” as a filler instead of “um”. I use both but even in English I default to using “eh” or “ehmmmm”

The worst is when you don’t remember the word, only to have it appear in your subconscious hours later lol

Another fav filler word is “deste” which equates to another more Central American term “vaina” but a less refined way of saying it. Essentially they mean “thing” but that thing can be anything. It’s kinda a word when you’re to lazy to say the actual word.

“Pásame el deste”

*passes them x ítem

“No I meant the remote”

*trying not to kill the person because they could’ve said remote the whole time but chose not to

Sometimes we use bad Spanglish on purpose just to be funny

“Que sad” “Que cute”

* i personally love inserting the word cute into my vocab in Spanish just cuz so to each their own

Something I do is like say something in English and immediately say the exact same thing in Spanish. Or like I’ll say an exclamation in one language then end in the other.

“ GO GO GO, VÁMONOS APÚRATE”

“Que asco, gross”

“WOW, que bueno”

Also if you’re writing like couples tbh nicknames in Spanish would be reserved for when you’re speaking in Spanish and same for English, but each couple is different so if you rlly want to leave a nickname in Spanish in go for it. If you rlly want the endearment to be “ mi amor” please remember that after like the first or second time the Spanish speaker would probably just refer to their S/O as “ amor” or switch between the two.

Which brings me to the terms “mami/mamita” and “papi/papito”. Now, while they Can and are by some used in a sexual manner, they can also be used as general terms of endearment. My mom will sometimes call me mamita or my brother papito.

Amongst couples though it’s just kinda said, I saw someone describe it was you just give motherly energy so “mami” is said lol which I get oddly enough.

Once a couple is well established or just comfortable the woman can refer to her S/O as “ viejo” which is old man lol, but it’s like cute. On the flip side idk it’s typically seen as offensive when a man calls his S/O “vieja” but that depends on culture to culture.

Again mami and papi don’t have to be sexual but can be.

Another simple thing you can do is look up nicknames for certain names.

Examples:

“Mike” pronounced “Mique” for Miguel. Some people like to use “Mickey”, that gained popularity from an old Mexican singer lol.

“Ponchó” For Alfonso

“Ale” Can be used for Alejandro/Alexandra/Alejandra

Another thing I thought of is amongst siblings when referring to our parents we will say like

“Haz visto a mi mamá”

Which means have you seen “my mom” even though she’s both our mom… idk it’s weird but a nice little touch you could add to your writing lol

I get rlly annoyed reading bad Spanglish, sometimes it’s just painfully cringe and just obvious a non Spanish speaker wrote it, and I realize it’s bc most of y’all didnt grow up with it so like this is just what is typical Spanglish most Hispanic ppl grow up speaking, obviously not everyone speaks like this but figured I’d give tips from someone who actually speaks English and Spanish and switches between.

If I missed anything feel free to add on or if you disagree add examples

[funnyexel]

delusional water king

“They’ll see you as my goddess.” Shaking your head, you back away from the man. 

“I’m not a goddess. I’m an experiment.” You show him the number on your lower back, accompanied by scars along the skin you displayed to him. Staring at your figure, he noticed the scars were pink in your dark skin, most likely scabbed up and picked away by the strong currents. Shoving your shirt down, you cross your arms over your stomach, looking down and away from him. 

“I am grateful that you saved me, I am but...I don’t want to destroy the beautiful city you helped build.” His eyes bore into you, even as you’re not looking, the chance of intimidation being too great. 

“I can’t control it, Namor.” The way his name moved off your tongue and into the air made him tispy, it echoed in the cave, bouncing off the walls. 

“You saw what I did. I killed so many people.” Glossy eyes stared up at the feathered serpent god. He squinted at you with a smirk playing at his lips, was he finally seeing the real, troubled you? Turning to the hole in the ground that leads to the endless body of water, you fully intend on leaving. 

“I’m sorry, if this is disrespectful to you. Please understand that everywhere I go destruction tends to follow.” 

“Go ahead.” He responds after listening to you, biting your lip and moving a hair from your face, you sigh. 

“I will disregard the disrespect. Only because it is coming from you, in reina.” Giving him a shy smile, you nod not quite understanding the last bits of what he said.

Standing off the edge where rock meets water, you step onto the liquid, turning to him and giving him a small wave. Submerging into the water, a small bubble tracing around your body that keeps air flowing while the water propels you through the small tunnels and out of Talokan. The feeling of guilt tugs at you for leaving your savior but the guilt of killing hundreds of people where you were held captive ate you alive. Reaching the surface, the bubble of air slowly deteriorates as you walk up to the sandy shore. Moments to dawn, you catch your breath as you walk away from the beach, taking one hesitant look back before disappearing into the dense forest. You needed time. Time to figure out your powers, time to find yourself and forgive yourself. It didn’t take long for you to forgive yourself for the unfortunate events at the hell hole, in the matter of days you thought and realized that losing your temper had to have been the best case scenario. 

You spent time in an abondoned hut alongside the oceanside. It was peaceful, the waves were a natural lullaby and helped with the unease of sleeping. Being self-efficent gave you the chance to fool around with your powers, learn what you can do without causing a catastrophe. Sitting elevated above the waves, you meditated and wondered if he would try to find you. 

“In reina.” You whispered opening your eyes, looking across the blue mirrors that connected with each wave, you could’ve sworn you heard someone say it before you.

Refraining from saying ‘hello’ or any of the sort. You’d rather not know if someone is here with you. Moving closer to the edge of the small cliff, you sway your hand in a circular motion, the waters pushing itself into a dance. Watching closely as the water formed a small cone shaped tornado that sunk to the bottom of the shallow floor. In this it showed, the particles of sand and small plants being swept into the current. Putting your hand in your lap, the mini tornado, slowed to a stop and transitioned back to the usual current of the ocean. Looking around your surroundings once more, you get up, dusting yourself off and go back to your hut.

If you could say something different to Namor, what would you say? Ask him what ‘in reina’ means or what he meant by ‘my goddess’. You were so shocked by what you’ve done prior that it didn’t register how handsome the man was, his tan skin, fit physique, raven hair and darkness that hides in his brown irises. A clear portrait of the man was painted onto the walls of your mind, and you were repeatedly looking at the painting, thinking of him after days of being alone. Laying down, you get comfortable on the floor bound cot, closing your eyes, your body relaxes on the soft surface.

“Y/n, in reina.” The voice deep, meaningful and close. Opening your eyes, your rest felt like it only lasted a split second. Looking around, you were surrounded by turquoise looming lights. The scenery definitely unfamiliar. Standing to your feet,

“Nib óolal, waal mía,” you turn to the sound of feet shuffling behind you and catch a glimpse of a blue skinned person leaving. Dark messy hair enters your view as you shake your head. Convinced that you’re hallucinating about this man, this dangerously attractive and hot man.

“What are you doing here?” You say in complete disbelief. A slight furrow in his brows as he gives you a small smile and honestly you could’ve dropped your panties for him right there. Wait what?

“I have changed my mind.” He reaches behind his neck, taking off one of his necklaces.

“Changed your mind?” You relay back to him in confusion, at this he smiles and nods.

“Can’t someone have a change of mind?” Your mind is fogged with confusion and its clearly displayed on your face.

“Yes, but I’m not following. I don’t understand what you're saying.” The small sounds his jewelry made as he rests them down on the nearest surface, echoes in the little pauses of silence.

“Am I not speaking english?” He asks as if you literally couldn’t understand. You realize he’s joking and chuckle.

“You are. I mean- ….What did you change your mind on?” You lose your train of thought mid sentence, his muscles suddenly having more definition now that its no longer covered by the many necklaces he wore.

His masculine stature compliments his collar bone and defined jaw thats hidden under a well kept beard. You need to get a hold of yourself, zoning out while observing his body and objectifying him when given the slightest chance. What would he do if he found out? Something bad you hope. Blinking yourself out the trance, bare chest is in your eyeshot. Looking up through your eyelashes, he’s already looking down.

“You.” Watching as his palm rests along your cheek, steadily tracing down your jaw and stopping by your chin.

All the while your breathing hitches, his thumb rubs along your lower lip. Most alarms are ringing in your head for you to stop but whats a simple kiss? Your hand slides up his waist, toned stomach and rests on his shoulder. His gaze shifting for a moment to your hand and back to you, by then you were already pushing yourself up. His lips pull you into a hypnosis of only wanting him, only wanting to kiss him, wanting to climb in his skin. His lips stray from yours to your cheek and neck in a rushed manner. His arm capturing you in an embrace to keep you from stumbling backward.

Your chest heaves excessively as you realize what you’re going to do. Failing to release you from his embrace, he guides you to a soft patch of the cave. It was odd, grassy and soft as he laid you down. The space made you wonder about the deep sea of unknown even more, if there’s possibility of healthy gardens thriving underwater, what other possibilities are there? Your hands glide over the greenery, feeling the cushiony plants and enjoying the pleasant sound it made as your hands moved through. All your senses were being satisfied, especially your eyes. The sight of him kneeling in front of you can make any women weak. He observes you and your fascination with the scene. His hands compliment your skin, when they stroke your thighs, goosebumps rising on your skin. Despite your body growing hotter and hotter with each passing moment. Leaning down, he kisses up to your core. Kisses alternating from right thigh to left thigh, your hips accidentally jerk once he’s two kisses away. His gaze shifts to you once more and he smiles. His dimples peaking through.

Your excitement is getting the best of you as he pulls your pants off, his finger tips gracing your lower stomach. Lowering his head to your core, you close your eyes and he kisses you. One long slow swipe of his tongue from your hole to your clit. His tongue teasingly licking at your clit, small and kitten like. You hum a moan, your hand hovering over your lips in upmost disbelief. Sucking on your folds like a starved man, he hooks his arms under your thighs and his hands grip at your thighs. Sweat beads down your forehead, mixing with a tear of pleasure. Finally opening your eyes, he is totally indulged in your pussy. Your shiny wetness on his cheeks, his head moving from side to side to make sure nothing is left untended to. A broken gasp leaves your chest when he nips at your clit sharply. Fanning yourself, you take in deep breaths at the realization that your body is overheating. You attempt to plead his name but his tongue slips in your hole at the right moment and touches your g-spot. Making you shriek.

“namor…” You mutter, breathing heavily. Your pussy squeezing his tongue and legs clenching on his head, demanding more. Shaking your head, your moans leave your throat in a struggle.

Cumming all over his cheeks and chin, he laps up the mess and unhooks his hands from your thighs. Your eyes follow his stature as he sits up. Your chest heaving up and down, he holds you in a compelling trance.

“What are you doing,” His voice dips in a jagged tone, warning you and stopping you in your tracks. You were scooting away from him.

“take me home, please.” You trembled as he shifted close.

You cross your ankles and shield yourself from him, “we can’t, namor please, listen to me.” He shakes his head, his playful manner gone.

“I hear you, but I won’t listen.” His hands uncross your ankles, opening your legs to him once more, “I’ll fuck you until you beg to stay with me.” You gasp, his hard-on rubbing against you as he raps your legs around his waist.

The waistband of his shorts gone and your eyes dart everywhere. This is what you want, it is, but this is one of those journeys that you can’t turn back from once you’ve begun.

“Look.” He commands your body with a word, this brings a soft smile to his lips.

“I deserve you. I knew I did when I first saw you,” he moans softly when he uses his fingers to part your soaked lips.

“I waited this long, can’t you give me something I deserve, hm?” His attention was on you, his tip moving between your lips and squishing around your come. You moan as nod to the man, cursing yourself at your wordless affirmations.

a/n: don't mind the title I'm just having fun at this point...and here's the translations cause I know some of y'all lazy asf

in reina - my queen

Nib óolal, waal mía - thank you, my child

more of my writing

[risingoftime]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊 | 𝖘𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝖔 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

synopsis: Shuri pays a visit to Riri’s new apartment but is surprised that she no longer lives alone.

word count: 3k

warnings: smut, fingering, kimoyo bead toys, vibrating toys, dom!shuri, sub!reader, orgasm control, finger sucking, overstimulation, praise, slight hurt/angst/grief, drugged sex, marijuana use, couch sex.

note: haven’t written in a while, but I’m back now! I am slowly but surely going to get through requests, so please be patient with me ˙ᵕ˙

18+ | minors do not interact

➴ feel free to send me more thots

I set up my canvas in front of me and aligned my paintbrushes in the way I liked before lighting the spliff I had rolled earlier. I’ve been trying to get motivation, but I haven't had the easiest time finding inspiration around me since my Mother passed away due to cancer. Saying that my mom was my best friend is an understatement. At times it felt like she was all I had. I don’t have any siblings, and my Dad, I try my best not to think of him anymore. I remember crying to Riri once she returned. She hadn’t responded to my calls or messages when she got involved with the Wakandans. I understood why, but I will never forget the loneliness I felt when I couldn’t turn to my childhood best friend. If there is anyone who I can count on, it is Riri. When Riri returned, she rarely left my side. It’s the reason why we share an apartment now. We live close enough to MIT, so she doesn’t have to commute far, and my art gained a lot of following, so I opened a gallery in Massachusetts. She made money from hustling students and doing their school projects. While my gallery and custom canvases have allowed me to work and afford anywhere, I please. I took a big hit of the spliff before going on my phone to order a pizza since Riri was still at MIT working on her midterms. There was no point in waiting up for her to cook. I turned up my speakers to drown out the white noise with neo-soul, thought it would suit the vibe I’m on as I smoke and paint. I turned back towards my empty canvas, fiddling with my brush. It’s been a month, and I still couldn’t get the image of the Wakandan Princess Riri described.

