#namor x poc!reader
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─ 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑
𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋
𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗥 𝘅 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗔!𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — a prophecy has tied you to the feathered serpent god before you had even existed. now, it’s time to come home.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. possessive behavior. near death experience. smut; penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie (lots of cum bc i'm disgusting), breeding kink.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — this has to be the most excited i've been for a fic in a long time 🥹 i had a blast including a little bit of my culture's superstitions and lore. my sincerest apologies for any inaccurate yucatec maya translations, i used a translator website. the song the reader sings is "daughter of the sea" by sharm. i hope you all enjoy! ♡
𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 —
⁀➷ “anak” - child.
⁀➷ “po” - a respectful term with no direct translation used when talking to someone of higher rank than you such as elders or your boss.
⁀➷ “mag ingat ka” - “be careful.”
⁀➷ “ka’a suku’un u?” - “cousin?”
⁀➷ “ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.” - "come with me to find the king."
⁀➷ "in yakunaj" - "my love"
⁀➷ "in k'áaté" - my one and only.
⁀➷ "le ba'alo' leti'e" - that is her.
⁀➷ "bienvenido tin wotoch ti', in reina." - "welcome my queen."
꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡
FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD REMEMBER, the ocean was your safe haven.
While others strayed from its depths for fear of the unknown, of the creatures that could be lurking down there, you had always been curious to know. There had always been an itch that couldn’t quite be scratched when it came to your love for the water. You frequented your local beach nearly every day, wandering aimlessly until you grew tired. Unlike others your age, your life was one of solitude. To an extent, you were content with it, for the ocean was your companion. It never judged you and always welcomed you. It listened when you spoke, carrying your worries far from you never to be seen again.
Nowadays, to your heart’s discontent, the ocean was not enough.
You were lonely. Truly lonely and feeling what it was like to be so for the very first time in your life. There were nights you stared into the abyss; eyes watery as you wished to drown in it. To be embraced by the one thing that was consistent in your life. Would you feel less alone then?
─
From the deepest point of the very sea you gazed into, the heart of a God grew heavy. K’uk’ulkan loved his people, adored them with every fiber of his body. Each and every one of the faces of those he ruled, dead and alive, were imprinted in his soul permanently. Every step he took was taken with them in mind. He prided himself for being a good leader, for doing everything and anything possible to keep his nation safe. After the events leading up to the alliance with the Wakandans, however, he did not know if that pride was deserved. He had made mistakes; misplaced his trust and allowed two of his own to die right in their very home. Namora, as loyal as she was, began to question his decisions. He was alone in bearing this burden with no one to rest his head on at night from the heaviness of the day.
What pained him the most? He knew he shouldn’t be alone.
He recalled the day he and his mother had been read the prophecy when he was a child clearly. The emotions he felt upon hearing those words spoken into existence were still fresh. There was someone for him. Just for him, and him alone.
“For His fealty, the First Son of Talokan shall be given a gift from the Gods; a descendant from the Heavens, a child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress. For as long as He shall live, She shall rule the seas by His side.”
Years passed. Those years slowly faded into decades. After the passing of his beloved mother, it became difficult differentiating when those decades turned into centuries. Still, there were no signs of his soulmate. His people knew of the prophecy. K’uk’ulkan was all too aware of the anticipation his children felt as they eagerly awaited the arrival of their queen. Yet, she never came.
He grew angry at the so called Gods for turning on their promise – at her. Where was she? he’d hiss. My people, our people, have come dangerously close to being discovered. I have nearly died defending them all alone. My wings have been ripped from my flesh. Why isn’t she here? The prophecy meant nothing to him anymore. Just as he was naïve when he entrusted Princess Shuri with seeing his home, he was blindly foolish for believing in a fairytale.
Namor was without love in more ways than one.
─
You didn’t remember falling asleep. There was no explanation as to how you ended up perilously close to the edge of the water, the violent thrash of waves serving as a warning to you. Still, you remained completely still as fear immobilized you. You racked your brain for any recollections of your previous actions. Nothing came up. You couldn’t remember anything after you came home from the market.
Nothing, that is, aside from a single voice.
It cooed to you, whispered your name like it had waited a thousand millennia to taste it upon its tongue. Sang to you like you were its favorite person in the entire universe.
Come to me.
Come home.
In yakunaj.
In k’áate’.
Come home.
Taking a moment to steady your breathing, you slowly stepped away from the ledge before rushing back home. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you tried your best to bury what had just transpired. You sought out every possibility – rational and irrational – that could have resulted in your odd behavior. You always went to the beach, maybe you just wandered there after dinner out of habit. Perhaps something went wrong with the batch of your usual tea and an ingredient that causes cognitive dysfunction was accidentally added to it. Maybe tomorrow morning you will wake up to a news report about your batch being recalled from all stores.
The explanation you vied for never came.
As time persisted, so did the bouts of blacking out, regaining consciousness, and finding yourself near the ocean. Each time, you got closer and closer to its waters. Every day after the next, you would feel the fatigue in your muscles from all of the walking. And yet, it did not stop you. You always found your way back to the ocean. It didn’t matter if you walked into ongoing traffic or if a concerned neighbor physically restrained you, the pull was stronger. Shamefully, you began to avoid leaving your home altogether. You couldn’t bear to face the condemnatory looks you were bound to receive. Whatever those in your area thought of you, you didn’t want to know. You were afraid enough of what you were becoming.
When you wake up from the next spell, you were waist deep in the ocean. Shivering as your thin nightgown stuck to your skin. Wrapping your arms around your torso, you salvaged any and all body heat. The gravity of your circumstances hit you all at once. Biting your lip, you held back your tears as your turned around and began making your way out of the water hastily. Just as your bare feet touched the white sand, you caught the eyes of the elderly woman who lived closed by. The two of you had never spoken, but her presence as a resident was always acknowledged.
“Sorry, po,” You spoke sheepishly, a polite and apologetic smile on your face.
Her expression was grave as she stared at you wordlessly. Silence stretched between the both of you and just as you were about to walk away, she harshly spat one single word.
“Magindara.”
Before you could seek clarification, she was back inside her small hut, the door slamming behind her acrimoniously. The only proof that the interaction with her was even real was the residual sting of her hostility and rage. Her persecution was the straw to break the camel’s back. Unable to maintain your resolve any longer, you fell to your knees and began to you’re your hands clutching at your chest in hopes to alleviate the pain. Humiliation, terror, anxiousness, and frustration were just a few of the emotions you were feeling. Even then, they were just the tip of the iceberg. As you cried to yourself, sand sticking to your wet limbs uncomfortably, you longed for nothing but someone to wrap you up in their arms – for someone to tell you that for once, everything would be okay. Just this once, you craved a life outside of isolation.
Once your breathing evened out, you stood up and leisurely began to talk along the shore. Soothing yourself in the only way you knew how, you began to softly sing.
“Beware, beware the Daughter of the Sea. ‘Beware’ I heard him cry. His words carried upon the ocean breeze, as he sank beneath the tide.”
Namora watched acutely as the quill in her king’s hands abruptly dropped to the floor. The warrior waited for the moment he would pick it up off of the ground and continue with his painting, but it never came.
“K’uk’ulkan?”
She received no response. His eyes held an indecipherable expression, one far away from the present.
“Ka’a suku’un u?” Namora repeated, her tone now carrying concern.
The King of Talokan turned to her for a split second before he stormed out of the room with speed she had never witnessed from him before. Namora was hot on his feathered heels, but the second she dived into the water, her cousin was nowhere to be seen.
“Attuma!” She bellowed. “Ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.”
K’uk’ulkan was stunned when he first heard it – the most beautiful sound to grace his ears. He was livid with himself for being unable to find a better word to describe the voice, for “beautiful” was such an understatement that it was borderline insulting. Without hesitation, he followed it. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know where it was coming from or who it even belonged to, he needed to find it. It called to him, turned him into a man possessed as he soared through the waters restlessly to get to it.
His head broke the surface, and that’s when he saw its owner – her. His soulmate.
She was the most exquisite living being he had ever laid his eyes upon. A gift from the heavens she was. Her beauty made him dizzy, his knees growing weak as he took in his beloved’s features. He admired her as she outstretched her arms, cupping the moon in her delicate palms. It paled in comparison to her. Everything did. Nothing could possibly compare. He remained paralyzed as she continued to sing, a foreign feeling settling in his stomach.
“Why this? Why this, oh Daughter of the Sea? Why this? Why did you forget your seaside days? Always the pride of our nation’s eyes, how could she go astray?”
The words of her melody pierced his heart. They reflected their journey far too accurately to be a coincidence. Did she know that she had always been destined for him? To be loved by the entire nation of Talokan? His lids fell shut slowly as he basked in her harmonies, feeling tranquil at last.
“I heard, I heard, across the moonlit seas, the old voice warning me. Beware, beware, the Daughter of the Sea. Beware, beware…of me.”
Namor studied her face as her song ended. He noted her red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. Her damp nightgown stuck to her body tantalizingly. The despair in her hypnotizing voice was palpable. All of the wrath and resentment he had once harbored dissipated. Oh, my love. I have longed for you too. He could do nothing as he watched you turn your back to him from above, only pray for another encounter. He rose entirely from the sea, the wings on his ankles fluttering in the air as he watched her in the sky until she was safe in her abode. A quiet splash could be heard from under him. Attuma and Namora stared up at him expectedly.
“Le ba’alo’ leti’e’.”
He nodded slowly, eyes burning holes in the spot where she once stood.
“A human?” Attuma questioned, his voice rigid.
Namor shook his head.
“’A child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress’.” Namor quoted the prophecy directly. “Bulan was a deity the heavens sent to the ocean to protect the moon from sea monsters. She is a siren; they are descendants of Bulan.”
“What is she doing on the surface?” Namora chimed in.
The king frowned, his fists clenching at his sides as he longed to feel her touch.
“She is lost.”
─
Returning to the beach after the unpleasant encounter with the elderly woman who lived on its grounds probably wasn’t the most sensible decision. In your defense, however, nothing in your life was sensible nowadays.
Magindara was what she called you. A whole day’s worth of research, hundreds of Google searches, and several life crises later, you found out what it meant – siren. A subspecies of mermaids that were known for being especially vicious. You wanted to badly to laugh it off, to chuck it up to her being a senile old woman, but that was not an option. To do so would be like ignoring statistics. The facts of your life were laid out clearly; there was a connection between you and the ocean. A connection so strong that it bewitched you – mind, body, and soul. There were no traceable origins you could use to refute the woman’s claims. Afterall, you had no family. There was nothing more to do than return to the very place that could give you answers.
Your eyes darted everywhere in search of the familiar head of silvery locks. Once identified, you ran to her.