I already have plenty of sketches of what I thought the Princess would look like in her panther suit, but I don’t think I’ve successfully captured the vulnerable side Riri spoke of yet. I lightly sketched an outline of her face in the top corner for reference before I decided on a pose and background. I chose the streets of Chicago to drape the backdrop, the neighbourhood I grew up in. I was centring the female Black Panther surrounded by the faceless members of the hood. I got lost in my art, utilizing my childhood memories to fill out the spaces on the canvas until I was left with the area the panther would occupy. I fiddled with my pencil as I tried to envision the stoic expression she would have.

The knock at the door pulled me away from my work. I was surprised that the pizza arrived so quickly. Tony’s Pizzeria was rarely on time, but it’s the only pizza I liked and worth the wait. I grabbed the twenty-dollar bill left on the kitchen counter and unlocked the front door to find none other than Princess Shuri. I couldn’t hide the shock written all over my face. I jolted backwards away from the door, unsure how to react.

“I’m starting to think American girls don’t like me very much. Riri had a similar reaction when I first visited her at her dorm,” she laughed.

I stood straight, still shocked that she stood before me in the flesh. Princess Shuri brushed past me to enter my apartment and closed the door to the apartment behind her. The Princess was introduced to the mess I’d made while working on my canvas. My drop cloth covered the hardwood floors, my paint supplies were strewn around my wooden stool, and my big green plants were pushed to the edges of the living room. In the distance, I could zero in on my bonnet on top of the couch. That made me spring into action, trying to tidy up the loft. She probably thinks I’m a mess! I was sure that I looked frantic as I did this.

“I’m sorry, I wasn't expecting company. Riri is supposed to come home later in the evening from her exams if that’s why you’re here.” I still held the spliff in my hand and subconsciously took another pull due to the onset of the stress of having the Princess in my apartment. I regretted doing it as soon as I blew out the smoke. “Shit, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” I aggressively fanned the smoke away. But the Princess wasn’t paying attention to me. Instead, her eyes were trained on the canvas I was working on—focused on the spot where I sketched a rough draft of her face. I felt my heart beat out of my chest from embarrassment. Could anything else go wrong?

“I was just doodling and passing the time,” I tensed in anticipation of what she will say next.

“I don’t think you got my jawline right,” she said after giving it the last few glances. I analyzed her facial features and looked back to the canvas. She was right. The Princess’s jawline was now sharper and more defined. Gone was the roundness from the old photos I saw of her in the media. As I walked towards her, I pursed my lips in response and put out the spliff in the ashtray beside my art supplies.

“You should know I’m an artist and sensitive about my shit,” I joked.

“The one and only Erykah Badu,” she smiled in acknowledgement.

“I’m surprised you know the reference.”

Princess Shuri rolled her eyes at me as a way to say, “Duh.” I didn’t know much about her outside of what Riri and the tabloids had told me, which hasn’t been much. The Princess removed her blazer to make herself comfortable and revealed her toned arms in a muscle tank. I tried my best not to gawk as I watched her grab the wooden stool and place it on the opposite side of the canvas.

“Let me be your live muse, might as well get acquainted while we wait for Riri,” she smiled.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to keep me company,” I replied.

“But I want to, and pass me that joint while you’re up” Princess Shuri nodded towards the ashtray holding my spliff.

“Wait, Princess Shuri, are you even allowed to smoke?” I asked incredulously.

“Call me Shuri, and I will be coronated as Queen soon. So technically, I can do whatever I want now.”

“Okay… Shuri” It felt odd calling her by her first name. It made me feel like we were common acquaintances instead of strangers worlds apart. I passed Shuri the spliff, and she leaned in closer to me, tilting her head up to make eye contact with me to make it easier for me to light it. I quickly retreated to my easel to shift it over and prepped my colours to begin working. I watched as she inhaled and exhaled the smoke with ease as if she’s done it a million times. But, there was more to her than meets the eye.

“What made you get into painting?” Shuri asked. Her eyes observed the numerous half-finished projects and paintings on the wall. I’ve genuinely turned our apartment into a more personal studio.

“Uhm, my art helps me process my emotions and trauma. Each canvas is a journal entry for me. When I lost my Dad, I became depressed and introverted. It was my Mother who introduced me to art through different vessels in my life. She wanted me to have an outlet where I could express myself, something to soothe my soul, as she would say.” I blinked back my tears from the memories of her, the loss still fresh in my heart.

“She sounds like a lovely woman.”

“She was,” I whispered.

I briefly peeked at Shuri and saw her analyzing me. Her eyes were sad but filled with tenderness, “I’m sorry for your loss,” Shuri said.

“Me too,” I replied.

“I guess we have more in common than we think” Shuri sighed and pulled another drag of smoke into her lungs.

It was silent between us afterwards, only the music saving us from the tension in the room. I continued to perfect her jawline, adding a darker shade to add dimension. Shuri kept shifting her head, and it was beginning to make it challenging to get a good view of her features. Finally, I set down my brush in frustration.

“You keep moving, and it’s driving me crazy. I need you to keep facing forward toward me with your head slightly tilted to the right,” I huffed.

“Like this?” Shuri began posing in numerous ways jokingly, clearly feeling the effects of the weed. I couldn’t help but giggle a bit at her goofiness. I walked towards her and gently grabbed her chin to adjust her accordingly. I stood in between her parted legs to do this. Shuri’s eyes were low and slightly red. She looked at me lustfully and slowly licked her lips. My stomach erupted with butterflies, and my nerves peaked.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.

“What? Can’t I admire you? It’s only fair after you’ve been doing the same. I want to see why Riri sings such high praises of you.” Her gaze lowered to rake over my body hungrily. Shuri inhaled the last bit of the spliff and stood before me. Holding my chin, she blows the smoke in my mouth, lips grazing mine. I was thoroughly in a daze from my high and having her so close to me. The taste of smoke and her skin drove me crazy, craving more. She bent down and peppered small kisses as she made a trail to my neck, tracing her tongue along my neck and sending shivers down my spine. Shuri smelled sweet, like vanilla and had a hint of something else. I felt the pool of arousal in my panties as she teased me with her hands, groping and massaging my ass. I lightly pushed her off me to meet her eyes, my head spinning from how fast we were moving.

“What are we doing? we shouldn’t do this,” I stated.

Princess Shuri answered my question with her own, “You don’t want me to make you feel good?”

I paused at the forwardness of her question. If we continue, surely there wouldn’t be no turning back. But I didn’t want to stop now. I went on my toes to kiss her lips once more, slipping my tongue inside to deepen the kiss. Our tongues moved against the other. I pushed my body closer, rubbing my breast against hers. Shuri lifted me to press my core against hers and guided us to the couch. I straddled her as she ground herself against me. Shuri moaned in my mouth and bit my bottom lip. Her hands were firm on my hips as she moved me against her to keep pace with her movements. Shuri’s mouth left no place untouched. She left marks on my neck down to my breast. She was sucking and swirling her tongue as she did so.

“Shuri, please, I want you,” I moaned.

“How do you want me, princess?” she cooed.

“I want you to fuck me,” I admitted. She pushed me down onto my back so I was lying on the couch. Shuri toyed with the brim of my sweatpants, making her way down to my already soaked panties.

“You feel so good,” she mumbled against my neck and rubbed my clit in circular motions. Her fingers were slick with my juices. I rolled my waist to feel every stroke and closed my eyes to focus harder on how Shuri made me feel. I found myself getting lost in it until we heard the ringing of my apartment intercom.

“Fuck, that’s probably the pizza I ordered,” I groaned in frustration at the inconvenience of their timing.

“That’s alright. I’ll go get it,” Shuri offered.

“I don’t want you to stop and leave” I couldn’t hide the pout that formed on my face from the disappointment I felt.

“Who said we had to stop?” she asked.

Shuri plucked two Kimoyo beads from her bracket and slipped them onto the folds of my panties.“Be a good girl for me, and don’t cum until I come back.” I was confused about what she was referring to until I felt the active vibrations coming from the beads. I sat up in shock from the new wave of pleasure, my mouth slightly parted as I let out a soft breath. Shuri smirked in response and got up to retrieve her blazer.

“Don’t move,” she said sternly before turning her back and leaving me alone in my apartment. A small whimper left my mouth, and my thoughts were no longer coherent. I needed her to fuck me and relieve me from my aching desires.

I began panting desperately, trying to control my breathing to prevent the orgasm that was building within me. What were minutes felt like hours. The Kimoyo beads stroked my folds and clit in a painfully slow vibrating motion. I tried to find a position that would allow me to gain relief. However, the beads increased their vibration and speed whenever I tried to adjust them. Caressing my pussy with the utmost precision. Shuri knew what she was doing when she created these. I clenched my thighs together, but it only made things even more unbearable. Finally, the friction sent me over the edge, and I didn’t know how long I could stand. My legs started to shake uncontrollably. Yet I refused to move. I want to show the Princess I can be a good girl.

When Shuri came back, I was dangerously close to unloading, “Shuri, please, I want to cum” I cried.

Shuri enjoyed seeing her effect on me without even having to lay a finger. She slowly strolled to me after placing the food on the counter. I envisioned how I probably looked splayed open and vulnerable for her taking. My hair slightly stuck to my forehead, and my eyes rolled back in anticipation of what would come next.

“Look how wet you are for me.” her gaze was fixated on the darkened moist spot between my thighs. I was soaking through my grey pants. “I want you to beg for me,” she stated.

I pressed my lips in contemplation, unsure if my pride would allow such a thing. “Or I could just leave you like this while I help myself to your pizza,” she offered. “No, Shuri please!” She raised her eyebrows and only said, “I’m waiting.” I let out another moan as the beads did not subside or pause. My clit was overstimulated and tender to the touch.

I groaned in protest and looked into her eyes once more. “Shuri, I’m begging you. I want you to make me cum, only you, please.” I rambled in desperation for her to see how needy I was for her. I had no interest in games or toys.

“Louder.”

“Shuri, I only want you right now. I’ll do anything!”

Without hesitation, Shuri removed my clothing until I was left bare. The Kimoyo beads were drenched when we attached them back to her bracelet. Her strength and swiftness were evident throughout. Shuri watched me as she petted my entrance, playing with the sultry fluids inside my folds. Her mouth hovered over mine while she whispered, “You’re so beautiful when you beg.”

Shuri started thrusting into me, pounding her fingers in and out of me at an unmatchable pace. Shuri continued to push her long slender fingers into me, slightly curling them to hit my g-spot. The way my cunt clenched around her drove her to sweet insanity. Shuri’s eyes glazed over me, and she said, “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I first laid eyes on you.” I met her strokes with urgency making Shuri take more control over me. Her other hand fondling my breast and nipple made me cry ecstatically. Her lips returned to the side of my neck, deepening the shade of marks she had already left. I didn’t think it was possible for her to get any deeper into my gushing pussy, but she proved me wrong. At this pace, my neighbours will no doubt know what happened. My screaming moans were insolent.

“Oh yeah, keep fucking me like that. I’m so close.”

I ground my pussy against her hand, riding the swell of euphoria that came over me. It only took a few more thrusts before I arched my back and stiffened under her command. Shuri buried her face in the curve of my neck, groaning quietly. “That’s it, baby. I got you”. The tightness in my abdomen slowly declined as Shuri whispered praises against my skin. My hips faltered from exhaustion.

Once I was settled and calmed my breathing, she slid her fingers into my mouth. I licked and sucked my cum off her two fingers until all I could taste was my saliva and arousal. “let me taste you.” Shuri removed her fingers from my mouth and replaced them with her tongue. Licking the remnants from my lips.

She pulled back to smile and brushed back my curls away from my forehead. “if we don’t move now, the pizza is going to get cold,” she said.

“I don’t think I have enough energy to stand up” my legs felt weak from trembling.

“Well, you have to eat something” Shuri smirked at her double innuendo, and I almost took her up for it before my stomach growled. Perfect timing. Shuri began to laugh even harder at the sound.

“Shut up,” I smiled. For the first time in what felt like forever, a person other than Riri had been able to make me laugh.

[rojasnn]

My bf found my Wattpad and TikTok dedicated to my new ship and it has left a deep dent in our relationship. He has accused me of being weird and finds it bizarre that I read Omega-verse “porn”. I’m aware that the people I write and read about are not real, unlike you, Mr. Onlyfans.