“Excuse me, po?” You called desperately, your eyes begging her for something. Anything. “What…what am I?”
She stared at you with a severe expression on her aged features.
“The man from the sea with wings on his ankles. Mag ingat ka, anak. He’s coming for you.”
You furrowed your brows in confusion.
“Could you expla—”
“Do not come back here.” She warned. “He will drag you down with him.”
With that being said, she entered her home and slammed the door in your face for the second time. Vexation filled you as you were met with another dead end. A man from the sea with wings on his ankles. What the hell was that alluding to? Did the elderly have to always speak in riddles? Were you in danger? Why was he after you?
You dragged your feet as you trudged home dejectedly. You were already exhausted, not sleeping a wink once you returned home after your stint last night. Sleep was unfathomable considering you were haunted by unanswered questions. Once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, however, you could no longer ignore your body’s need for rest. Flopping down on your bed, you shut your eyes and instantaneously succumbed to a peaceful slumber.
That night was the last time you slept in your own bed.
The beach was eerily quiet, void of the usual sound of waves crashing against the shore. Seemingly, the ocean yielded to you, it’s queen, the second you stepped foot in its territory, entranced and guided by a single voice.
Come home. Come to me.
Your feet carried you to a cliff high above the sparkling midnight waters.
My love. My soulmate.
Home. You needed to come home. It was time.
Come home.
Just a couple of more steps.
Come home.
This is your destiny. Fulfill it. Fulfill the prophecy.
Come home.
With that, you took one final step off the cliff and prepared yourself to plunder into the deep waters. Your feet were only in the air for a brief moment before a pair of strong arms caught you midair. Upon physical contact, you snapped from your trance with a sharp gasp, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to panic.
A deep, gentle voice lulled you. It was then that you finally registered who it belonged to. The being who had saved you was the epitome is beauty. Everything about him exuded regality from the air of confidence and ease he carried himself with, to the adornments on his muscular body. A large gold and jade neck plate took up the most space on his expansive chest. Ropes of auriferous shells and opalescent-like pearls hung around his neck. Gilded cuffs were locked around his biceps, wrists, and ankles. You quickly noted the alabaster wings fluttering away attached to them, the very wings responsible for suspending the both of you in the air. Your eyes trailed to his delicately pointed ears, embellished with jewels just like the rest of him. The only clothing he sported was a pair of emerald shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The walls of muscle that were his thighs were on full display, the muscles of a man built to withstand the brutality of the ocean.
This was the man the elderly woman was speaking about. The man from the sea with feathers on his ankles.
That revelation should have scared you. Every alarm in your body should have gone off.
Escaping him should have been the only thing occupying your mind. You should have kicked and screamed until your throat was raw and bloody.
But you did no such thing.
Instead, it was the way he looked at you, gazing at you with the most intense smolder in his eyes that occupied your attention. He gazed at you with pure wonder, and held you delicately yet fiercely in his arms like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. Instinctively, you placed your hands on his bare chest, mindlessly tracing the dew drops sticking to his golden skin. The beautiful man shivered beneath your touch.
“500 years I have waited for you.” He whispered reverently.
Your mouth opened, prepared for a response that never came. Instead, your vision went dark.
─
You woke up to hushed voices and heedful, diligent hands. One set of hands languidly brushed your hair away from your face. Another daintily shimmied clothing onto your body once they were finished drying you off with the velvetiest cloth to ever touch your skin. The last set secured what you assumed was jewelry onto your wrists, neck, and ears. Upon opening your eyes, your assumption was correct. The dress on your body was stunning, embroidered with hundreds of crystalline beads. The jewels on your wrists alone were probably worth more than what you had made in your entire life.
The women who stood above you were unlike you had ever seen before. Their skin was a brilliant shade of cerulean. Vibrant, yet pleasantly understated. Masks covered their mouths and noses, but you could still see the bright smiles behind them.
“Hello,” You greeted shyly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
Each of them let out a small cry, their eyes welling up with tears as they bowed earnestly.
“Bienvenido tin wotoch ti’, in reina.” They spoke warmly in unison, forming a gesture with their hands at you respectfully. Their mother tongue was foreign to you, but not for long. As if you had spoken it your entire life, your mind made quick work of interpreting it.
Welcome home, my queen.
Once again, you were puzzled. You had no idea where you were or who exactly that man was and why he had taken you here. You obviously hadn’t a single inkling as to what he meant by “500 years I have waited for you”. Now, these women were calling you their queen in a language you had never heard your entire life but somehow had the ability to understand perfectly.
The sound of feet pattering lightly gradually got closer and closer until the man of the hour stood before you at the foot of the bed. The women attending to you immediately turned their attention to him, bowing and forming the same hand gesture you had seen moments ago. He looked just as regal still, now adorned in a cape tucked into golden plates of armor on his shoulders. He regarded them gratefully.
“Leave us, my children. Thank you.”
They bowed to you both once more before swiftly making themselves haste. You now had his undivided attention.
“I hope you slept well. The healers said showed signs of exhaustion.”
“I—” You cleared your throat nervously. “I did, thank you.”
The barest hint of a smile graced his features. With graceful and controlled movements, he poured water into a glass and handed it to you.
“Do not be nervous.” He spoke lowly. “Speak freely.”
“Thank you.” You squeaked out again, taking a generous gulp of water before speaking again. “Where am I? Who are you?”
“My people call me K’uk’ulkan. To my enemies, I am Namor. You are in our kingdom – Talokan.”
The water got caught in your throat mid swallow, causing you to cough obnoxiously. The man who you now knew as K’uk’ulkan, discreetly smiled to himself as if this was a reaction he had anticipated. Before you could blurt out another string of questions, he held his hand out to you.
“Come. I will remedy all of your concerns.”
As if you had done so a million times, you placed your hand in his and stood by his side. Namor lead the both of you through a series of corridors. Your eyes took in your surroundings with pure astonishment. Cavern seemed to be a secluded corner for the king, crystal waters surrounding its premises. Bits of glittery minerals were embedded into the sediment walls. An air of serenity blanketed the entire area.
From the corner of his eye, Namor gaged your reactions, his heart so full of unfiltered adoration that it felt like it would explode in his chest. His hand was still tightly clutched in yours like it was second nature. Subconsciously, you had drawn your body closer to his. He was a meticulous man of control and strategy, but at that very moment, K’uk’ulkan wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms and kiss you breathlessly. The moment was cut short when you reached his study. He offered you a seat at his desk, drawing the door shut behind him for privacy. It didn’t take long for you to deduce that the murals painted on the walls were ones depicting the history of Talokan.
“Centuries ago, my people took an herb that allowed them to survive underwater. The herb was infused with vibranium. We are the only nation aside from Wakanda to possess it.” He began, his hands tracing over a painting of a beautiful woman cradling an infant. “My mother was pregnant with me when she ingested it. That is why I am the way I am – why I am the only one out of my people that can survive on both land and underwater, fly, and age slower than the rest. For this, they made me their king. Their god.”
You listened intently, fascinated by the discovery that they had remained a secret for this long.
“There was a prophecy made shortly after my birth. The gods promised me a soulmate.”
Turning around to face you, he bore his soul to yours through his eyes as he read the prophecy to you. With each word that fell from his lips, the world around you spun quicker and quicker. It made sense. It all made sense.
“I gave up on the idea of the prophecy coming true as time passed. In yakunaj, when you have lived as long as I have, seen as much as I have, happy endings are nothing but meaningless fallacies. But then, that night came…the night I heard you sing for the first time.”
He approached you slowly, cautiously like a wild animal that would take flight if startled by any sudden movements. What happened next made your eyes fill with tears; he knelt before you. This man – a king, a god – surrendered to you with no hesitation.
“I have finally found you…” He breathed, his orbs shining with devotion. “You are home. Why do you think you have no family? No one to trace your roots back to? You were made for me. Mine.”
Your face fell in between the palms of your hands as you wept. Quickly, your hands were replaced by his. He held your face in his hands like he was holding the entire world, the pads of his thumbs gently brushing away your tears.
“Why the tears, my love?”
You shook your head, placing your hands on top of his. The spark you felt every time the two of you touched could no longer be ignored.
“Why did they just now bring us together?” You cried. “We’ve both been alone for all this time, how could they not do something about it!”
“Shhh,” Namor cooed. “You think I have not been angry with them, my sweet? I have held myself back from tearing their skies and oceans apart just to find you. But what I feel for you right now in this very moment? That feeling will always win.”
The both of you said nothing more, for there was nothing that needed to be said. Your long lost love held you in his arms as you liberated yourself from what felt like decades of anguish. His grip never faltered even as you gripped his flesh hard enough to draw blood. Instead, he soothingly rocked you as he recounted the stories of his people’s origins. Talokan was a clandestine national treasure, one of the only things on the earth that had not been bastardized. That was all the doing of this wonderful being who had been promised to you.
“They were wrong about you. Your name.” You whispered. “You’re not without love, quite the opposite actually. The actions you have taken, the lengths you have gone to protect your people and your home, are ones of a man consumed with nothing but love. You can see it in how happy they are.”
With cautious hands, you caressed his cheeks. He preened against your touch, melting right into your palms. The world would never see the stoic warrior king falter, but already, you had him firmly wound around your finger. He could sit there for hours soaking in your ardor.
“Our home. Our people.” Namor corrected. “They can’t wait to meet you.”
Lovingly, he pressed his forehead to yours, nudging the tip of your nose with his.
“Are you ready to meet them?”
He observed endearingly as your eyes widened as large as flying saucers as you nodded overzealously, a giggle tumbling from your lips. K’uk’ulkan noted once more how full of love he felt. He wondered if this was what your lives together would consist of, overcome with all of the possibilities. Was adoring you more than he did in this moment even conceivable? When your smile faltered slightly, worry filled him.
“I’ve never seen…myself.”
“I am honored to be the first to see your true form.”
The two of you stood, walking hand in hand out of his personal study and to the outermost cove surrounded with the most water. Inhaling shakily, you eyed what awaited below you with apprehension. You were not human, far from it, and yet it felt as if you and your true form were worlds apart. Namor was silent. He knew this was something you needed to do alone. The only form of assurance offered to you was a look of encouragement.
Slowly, you dipped one foot into the water and allowed the other to follow. Keeping your eyes closed, you focused on your heart rate as your body adroitly descended into the abyss of the sea. You could have easily fallen asleep if it weren’t for a tingly sensation disrupting your peace. It started small, gradually winding around you until all at once, currents of electricity bolted through your limbs. Instinctively, your lungs expanded, and you took your first gulp of air underwater. You ripped your eyes open in bewilderment when you didn’t choke on water. The clear-cut view you had of your surroundings despite no sources of light being near further consolidated your shock. A noise akin to a squeak and gasp escaped your lips and before you knew it, you were cutting through the waters with newfound ease until your head broke the surface.