I’m very glad I lost the password to my old acc. I wrote many fanfics whose ships I don’t even remember anymore (I was 15) but stopped when I started working. Sometimes I stalk my old page and I’m glad I was able to finish every single fic and I see people still comment and like. Now that I came back (5 months ago) I have come across some amazing adaptations and I’m glad people find my page and take inspiration from there. Is like my 16yo self is still there, guiding people, motivating them.

[nellycanwrite]

A Request

Part 1 of the “The Request” Series  ||  Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader

Summary: As the daughter of the feathered serpent god, you had always felt the pressure of living up to your father’s name. But you never had to worry; Attuma was always there to quell your fears and follow your will to the ends of the earth.

Or, in which Attuma swears his undying loyalty and love for you, even if it meant being as shameless as to declare his love to a princess when he was but a mere warrior.  

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 10.9K

Warnings: None. Just pure fluffy goodness. If you include a slightly overprotective Dad!Namor then yes, he’s the warning. Maybe a little bit of childhood friends to lovers. A whole lot of Princess x Warrior. 

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

Part 1  ||  Part 2 ||  Part 3

K'uk'ulkan had never felt as much loss as he had the day he had lost your mother. Yet there lay bittersweet joy; for the heir to the throne of Talokan had breathed their first breath and let out a cry so strong it beckoned the creatures of the deep sea to their bidding.

You were born a wee thing; weak and fragile as the old shells that littered the floors of the sea. Yet you held strong in the arms of your father as he witnessed his wife lifelessly lay in their shared chambers. The handmaidens and wet nurses all wept and mourned at the loss of their queen, the ocean swayed with the waves of its people's grief. You cried with your father's subjects as if you had understood the passing of Talokan's queen mother, but K'uk'ulkan never shed a tear, no. 

 He was a king to his people. He was the protector of his nation. A God was he revered by both land and sea.

 He was your father.

 And he dared not to weep in front of the children he held so dear—for even in the heartache of his loss does he remember the weight of his divine majesty and countenance to his people.

 “The queen of Talokan has passed,” K'uk'ulkan swallowed the lump that formed on his throat as he bit back bitter tears. Tears that he will never show his people in a sign of great weakness, “yet she would not have wished for us to mourn in sadness. She brought us a gift that none could ever compare. She would have wished for us to celebrate in her absence for the birth of our child—Talokan's first heir.”

 The you who had been presented with a crown and a scepter of your kingdom's rule since your birth inherited your father's features; the ears that pointed to the heavens as a sign of the divine blood that flowed through your veins, the golden skin that the sun had seemed to kiss in great exhalation to your birth, and the wings of heaven bestowed upon your ankles.

 You were undoubtedly his child. The heir to K’uk’ulkan’s great nation. 

 You were loved by both land and sea, perhaps a gift from your late grandmother's love for the surface, for when you visit the land and take gulps of air do you stay breathing and when you step into the rocks of your father's study do you remain kissed by the sun. You did not change into the color of the sea like the maids that have cared for you, instead, you remained the same color as your own father when he sits idly on dry land. 

 At the tender age of seven did you realize the weight of the name of your father. You aspired to become like him, to fly like him, to lead the people like he did in childish wonder. He showed you the land that your ancestors once owned, the burial sight of your late grandmother, Fen, and the beauty that came with your motherland.

 You yearned for the sights of the surface world, craved for the sun that illuminated the sky—not the one that your father had curated all those years ago, but the one that sits amongst the clouds of the surface—and you whispered wistful wishes to walk into the luscious green of the land that was unknown to you.

 But your father forbids you to go further than the coves of Talokan's entrance. The sole heir to the throne of your nation should be safe. Protected. You were only allowed to go up into the surface every three months, a leniency that your father had so mercifully given you, and stare at the land dwelling wildlife that would so cross your vision. 

 You were merely stuck in the watchful eyes of your guards as you gazed with great longing at the mountains so far from your reach and the forests that would call your name. 

 Despite the love that you had for the beauties of the surface world, you loved your people and your great nation of the deep sea. You loved your father and tried your best to live up to the name of K'uk'ulkan. At the age of eleven you were made aware of your duties to your people. You had made sure that those duties were fulfilled despite the protests of your elders for being so young; that the beloved princess of Talokan need not to carry on the mantle of her royal duties just yet. But you worked hard to outshine your peers to preserve the honor of your father. 

 K’uk’ulkan could not be any prouder than he is now. 

 But the pedestal that you stood on was lonely. You did not have many friends, not because your father was protective of you and had guards at your beck and call, but because you were always so nervous to converse with the other Talokanil children.

 What if they didn’t like you? What if they decided that your status as a princess would hinder their relationship with you? What if they didn’t see you as a prospect to rule them in the future when your father passes the baton of his majesty to you?

 How ironic must it be for the princess of a great nation cower before the idea of friendship to her own people.

 But that had changed when your father let you meet two Talokanil children; Namora and Attuma.

 You knew Namora as your relative—your father’s cousin, to be exact—and sometimes came and went into the palace when you studied. But you never did get the chance to talk to her. You were far too anxious to try and talk to someone whose aura was as intense as hers, even when she’s just a few years older than you.

 “They said they wanted to be your friend, in waal.” my child, he said. Both of them shifted nervously from where they stood, toy spears hidden behind their backs as they fidgeted in place. You noticed how Namora elbowed the boy Attuma on the ribs. He glared at her albeit playfully and said nothing as he behaved.

 You have always noticed the two of them from afar when you studied near your father's throne. They were always rowdy, always hitting each other with their spears clumsily. Despite this, they always laughed and took everything in a merry stride. They never ceased to amaze you.

 Even though Namora was far smaller than Attuma (or any other Talokanil child your age, really), she always won their little play-fights. Their roughhousing caused other children to stay clear of them, but you always found them fascinating. You never knew they wanted to be your friends. You have never as much as held a proper conversation with them except for a few nervous waves and panicked scrambling on your part when they caught you staring.

 “My…friends?” It was your turn to fidget nervously, your hands clasping together and your thumbs twiddling against each other whilst you looked down. You felt the water shift as your father swam towards you, his tender gaze calming you down when his figure covered you from the curious eyes of the Talokanil children.

 “That's right. They want to play with you. I'm sure you were wishing for the same, no?” He chuckled knowingly. You felt heat rise from the back of your neck and crawl up your cheeks—your father had seen you staring at them while they were playing almost everyday!

 Nervously, you nodded ever slowly. There was no lie to his claims. You truly did wish for them to become your friends.

 Attuma's patience must have run out when you were taking your time to reply to your father. You shrieked in surprise when you met the biggest grin you had seen in your life from just above you, an incisor clearly missing in the front of his mouth. K'uk'ulkan laughed and gently coaxed the boy down to your level, his hair flowing gracefully with the water as your father grabbed his ankles and lowered him in front of you. 

 “Wanna play with us?” You blinked at his straightforwardness. You glanced at your father for help, but he merely chuckled and gestured for you to answer. 

 “I—well—um…” He was too close to you that you felt like fainting from your own nerves.

 “Attuma, don't be rude,” Attuma grunted when Namora appeared by his side and delivered a firm whack to his head with a toy spear. You breathed out a centering exhale before shooting Namora a thankful look. She huffed at Attuma, “you might scare her. And you just swam over the king!”

 “I do not mind. But be more mindful next time, Attuma. You must not swim over your elders.” K'uk'ulkan chuckled endearingly at the children's antics. He already knew how rambunctious they would be whenever he passed by them play-fighting.

 Attuma nodded with a gapped-tooth grin but K'uk'ulkan doubts he would really listen to him. But that was alright—he has plenty of time to learn respect. The king of Talokan wishes for these children to be their mischievous selves a little while longer and enjoy their carefree lives as young Talokanil. 

 K'uk'ulkan notices you fidget once again when Namora turns her attention to you, just as eager to make you their new friend. You try to make out words with broken sentences, yet there was no right greeting that would come. You would deflate when Namora would hold the reins of the conversation again. You failed to introduce yourself proudly and your embarrassment made K'uk'ulkan coo—how precious could his princess be?

 He chuckles and patted Namora and Attuma on the crowns of their heads, successfully diverting their attention away from you and into his benevolent smile.

 “She's a little nervous, but she has a good heart. She also wishes to become your friend. But remember that you have to listen; it is the makings of a great warrior.”

 “A great warrior?” Namor's eyes sparkled. Attuma stared at his king with wonder similar to the spark of Namora's eyes.

 K'uk'ulkan chuckled and nodded. You chose this moment to swim to your father's side, hiding half of your body behind his own. You looked at Attuma and Namora curiously while they waited for their king's next words. 

 “A great warrior not only takes a spear and protects their people, but they listen as well. They listen to their people's cries and act upon their needs. It is also your duty to listen to your leaders—for they hold the burden of choice. Never forget that, my young warriors.”

 Your father rubbed your back soothingly and pushed you gently forward. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as soon as you were in close proximity with the two Talokanil children. 

 “Now this is your first task your king asks of you; listen to what the princess has to say, understood?”

 They were eagerly waiting for your next words, their bodies barely holding in their excitement. You would have swam away right then and there, but you steeled your resolve and took a deep breath.

 You said your name with a stutter, but that did not deter you. Your father gave you a reassuring pat to your shoulder. It filled you with more confidence to look them straight into the eye and say;

 “I—I wish to be your friend, Namora. Attuma.”

 The children gleamed happily, the water shifting as they circled you in excitement. Attuma had it in himself to wrap his arms around you and giggle with such carefree mirth that it covered you in a sense of welcome. Of belonging. 

 “You don’t know how long we wanted to become your friend, princesa!” He exclaimed, his arms still wrapped around you firmly. His toy spear now lay discarded on the ocean floor but he didn’t seem to mind.

 Overwhelmed with the attention, you stuttered and twitched in his embrace. But you didn’t feel uncomfortable; it was a pleasant feeling to finally have a friend. But you weren’t used to physical touches just yet.

 A large hand pried you off of Attuma, your hair whipping around you as you were now brought back to your father’s side. You saw him smile cordially at the boy, albeit strained, as his eyes twitched ever so slightly.

 “Now, we have to be gentle with the princess. There shall be no sudden touches in her presence, especially with you, Attuma.”

 Attuma blinked and cocked his head to the side, but he didn’t question his king’s instructions. 

Years have passed since you have befriended the rowdy young warriors that K’uk’ulkan looked upon with great fondness. You, along with Namora and Attuma, have trained under the wing of your father in the ways of the spear much to your new friends’ joy.

 As the next heir to the throne of your nation, you always did your best to meet the expectations that came with the name of the daughter of the feathered serpent god. You would go to the fields of your farmers to oversee harvest, weave baskets with the elderly to help the storage of the new batch of produce, and join the scholars that studied vibranium so you would further verse yourself to the mineral that grew in abundance in your ocean floors. 

 They were once such a tedious task for you; something that you did out of necessity. But Namora and Attuma made it a point to follow you everywhere you go, help you with the work and doubling the yields of your effort, and they made you smile when you were far too tired after your duties. 

 Attuma had made it a habit to make you cling on his back as you swam back home. There was no reason for you to get more exhausted than you already were, he told you. And despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself falling into a habit as well.

 You found your royal duties far more enjoyable with them by your side, and you absolutely awaited the time of the day where you were relieved of your duties to go and spend your time with them. 

 “Don’t you find studying boring?”  Attuma asked you one day, his meticulous hands polishing his training spear near the drop of the deep trenches. You tilted your head as soon as you seated yourself beside him, your legs dangling on the steep edge.

 “I don’t think so…the language of the surface dwellers is fascinating. I find it enjoyable to learn.”

 “You’re better off not knowing their language,” Namora huffed as she emerged from the bottom of the trench, a small lamp containing bright vibranium sustaining you with much needed light. She held her training spear proudly by her side, freshly decorated with shells that she found down below, “you know what they did to our grandmothers and grandfathers. I don’t see why you want to learn so much about them.”

 “It is my duty, Namora. Once I take the throne I might need to talk with the surface dwellers one day,” you looked down on your lap and fiddled with the jade bracelet your father had gifted you on your fifteenth birthday—one that once belonged to your grandmother, “and I’m just preparing…just in case.”

 “We’d be dead before we let any of those surface dwellers see you, princesa,” Attuma nudged his shoulders against yours and grinned, “we’ll make sure you don’t even have to talk to them as long as we’re there to protect you.”

 “Did father tell you to say that?”

 “What? No!” You gave Attuma a squinted eye stare and hummed. He averted his eyes nervously, his hands now working on his spear with more fervor than before. You and Namora snickered at his plight. 

 “He did.” Namora confirmed your suspicions. You sighed but left it be. You knew your father was just trying to protect you, so you let him do as he pleases. Although you did not fully understand the depth of the weight of his responsibilities, you could still recognize the great sorrow that came with his hate for the surface world.

 And you had kept quiet about your longing to go up into the land; for you knew how it would pain him to know that you bore as much love for the surface as you did for the love you had for your nation. 