Namor would have given everything to his name to capture the sight before him. There you were, beaming at him with unrivaled radiance. He stopped breathing when you lifted your tail out of the water. Just when he thought you could not be any more magnificent than you already were, you defied his expectations. The scales covering the muscle were a range of shades of lapis lazuli, emerald, and gold. Towards the tips of your forked fin, they all blended into a rich shade of dark indigo. Your torso was bare but hidden behind your locks as they cascaded over your breasts. Namor could have gawked at you for hours if it weren’t for you playfully flicking water at his face. He felt light and dream-like as your melodious laughter echoed through the cavern. He decided then and there that your laughter was his favorite song. The scowl permanently etched onto his face fell. In its place, a smile so wide it hurt spawned. For the first time in centuries, he laughed so hard his abdomen hurt.
Powerless to his desires, he dove into the water after you, finding shelter in your embrace once more. Intuitively, your tail curled around one of his legs. He submerged the two of you back into the water and before you knew it, his lips were pressed against yours. Skin to skin, naked chests were tightly pressed against each other, your arms locked around his neck as your mouths feverishly meshed against one another. A barely audible moan slipped from your mouth right into his as his tongue pushed passed your lips. Namor voiced his pleasure with a low rumble from his chest. Pathetically, you could cry again right then and there. How could you have gone without this your whole life?
A loud clearing of the throat caused you both to cease your ministrations. Namor was anything but sorry as he pulled away with the softest expression you had seen on his face thus far. He regarded the two individuals standing in front of you – a hulking man with long inky tresses and an ornate headpiece resembling the skull of a hammerhead shark and a fierce looking woman with a feathered lionfish-esque headdress. Though both clearly high up in the royal ranks with a cutthroat reputation to uphold, they studied you and Namor with mischief.
“K’uk’alkan, they are waiting for her.” The man spoke.
“You might want to put this on before you go.” Spoke the woman, pulling an opulent bra top from behind her back and extending it towards you.
The state of undress you were in hit you like a bus. Your face felt like it was on fire from embarrassment, your lover pressing a tender kiss to your heated cheek. Tactfully, he maneuvered you away from the eyes of the warrior you now knew was Attuma. The woman, his cousin and second in command named Namora, expertly laced you into the garment.
“That was so embarrassing,” You mumbled to yourself once your modesty was secured.
Namor cracked a hint of a smirk.
“Attuma and my cousin expected nothing less from us. Now, shall we?”
─
Talokan was a magnificent sight. The agriculture was impressive, the vibranium rich soil working wonders for the crops. Sea creatures from colossal sized sea turtles, lengthy luminescent jellyfish of different colors, lively fish, and enormous whales to start were one with the Talokanil, peacefully existing with one another. The treatment you received from everyone was something you would never get used to. Despite not knowing you, they acknowledged you as if they had known you their entire lives. K reina perdida they called you with earnest smiles and misty eyes. Our lost queen.
But you were no longer lost.
It was evident in the way the orcas sang with you as you glided through the waters, seemingly understanding you in a way no one else could. Namor’s soul was finally content after seeing you swim freely, laughing so hard your stomach hurt as a couple of toddlers crawled around on your tail. His people loved you. Just as he thought they would. And you fit right in just as you were meant to. With further exploration of your physiology, the two of you discovered that like Namor, you could survive both underwater and on the surface, donning a set of legs seamlessly upon contact with land. Your strength, speed, and agility matched up perfectly with his. For hours, he chased you through the ocean, the both of you weaving in and out between walls of coral and tall beds of seaweed with dexterity. You truly were made for him.
A week later, you were officially crowned their queen. You and Namor ended the celebration with an intimate wedding ceremony in the cavern. After years of going without each other, neither of you had the patience to wait for a union on a grander scale. You both were enough – you would always be enough. And as he laid your bare body across the bed he occupied by himself for half a millennium, he was confident in that conviction.
You felt dizzy as he pressed his hard bulge against your core. The most heavenly noise to grace your ears came out of your now husband when you raised your hips to grind against it. Your hands liberally roamed his chest, now stripped of his jewels, before slithering to his robust back. Your nails drew tiny half moons as they dug into his flesh when his lips made their way to the column of your neck. The decorum of countenance he upheld was nowhere to be found as he ravaged your breasts with his mouth, lightly tugging your erect nipple between his teeth before he began to suckle. You cried out pathetically. His lips twitched, umber orbs now staring up at you with lust.
“You are so noisy for me,” He purred. “I have not even touched the most sensitive parts of your body yet.”
“Please,” You breathed. “Please, I need you,”
Namor made his way down your body, leaving no part of you untouched by his lips. Deftly, he gripped your thighs and place both of your legs over his shoulders. Gently, he kissed your dripping core.
“You have me, my love. Always.”
His mouth took you straight to heaven. He devoured you like a man starved, tongue flicking your nub of nerves tirelessly with precision. Your thighs were already trembling, but he had just gotten started. Your orgasm crept up on you, the strongest one you had ever experienced. It left you heaving with your back arched off of the bed, unable to do anything besides chant his name like a mantra. But your beloved’s ministrations did not cease. He continued working at your core, now swollen and glistening from your juices and his spit. The second orgasm built up slowly, the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each time he sucked your clit. The final straw was when you noticed his hips gyrating. He was pleasuring himself while pleasuring you. This time when you came on your lover’s tongue, no words or sounds were able to slip passed your mouth. You were quite literally speechless.
With a satisfied moan, he lapped up the rest of your arousal, cooing to you as you quivered and whimpered from hypersensitivity. His scorching body covered yours once more, his lips familiarizing themselves with yours. Namor held you tightly against him, whispering sweet nothings against your lips as you steadied your breathing. It wasn’t long before you felt the head of his cock prodding your entrance. Gripping your face firmly, he forced your eyes open. The frenzied look in his eyes as he languidly sunk into you alone could have made you come for the third time that night. But alas, the universe was on your side. Instead, you savored that moment – the feeling of him. Every inch, every vein, ingrained into your memories for as long as you shall live.
“You feel incredible.” Namor panted, now beginning to steadily thrust. “You truly were made for me.”
You could only respond with wanton cries, too consumed with desire. The king began to piston in and out of you until he was fully pounding you into your marital bed.
“Namor!”
He grunted into your ear, pulling out of you for a brief moment to flip you onto your stomach. He plunged back into you and picked up right where he left off. This time, however, he was brutal with the punctuality of his thrusts.
“Am I your enemy, wife?” He taunted. “Are you even worthy of any mercy I have to spare?”
At this point, you could not even recognize the sounds you were making. They were debauched. Depraved. Combined with rhythmic percussion of skin against skin and the squelch of your wet cunt each time Namor entered you, the song you two orchestrated was one only for the lecherous.
“K’uk’ulkan,” You barely managed to murmur. “I’m s-so close, you make me feel so good,”
He hummed satisfactorily, driving into you even faster.
“You are, aren’t you, my sweet? That’s it, sing for me. Take my seed. Carry my children.”
“Please!” You screamed as your walls convulsed around his cock. Please come in me,”
With a shout and one final thrust, he released in you. Rope after rope, he filled you with his cum with proclamations of everlasting love on the tip of his tongue. His cock remained nestled deep within you as you both descended from your highs, keeping his spent from spilling. He shuddered at the image of you round and radiant carrying his child and just like that, he was hardening inside you once more. As you lay there, thoroughly cock drunk, he began to pull out of you and slowly push back in. This time, he was tender and gentle, unhurriedly focused on taking you apart for one final time that night. The two of you had centuries left together. There was no need to rush. Then again, Namor could live another 500 years with you by his side and still feel like it was not enough. He needed you forever, and then some.
“I love you,” He whispered against the blade of your shoulder. “You are everything.”
The next morning you would wake to the sight of your husband painting a new mural. One of a beautiful woman with the upper body of a human, and the lower body of a fish. By her side, a man with ears that pointed to the skies and wings on his ankles, their eyes locked and hands intertwined.
The beginning of your story.
#namor x reader#namor x you#namor x y/n#namor x poc!reader#namor x filipina!reader#namor the sub mariner#namor fanfiction#k'uk'ulkan#k'uk'ulkan x reader#tenoch huerta#tenoch huerta x reader#tenoch huerta smut#tenoch huerta mejia
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kissing headcanons
Bit different from the original outline I have/had planned, but I figured this would be just as sweet
Tagging @rosesbyophelia
Kissing Namor would be like….
You feel every fiber of his being poured into his kisses.
Hot and passionate, memorizing even the tiniest curve of your lips
It’s irresistible, tempting but all-consuming
You can feel his arms and hands wrap around you, pulling you close as if the ocean would sweep you away.
He’s told you why he’s called “Namor” yet you feel all that love pouring over you like lava. Washing away the fears and doubts from each other.
What spurs you on even more are the moans that you hear.
It’s deep, imploring and you crave to hear them even more. Your desire him and everything offered
#mcu#namor#marvel imagine#headcanons#namor x poc!reader#namor x y/n#namor x you#namor x reader#namor imagine#namor headcanons#marvel x gender neutral reader#marvel x you#writeblr#writebrl#black panther#wakanda forever#wakanda forever spoilers#namor black panther wakanda forever#tenoch huerta#1k
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May I request “you’re so warm.” “i hear you, but we really need to get up, love.” for the holiday celebration?
Side note: I’m new to your blog and I’m loving everything!
pairing: namor x queen!reader
warnings: eighteen+ content, they married so established relationship, mentions of trying to conceive, teasing, sexy fluff.
note: i had to rework the second line to fit more namor, i hope you don’t mind, lovey <3 but writing softness with this man makes me swoon for real.
translations: In yakunaj (my love), ko’olelo’ tortuosa (tortuous woman).
Biologically you know the logic of ocean creatures being cold blooded. The deeper you travel down the colder the temperature, the more the water feels like ice constricting your passages and tearing into your skin like knives. It’s why you can’t leave this cavern and visit his city without gearing up.
But Namor seems to defy all logic. All things you thought you knew about the world and what was biologically capable and taught in a textbook or lab. One of the many defying qualities of his: his warmth. The temperature of his body never wavering whether he was on the surface or in the depths of the sea.
It’s a warmth you love waking up to—pressed to your back or flush against your cheek as you cuddle into his chest.
His heat at your back feels better than any blanket that could possibly be woven. The heat engulfing you like a furnace, the cave a stinging cold contrast to the warmth his body provides in the bed; on your skin, lulling your limbs to stay close to him, to stay in bed.
“You’re so warm.” You hum, sleep still clinging to you, still wanting to be had. Your voice soft and groggy.