 Attuma cleared his throat and straightened his back, the spear he had decorated with the teeth of hammerheads now lay by his side. He stared at you with such conviction that rendered you speechless in his presence, and the light from the faux sun that your father had created casted him in a glorious light that made your breath hitch in your throat and the feathers on your ankles bristle in anticipation. 

 “I’ll do my best to train hard, princesa. I’ll become strong enough to protect Talokan—to protect you—so that you won’t even have to worry about any surface dwellers by the time you will inherit the throne.”

 You felt more heat rush from your neck and now up to your eyes, his words giving you so much joy that you could possibly even imagine.

 You had a friend far more loyal than any of your own guards from your father’s command. And if there was one thing you had learned from your duties as princess, that was the honor that came with a loyal subject.

 Your flustered surprise was eventually replaced with giggles when Namora hit Attuma on the head with the brunt side of her spear, her face contorting to one of lighthearted teasing. 

 “Do you really think you’re the only one training to be by the princess’ side? You’ll have to go through me first.”

 “Then I’ll just have to train harder to beat you, Namora,” Attuma glanced at you and gave you a grin, “I’ll be the one to stand by the princess’ side.”

 “You’ve never even beaten me once.” “There’s a first time for everything.”

 She scoffed. “In your dreams.”

 You stopped their little play-fight before it got too heated by pulling them closer to your side, your arms around their necks and laughing with such elation. You were thankful that they came into your lives and became your closest friends, and you would not ever want to see them change as you slowly aged with the sea. 

 “While the both of you train to become warriors, I’ll study even harder so I could be a queen that both of you will be proud to serve under. I don’t want your efforts to go to waste and serve a leader that’s incompetent.”

 “You don’t have to do that, princesa. We shall follow you through the ends of the earth if need be. We already know that you outshine any ruler that came before and will come after you.”

 “My father would not be too pleased if he heard you say that, Attuma.”

 “He feels the same way, don’t worry.” Namora spoke in turn for the boy. You giggled when Attuma gave you a cheeky grin. 

 The three of you laughed with glee, unspoken promises now drifting with the currents of the outskirts of the capital city of your great nation.

It’s almost been a century since you have befriended them. A century since you have made your closest friends and aides. Namora and Attuma were always stuck by your side even when there were calls from their king to gather his strongest men. They gave you counsel, they gave you peace, they gave you protection in your times of need.

 Nowadays, though, Namora has frequented your father’s side more likely than not—mostly because she was his cousin and his most exemplary warrior. Attuma was only second in skill compared to Namora, but he was still powerful in his own right.

 You wondered when would your father hail them as generals; they deserve to be given the title for their service and their wit. You, as the princess of Talokan, can vouch for their competence. 

 “Where shall we go today, princesa?” Attuma asked you, his gait slowly inching closer to your own.

 The boy you once knew had grown into a fine man. He had honed his body to withstand the greatest blows, turned himself into a living shield for your purpose and disposal. You did not want him to go into such extremities, but he always insisted. He even went as far as to hunt hammerhead sharks on his own and nearly killed himself in the process. The bites of hostiles were lodged firmly into his stomach, and the scars that littered his skin became trophies of his successful exploits. 

 You cried and cried beside him as you told him how stupid he was, how foolish he was to do everything in your name. How could he throw himself into danger just to train himself for your sake? It did not make sense to you, and you reckon that you will never understand the mind of a great warrior like Attuma. 

 Despite this, he comforted you and held you close to him; told you that he would welcome any sort of pain just so he could protect you from harm's way. You cried again and punched him in his abdomen—you were sure to tell your healers that you would be the one to patch up your reckless guard as an apology. 

 You felt his warmth from the water that surrounded you as it shifted when he tucked a strand of hair behind your pointed ears. You smiled.

 “You can call me by my name, Attuma. You know that.”

 “How dare I ever utter your name so casually?” He asked you almost incredulously. You sighed.

 “We have been friends for over a century. You can be comfortable with me,” you turned to him with a pout, “please?”

 “Is that an order?” He asked you, a trace of amusement from his quirked lip. You huffed and crossed your arms.

 “You know I don't like giving orders, Attuma.”

 “Then I shall continue calling you by your title, princesa.”

 “And what if I ask you this as a request?” You swam closer to him, your pout breaking out into a knowing grin.

 Attuma stayed silent, his head turned to avoid your piercing gaze. He felt heat from the back of his neck at your proximity, but he didn't dare move away from you.  

 You huffed.

 “You're no fun.” 

 Attuma resisted the urge to chuckle. You looked at him in the corner of your eyes and smiled; you knew he couldn't resist it when you tried to make him laugh.

 “And what of your errands today?” He asked you, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. You blinked and swam towards him, pling his large bicep into the direction of your father's study.

 “We've wasted much time, Attuma. Now come, we are going to the surface.” He nodded in affirmation and led you towards the entrance of the underwater cave systems your father introduced you to as a child. It was one of your favorite places, but your duties called you to the deeper parts of the sea to tend to your people.

 As soon as you ascended, you saw the figure of your father dressed in his cloak as he painted murals upon the walls. Beside him was Namora, her mask on her face and her pallor now blue for being in land. You regarded your father with a bow, gestured him with the sign of your people’s respect, and slowly ascended into his study. 

 “Father.” you called out to him. He paused from his painting and smiled at you, his eyes filling with so much love that it was unlike the name the surface dwellers cursed him to be. 

 “In princesa,” my princess, he greeted you, reaching out to wipe the saltwater away from your eyes, “what brings you here?”

 “It is the time of the year to visit the surface, father. I was just here to let you know before I went.” His face steeled much like the other months across the century you had told him. But it was not in a place of anger—it was in a place of worry for your well-being.

 “I trust you to remember all that I have taught you. Return as soon as possible, understood?” You nodded and grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight in assurance.

 “You do not have to worry. You have taught me well. And Attuma will be with me while I am out, so I shall be safe in his hands.” 

 K’uk’ulkan glanced behind you, now regarding Attuma with a nod of acknowledgement as he placed his mask on his face. Attuma bowed his head in respect and tightened the hold on his spear. The king’s brows furrowed.

 “If you bring Namora with you—”

 “Father,”  you cut him off, “I will be alright. I will not do anything to endanger myself nor Attuma. I will merely visit the borders of the reef, is all. I’m sure our warriors have already scouted the area before they were called back.”

 “In waal…”

 “We always go through this every three months. I do not doubt your worries, but place your trust in me and the warrior I have chosen.”

 Attuma straightened his back a tad bit, his chest rising in pride. He met eyes with Namora and grinned behind his mask. Namora simply replied with a silent roll of her eyes. 

 K’uk’ulkan swallowed a lump on his throat and sighed. He knew you were right. He trusted you enough that you would be safe, especially when someone as skilled as Attuma were to be by your side. It was the surface that he did not trust. It took so much from him and his forefathers even before Talokan came to be. He did not want to lose you to the claws of the surface world.

 He would have volunteered to come with you, to make sure you were safe, but one look from Namora was all he needed to know that he was needed in the council in just a few moments.

 He sighed. There was no stopping you when you had your mind set on a task.

 “Stay safe.” He gently held the back of your head and ducked down to meet your forehead. You hummed and closed your eyes, squeezing his hand in assurance.

 “You sound as if I am going to war,” you joked, “I shall return safe. I promise. It is not something that I have not done before.”

 “You know your strengths, my daughter. But be wary, still. Negligence is the first sign of weakness,” he separated himself from you and turned towards the wall mounted with spears. He took one of his own and gave it to you, the vibranium of the weapon shimmering under the light of the luminescent algae. It felt balanced. Powerful. He then smiled, “and never forget your weapon.”

 You chuckled and bowed your head in respect, the spear now by your side.

 “Yes, father.”

 K’uk’ulkan turns to Attuma and beckons him forth. The warrior obeyed with no hesitance and bowed before his king. You watched as your father nodded to himself and placed a hand on Attuma’s shoulder.

 “She’s a bit of a handful, so look after her, Attuma.” You gawked at him.

 “Father!” 

 “I will do as you say, in ajawo,” my king, he said. The warrior dared to look up and showed his conviction to his king, “I will keep her safe—even when she is a handful.”

 “You did not have to agree with everything my father says!”

 Namora cleared her throat and cheekily chimed in. “K'uk'ulkan is our king. Whatever he says we agree to, princesa.”

 K’uk’ulkan ignored your huffs of protest and Namora’s silent laughter as he squinted at the man, the hand that lay on his shoulder now tightening in warning. Attuma held his ground and did not yield to his king’s hold. He knew the reason for his king’s aggression; it came from a place of protectiveness. You were his only daughter after all.

 And Attuma was a man who held a century-long love for you, something that K’uk’ulkan wasn’t particularly fond of.

 But you were too stubbornly attached to him that no scheme that K’uk’uklan thought of would separate the two of you. He was far too wrapped around your fingers to fully say no to your whims. The king’s only saving grace is the fact that you were far too oblivious to notice the affections of your own guard.

 K’uk’ulkan felt a sliver of sympathy for Attuma. Just a tad bit.

 He narrowed his eyes. “And there shall be no…detours along the way, understood? Keep the princess safe, no more than that.”

 “Yes, in ajawo.” With a final nod, K'uk'ulkan released his grip from his warrior's soldiers and bid a final farewell before being led out by Namora to the depths of Talokan. She gave Attuma a knowing glance and bowed her head before you. 

 “Be careful, princesa. The world will incur K'uk'ulkan's wrath if you return scathed.” She joked. But knowing your father, you did not doubt that he would burn the world if you would come back harmed in any way; more reasons for you to stay careful for your visit.

 You smiled. “I will be careful, Namora. Do not worry. I have Attuma with me as well.”

 She nodded and followed after her king to the water, now disappearing into your view. You faced Attuma and gave him a grin.

 “Let's go visit the surface.”

 You knew the underwater caves like the back of your hand. You weaved through the dark waters, greeting the guards hidden by the rocks. They bowed their heads and regarded you with the gesture of your people, a courtesy fit only for the daughter of their god and king.

 You smiled to yourself when Attuma swam forward when sunlight peeked through the entrance of the surface, his spear drawn and ready by his side. He looked so focused and attentive, his whole body on high alert. You giggled as you reached him and held his hand, squeezing it tightly while looking into his eyes. 

 “You are too stiff. Nothing will harm us here.” You told him. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. 

 “I am your aide. It is only natural for me, in princesa.”

 “I only wish for you to be at ease, Attuma,” you tugged him to the direction of the light, the sun now making itself known to the both of you. Attuma squinted at the sudden brightness; he wasn’t used to seeing something as intense as the real sun, after all. It was his first time visiting the surface world, “you will love the sights, I promise you.”

 Attuma felt wrong to be swimming beside you like you were equals. No aide of the high blood of Talokan should even dare to swim in stride beside a warrior who bore no rank. But by your side, he felt safe and welcomed.

 He did not feel fear despite it being the first time he had ever visited the surface world. Rather, he felt it to be…intimate, in a way. You trusted him wholeheartedly, put your safety in his hands as you ventured outside the safety of your own kingdom, and shared the experience that he knew to be significant to you even if you did not tell anyone your sentiments.

 But he knew. He always knew. 

 And he would protect you in great fealty as you explore the land that you so loved, even though he knew it would anger his own king to grant your taboo affection for the surface world.

 Away from the prying eyes of the other Talokanil, he allowed himself to indulge in his selfish desires and swam closer to you; your shoulders almost touching, hands tightly intertwined, and his heart finally free of the formalities that came with being your guard.

 He let himself become a man whose soul reached out to you in longing. 

 Your heads broke through the water and were hit by the rays of the golden sun. You let Attuma adjust to the light for a few moments, his hands shielding his eyes as he tried to view the sun from between his fingers. You watched his skin slowly turn blue as the air hit his skin, and you had to smile ever so slightly as you watched him marvel at the green forests just across the beach. 

 “Your mask.” You reminded him, the hand that was intertwined with his tightening in your hold. He nodded albeit meekly, seemingly embarrassed to have forgotten to equip himself in the midst of his awe, and let go of your hand to make sure his mask was secure.

 Attuma already missed the warmth as soon as he willed himself to part from you in a respectful distance, now aware how shameless he was to have succumbed to his own desires.

 You guided him to the rocks that overlooked the beach, just by the edge of the corals that your people have grown to create a border for those who visited the surface. It was a reminder on how you were never truly free to roam the surface and discover the riches beyond your own kingdom.

 The stories your father had told you plagued your mind, but beyond the violence that your forefathers have witnessed, robbed of the land that was yours by birthright, you wanted to see for yourself the motherland that your grandmother loved. You were angry at the surface dwellers, yes. You raged at the thought of the conquistadors that tainted your ancestral home. 

 But you never did loathe the surface. You just wanted to connect to the land of your ancestors that you were stripped of. 

 You were broken from your thoughts when you heard the squelch of water on rock. You looked beside you to see Attuma in full attention, his visage that of a man in full guard. You would have laughed if you saw him so serious in the midst of such a peaceful afternoon, but you knew how much his duty to you and your king meant to him.

 Attuma stood by your side whilst you leaned back and rested your feet on the water. You patted the space beside you, but he shook his head. You pouted. 

 “Join me to rest. You are not bound by the rules of my father here,” you told him, your face cracking into a mischievous smile, “be at ease, Attuma.”

 “Is that an order?” He gave you a glance, his eyes twinkling under the sun. Only now did you appreciate his dark gaze. It was as intense as it was full of life. You giggled and patted the empty space beside you once again. 

 “A request.”

 He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes locking into yours and sending shivers down your spine. You held his gaze, the water on your skin turning cold when the breeze hit your flesh. With a huff, he put down his spear and sat next to you, his hand dangerously close to your own. 

 “If you’ll allow me.”

 In silence did you bask in the beauty of the faraway beach that should have been inherited to you by your ancestors. The lands that stretched across the plains and the jungles of vivid colors would have been yours to rule by your father’s side. It pained you to know that you cannot even set foot on those beaches.

 It was the order of your father. The order of your king.

 An order to protect you from the surface dwellers that took your grandmother from him.

 It only served to remind you that—despite the feathered ankles that promised you freedom—you were caged in this lonely corner of the earth, away from the adventures that you wanted to experience in full. 

 “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked your guard, your eyes following the birds that idly preened themselves on the branches. Attuma stared at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips turning into a smile as you leaned forward in interest. 

 “Quite so.” His heart skipped a beat when your eyes twinkled in amazement, your gaze never wandering from the land. 

 “Would it be shameless of me to long for the surface?” You asked him suddenly. Attuma shook his head quickly. 

 “Never.”

 “Speak your mind. I did not ask you to indulge me and curry my favor,” you sighed and wrought your fingers together, your hand now leaving the proximity of your guard’s own, “I ask you for counsel, Attuma. You are one of the few people that I trust.”

 Attuma was silent as he mulled over your question. An aide to the heir of the throne must only listen and follow their whims. The will of their masters were the will of their followers; he dare not disobey such courtesy.

 But in the freedom of the duty that binded him to such rules by your order, he granted himself full autonomy. 

 “It might be so, in princesa,” you looked at him curiously. He held the urge to submit to you, to take back the words of his own opinion, and continued on, “you are the heir to Talokan, the nation built on the suffering of our ancestors who fled the land to hide in the sea. To long for the surface is a defiance to their dying will.”

 “But we were robbed of our ancestral lands. What if I long to get it back? To let our people walk in the motherland that we once came from? To let them see this; the beauty that they were deprived of when we were chased off our own inheritance?” “Then you should be prepared for war.” 

 He looked directly into your eyes, ones that held such young wisdom and hope. But he knew from the countless battles he fought that to reclaim the stolen land you wished to rule is to declare a fight that you were far too merciful to lead.

 “To reclaim the right that we once owned…you must be ready to shed blood; both the blood of the surface and the blood of your people. But to declare battle you must reveal our nation. Our king’s will shall not allow such a thing.”

 Attuma watched as you lowered your head, trapped in the swirl of your thoughts as you continued to deliberate the weight of his words. He flagrantly allowed himself to reach for your hand first, draw circles on the back of your hand tenderly, and scooted himself closer so his hulking gait would protect you from the prying eyes of the world. 

 You squeezed his hand with yours, your breath stuttering at your next words.

 “And what if I still desire to reclaim our land back, Attuma?” You looked up and held his gaze, your eyes now steeling itself to one of conviction.

 He smiled.

 “Then I shall shed blood for your will, in princesa.”

 You searched for any sort of hesitation in his strong features, to try and coax out any sort of loose ends of his loyalty. But you saw nothing of such sort; there only lay pure faith to your very existence, one that you recognize as unyielding. 

 You stared at him right in the eye. It was piercing, cold. One that beckoned utmost honesty from your aide. It was not a simple decision to make—even the words you have uttered this very moment would be considered blasphemous. Outright treacherous.

 “Even if it means to defy the orders of your king?”

 He did not waver as he replied.

 “You are the one that I serve. My loyalty lies with you.” He took his spear and knelt before you, his one knee digging into the rock in which you lay. He pierced his weapon down into the earth, took your hand to rest upon his cheek, and presented himself to the utmost fidelity.

 “Have you not sworn your service under the name of my father?”

 “I have sworn nothing,” he practically growled, his grip on his spear tightening, “I long for nothing more than to swear my piety to you. I am indebted to K’uk’ulkan; I revere him as my god and king. Yet I cannot stand the thought of offering my loyalties to anyone else but you.”

 You felt your heart throb against your chest, your eyes stinging with wet tears. It was a feeling foreign to you. The waves usually wipe your tears away at the bottom of the sea. But here on land, you wore your heart on your sleeve. It was an overwhelming feeling, one that urged you to cover your mouth to stifle your joyous sobs.

 In the face of the man you had grown up with, in the presence of such undying loyalty did you fail to mask your elation. Yet your head was muddled with confusion—why was he always so devoted to you? Why would he risk being cast out when your father still sits on the throne and swears his loyalties to you? Why was he so willing to defy the orders of his king for your selfish whims?

 You knew the weight of a warrior's oath. It was not something to be taken lightly. Warriors would swear upon the names of leaders who have fought countless battles, led the charge to warfare, and those who were considered gods like your father.

 You were none of those.

 You were not your father.

 “Why?” You asked him, your hands trembling against his cheek. “Compared to my father, I am nothing. Why would you swear your loyalty to me when I have nothing to give you in return? It will still be years—centuries, even—before I could inherit the throne and bear the title of queen mother. So why?”

 Silence fell between the two of you, the waves of the high afternoon playing the symphonies of its motherlands. You felt like you were suffocating despite the beauty that surrounded you while you waited for him to speak.

 Finally, Attuma slowly raised his head and kissed the palm of your hand. It brought a wave of heat from the back of your neck to your cheeks, and even the tips of your pointed ears warmed at the gesture. 

 “Will you allow me to speak out of turn?” He asked you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. You blinked back the tears that obscured your vision and nodded.

 “Speak your mind, Attuma.”

 He breathed in a stuttering breath, the hand that held yours tightening and trembling. It made you nervous; a warrior such as he, the embodiment of a shield that protects his nation, stuttered and shook in your hold. He could overpower you at any second, purge the world of your existence, but here he was, weak and vulnerable in your presence. 

 He locked eyes with you, those gorgeous oaken eyes stared deep into your very being without reservation. You found yourself feeling faint, as if you have fallen into a pleasant trap that you weren’t too keen on getting out of. 

 And with a steady voice he said;

 “I love you, in princesa. I always have since we were children. I only breathe to serve you, only live to please you. If you so asked me to burn the world and slay your enemies, then I will show you the ashes of their bones on a jaden chest. If you asked me to become your shield, then I shall parry every blade for you and protect you with my last breath. If you asked me to become your spear, then the blood of your foes shall dye the sea in red…” 

 He paused as he drew closer, the heat of his body enveloping you in a sensation of great adoration. He gripped your hand tighter, his lips lingering on your palms as he leaned further into your touch. 

 “...and if you asked me to become your beloved, then I will become the most faithful man you would ever lay your eyes upon—for your joys are my joys, and your sorrows are mine to bear.”

 You felt your throat constrict, the heat from your face now traveling down to the tips of your fingers down to the very ends of your feathered ankles. Your wings bristled and shook, your breath hitching at every breath, and you felt the sudden urge to look away from those unwavering eyes. But the gravity of his own magnetism was enough to drive you back in; to never tear your gaze away from the man that confessed his love for you.

 Though this begs the question; did you love him back?

 Attuma must have misunderstood your silence for rejection, so he slowly removed your hands from his cheeks and bowed his head in shame.

 “I have spoken out of turn. I apologize,” he held his spear tightly, but he never removed himself from his bow—a sign of his submission to you, “whether or not you accept my feelings, I will still stay by your side. I will serve under you, make my oath in the witness of K’uk’ulkan of my loyalty to you. I will ask for nothing more.”

 Your heart broke at how easily it was for him to apologize. No person should ever apologize for the feelings that they bear. It only proved how devoted the great warrior was to you; for him to present his feelings of love to you and still offer his loyalty in the face of rejection. 

 You recounted the days of your youth down to the decades worth of memories with him. How could you have been so blind to have ignored the signs of his affections? How blinded were you with your duties that you allowed yourself to turn away from the subtle declarations of his feelings for you?

 How foolish were you to actually dismiss your own feelings for him? You love Attuma. You always have.

 “Why have you not said anything in the century we have been together?” You asked him, your voice low and meek. You did not want to lose the warmth of his skin, so you gently lifted his head with both of your hands and let him meet your eyes. 

 You saw the gaze of your warrior waver.

 “My duty is to protect you. How dare I be so impertinent as to bear feelings for the daughter of my own king?”

 You shook your head and leaned in to rest your forehead against his. You heard the clatter of his vibranium spear on the rocks and into the water below. But you simply did not care at that moment. 

 “You are never impertinent, not when I bear the same love for you as you have for me.”

 You heard his breath hitch. The hands that lay dutifully to his side now flying up to your face and hold your cheeks so delicately. In the large and dependable hands of your warrior did you feel safe and loved. It was unlike the other times that he had shown you affection when you were merely just friends.

 What were you now, you wondered, now that you and him share the same feelings.

 In that moment of solace did Attuma realize his place, but he did not dare remove his hands from you. He ghosted his fingers over your pointed ears, tangled his hands with your wet hair, and held you tight like you were the most precious thing in the sea. 

 He was but a mere warrior—a shameless peasant whose hands had brazenly touched the skin of his master. 

 “I am just a warrior without a title. You cannot possibly love me as I am.”

 “But I do. I just have never realized it sooner, in yakunaj.” My love, an endearment that made Attuma’s heart flutter and weak against your hands. 

 “And when we are in the eyes of scrutiny, what then should you do?”

“It matters not, my dear warrior.” 

 “But your majesty—!”

 “Am I not the heir to the throne of Talokan? Am I not the princess whose rule is imminent in the witness of your king? Of whom I shall love is a matter of my own choice that not even the feathered serpent god could refute.”

 You drew in closer and wrapped your arms around him. He was strong and powerful, but in your arms did he surrender himself. He was not the warrior you knew him to be. In your arms, he was just a man who held a century worth of ardor.

 “I dare not disgrace you, in princesa. I have nothing in my name but the battles that I have fought as a mere soldier.”

 He removed himself from you and held you tenderly by the cheeks. You leaned against his touch, completely surrendering to the feelings that you have long since ignored since the beginning. He inched himself closer and continued to speak with great affection.

 “But if I would be so bold to ask for you to wait; wait for me to garner titles of my own, build the foundations of my exploits, and ask you again to become mine, would you be so merciful as to grant such a plea?”

 You stared at his resolve, the gaze of the man you have realized you have loved now asking you for the mercy to wait. You cupped his strong jaw and caressed his cheek with your thumb as you said;

 “I will grant you mercy, in yakunaj, only if you fulfill my wish.”

 He became alert, his body ready to grant your desires.

 “Anything, in princesa. Anything for your majesty.”

 “Then I wish for you to call me by my name, I beg you. We bear more than just pleasantries of warrior and royal.”

 He gave you a smile, one that even his mask could not hide, and leaned in to touch his forehead against yours.

 “Is that an order?”

 You smiled. 

 “A request.”

It was merely a few decades later that the great capital city of Talokan was abuzz with the whispers of a great blessing bestowed upon their royal heir. It lit the fire of pride within the citizens of the hidden nation, a pride that K’uk’ulkan wore with high regard as he descended to present himself on the forefront of his throne. 

 Their darling princess, the radiant pearl of the deep sea, was ready to assume the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s legacy. 

 As your citizens have revered your father as the god king of your people, they have revered you as the same; a deity whose hands extended to the waters to create a shield of protection, a divine being whose mercy radiates the warmth of a thousand suns, the daughter of the feathered serpent god whose wings carried you through the winds of battle through the century. Your chest bloomed with unending bliss when you realized you've lived up to the name of your father—an entity that you've molded yourself into the likeness of.

 You had held the expectations of the name of K’uk’ulkan to your very heart, and you were thrilled at the fact that your father had acknowledged your efforts in the witness of your people.

 Your kingdom cheered and praised your name as you descended into the throne room from above, the feathered headpiece similar to your father’s symbolizing your authority as heir apparent of Talokan. Your father extended his hand for you to take, and you had done so with such grace befitting of your title as radiant pearl of the sea.

 And there he had presented you with a throne of your own, just below the teeth of the monster of the deep oceans that he had slain many years ago. It was decorated with the finest of jade, vibranium, and gold with the likeness of an open shell. Compared to his throne that was decorated with the splendor of his long battles, yours was the embodiment of the abundant riches of your nation. 

 It was a symbol, perhaps, that the toil of your father’s work had borne fruit of great wealth to Talokan and passed down to the generations that would come next.