His smile presses into your cheek when he wraps his forearm more securely around you, pulling you closer, and pressing the softest kiss to your cheek. “Yes, I know.” He mumbles against your skin as he leaves a trail of kisses from your cheek, jawline, below it, and to the beginnings of your neck. “But we must get up. Our people are going to think all we do is lay with each other, doing nothing productive. It does not look good.”
“Didn’t Namora tell us to stay in bed until we have secured an heir?”
“Yes, In yakunaj. But–”
“Who are we to not listen to her demands? She is our people correct? Your second hand–your–” he cuts you off with his mouth. His lips capture yours in a silencing kiss, maneuvering your frame so he’s now lying chest to chest with you.
“I have pumped you full for days, In yakunaj. It will take. We must do other duties.” His thumb rubs along your jaw, amusement in the up turn of his lips.
“What’s one more try?” You know you’re playing dirty, know that the two of you really should stretch and do something other than bask in each other's warmth. But that can come later, right now you want to drown in the feel of his chest on top of yours, and his cock between your thighs. So you push your hips up and let them drag along his quickly hardening cock. The soft groan he lets out feeling like a victory. “K’uk’ulkan,” you moan against his mouth as you roll your hips once more—for good measure.
“Who knew I married such a ko'olelo' tortuosa,” he growls as he slots himself between your thighs and presses his mouth to yours; hard, teeth nipping at your bottom lip.
#namor fluff#namor x you#namor x reader#kukulkan smut#namor x black!reader#namor imagine#namor blurb#kukulkan x you#namor#namor smut#kukulkan x reader#namor x y/n#namor x female reader#namor x poc!reader#namor fic#black panther fanfic#merry slutmas
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Waves of Love
pairing: Namor x reader
concept: When you look into the water, you see the reflection of love.
word count: 1k
warnings: poetic fluff, soft smut (fingering), beach soft smut, kisses, ocean love, slight angst but just amor, In k'áatech = I love you; Meent' uts= please; In yakunaj= my love nikté =flower, Itzia: = princess,
a/n: You have no idea how much I love Namor and what he is representing for my people. This is for my Latinos/Latinas amores
beta read but all mistakes are mine: @mrsmischief209
gif and moodboard made by me
line divider by the lovely @s-tarksintern
Masterlist
Let your love warm me up while you are here
There is peace in the blue sky, the sand, and the endless ocean.
Lost loves have moved on without you, leaving you with nothing but sand beneath your feet and a sense of being abandoned on this land. The waves wash up and down on your toes, telling you that the lost souls in this world are dead.
This beach, however, is special to you because it is the only place where you can breathe and where the ocean caresses your body.
Thanks to him.
Ku'ku'lkán
As you called him on the shell, you got a sense of new, refreshing outlook on life.
I will do everything in my power to bring you out of the shadows in this collapsing world
You will discover a deeper understanding of yourself and life if you give the waves a chance to speak to you.
Namor.
Yo daré mi vida entera para el.
From the waves you see him emerge, and here you are giving him a chance and filling your heart with love. While you close your eyes, the sunlight warms your face. As he emerges from the sea, you can hear the wind whispering his song.
He sees you standing there and sees the dress around you, thinking of how it won't be allowed in his ocean. A smirk spreads across his face as he walks toward the shore with the sun shining on his golden spear.
There will be no one dearer to him than you and his only love. Weeping tears of loss and loneliness at the sight of the night. He promised you, when you shared your fears with him, there would be no fears allowed, as the ocean is feared, but you would become his queen, so you will be feared by all.
Use the power as a weapon to heal everything.
There is no good to be found on the surface because of the history of greedy destruction, of love sacrificed for power, and of conquest. You give him hope for the future with your bright eyes and beautiful spirit.
The soft breezes of another world lullaby to you as you stop, sit still, and listen.. You are in his dreams, and you wave at him as sweet dreams fill your heart.
His brown eyes stared at you and let the sun burn away the fear, melting into a wave of pleasure for him. He kisses the hand of the most precious thing in his life when he lifts it to his lips.
You.
Your bare toes touch the deep of the ocean as he pulls you toward the water.
A laugh escapes you, "Namor."
His eyes danced as he teased, "I got you, Itzia."
"I-" You are trying to argue, but Namor is leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours, silencing you.
Because of this, my love, you are the brightest
During the kiss as your eyes fell shut, you didn't even realize he rips your dress floating somewhere in the water, his arms around your waist, and your legs around his waist.
"My pretty Nikté." Namor murmured with a soft grin, his thumb stroking down your damp cheek. You smiled against his palm.
"How did I get so lucky to have you, In yakunaj?" he murmured in clear amusement and kissed your forehead.
His fingertips ran down your body, leaving a gentle cooling effect. Your eyes widened in surprise as you suddenly found yourself underwater. Then, while underwater, he smirks and kisses you again.
When you look into the water, you see the reflection of love.
He holds your wrist against the sand tracing the bracelet he gave when he took you to his kingdom. He smirks as his hands trace down your bare legs, "Who is your amor”.
"Namor," staring up at him with an intrigued expression on your face. "Meent' uts, more"
Two of Namor's fingers slide inside your pussy, gently stroking you.The other hand traces against your stomach reverently. Gliding slowly up to your breast to caress the heated flesh.His face lights up at the sound of your pleasurable moans.
"Fuck!" you scream at the strong orgasm creeping up your body. When the heat and water cover your skin, your hands curl at your sides, begging silently for more as you try to hold on to the sand.
You may lose sand from your hands in this world, but He is not slipping away from you. A man who loves and fights for his people is Namor.
As soon as he removed his hands from your hip, he began lightly brushing his fingertips along the skin where his lips had been before. His love for your moans grows as he watches them evaporate into the fire. He may enjoy burning down the world for you, but he loves burning your body for him.
You wanted to be around someone like him, who had a primal look in his eyes.
Your eyes shine brighter than fire and reflect broken glass. You will open your eyes to love if you let me.
He presses soft kisses on your neck as he strokes his fingers around your inside. Bringing you the push and pull in the way of a tsunami as if he commands the water to his will.
In k'áatech
Water flowing as the love dousing the fire leaving just the love that flows between both hearts no more the physical body but the emotional
I'd like to go with you.
#namor x reader#namor#black panther: wakanda forever#tenoch huerta#namor fanfic#namor x you#mcu namor#namor x mexican!reader#namor x latina!reader#namor fluff#namor angst#Ku'ku'lkán x reader#Ku'ku'lkán#wakanda forever#ku'ku'lkán x reader#ku'ku'lkán x fem!reader#namor x fem!reader#namor mcu#namor x poc!reader#namor x woc!reader#black panther 2#black panther wakanda forever#namor smut#marvel fanfiction#namor marvel#namor of talokan#namor imagine#black panther
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His Timeless Love
K’uk’ulkan x Reincarnator!Filipino!Reader
Summary: A God such as K'uk'ulkan has lived life by the hundreds, yet you wonder why he has not found his true love during his time of immortality. It might just shock you to believe that he had already loved you since the summer of 1592.
Or, in which K’uk’ulkan tells you the story of the four times he fell in love with you and the three times he saw you die.
Rating: 18+ Minors DNI
Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, colonization, Namor absolutely loathing colonizers and their language, graphic depictions of the Philippine Revolution, possible historical inaccuracies, extreme Catholicism, the violence of the Spanish regime, body worship, oral (f receiving), penetration (p in v), deflowering, cockwarming, creampie
Word Count: 23.5K :))
Note: This work follows along the history of the Philippines and the influences of the colonizers throughout the years of subservience. I claim no historical accuracy to the plot but the timeline and the implications of each historical era was and is researched accordingly. As such, I am also of Filipino descent specifically from Bisaya, Ilonggo, and Ilokano backgrounds.
This work is a connecting piece to His Queen. Both can be read separately and in any order.
Capital City Talokan, 2025
"Why did you choose me as your queen? Did you not find anyone worthy of your love in your long decades of life?" You had asked him in your shared chambers one night, your fingers tracing the hills of his knuckles and peppering kisses to his exposed chest.
The feathered serpent god pulled you closer to him, your legs intertwining with the silken sheets, his hand painting murals upon your barren back.
"I will only love you and only you." He replied. He lingered a kiss to your hair and whispered sweet nothings in his mother tongue. You resisted the urge to swat his arm—like you always do as a sign of your playful affection; a Filipino thing, really—and brought his hand upon your cheek to tenderly kiss the palms decorated with callouses, a clear sign of his training.
"You have avoided the question, my dear king."
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me," you heaved yourself up to your elbows and trapped your king within your arms; your noses barely touching, your bare chests grazing with every slow intake of breath, your hair falling like a curtain against the luminescent algae light. K'uk'ulkan stared up at you with nothing but pure adoration, yet you felt a deep sadness from within.
You persisted, "you are hiding something from me."
As if the sea had sensed its rulers melancholy, it shifted and it hummed amongst the rocks of the royal chambers. It crashed into you like the waves of a full moon's midnight, pelting your eyes with the sting of tears. You know not of the reason for your own sadness, but you knew somewhere in your soul that it was connected to your husband's own sorrow.
He reaches up to caress your cheek, and like a subservient dog to its master, you lean in right away to the warmth of his loving hands. He traced your features, every curve, every freckle, every bump, and every line down to the very last detail. He was memorizing every inch of you. He was burning it to memory.
"It is not a tale that is to be taken lightly. It is a burden I alone must bear."
You leaned down further until no space was left between your bodies. His breath hitched when you caressed his own cheeks, fingernails running through the planes of his chiseled face. He was a God in every way, and you worshiped every part of his divine countenance.
"I am your wife. I am your queen. What you know, no matter how vicious of a tale, I must shoulder. It is also a burden I must bear with you."
"My queen—" you silenced him with your lips. He would have returned the gesture with fervor, but you pulled away just as quick.
"K'uk'ulkan, akong hinigugma, akoang hari," my love. My king. His body shook in response to your mother tongue. He wondered if it was your powers at play. He, the embodiment of the sea, so easily bent to the will of your prowess. It was hardly fair, he would muse. But he will do as his queen demands, "tell me. Tell me what plagues your heart."
He hesitated for a moment. Flashes of decades worth of memories invaded his sight. You sensed his plight—you always do—so you tore your eyes away from his own earthen gaze and rested your cheek against his chest where his heart thumped in speed. You tapped your fingers to the rhythm of his pulse, your breath matching his to give him a sense of comfort. That you were there to listen.
And with a heavy sigh, he started;
"I've decided to make you queen the first time I saw you—during that fateful day you had fought off Spanish colonizers to reclaim your motherland."
"But I have not lived that long." The drumming of your fingers stopped. You felt his heart race faster. You did not look up, instead, you waited for him to continue.