 The radiant pearl of the sea had finally assumed her reign as heir apparent after a century of her rule by the feathered serpent god’s side, and there was no one in the kingdom who would oppose to the majesty of K’uk’ulkan’s daughter—not because she had the blood of their king in her veins and the feathered ankles that proved her divine lineage—but because of her love for her people and the duties that she had so diligently carried with grace.

 K’uk’ulkan swam to your side and guided you to rest upon your new throne. It was a new feeling for you, one that could not compare to the childish wonder that you had just sitting on the lap of your father when you were still a wee babe. In the high seat of your throne did you overlook the citizens that had adored you, watched as they bowed their heads and put their hands in the likeness of a serpent’s mouth as respect to your inauguration.

 As much as you loved to see your people acknowledge you, you could not find a glimpse of your best friend and secret lover. To you, their opinions were the only ones that mattered. It would not feel as joyous as it is if they were not to witness your greatest achievements. 

 Where were they, you wondered. They promised to be here in time for your ceremony.

 “Something troubles you, in waal.” your father beside you, the feathers from his headpiece tickling the sides of your cheek. You gave him a smile, one that masked your worries, and found comfort in the hands that gripped yours reassuringly.

 “Namora and Attuma are not here,” you supplied him, your eyes scanning the crowd of your people, “I worry for them. They promised they would come.”

 K’uk’ulkan smiles and brings his hand to caress the base of your neck tenderly and rest his decorated forehead on your own. Your breath, which you didn’t realize had become labored, instantly calmed at the mere comfort of your father.

 “Quell your nerves, my daughter. They will come.” With a knowing smile, your father separated himself from you and swam up to sit in the jaws of his own throne. The people all cheered while chanting the words of praise to Talokan’s honor.

 K’uk’ulkan puts his hand up slowly and everyone falls into a hush. The air was still buzzing, the water under your command feeling the energy of everyone’s bated breaths as they awaited the words of their king.

 “We honor the place of my only child as the rightful heir of Talokan. She has proven herself worthy of such a title for a century, and the seas have blessed us with such excellence that no one could dare defy. The future of Talokan is bright.” 

 Your people cheered and hollered, yet your eyes still strain to find your best friend and lover. You tried your best not to feel upset, but you felt a painful twist on your heart.

 Where were they? It was unlike them to break their promises, especially your beloved warrior, Attuma.

 “Not only do we celebrate the coronation of my daughter’s place in my council, but we celebrate the oath of our two new generals.” your father continued, your head snapping up at the familiar silhouette of your secret lover up the grand entrance of your underwater throne room. Your heart settled and you smiled in great pride as your father presented them at last.

 “Namora and Attuma, the new grand generals of Talokan.”

 They extruded such power as they descended ever so slowly, the light of the vibranium sun creating a halo of light around their bodies. They wore new armor that suited their character; the likeness of the spines of a lionfish adorned the body of your best friend, Namora, and the skull of a hammerhead shark and the spikes of its teeth littering every crevice of Attuma’s plated armor. Both of them held their respective weapons made of vibranium, and you could only smile at how proud you were for them.

 You couldn't help but ogle at the sight of your warrior. You had kept your word and waited for him to finally gather his own accomplishments before asking for your hand. But that did not stop you from sneaking off and relishing yourselves in each other’s company. No one had ever suspected anything yet, but you gathered that your people were still under the impression that Attuma only bears one-sided love for you. 

 Oh your poor love, you didn’t mean to make him wait for so long.

 You wondered when he would finally ask for your hand, to finally make your blooming romance known to your father and your citizens. It filled you with warmth just thinking about the possibilities.

 You and Attuma locked eyes as soon as they had finished their descent, his eyes raking across your figure sat on your jeweled throne. He felt the need to kiss you right then and there, a privilege he had not yet taken across the decades of your secret romance in respect to his promise. He dared not touch you so inappropriately when you were not yet his, but he was sure to finally claim you as his own.

 You were a jewel in Attuma’s eyes. A gem fit to be heralded around in great praise to your charm. Although your beauty spoke wonders of your outward appearance, you were a strong warrior, maybe even as strong as Namora. You are wise like your father, and you cared for your kingdom in the ways that a mother would.

 You were crowned princess of Talokan, heir to the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s majesty, and the future queen mother of your nation. 

 Attuma could not even begin to describe in words such a blessing that fell into his hands so tenderly. 

 As soon as they were done taking their oath, bowed before you and K’uk’ulkan to swear their undying fidelity to your nation of Talokan, Attuma and Namora shared one look before your warrior ascended alone, careful to keep his gait below your eyes and on the feet of your throne. Your people fell into a hush, the momentary celebration ceasing to wait for Attuma’s next words.

 “In princesa,” he started, his eyes looking up to lock eyes with your father, “K’uk’ulkan. If I may speak.”

 “Attuma,” he regarded the warrior, his head held high in authority, “what do you wish to say?”

 “My fealty lies with no one but the princess,” he bowed low and presented presented his spear by the jewels that adorned your throne, “the oath I shall take is one reserved to be of service of her, and if she wills me to serve under you, K’uk’ulkan, then I shall do so with no question.”

 You waited with bated breath as your father stood from his throne and descended to stand in front of your warrior. Your heart thumped in your chest as you saw your father inch closer to him, his hand now resting on his shoulders and urging Attuma to rise. 

 “You have done a great deal for the name of my daughter, but the decision is hers to make.” K’uk’ulkan started, his voice carrying nothing but tender command. He turned towards you and beckoned you forward. You did so without question and swam beside your father.

 “Do you accept his oath, in waal?”

 There was no other answer for such a question. It was something that you had dreamed of since the beginning of your blossoming romance, the fantasy that you had always dreamed to come into fruition.

 With a smile that would outshine the stars of the night, you eagerly replied. 

 “I shall accept your oath with open arms, Attuma. My dear warrior.”

 Your people broke into joyous cheers as Attuma rose from his bow. You turned to pick the spear by the feet of your throne and presented it to him with a proud grin. He replied in kind, kissing the vibranium shaft that touched your hand as soon as he had received it. Heat traveled up your neck and into the tips of your pointed ears at the gesture, your fingers wringing together in bashful fluster.

 K’uk’ulkan smiled at the exchange, but he could not help but urge you away from the warrior and back to your throne. He could not help himself—you were far too precious to be in the presence of a man who fancied you all his life.

 The king turned to Attuma and regarded him with a nod and gesture of Talokan’s respect, the warrior replying in kind.

 “Serve her well, Attuma.”

 Before K’uk’ulkan could return to his throne, Attuma rose high and proud, brandishing his weapon only he could ever wield with such power. A show of strength, if you will, that left the people at awe at the display of his prowess.

 “My king! If I may be so bold, I have something to ask of you.” He declared, his voice loud and strong. Your brows furrowed in confusion at such a statement; what else did Attuma need when he had already pledged his service to you?

 You held the urge to giggle when your father turned with an amused chuckle of his own.

 “What is it?”

 Attuma turned towards you, the both of you locking eyes. And in that moment, he sent you an affectionate grin.

 And then realization hit you.

 He wasn’t going to—!

 “I wish for your permission to court your daughter, the princess.” Murmurs and excited gasps spread across the hall. You see Namora grinning to herself staring at Attuma, impressed. Your cheeks burned with heat, your chest pounding at how incredibly mad Attuma was for declaring something as bold as a courting during your coronation as crown heir. 

 But it was something that you absolutely loved about your warrior, no matter how insane he was to declare his desire to court you in front of the entire kingdom.

 Your father stiffened, his eyes steeled and ready to pounce at Attuma. He had to hold himself back—there was no reason for him to needlessly attack his finest warrior just because he expressed his desire to court you. He could not even dismiss such thought; the titles and the achievements of Attuma held far more worth than any man in Talokan. 

 From where it stands, and with your close relationship with the warrior, he was by far the only man worthy of your affection.

 And so, with a reluctance that held every possible threat in the world, K’uk’ulkan replied. 

 “Prove to me your worth, Attuma, for the radiant pearl of the sea does not need an incompetent suitor to court her.”

 “Father!” You hissed quietly. You felt your father’s animosity course through you in waves. You had to resist the urge to groan and sigh; he was so protective of you.

 But Attuma did not seem phased as he spoke steadily.

 “By your will, K’uk’ulkan.”

 In the eyes of your people did you swim beside your father and held his arm reassuringly. His steely gaze finally fell as he looked at you, and you allowed yourself to swim to the level of his ears and whisper, “Please be gentle with Attuma, father. I also bear feelings for him.”

 He looked at you like he was betrayed, but he was not surprised. How could you not have told him about your budding feelings for the warrior?

 Then again, he knew the throes of a woman when it came to sharing their romantic feelings, so he did not blame you for keeping it a secret from him, your own father.

 “How long have you known?”

 “A few decades,” you smiled sheepishly, “do not be so hard on the warrior that I have chosen. He means it in good faith, and he has done nothing to cross any boundaries set by your command.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “I swear it upon my name and crown, father.”

 Your father pondered on your words for a little while longer and resigned with a sigh. You pressed your forehead against your father’s and giggled.

 “Thank you for your leniency, my king.”

 You separated yourself from your father and swam forward to Attuma. He gave you a cheeky grin, one that screamed unapologetic mischief. You shook your head, amused as his antics, as you raised your hand to cup his cheek.

 “My father has given his word; prove to him that you are worthy of my hand so we will be together, my dear warrior.”

 He dared cup your hands that feathered along his strong jaw and leaned into your touch. You could feel your father’s piercing stare, but the both of you ignored it, too engrossed in your own little world in the watchful eyes of your nation.

 “Is that an order?” He asked you, his eyes boring into yours with such intensity that would have sent you immediately to your knees.

 You leaned in close until your lips met the base of his mighty headpiece, the jagged teeth of the hammerhead shark that he had slain digging firmly into the skin of his forehead. When you parted, you stared into his eyes; the eyes that held nothing but veneration to your glorious name. 

 And with a tender whisper to your beloved, you replied.

 “A request.”

Anyone up for a Part 2? >:))

Taglist: @haideehaids  @xnodamsel

[strawberrishortbabe]

Every time an attractive black or poc character gets introduced into Marvel, fans who are of the same race and/or culture as them has to deal with ignorant white authors taking that character and writing the most blatantly offensive and whitewashed fanfics.

There’s no reason why Namor is speaking Spanish instead of his own native language. It’s not that difficult to do your research and it’s clear y’all have no problem doing it when it came to Thor or Loki. Y’all don’t even bother hiding it yet get defensive when someone points it out. Since we’re on this topic, lets not act dumb about his dislike for white people and the LOW chance of him having a white partner like bffr…

Lastly, we need to be VERY careful on how Namor is written and not play into stereotypes that’ll harm his character (and also Tenoch himself) in the long run. Y’all don’t seem to know (nor care) how dangerous it is to have him being written as the “aggressor” pursuing the “naive and innocent” white girl.

[devilishcupid]

THE KING'S PROPOSAL | Namor

☆ premise: centuries since the calling off of your engagement, namor comes back and proposes once more.

☆ pairing: namor x fem!royal!reader

☆ warnings: romantic history between namor and reader, tension between namor and reader

☆ a/n: genuinely down bad for this man. i love him so much🤧

"Be my queen, and I will be your king."

The room was suddenly filled with the laughs of your advisers. Even you found it amusing. Who knew Namor, the Feathered Serpent God, would be in standing in the middle of your throne room right now, proposing an alliance between your kingdom and his through marriage?

After all, not only did your kingdom have a bloody history with Talokan—you and Namor had history yourselves. Centuries ago, you were old flames whose relationship's end nearly caused a civil war between your nations.

"If I may speak, my queen," one of your advisers appealed. Giving your nod of approval, she turned to the Talokanil King. "Attempts to form an alliance didn't work the first time. In fact, it only ended up dividing us further. Why should her majesty accept your proposal a second time?"

Your eyes narrowed at the steely glint in Namor's eyes. "Because if you don't, a time will come where your people will regret not having Talokan by its side."

The room became quiet as tension filled the air. Millions of thoughts ran through your head. What were his intentions? What did Talokan have that your people did not? Was there truth behind his words? Or was he merely bluffing?

Finally, you spoke. "Leave me with him."

Your advisers were about to protest, but your glare silenced them into submitting to your command. Namor's own advisers, Attuma and Namora, followed suit after a nod of approval from their king. With the last person closing the doors shut, it was only you and Namor in the throne room.

You descended from your throne, your footsteps echoing until you stood in front of your former flame. Looking up at him, you said, "This is the first time we've met since the unfortunate calling off of our engagement, and the first thing you do is threaten me under my own roof."

"Whether my words are a threat or an act of good faith will depend on whether or not you accept my proposal for marriage."

"What you just did was asking for my hand in marriage? You've gotten more romantic since we last met, Namor." You remarked, sarcasm dripping from your words.

A low chuckle left his lips in response. "And you're still the same as always, In yakunaj."

Your eye twitched at the term of endearment he used to reserve for you. "If you think you can charm me into marrying you, I assure you it won't work."