"Not the you of the present," he tangled his own hands to your hair, his fingers playing with the strands mindlessly. There was an edge to his voice now, but as soon as you found purchase to his free hand, he breathed in a centering inhale before he continued.
"...but the you of the past."
Mactan, Cebu, Philippines, 1592
Namor.
A name fit for a cursed man like him; coined from a language he found vile. Niño sin amor. A child without love.
It was a few years since the passing of his mother, a few years of getting accustomed to the weight of the responsibilities as the ruler of Talokan. His heart was still tainted with the fresh vengeance of the colonizers that plagued the surface world that his mother so loved.
Yet he does not do anything for people with the same plight as he. He had to protect his people—his Talokan—even when it meant he would ignore the cries of help from the land-dwelling natives robbed of their ancestral lands.
As revered as he is in the eyes of his people as king and as a god, he was still a man fresh from adolescence. He was still a young man full of rebellious curiosity.
He loves to practice his flight above the waters of the seas. He mimicked the swiftness of flying fish, maneuvered the skies as he had seen from the native birds of the unknown lands he passed by. He was in no means masterful with his winged ankles just yet, but he was agile enough to move across the oceans until he felt the cold Atlantic winds turn into the warm winds of the pacific.
He always marveled at the new lands he happened to stumble upon—perhaps his mother’s love for the surface world had rubbed off on him in some way. He knew the sea was his home. Talokan was where his heart lay bare.
But he cannot help but drink the sights of the orient south; pure white sand, lush forestry by the line that divided the beaches and the wildlife, birds of every color unknown to him chirping in greeting as he flew past the polka-dotted whale sharks just skimming through the water’s edge.
The sea-life, as if sensing the presence of their sovereign ruler, acknowledged the winged serpent god when he dove down to admire the rainbowed corals of untouched treasures. There were creatures that were new to his eyes, unique to this area, Namor could only think, and were peculiar in nature. He did not dare disturb them and continued forth, now submerged in the warmth of tropical waters.
This new land was beautiful, Namor would not refute that fact. Although in his heart Talokan reigned supreme, the underwater civilization was still young—at least the same age as he is. They were still settling in down the depths and adjusting to the darkness of the deep.
Someday, Namor thinks to himself while staring up to the sun just below the water’s edge, someday I will bring the sun to my people.
He jolted in surprise when creatures that surrounded him suddenly dispersed at great speeds. His feathered ankles unfurled in alarm when the muffled boom of cannons reverberated from the ocean floor. Namor maneuvered his way through the dense coral just as a shower of debris and ammunition wrecked through the homes of the creatures he had just admired a few minutes prior.
His heart cried out for the defenseless life that was caught in the crossfire, yet he resisted the urge to surface in whole—he cannot compromise himself without the company of his guards nor with the absence of his spear. His people still needed him.
So he took shelter behind the rocky shallows hidden by a cliff’s shadow and watched.
Warriors clad in colorful striped garb emerged from the thickets carrying spears and precious swords adorned with crested jewels and metals.
Despite the ruggedness of their appearance (although Namor suspects it was from the running they had to go through to escape their assailants otherwise no such noble tribe would look so tired and soiled), they carried themselves with the poise of native royalty; their necks and ears were covered in golden jewelry, the anklets upon their feet clinking with the same metal. Men, women, and those possessing the traits of both alike wielded a weapon worthy of a warrior that even the Talokanil will respect.
These people streamed through the beach with expert ease, yet there were far too many wounded to traverse through the sand with the same swiftness as the others before them.
From the thickets came the spark of death, guns shattering the oriental hymns with powerful thrums of gunshots. Namor’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched in fury when he saw the same likeness of the conquistadors that plagued his own motherland like a disease, the men of the clergy following close behind with greased crosses and bellies bulging from the weight of their own gluttonous sin.
They hid behind armed soldiers like the cowards that they are as they continued to assault the now cornered tribe. Their feet were against the raging currents of the rocky sea—lethal if they jumped in without guide nor repercussion.
“Ríndanse,” surrender, one of the armor clad soldiers declared in the tongue so vile Namor had to control his seething rage, “o nos veremos obligasdos a disparar.” or else they will be forced to shoot, the Spanish man continued.
Either these people learned not of the vile tongue of the invaders or their will as warriors were keeping their mouths shut, they did not respond.
Namor’s feathered ankles bristled with a deep hatred, and along with it the selfish desire to end the lives of blasphemous fiends. But before he could fly to their aid with no weapon nor army to his name, a member of the tribe yelled out with such ferocity that it startled the gunned men. A decorated spear flew across the beach and pierced through the heart of one of the friars at the backline.
Chaos ensued afterwards, the tribe running for refuge in the forest they had long since protected upon the instruction of their general. There were casualties left at the beach—both tribesman and colonizer alike—until what was left standing was a warrior with a bloody spear and five men with empty guns and chipped swords.
That was the first time he had met you.
You were a spectacle. A sight to behold. He watched in awe as you twisted your spear with practiced ease with techniques that were unorthodox, yet there lie a hint of refined institutions from formal training.
Namor could only assume that you were yelling obscenities to the colonizers in your mother tongue, a dirty kind of wretched curses falling from your lips. It was not something he would find common from the mouth of what seemed to be nobility—for your neck, ears, and feet held far more gold than those of your brothers and sisters, and the cloth from your striped garments were of brighter hues and were held with belts and fasteners of gold.
The seams of your rattan woven cotton skirts shimmered under the setting sun from golden threads and silken hems, and he knew for sure that your clothes were fit for one of the higher crusts in your community.
One of the Spanish men had aimed for your neck, yet it only served to cut through the tinsel and jasmine wreath atop your head. The golden crown upon your forehead unraveled with your braids and fell at your feet in waves. It was tangled as it was heavy, yet you still moved as if no weight in the world could stop you.
You were outnumbered yet they were unmatched, this much was true. But your gait was smaller than those from the farthest countries of the southwest and they towered over you like predators to meager prey.
They had managed to give you cuts, bruises, and near fatal wounds, yet your stance never wavered, not even when you had struck three men down to their knees, their blood spilled on the fine white sand.
You were cornered, alone, and near death. But you never gave in.
“Mga yawa…! Dili gayud kami motugyan!” We will never give up, you bastards! Like a final wail to the gods of war, you swung your spear in blind rage.
You expected to die by the blades of Spanish intruders, yet you found yourself in the mercy of a god.
He rose from the water like a raging tide. His dark eyes burning with a fury that you could not fathom a mere mortal could possess. He bore the strength of a hundred men and killed them with his bare hands.
How foolish were you to have pointed your own spear at such a creature whose ears pointed to the heavens with his feet decorated with the feathers from the holy birds above? How would you dare question the majesty of his divine presence? You quivered and you shook, the wounds from your fight gushing with blood.
“Who are you?” You asked in your mother tongue. He cocked his head to the side. “Have you come to kill me as they have killed my people?”
“I do not understand you,” The serpent god replied in kind, his arms raising to show no harm, “but I do not wish to kill you.”
You could not understand his tongue and neither did he understand yours. But you felt his neutrality. You lowered your spear until it touched the sand of the darkened beach, the only source of light coming from the full moon peeking from the low tides of the horizon. In that moment of surrender you found yourself falling forwards, your steps now failing you at the loss of a threat.
You felt your body being cradled by the arms of the winged god—how impertinent must you be to act so foolishly in his presence.
Through the haze of your thoughts you watched as he descended below the waves after he had left you in the comfort of the shade of a coconut tree. His back rippled with the water, the tides following his every whim. One last thought consumed you before you were drowned by the comfort of the sea’s lullabies and into the arms of dreamless slumber.
“Maklium sa Tubig…”
The God of the Sea.
Following the days of your healing, you sought out the beach of your ancestral lands to wait for the Maklium sa Tubig. You were not fit to lead the rebellion against the Spanish just yet, and the other tribes had created treaties to stop their momentary strifes to battle against the common enemy. You were not as needed as you are in the frontlines whilst you rested, but you knew it was a matter of time before you had to go.
Filthy colonizers, you thought in anger. They cut down ancestral trees and burned down villages in the name of their own god. They set up fortresses without regard for the spirits that dwell in the mounds of earth, sullied the waters of the divine with their disgusting wastes.
They cursed in a foul language while holding their symbols of prayer, and they kill the caretakers of your sacred lands in cold nonchalance. They were mere strangers to the home of your royal forefathers, but they act as if they own the lands that your people had cultivated.
You needed to join the battle; lest the soil of your mother becomes more tainted with the blood of its children.
You needed to see that man—your god—before you were to be whisked away in war against the men with monstrous weapons and diseases that wiped out your sister tribes.
“Please, I want to see you once more, Maklium sa Tubig.”
As if to answer your prayers, a figure came and rose from the depths of the sea, his winged feet aiding him to his ascent and towering over you as a god would to his children. The moon shone upon him with favor, coating his body with a glow of magnificence.
You bowed your head low and kowtowed before the god of the sea while ignoring the wounds from your fight. It has only been a few weeks since your battle, but that did not stop you from whispering your odes of worship in your mother tongue.
The squelch of wet sand startled you out of your prayers. You dare not look up at the god who has saved you from your doom. No words were uttered between you, but you felt a large hand resting itself on your wreathed head.
“Raise your head.” He said in a language that you did not understand. As if rediscovering this plight, Namor pulled you up to your feet and stared down at you with those dark, calculating eyes.
It held no such warmth for you—you do not think a creature as powerful as he would hold warmth to a mortal whose spear pointed at his neck after he had saved you—yet you felt safe in the presence of your savior.
You tore your gaze away from your god and stepped back, your head hung low and your arms extended in a respectful offering. In your hands were the finest of golden jangle necklaces with intricate detail. It depicted the crops that lay in high noon, the mountains of your dearest homeland, the spears of your ancestral warriors, and the waves of the ocean that he, your god of the sea, ascended from. Beads of precious stones were in between the golden plates; the most expensive and the rarest that you could find.
“Ilahad ko kanimo mga bahandi, Maklium sa Tubig. Nagapasalamat ang imohang magtotoo sa imong pagluwas sa akong katawhan.”
I offer you riches, God of the Sea. This believer thanks you for saving their people, you had told him.
Namor stared at your offering a while longer than he had expected. No surface dweller had ever given him something so ornate before. Yet as he watched the warrior who bested five men twice your size, bowing before him in obedience and utmost reverence, he could not help but accept the accessory from your hands.
A shock passed the both of you as his fingers grazed your open palm, and before you could look up to say thank you once more to the god that had saved you, not even a trace of his footsteps on the wetted sand remained.
On the nights that followed, what turned into a meeting of god and follower turned into that of a friend’s idle meet-ups. And from friends blossomed the springtime call of love that beckoned the young warriors into a dance of ardor.