"It did the first time." He quipped, an eyebrow raised suggestively.

"Yet it ended disastrously, did it not?" You shot back, before returning back to your former demeanor. "What do you really want, Namor? We don't make contact for years and now you want me to marry you and unite our kingdoms. Why?"

"Talokan has shown itself to Wakanda," Namor revealed, as your eyes widened at the revelation, "and we have formed an alliance that will be of great help when war arrives."

"Strengthening your nation in preparation for battle. So that's why you've come." You concluded, sighing and shaking your head. "Did we not decide that the surface dwellers will end up killing each other anyway? That we will watch those fools burn without us having to light the fire?"

He scoffed at your words. "That would be true, if they hadn't gotten stronger. I wouldn't had revealed my people's existence to Wakanda if the surface world hadn't threatened Talokan's safety."

Namor leaned into you, one hand gently taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, while the other rested on your waist. "And I wouldn't be here if your safety hadn't been threatened as well."

You gulped, your chest heaving as you stared at him. The two of you were completely silent, save for the sounds of your breathing, neither of you breaking eye contact.

You caught yourself leaning closer to his face, and you immediately pulled away from his grasp. You turned your back to him, cheeks tinged red from how close you were to kissing him. Even after all these years, he still had the same effect on you.

"I won't accept your offer. Not now, at least." You said after composing yourself. You turned around to face him once more. "I'll consider your proposal, but I can't promise my nation's compliance."

"Then I'll leave you to deliberate, your majesty." Namor handed you a large shell, which you recognized as a Talokanil communication device. "Tell me of your decision as soon as you have made it."

You nodded, and Namor headed towards the exit. He stopped in his tracks when he reached the doors, making you raise an eyebrow. "What is it, Namor?"

"I was right. You haven't changed one bit."

"What made you reach that conclusion?"

"It's been years yet making you fall for me still is no hardship."

[inklore]

premise: being in an arranged marriage was complicated enough, but catching feelings for your betrothed? now that was just ridiculous.

pairing: royal!namor x (f)reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: reader comes from royalty as well, therefore this is an au, arranged marriage, light angst as well as very light fluff, mutual pining, alcohol mention.

note: shoutout to @rae-gar-targaryen for sending in this little mistletoe request!! i may or may not write for these two again since i think their relationship would be hella angsty and interesting. but ya girl already has too many wips so lmaooo who knows.

You have lost track of how many minutes—possibly hours—have ticked by since you departed from the lavish holiday party your parents had thrown in honor of your new engagement. The clinks of glasses, orchestrated music, and laughter hitting nerve endings you didn’t think were possible to reach in such a manner that would cause you to bolt down the halls of your childhood mansion.

You had loved parties growing up. Had adored being the center of the ball room's attention. But sometimes you think you had no choice but to adore and love the two. After all, you were your parents' only child. Only heir. Their pride and joy to the point of suffocation.

If the circumstances were different would you be out enjoying yourself? Taking part in the festivities like everyone else? Eating your weight in macaroons and dancing.

Perhaps if you were given a choice in any of this you would be.

Wouldn’t find yourself with a death grip on your third glass of champagne and pacing in your fathers library.

If you had gotten a say in who you were to marry—or given the choice of at least picking someone less…cold, intimidating. Maybe then you’d be just as happy as everyone else at this god forsaking party.

Namor—or K’uk’ulkan, he had emphasized you call him, insisting on it by your tenth meeting. “We are to be married” he had said, giving you a gentle expression that showed neither disappointment or joy in the fact. But still made you feel woozy all the same.

He wasn’t a bad man. Reserved. Cruel to some. Cold to most.

Your first meeting had done little to dampen down your anxiety over the whole arrangement. He hadn’t shown disinterest, or anger. In fact you could barely read his expression at all. The only show of emotion was in the tick of his jaw, the slight crease in his forehead when you spoke about yourself—whether it was from surprise of the many facts you were forced to spew out, sounding almost robotic—or if he just didn’t care. You didn’t know.

But a week later when the two of you had met outside of your home and went on, what could be considered, your first date: he had acted differently.

“Now that your puppeteer strings have been severed,” his tone filled with amusement. “Tell me your actual hobbies. What you like to do, not what you’ve been taught to like.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that had spread across your mouth. You should have felt insulted or scolded him on the insinuation on your parents behalf. But you were not that far up their asses, and as much as it had seemed face-value to people who were only spectators, your parents had left you to your own devices years ago. Your life was your own.

Until this.

Until being their only child came in handy for a business deal.

And when you had shared your love for the opera, classic books, writing poetry, finding yourself lost in your own joy of talking about the things you actually loved: that’s when you saw real emotion on his face. When you say a glint of something in his eyes. A cough in his hand covering up the traces of a smile.

A smile that made him look even more regal and beautiful, if that were possible.

It didn’t take the two of you long to warm up. For you to see that smile un-hidden, to learn more of his homeland and people.

That should have eased your nerves and mind on this marriage arrangement. Should have made you happy to know that you weren’t really marrying the coldest-man-alive like you had thought that first day.

K’uk’ulkan was a man with many layers, layers that you would have years to pull back. You had no choice in the matter.

But even now, after growing to like his company, to think of him as a great man—your dress already bought, venue booked, flowers picked—your nerves refused to settle. Stomach refused to let you rest, to enjoy all of this as much as the rest of your family was.

You just…couldn’t.

Not even with the beautiful golden ring on your finger. Or a lavish party. Or reassuring words from your betrothed. Or the many more glasses of champagne you could see yourself downing in the very near future as you take the last gulp of the one in your hand.

Already turning on your heels to poke your head out of the library to see if a waiter was passing—hoping, praying, for this one miracle tonight.

But your movements halt when you start for the door and the door is blocked by your betrothed himself. The breath caught in the back of your throat almost making you choke, your heart finding itself in your stomach.

“K’uk’ulkan,” you attempt at a smile. Don’t know why you feel the inclination in you to run a hand along your black gown, making sure every crease is straight—every curve accentuated. His eyes following the motion of your hands, and then trailing back up your frame to your eyes; your nerves could not catch a break tonight could they?!

“I see we both had the same idea,” his hands are in his front pockets, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly.

“You’re telling me outlandish parties are not your thing? I don’t think I would have ever guessed that.” You distract your anxious thoughts with a joke. A joke that lands and has him chuckling under his breath. A sound you’re growing to enjoy..too much.

“The celebrations we throw in Talokan are quite different. Less…flashy,” he waves a hand in front of his velvet emerald suit. A suit that fits him so well you don’t think any other man living—or dead—could wear it better.

The mention of his country makes you smile. The country that was soon to become your home. The country you had only visited a handful of times over these past eight months, but had quickly grown to love nonetheless.

“Oh gosh, yes.” You groan dramatically, “I’m counting down the hours until I can rid my feet of these death traps.” You point a manicured, stiletto adorned, foot out from beneath your dress for emphasis.

He chuckles again, “you look beautiful.” He says it so casually, so simply and with adoration that it almost knocks you on your backside. It hadn’t been the first time he had complimented you. Had said how nice you looked in something, had spent too long focusing on your face, looking in your eyes, or having things sent to your house with a note attached “Thought of you - K”—before this.

And yet your nerves still had you ready to run.

If you took a second—a single damn minute—to let yourself dive into those nerves. To stop looking at it at surface level. Coming up with excuses; you only see K’uk’ulkan and that half-smile he was currently giving you. The way it made you feel. The fondness that had grown between the two of you, that left room for more to grow—more feelings, more…other things one felt for their husband. Normal. Feelings.

What they lacked was ease. Feelings were not easy. Love was not easy. And while you had been so hung up on not marrying a stranger another fear had set in, knocked you off your feet and made you want to run from it.

Arrangements were easy.

Love wasn’t.

And that scared you more than the arrangement itself.

“I can have Namora send for-”

“No.” You blurt out. Harsh, fast, and surprising him. The expression on his face grew into something stone-like and worrisome. Making an embarrassed flush burn in your cheeks. You try to recover with a pressed smile, “sorry. Just need some air. This is all just…a lot.” Your eyes downcast to the floor.

You needed that drink. Needed to escape once again. Maybe this time outside in the gardens where no one could find you.

Where the party goers couldn’t be heard.

Where your soon to be husband couldn’t make your blood heat from his beautiful stare.

“I’m going to get another drink,” you state as you try to push past him in the doorway—try to ignore the heat you feel from his body as your body brushes against his.

But then he’s stopping you again.

His fingers curling around your bicep, your side now pressed to his chest. The fabric of his suit making your body feel close to sweating. The heat from everything bound to crack, break, tear at something that would have you perspire through the silk of your dress, leaving your knees even more wobbly.

You don’t try and free yourself though. Don’t even attempt at disingaging the situation, removing his searing palm from your bare arm. Because it’s the first time he’s touched you. Really touched you.

It was laughable.

The first touch from your soon to be husband happening in what seems to be—when you finally look up at him—in frustration, if the lowering of his brows is anything to go by. His dark eyes become so onyx you’re almost frightened of what they are holding back, what he’s holding back from the already tight grip he has on you.

“Stay.”

The words are simple and not at all what you expect from him.

“Why?”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat. The silence growing so deafening you feel yourself tremble when his thumb presses into your skin and starts a light back and forth motion—soft, soothing. “You know why,” and you think—know—those three words alone hold more meaning than any others could. In this situation. With this man; a chunk of ice melted somewhere deep in his chest. For you. From you.

Your lips shake when you part them to say something, what you don’t know. Anything. Everything. Whatever you have to make this moment drag on for centuries. To keep his hand on your body. To finally let yourself breathe for him, because of him.

But then an “ooh” is breaking the spell.

Both of your attentions turn to see two older women in the hall grinning widely at the two of you. Feeble fingers pointed to the ceiling, your brows coming together in confusion until your eyes follow theirs and you see it. Your heart no longer hammering in the pits of your abdomen, but leaving your body all together you’re convinced.

Mistletoe.

The look of worry fades quickly from your face when you see the amused heat that’s on K’uk’ulkan’s.

And while you’re still spiraling from his first touch, you feel completely floored by his next. With the hand at your bicep keeping you glued to him, his other cups your cheek. The pad of his thumb pressed just below your bottom lip. His eyes flashing from your mouth to your eyes, your brain going cloudy—legs barely keeping you stationary.

“May I kiss my wife?” There’s a ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

A puff of air filled with something saccharine, heedy, and something on the cusps of insanity that makes your body turn into a forest fire—leaves you before you’re giving a slow nod and murmuring “yes.”

And when he leans in, excruciatingly slow. When his lips press to yours; full, warm, soft, breathtaking in the way they move against yours. Like he was made to kiss; to kiss you.

You know you’re absolutely screwed.

[buzzkillers]

Fables and Parables 1|?

Pairing: Namor x Black!Reader

Summary: During a study abroad trip, you accidentally trigger a long-time tradition through a simple word: amen.

Warning: NON-CON, religious themes, non-consensual voyeurism, magical sex pollen, dream-walking, mentions of abortion, attempted forced pregnancy.

PART TWO

There's only so many words in the English language to describe heat, so you'll keep it simple: Oraxco, Mexico was hell on Earth, survival unlikely.

It was a sun-drenched mugginess.

Something heavy and thick that melted the sunscreen right off your skin and had your phone turning off in self preservation. And the worst part? This was before you left the airport; before you even left the damn terminal.

You didn't know what you expected. Oraxco wasn't particularly known for having Iceland type temperatures but no one said it was like this. Like you were kissing the sun. Like the heat had a mind of it's own.

And by the time you found your classmates, your clothes were drenched in sweat and your bags had gone slick in your palms. Thankfully, you weren't the only one.

Underneath what could only be a sunflare, there were only a handful of you, but your tongue went dry as you tried to greet them all. And you know, maybe you weren't in a city.

Maybe the airplane accidentally dropped you off in a Giants oven. Maybe you were being grilled alive. It was the only explanation really. For Christ sake, you've never felt your skin cook before.

And when your professor finally arrived, with suspiciously dry skin and an easy smile the conversations died easily. You couldn't pretend to be upset. You just let her talk and talk and talk.

Her tone, peppier and upbeat as she postponed going straight to the hotel.

Instead, she wanted to risk heat stroke to visit a nearby holy site. A hidden attraction that not many tourists visit. "It's only a few miles east, you'll thank me later," she insisted, the moment she saw the deadly looks etched onto all our faces. "It'll be fun, I promise"

A bold faced lie you thought as by the time you got there, you couldn't help but think it looked less holy and more—abandoned.

Through the heat exhaustion you took in what could only be described as a tall engraved pillar in a sea of dead grass.

It was made of smooth stone and touched by age and thick green vines that wrapped snugly up the pillars pits and grooves. The arms of the vines climbing up and up until it disappeared atop the statue's crest. Shit, it was so far up, you had to crank your head up to see it.

It was beautiful, daunting and as your professor promised: hidden well. The pillar far enough away from the main road that if you weren't looking for it, it would be easily missed.