Every seven days, you meet once again and give each other jewels, pearls, and riches that no man could fathom to give. Yet these gifts turned into physical touch, and soon enough, a kiss was all you needed to satisfy each other’s needs.
He called himself K’uk’ulkan. Although he would have given you the name Namor for you to call him by, he did not want you to utter the loveless name given to him by the same colonizers who terrorized your ancestral lands.
You were hesitant to give your love to the Maklium sa Tubig. What mortal would dare step into the loving embrace of a being more divine than they? Yet he made sure to tell you, despite the language that seemed to create a line of misunderstanding between you, that he was no god; at least, not the god of your people. He made sure to be patient with you.
You were like a shy hatchling who cowered at the mere sight of him whenever he emerged from the waters to visit you. But you eventually gave in to the feathered touches of his fingers, the tranquil affection he had showered with every lingering caress of your cheek, and soon enough, you had been caught in the spell that you could not free yourself from.
And even if you did, you will not willingly submit to the freedom of knowing that you cannot be with your god. Your lover. You will willingly fall into the grasps of his ardent endearments even if it meant you were to fall for a divine being.
With every touch, with every kiss, with every breath that you shared with the feathered serpent god, Namor, no, K'uk'ulkan, felt less and less like the cursed loveless child the fiendish colonizers had branded him to be.
In your arms, he felt loved. Puno sa gugma, as you would have told him in your language. Full of love.
He never thought he would ever receive the love of another being, much less someone from the surface world. He bore nothing but hatred for them.
But you, the warrior who loves their people as much as they love their land, a ruler whose clansmen followed your beck and call, a creature who dances amongst the winds of the high tide without the aid of drums nor stringed instruments out of pure adoration to nature's songs has claimed his heart, body and soul.
You were his as he was yours.
And the heart he had thought bore no love overflowed. It spilled like the roaring surge of the waterfalls of your tribal grounds. A sacred place of worship just behind the rocks of the curtains of clear water; to praise your body in its glorious state of highest exultation, to taste the holy nectar of your jeweled flower.
A gift you had given to him, you had told the god, for the pleasures of the union of two souls was the greatest feeling of all. There he had reached the point of euphoric bliss. There he had reached the peak of the love that he had to give, engraved deeply into the deepest parts of your body and soul.
He was now a man blessed with love.
And now you lay in his arms, his lips worshiping every bit of skin he could land upon.
“I…not meet. With you,” you played with the golden bracelets you had given your lover one night, your speech stuttering in the language you know not the name of. You tried desperately to learn his tongue, and he had soaked up your own language with every fateful meeting as well.
You buried your toes on the wet sand and leaned your head on his jeweled chest, his arms wrapping securely around you with your figure between his legs, “war coming. Cannot meet.”
K'uk'ulkan breathed in your scent—a mixture of hibiscus and jasmine that adorned the crown of your head as well as the faint whiffs of ripened mangoes and coconuts, something unique to you and only you—and buried his head on the dip of your shoulders.
“Stay.” One word was all he needed to communicate what he wanted in his mother tongue. You understood immediately. Despite that, you shook your head.
“Cannot stay. My people need me…”
“In yakunaj,” my love, he whispered your name in a breathless whisper. He pressed his lips to your neck, the jade from his ears tickling your cheeks.
Your golden dangles clinked with the melody of your homeland and with it intermingled the score of its rulers’ hymns, “stay with me. Come to my kingdom. I will make you my queen.”
“Intruders kill. Home needs to be free,” you turned your head to meet the eyes of your god, of your king, and spoke in broken phrases of his tongue, “cannot abandon them. We need to be free. Our mother cries, our land weeps. Tribe ready for war. I cannot go.”
“Then let me help you,” he raises your hand to his lips, your palms burning with a pleasant tingle of his mouth on your calluses.
He then trails himself to the jade ring on your finger—a gift he had so graciously given you on your third moment of meeting—and lingers a kiss to it softly, "let me help you defeat your enemies. And after that, you will become my queen. Tugoti ako sa pagtabang kanimo sa pagsunog sa mga manunulong sa imong yuta."
Let me help you burn the intruders of your land.
It was unfair, you thought. How can he be so fluent with your language already? You could only make out broken phrases in his mother tongue, but he speaks your language as if it is his own.
You pouted.
That made your lover chuckle in amusement.
And so K'uk'ulkan, with the promise of aid to your people, brought forth a small group of his strongest warriors to the waters of the orient south. He himself was equipped with his own weapon decorated with jade, gold, and pearls from the gifts that you have offered him from your island.
He brandished it high and proud as he swam through the currents in time for his promised day of rendezvous; just seven days after you had met him last.
His people were initially against it. Providing aid to an unknown tribe of surface dwellers? It was hardly an option to be considered by the Talokanil. But as soon as he had explained your people's anguish, a suffering so similar to theirs that it brought forth tears to the eyes of the elderly who remembered the days they had to flee from their motherland, the young civilization (hardly even a nation) of the deep seas had given their blessings.
Seven days of preparation. Seven days of wait. Seven days is all he needed to come back to your arms and make you his queen. Their Chilam, the priest in charge of procuring remedies and healing salves, with the guidance and blessings of the Aj k’in, the head priest of their young nation of Talokan, had made him another tonic; a blue medicine to ensure that you would become his queen after the war.
Yet seven days proved far too late.
He and his warriors arrived at dusk, the beach decorated with the most lavish of fauna. Torches burned with the carvings of the depictions of wheat and sea, the huts lavished with intricately woven rattan.
A celebration, perhaps, that the lands were garnered as such. Yet there held no joy in the midst of the fire and of the warriors who lay lifeless on the ground, the sand drinking the blood spilled unto their grasps.
He could only describe it as a bloodbath. A one-sided battle that far outnumbered the rebellious efforts of your tribe. He and his people witnessed the Spanish conquistadors bare their guns at the children and the elderly, going as far as to drag the women by their woven hairs and into their boats that docked unceremoniously by the bay.
K'uk'ulkan felt his people seethe. He could not blame them; it was as if they were replaying the scene their mothers and their fathers had witnessed when they themselves were driven away from their own homeland.
K'uk'ulkan's blood boiled when he saw some of your sister tribes fighting alongside their own invaders. Instead of the noble swords and decorated spears in their hands, they held guns to shoot their own kin.
They had betrayed you.
K'uk'ulkan made sure to kill off the traitors that dared oppose your authority.
Yet he did not care for those who have died in war. His only purpose was you.
And the you that he so loved, the warrior he promised the world of both sea and land, lay lifeless at the beach with a spear on your chest—the same weapon your people had meticulously created for their most noble of warriors—and proudly by the head of an altar was a man with the same clothes as you. Your kin, perhaps. But it did not matter.
Your own people had betrayed you for the intruders that poisoned your home.
It was a haze, really. His own wrath had covered his vision in red. He remembered ordering his men to sink the ships that contained vile vermin whilst he flew at great speeds to kill every single man, woman, and colonizer that dared to cross his vision. It mattered not if they were foe or ally.
His queen is dead.
You were so beautiful in his arms. Despite the blood that dripped down your wounds, despite the crimson droplets that splattered across your golden jewelry and your ceremonial clothes, you were still a spectacle in his eyes.
Your beauty radiates with the fire that roared behind him, your voice echoing through his mind in the midst of dying gasps around you. The sea that sloshed beneath his hip had been dyed in an eerie scarlet, and by the time the tide had rescinded, your motherland fell into a grievous hush.
She did not sing the hymns of nature like it had done a thousand times before, yet she stays in silent mourning for her children's blood that spilled on her beaches.
He knew not of the mourning customs of your people, so he honored you in the ways of his.
K'uk'ulkan and his people placed you to rest at the edge of your ancestral lands by the soil that divided the forests and the sea, offered maize and jades to your mouth, and buried you deep into the heart of your motherland. The tonic he planned to give you was placed firmly on your hands. Maybe, in another world where you have lived through the hardships of war, would you have drunk its contents and become the queen of his growing nation.
He did not cry, at least, not in front of his people.
And it was that night when K'uk'ulkan realized that he could never be loved. That the curses of the colonizers rang true to his very being.
Niño sin amor.
Under the witness of the full moon did he cry out in anguish, his wails drowned by the roaring sea. And that night he had reclaimed his second name once again.
Namor. A cursed child without love.
Baclayon, Bohol, Philippines, 1758
It had been years since the death of Namor’s supposed-queen. By that time he had realized that he was unlike the others in Talokan. He had outlived the people who had raised him, outlived the advisers that had shown him both the hand of mercy and the fist of iron to rule, and he outlived the warriors who had grown with him through the throes of their blooming nation.
He had outlived those who have witnessed the sins of the colonizers—he was the only testament to the will of Talokan’s forefathers.
He was no ordinary man, that much was true since the day he had first claimed his birthright. It didn't surprise him that he would live past the dates of a hundred.
By this time he had studied the minerals that were rich in their nation's floors. It held a power so strong that it could brighten the depths of the deep sea. With that knowledge he had begun to formulate the plans he held dear—to bring forth the sun to his people deprived of the land they had once roamed.
It felt incredibly bare by his side once his subjects cheered for the underwater sun that he had successfully curated. His heart felt full with praises from his people, yet there lay a void that would never be filled; for he had given half of his soul to a land-dwelling warrior of the orient south.
There lay no queen to the empty throne by his side.
The strings of what was left of his heart tugged at the direction of the Pacific isles, just like any other day of the years that had gone by. Yet this tug turned into that of a forceful pull. A yearning, perhaps, that dug deep into his very core that it became as painful as the decorated spears from the warriors of the deep sea.
And so the feathered serpent god surfaced once more and flew across the seas until his skin felt the kiss of the tropical sun.
He still remembered the life that greeted him a century ago. It was full of grandeur and treasures unknown, yet should be left untouched by the hands of the non-dwellers of the sea.
What he saw was nothing like the memories of the past.
Boats and armored ships docked the bays of what was once your home, the home of the sea-life turning as dull as the rusted anchors that replaced the dying anemone. There were a slew of people all ranging from the colors of their skin to the tongue that they speak.
The sand was now replaced with stones and bricks and concrete, the trees turned to infrastructures for trade. There is a clear hierarchy amongst the surface dwellers—the supreme men of education from the colonizers that plagues your lands, the natives with the same likeness as you, the one that he so held dear, and pale skinned workers with narrow eyes that spoke a language he has not recognized.
Those of low birth (Namor had to clench his teeth at the mere implication of the noble tribes of your people to be of common backgrounds) were chained and whipped and scorned like they were the plagues to this land. The colonizers bore crosses of prayer, offered the Word of their doctrines as a show of mercy, yet they treated your people as if they were the scum and the friars the messiah.
He had to resist the urge to fly into another fit of rage. He cannot compromise himself nor his people.
The pull from his heart led him away from the busy port town of merchants and slaves, around a few more islands into the motherland, and into a secluded beach with a grand manor by the plot of land further inland. The dusk provided a hush so similar to the one he had heard centuries ago—the lullabies of your motherland almost lulling Namor to sleep. Yet he persisted in his search, flying in closer to the manor with very spare lamps to its sides.
By now the sun had almost kissed the sea its goodbyes, and his eyes strained to see the faint silhouettes from the balcony of the hacienda.
In the years that he has lived without you by his side, his broken heart suddenly skipped with the feeling that he claimed to have lost in his century-long mourning.
You were as beautiful as the day that he had lost you; the same sparkle of your unwavering gaze that held nothing but the wit of a datu, the sheen of your golden skin flickering with the lamp by your side, the stature of a figurehead that leads with fervor into battle.
The same face, the same mannerisms, the same scrunch of your brow when you had to plunge into a circle of deep thought. It was you.
Yet you were not dressed as the warrior Namor had known you to be. You were dainty. Fragile. Instead of a rose with jagged thorns, you were a jasmine in the high afternoon. Defenseless. Smaller than the world. You bear not the golden jewels upon your skin, nor the scars nor ink of your ancestral heritage.
You were a woman of class, of poise. A princess whose hands have not held the spears of rebellion nor the blood of the enemy. You wore a dress that was far too regal; you could not as much as run into the battles you had once waged for your land.
Despite this, Namor knew. He knows in his heart—his very soul—that it was you.
And how that excited him so.
He was too far to hear the musings of your lips as another woman—this time with far less poise, drab clothes, narrow eyes that shifted down in respect, and the palest of pallor—approached you in high regard. She spoke to you as if you were her master, yet you replied with a kindness that made the sangley at ease in your presence.
You moved with the grace of nobility, shied away from the breeze of the sea with the same sway of the tropical trees, and you uplifted the sangley, one of low birth in comparison to your standing, like she was one of your own; without fault nor the judgment of race, without the grimace nor stare of a boorish colonizer.
A queen. That was what you are. A leader fit to rule by his side and claim the empty throne on his right hand.
He wanted to go and fly up the balconies of your manor, claim the lips that he had once lost in war, and bring you back to his home and let you reclaim the right that had been yours since the beginning of his reign as king. Yet he waited for the perfect time to face you. He watched your newfound life, marveled at the way you had changed so much yet so little at the same time.
Namor seethed when he saw men of Spanish class strolling across the beach, their arrogance seeping out in waves that even the god could feel from his distance from the shores. They called out to you in the tongue that he had hated, presenting you with a rose from below, and the other men accompanied such gestures with songs of courting.
He would have killed those men who dared lay their eyes upon his beloved, but you simply scoffed at them from the balcony. You unfurled your fan with a snap, diverted your eyes away from your suitors, and slowly fanned the silken abanico by your chest.
You fiddled with the golden tassel that hung low from the native wood, your whole countenance uninterested with the advances of the noble insulares—Philippine born Spaniards. The sangley at your side giggled in amusement and the men down below had dejectedly left you to your own devices with their head hung low and their pride crushed.
Whatever you had done with your fan had left them heartbroken. Namor found joy at the fact that there did not exist another man who could ever claim your soul as he had done in the past.
As the days passed, Namor had viewed you from afar. He watched as you mingled with more noble ladies your age, sewn beautiful articles of cloth as a gift to your father—a governor general, he assumed—and lived the life of a princess. You were not the warrior he came to know you to be, but his love still overflowed with a new passion. You wore the same smile, bore the same laugh, and you still possess the same air of dignity that led the charge in pursuit of your beliefs.
You had snapped your fan open and fanned yourself slowly to the countless other men who tried to court you from down your balcony; you must be the most precious flower in this land. And rightfully so.
He wondered how a woman as strong as you would be sheltered as much as you are now. You had the makings of a leader, but the men of higher titles bore those roles despite being ill-fitted.
One particularly peaceful dusk, as he watched you talk with the sangley, you had finally gone out from your manor to bask in the freshness of your motherland’s air. You glided down the beach while gripping the ends of the sheer fabric of your pañuelo, dragged the wide train of your elaborate saya, and relished the salty breeze that came from the sea. Your hair, which was always tied in a complicated updo, has now unraveled.
You were so beautiful in Namor’s eyes, even this version of you that was decorated with the most intricate of fragile cloth and the innocence of a maiden of class.
Namor could not take this silent wonder to himself any longer. He needed to see you. He needed to touch you. He needed to hear you.
He needed you.
His heartbeat pounded against his pointed ears, his hands shaking from excitement, or was it fear? Fear that you might not remember him, fear that you will not come back as the queen that he had hoped you to be.
Yet as he watched you close your eyes in peace, he purged the thought of such fear. You were still the woman that he loved. The person who owns half of his soul. He needed to feel your body in his arms again and shower you with the two hundred year long affection that overflowed in his chest.
And with a final beat to his feathered wings, he emerged from the water in front of you. Just like the first time you met on that fateful beach long ago.
Your eyes were still closed, your breath still at peace. He drew in closer, and closer until she could smell the jasmine that decorated your hair. You were so near, just an arm’s length away. He raised his hand, ready to caress the supple of your cheek that he had so longed to hold since the first time he saw you by the bay—
Then you snapped your eyes open in horror and fell to the ground with a panicked shriek.
Fear. It was painted in your eyes. The same fear that washed over the eyes of his enemies when he pointed a spear to their neck to meet their untimely demise. The same fear he had instilled to the people who had wronged him and cursed him as a deadly foe.
The same fear he never wished to see in your own eyes—the eyes that once held so much love for him.
“In reina—” my queen, he started. But you still shook with great fear and apprehension.
“¡Demonio!”
Namor’s blood froze as you uttered the tongue that he loathed so much. It coursed through with a hot rage like an inferno, the shock of disbelief, and with it came the despair that he felt through his veins. The warrior who had fought for their motherland was tainted by the same people that had ravished your culture, tore down your ancestral homes, and assaulted your own people in the guise of religious crusade.
His heart lurched again, but this time it was from the pain. To see his beloved hold so much fear for him, for you to clutch the cross that adorned your neck in the prayer he found so vile that made him want to lash out in his own disgust.
What words have you uttered to curse him whilst you praised your Christian god, what such contempt do you hold for him, he wondered, for you to ask the holy mother to cast him out like the demon of the depths of hell that he was supposed to be?
The mouth you had used to praise him, the one you used to kiss him and call your god of the sea, now spoke nothing but the language of filthy invaders that he hated the most.
You had forgotten him. It hurt to accept the fact that all of the love that he had given you in the century that he had mourned had been forgotten and replaced with disgust of his being. Yet he did not blame you, he only blamed the enemies that have tainted your soul with dark hatred.
“¡No eres bienvenido en esta tierra, demonio! ¡Te expulso en el nombre de mi dios!” You are not welcome in this land, demon! I cast you out in the name of my god! You declared.
You dared not ask for help, but instead you fought him off with that foul tongue.
You were still a fighter despite being treated as royalty, and it hurts so much to know that he cannot praise your spirit when you were tainted by the influence of the vile conquistadors.
This was too much. Namor could only bear so much.
And before the guardia civil could even see a glimpse of him after they had heard the cries of their young mistress, he had fled into the sea and never returned.
That night, the ocean sang the songs of cruel anguish; for its king mourned the loss of his queen to the hands of colonizers once again.
A loveless child. That was what he was. The cursed man whose half his soul died along with his beloved.
Niño sin amor.
A year after he had fled from your sight, he came back to watch you again. Despite the pain, he had to see you one last time.
Yet he was met with a line of mourners holding a cross to their lips as they prayed their ninth day of rosary in front of a coffin by the sea.
He did not stay to find out whose wake it was, but by the sobbing form of the sangley that you always loved to dote, the ladies that you had shared a pleasant time with embroidered kerchiefs, and the weeping governor general by the head of the procession and the lead to the rosary,
Namor knew he will never see the smile of his beloved ever again.
Manila, Philippines, Summer of 1896
There were rumors of an entity that gifted their favorite followers golds and jaden necklaces, pearls and diamond rings, riches that no indio could ever imagine getting their hands on in the presence of the guardia civil and the watchful eye of the Catholic church.
There spared no mercy to the rightful owners of the land once owned by the slaves that toiled the lands by the whips of their Spanish masters; each morsel of coin and bread carefully rationed three days worth of portions for a week worth of labor.
But the rumors of the generous being were drowned by the whispers of revolution, hushed meetings of a triage at the wee hours of the night, and there lay plans—real strategies, not the old tale of riches from a benevolent god of luxury—of the fight for the land that was stolen from them by the Spanish.
“Hermanos, hermanas, batid kayo hinggil sa nabigong stratehiya ng mga illustrados na naghahangad ng kapayapaan sa pamamaraan ng publikasyon at pluma. La liga filipina ha demostrado ser inútil.” Brothers, sisters, I’m sure you are all aware of the failed peace strategies of the illustrados. La Liga Filipina has proven to be useless.
You listened attentively whilst dressing the wounds of a young katipunero, the gashes that came from the swords of the guardia civil seeping blood into the fresh bandages.
You frowned as the young man hissed, but he kept it in well to let your leading general continue with his speech. It was a formality at this point—to start the secret meetings at midnight with a speech after the revolutionaries separated from La Liga Filipina—it was to ensure the new members of the triage were made aware of their roles in the armed revolution.
La Liga Filipina was not completely useless, you had thought to yourself helplessly. You wanted to end this war with peace. You wanted the written articles of the educated men of class to be heard through the high societies of the Spanish regime. All you wanted was freedom without the cost of bloodshed of your fellow men.
You would have stayed with the league if it weren’t for your lack of education. As a daughter of a fisherman, you did not have the time nor the resources to attend the catholic schools that were built for your purpose.
And even if you did learn how to properly articulate your revolutionary propaganda, you knew higher society would frown upon the texts that were written by mere women, much more when you were of a low birth.
The general of the revolutionary movement called out on you, his wife perking up at the mention of your name. You straightened up and patted the poor injured boy by your side. He was still a whimpering mess despite the amount of medicine and rolls of gauze you had used on his injured arm.
“Po?” What? You asked whilst you wiped your hands clean of blood. Your general merely quirked a brow and cleared his throat.
“Muntikan nang mahuli ang ating bise noong nakaraang hatinggabi,” Our vice president was almost caught last midnight, he told you in brief. You shot a glance to the woman by his side—his wife, the vice president of the Revolutionary’s Women’s Chapter—and frowned.