Clearly, the stone was old. It had to be the fifteenth century, pre-colonialism maybe? The craftsman ship was intricate as well. Each mark and dig woven into rocks that made a story. No, that wasn’t it. Not a story but instead the never ending tail of a serpent that slithered its way to the top of the pillar.

With artful expertise, the tail formed into a man with a heart in one hand and what could only be an infant in the other. Smaller figures surrounded the serpent, their role vague until your professor spoke.

"—a popular myth dating back to the Mayan period. It's said that if you pray at the feet of his statue, the sea serpent will rise from his throne to come up to pick a concubine,"

"The concubine would go through a heat of sort that would urge her to stay in the land of the serpent god till next full moon, where she'll come back to her homeland gifted with pregnancy and rewards for the town,"

Around you everyone nodded in thinly veiled disinterest.

“You only have to pray, give him a request and the fullment will be your exchange for the child.”

You grimaced, “I pray that this sun would disappear, amen”

You’re met with grunts of agreement. The professor dutifully chose to ignore you; instead her mouth just continued to go on and on and on. By the time it was over, you no longer heard the sounds of cars racing by, the trees had become unnaturally still and you were pretty sure that half of your class was sprawled dead on the grass floor.

She did not have to convince anyone to get back onto the bus. You’re in fact the first in your seat, legs splayed out and your head leaning against the heated window. There was an unnatural silence settled onto the bus. No one wanted to speak and you couldn’t blame them.

Your eyes instead stayed stuck on the trees; on the grass that danced beneath the soft wind. The moon had begun to hang high. Its light washed across the city and leaked through the leaves.

Your thighs shifted in your seat, your hand pressed into your cheek. And then you felt it, something hot and sharp like honey that spiked in your belly. A warm sensation that made you droop in your seat before you blinked and looked at the tree line as the engine roared.

The statue peeked back at you in glances and ripples of the leaves that withered over it. You blinked and for a moment, the leaves flicked away completely; your professor said something, the bus began to move at a snail's pace, but you couldn’t listen, you were transfixed.

Utterly hypnotized at the sight of the serpent tail, concrete and covered in rock as it tightened around the pillar. Before the leaves bristled back into place and the bus left the place behind.

You blinked. The warmth in your belly bloomed. Then with a roll of your shoulders, you pretend you saw nothing at all.

__

A few hours later, or maybe a few minutes, a few days? It didn't matter. But it was at that moment, deep down below, beneath sea currents and molten rock; on a throne covered in bones and melted gold, that a God pricked his ears towards the surface and sighed.

[tenochconamor]

Tenoch Huerta ● Red

[creamecafe]

People sexualizing Miles, Earth 42!Miles, Pavitr, and Gwen are mad weird. Like their teenagers???? You guys have Jessica, Hobie (Hobie is 19/20, Director confirmed), Drew, Liv Octavious, Peter, and Miguel ain't that enough for you? Making smut of teenagers is not ok. Aged Up! I don't care, but when their actual canon age should be something on a list

[sunshinescribes]

Continuum - 1

Pairing: Namor x Black Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT

Summary: Despite the alliance between Wakanda and Talokan, The Feathered Serpent God isn’t truly welcomed in the Golden City. That doesn’t stop you from allowing him in your bed, nor him from wanting more

You call his name, but you don’t think he hears.

Don’t think Namor can sense anything beyond the taste of you on his tongue, sweet and smearing his chin—the way he always wants you, and you know your sheets will be a mess when he’s done. Know you’ll have to wash away the evidence of a liaison that should never be.

Alliance or not, he isn’t truly welcome on these shores, but you allow him anyway with the promise that this time will be the last.

Your resolve is questionable, as is your loyalty.

Your fingers thread through wet hair. You pull him closer to your soaking pussy, and he groans. The feel of it reverberates through you as you choke out his name.

Namor pulls away from your soaking slit with a sigh. His dark, half-lidded eyes trail up your body until they meet yours.

“You have missed me,” He whispers against your thigh, licking the wetness that’s made its way there.

He lets nothing go to waste.

“That wasn’t a question,” you note, feeling the ghost of a smile against your skin.

“No…” Namor’s hand traces the inside of your thighs. Thick fingers brush against the folds of your pussy, slowly reaching your clit, “It was not.”

He returns his mouth where you need it most, while his thick fingers work away at your throbbing clit. Your legs shake, your breath hitches as you’re drawn closer to another soul shattering orgasm. Even as Namor takes you apart, he does it will no real urgency. His movements are languid, as if he has all the time in the world.

Namor replaces his tongue with his fingers, stretching you as he pushes two fingers into you sopping cunt. You can hear the evidence of your desire—the slick, wet sounds as his fingers massage your fluttering walls. Your hips buck forward, wanting his fingers knuckle deep, and he laughs. A deep, throaty laugh that’s almost cruel.

“What would they say?” Namor lifts his face; his lips curl into an amused smile as he watches you. Watches the rise and fall of your breasts, the tremble of your lips as praise and encouragement falls from them, “Hm? If they all knew how desperate you are for me? How eager.”

“I…I don’t know,” you lie.

It’s easier than thinking about how you would be dishonored. The question of your loyalty would be immediate, and no answer you gave would satisfy your elders, nor your king.

Though an alliance stood between Wakanda and Talokan, it did not wash away Namor’s sins, nor earn him the favor of your people.

As far as anyone was concerned, he was a necessary evil—one that you could seemingly not say no to.

Namor tsks. The rhythm of his fingers slows as he considers you. He wants the truth you refuse to give.

“Do you think they will forgive you? Will you beg for it? Lie?” He pulls his fingers out of you, eyes following his digits glazed with your wetness, “Or will you have to turn to me?”

He looks at you as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. He groans contentedly around his digits,  his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if he is savoring just how fucking sweet you are—as if there is no fruit, nor drink in existence that can quite satisfy his hunger the way you do.

You blink up at him, dazed by his display and so painfully needy. Your cunt aches as it clenches around nothing. It’s enough to bring you to tears, but you’d bet that’s exactly what he wants. You, dumb and delirious and crying for him. Completely at his mercy.

“I would never turn to you,” you bite, and Namor’s eyes finally open. They seem endless as he stares up at you with an indecipherable expression.

His slick fingers skim the length of your leg, leaving a trail of his saliva that leads straight to your pulsing cunt.

“You already have.”

His fingers push back into you, and a curse rips from your throat. His languid manner is long gone, replaced by a feverish need to make you come around his fingers now. His pace is ruthless, his fingers reaching further into you until he’s knuckle-deep, just the way you need him—and then he fucking curls his fingers.

You tip over the edge without warning, your release violent and unexpected as it racks through you. Your walls flutter around his fingers, your legs convulse, and his name falls from your lips with so much devotion, you’d think perhaps he is the god his people claim him to be.

Your body goes limp as you come down from your high with a shaky sigh. You feel the heat of Namor’s mouth as he trails kisses up your body, a steady path upward until his lips hover over yours.

His fingers cradle your jaw, his hold firm as he keeps your gaze trained on him, and your heart aches.

Bast, he’s beautiful. It always stuns you no matter how many times you have the revelation—and this is when you promise yourself that this is the last time you allow him in your bed. You both never stopped to explain what this was, but you know feelings would only complicate things further…make the inevitable end that much harder to see through.

“What are you thinking right now?” Namor asks against your lips, teasing. He’s back to taking his time, dragging everything out for his own pleasure, while simultaneously driving you as mad as he possibly can. You have half the mind to close the gap between you two, and another to send his happy ass back to the sea.

You do neither.

“I think that you’re ruining me,” Namor grins. You nearly stumble over your words, “And I am disappointed in myself for enjoying it.”

He nods, leaning in as he closes the space between your lips. Namor kisses you like it’s the first time—all hunger and a need to consume you, but he does not rush. He tastes you, rolls his tongue along your bottom lip. Your lips part with a sigh, and he’s quick to make you taste yourself on his tongue—to know just how delicious you truly are, before he breaks away.

“I wish to do more than just ruin you…”

His hand reaches down, wrapping around his hard dick. He gives it a few quick strokes, groaning against your mouth before he rubs his dick between your folds, coating himself with your juices. You gasp, squirming beneath him as you feel your walls flutter painfully. You’re still sensitive from your previous orgasms, but this will do little to deter Namor. He will have you until you’re boneless, voice gone from how hard you’ve used it to call out for him, to plead him to go deeper. Fuck you harder.

And Namor always ends it how he starts, between your legs and with your sweet arousal coating the back of his throat. The taste of you lingers, even when he returns to the depths of the ocean, back to Talokan. He tastes you while he paints hieroglyphs memorializing the legends he’s lived, and the ones he might.

Namor pushes into your entrance, feeling the warm slickness of your velvety walls as they hug his thick length, and he drives himself deeper. He curses in his mother tongue, adjusting to you as your sensitive walls throb around him. He won’t have to do much to set you off, and for a second he considers being charitable and putting you out of your lust-filled misery, but even that comes at a price.

He hadn’t wanted much in the beginning. Just you sprawled out for him in all your beauty. You had both been chasing a high, a need to have the other—and maybe it was the taboo surrounding the nature of your relationship that spurred it—the threat that lingered if one of you were found out, though Namor was not foolish enough to believe you did not have more to lose.

It hadn’t mattered before, but it mattered now. Here, with the taste of you on his tongue and your nails digging into the flesh of his back as he thrust into you shallowly—you fucking mattered, and he was no longer satisfied with late night hookups, and kisses behind closed doors. He resented having to wait weeks or even months to see you again, wondering all the while if you’d finally decide to turn him away when he returned.

He wanted more.

He wanted everything.

And what a creature craving could be.

Namor glanced down at you, mesmerized by your long lashes fluttering as your eyes closed—the furrow of your brow as pain and pleasure pulsed through your body. A plea fell from your lips, whispered so softly he nearly missed it.

Now was not the time to be charitable. Now was the time for negotiations.

“Say it.” Namor thrust harder, earning a whine from you, “Call my name.”

Your bottom lip quivered; the words nearly spoken before you caught yourself. You shook your head, and Namor let out a frustrated sigh.

He had told you to call him K’uk’ulkan. Whispered it against your lips like a plea months ago, but even now you deny him. The name was spoken with adoration by his people, and you learned he gave it to outsiders sparingly.

So, you couldn’t say it. You wouldn’t.

It’s the confession that you swallow, hidden away just like these meetings between you two. It’s the treacherous desire of wanting all of him at the cost of everything else.

And while you could be reckless enough to entertain desire driven nights with him, you could not conjure a fantasy where he was yours, and you were his. The cost was too great.

The rhythm of his hips slowed. Your eyes fluttered open as you glared up at him, biting back a curse in Xhosa.

“Are you so afraid of a name?”

He cocked his head to the side, bringing his hand up to wrap around your neck, “Or afraid of what it might mean to call me by it?”

Your breath hitched as you blinked up at him, the heat of his gaze and weight of his question making your thoughts foggy. Despite it, you found your voice.

“I’m afraid that you’ve forgotten what this is.”

Namor was silent for a moment. His dark eyes searched yours, before his lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Then remind me.”

He pulled out of you fully, leaving you wanting before he thrust back in with a force that made you cry out. He buried himself deep inside of you, stretching your aching cunt and making you feel every glorious inch of his dick.

He grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing your legs closer to your chest and began to fuck you like a wild, depraved animal.

You clawed at his back, anchoring yourself to him as he continued to pound into you. He groaned into the nape of your neck, his fingers bruised the flesh of your thighs as he lost himself.

“Is this all that you are then? A hole to fill?”

The sound of the meeting of your flesh filled the shack, drowning out the peaceful hum of the wind outside. The rustling of the trees.

You cursed, feeling the deliciously painful pressure in your core building with each brutal thrust.

Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers digging into his damp curls, and you pulled his head closer, resting his forehead against your as his hips started to stutter—his rhythm quickly losing its coordination.

“Please…” your voice sounded pathetic, even to your own ears, “Namor…K’u—”

You choked on his name as pure hot euphoria ricocheted through you. Your toes curled, your back arched painfully as you cried up towards the ceiling. A tear rolled down your cheek as you came violently around his aching dick.

Namor hissed a string of Mayan against your lips, words spoken so quickly your mind couldn’t even catch them. Your name was the only thing you could make out before Namor went rigid. His teeth bit into the flesh of your shoulder as his seed poured into you. His dick twitched inside of you as he gave a final thrust, pushing the evidence of his desire further into your pussy. His mouth hung open as his chest rose and fell, and bliss cascaded through him.

Namor carefully draped himself over you, conscious of not crushing you under his weight despite how featherlight he felt. He kissed your temple, whispering his praise as he stayed buried inside of you, feeling the mix of your release and his own slowly seeping out of you.

He would take care of you soon. Wash away the evidence of your love making before he returned to Talokan where he was needed most. But for now, he would bask in the feel of you beneath him, and the possibility that lingered between you two.

PART 2 , PART 3