The guardia civil have proven to be drawing closer and closer to your base of operations, and if anyone would have discovered the plans of the custodian, it would be the end of the freemasonry, “nangangailangan kami ng pagtustos mula sa ating kapwa rebolusyonaryo sa pagtago ng ating mga armas.” We need the assistance of our sister revolutionaries with hiding our weapons, he continued.
“Oye, ano ang kinalaman nito sa akin? Isa lang akong manggagamot sa himagsikan.” What does this have to do with me? I am merely a medic in the revolution.
“At isa ka ring babae,” and you are a woman, he told you pointedly. You shot him a look of disdain, his wife shooting him a similar squinted stare. All the other women in attendance at the secret meeting frowned and held their chins up higher, the others who were tending to their weapons pausing in their tasks. There were few women who would willingly join the revolution, but they did not fall short on their responsibilities. They could do their job equal to, even better than, a man. Noticing his mistake, the general cleared his throat and raised his hand in surrender to show no ill-will.
“Lo siento, binibini, mali ang aking pagkasabi,” I apologize, young lady. I phrased myself poorly, he pulled out a map from a hidden compartment from his desk and laid it out on the adjoined tables for everyone to see.
He pointed to a spot near the ports of Manila, trailing his fingers across lands that did not bear any paths, and signaled his chin forward for you to see, “bilang isang babae, mas mababawasan ang paghihinala ng mga guardia sibil kapag sila’y nagsisiyasat ng iyong karwahe. Walang maghihinala na ang isang babae’y sumali sa mga rebolusyonaryo.” As a woman, The civil guards would not raise any suspicions whilst inspecting your carriage. They would hardly suspect a woman to be a member of the revolution.
“Ano ang nais mong gawin ko, heneral?” What do you wish me to do, general?
He pursed his lips and gestured to the hidden doors of the basement where all the weapons lay hidden, “Isang kinsena. Kikilos ka sa loob ng isang kinsena upang ilipat ang ating mga armas. Inuutos din kitang magbigay ng tulong medikal sa ating kapwa katipunero sa baybaying dagat.” A fortnight. You must move out within a fortnight to relocate our weapons. I am instructing you to give medical aid to our fellow revolutionaries by the bay as well.
You nodded at your new instructions, burning everything to memory as the general forged new plans to inconspicuously sneak you past the civil guards that manned and roamed the port bay. You were prepared for the responsibility that awaited you, but at the same time, there was a pull to your gut that something life-changing will happen during your journey.
That feeling persisted until you sneaked past out of the backdoors of the meeting room and into your own quaint little home downtown.
You chalked it up to nerves.
The plan was successful; the idea was to disguise yourself as a peninsulares’ fiancé and meet your lover at the bay (a plan carefully executed in cahoots with your fellow revolutionaries that were affiliated with the La Liga Filipina).
No one will suspect a woman like yourself to carry guns and blades in the guise of gifts to your wealthy groom-to-be. And a little bit of a scene from your brothers of the revolution near the entrance of the port town, you passed by quickly from the inspection gates, bid the guards a blessed day, and made your way towards the hacienda that was lent to you by your wealthier brothers of the league.
And by god was it beautiful.
It sat near the ports just a shy away from the main docking bays of trade. Yet it gave you a fair distance to be considered private that no man would dare see past the foliage of the trees that surrounded the courtyard facing the sea. You breathed in the scents of the ocean—a scent that you missed dearly—and helped your coachman (and fellow revolutionary) unload your ‘gifts’ for your ‘fiancé.’
After the luggage has been stored, and the weapons hidden under the floorboards and basements of your new casa, you take the time to stroll across the beaches of your new home. It was quiet, save for the port side bells that signaled the dusk from across the distant shores, and stood quietly by the edge of the water.
You chose this time to relish the momentary peace that you were privileged enough to bask in. Your brothers and sisters were out to war, yet you remain here awaiting the orders of your general. You were an integral part of the revolution and you knew that very well. But you would rather ride into battle in armed cavalry against the colonizers that terrorized your people.
By your side, you hear splashes of water and the quelch of wet sand. You snapped your eyes to the direction of the noise, your arms immediately grabbing the blade hidden under your saya on instinct. You were not afraid of any man nor friar who would prey on helpless women, yet you will not take any chances.
You blinked in confusion when you were met with nothing by the beach. Must it have been your imagination? Surely not—you were accustomed to the sound of silent footsteps when you had fought the battles of night, trained your ears to the slightest of shifts in preparation for a silent war.
You must be out of practice after a fortnight of etiquette training for your new high-class persona.
A glimmer caught your eye just buried beneath the wet sand. The waves unearthed a golden necklace of sorts with intricate designs depicting the sea. You blinked in confusion as you sheath your blade and picked up the jewelry in question. A jade fit snugly into the slot of the golden amulet, and there were small pearls lined with the golden threads.
You have heard of rumors of a god that gave gold and jade riches to those that they had pleased. It was the legends passed by the tongue of your hometown in the south; when your ancestors worshiped the god of the sea and bore gifts in exchange.
You wondered if this was mere coincidence—there was a possibility that such an accessory was dropped by one of the noble ships that carried riches and was swept by the tide and showed up at your feet.
Nevertheless, you used the cloth of your saya to wipe away the water and the sand from the beautiful piece, held it to the light to admire the masterful craftsmanship, and held it close to your heart.
Somehow, despite your desire to send it to your family to provide monetary aid for your brothers and sisters, you wanted to keep it close to you and never let it go.
And from just behind the rocks of the bay, it was enough for Namor to see you keep his gift with a smile; the smile he thought he would never see again.
But you were right there. Right there. Fate had given him a chance to marvel at your magnificence once again. His heart fluttered with the desire to take you as his queen, and the love he thought that died a second time flourished and overflowed.
Only this time, he was going to admire you from afar. That much was enough for him. It was not your fault that the colonizers had influenced your people so much that you had casted him away more than a century ago.
But he cannot bear his beloved utter the tongue of vile vermin. It was a reminder of his weakness; that he could not save you at your first cycle of life.
And so he watched you like he did in your second life, only this time he did not do anything to satiate the itch of his longing in fear of your rejection;
for the mighty god would lose his way if he were to lose the light that he held so dearly in the heart that cried out for your loving embrace.
You were sure you were going crazy. Believing myths and stories that were used to keep troublesome children in bed? Hardly a thing that you would even consider in your years of life.
Yet you had to wonder; what in the world have you done to appease the god of the sea to deliver so much wealth at your doorstep? It had been a month since your reinstatement to the port city.
You worked as a spy of sorts, collecting whispers and hushed rumors of anything related to the revolution. The wind speaks of a rebellion just across the horizon. It was high time for war—your general had written to you in a passage of a poem about the red roses in the last drops of summer. A code, you gathered, of the real battle that is to begin in a month.
You always worried what it meant for your people, and that worry would bloom into an unsettled anxiety. You always walked through the beaches for fresh air when you were deep in thought, and lo and behold, another gift would appear right at your feet, hidden by the wet sand of the sea. It has been a month of golds and jades and naturally intricate conch shells.
It would have scared you to meddle with the affairs of such divine entities, but you found yourself comforted by whatever being or coincidence that would offer you such gifts.
The riches that were handed to you by a silver platter had been most helpful with the revolution. You had stocked the shelves high with medicine for war, bought books from the higher ends of the Spanish markets (even though it will take some time for you to decipher the written text with your lack of education), and supplied monetary aid to your general’s ranks to buy you more gunpowder for the oncoming war.
You had also bought yourself crates upon crates of arms to be shipped off in the high time of trade; this will give your brethren of the rebellion more chances to fight for themselves. It will be needed the most, especially when the Spanish would outnumber you by a hundred thousand.
As you studied the new gift bestowed upon you—a sheer patterned cloth bundling a few golden coins—your heart swelled with an unknown warmth. The thoughts of war dissipated from your head, and what was left of the impending sorrow of the revolution was the love of fate that somehow swept itself on the tide of your beaches.
“Ano ba ang namalas ng iyong binditadong mga mata upang matamo ng isang Sugbuanong kagaya ko ang iyong pagunlak, Maklium sa Tubig?” What do your divine eyes see to have garnered such favor from a poor Cebuano such as I, God of the Sea?
Everything, Namor replied to your question in his mind. He clutched the pouch of golds and jades to his heart as it yearned for your touch. Although he was still not accustomed to the new language that you had spoken, he still understood the implications of your question directed to him, even though you did not know your words were heard by the feathered serpent god.
You did not even have to try to garner his favor. He will still love you all the same. He did not need divine judgment nor the aid of a heavenly council, he loved every single part of you just the same. He loved every single version of you; past, present, and future.
On the days that have passed you have gotten even busier. Reconnaissance, medical aid, even the task of a revolutionary herald had been passed on to you. You knocked on doors and brought news of war, spread rumors—both truth and hearsays—to confuse those who eavesdropped by the alleys.
No Spanish soldier would ever think a woman of all people would spread the mumbles of revolution. Yet here you were, hidden right under their noses as you had expanded the triage of the port bay. More and more young men and women joined the secret meetings every midnight, and there are more to come in the following weeks.
This new responsibility weighed heavily on your shoulders. You were not the leader your general thought you would be, nor are you the dependable mother of revolution Ka Oriang had inspired you to be.
You were just a woman of low birth whose voice was drowned by the men with pride and far more tactical brilliance than you. You were a medic, not a warrior. A woman who had no right to be at the head of the strategist table.
Namor watched from afar as you became the leader of such a great rebellion. It was an admirable feat, one that Namor would have done if it weren’t for his priorities to keep his people hidden. Yet he frowned at your desolate disposition from the rocks he had settled in. You were unsure. Scared. Fearful of the future of the duty you had taken initiative in.
And just like any other day, when you lay on the sand just shy away from the water, he would send forth the sea to deliver his gifts. He would watch as you would pick it up from the sand and shine the last light of dusk towards the string of pearls and gold.
You would smile ever so softly to yourself, the smile that had made his immortal heart lurch from his chest in great affection. How he longed to be the one to deliver his gifts to your own hands, kiss the lips that would praise his name, and caress the cheeks of your golden skin like it was the most precious treasure of all; one that his own riches paled in comparison to.
“Gracias, Maklium sa Tubig,” thank you, God of the Sea, you had addressed to the waters before you with a humorous chuckle.
Namor’s heart shook once again, “tila’y nagsisimula na akong manilawa na ika’y isang totoong nilalang at hindi isang kathang-isip lamang.” I think I’m starting to believe that you are a real being and not just a figment of my imagination.
But I am real, Namor resisted the urge to fly out from his hiding and declare to the world his existence for you. He wasn’t a figment of your imagination.
The love he bears for you is real and true. There lay no lie to his affections nor there lay no contempt. He wanted to tell you, make you believe that he was real, and that you meant so much to him in this timeline and the next.
With a heavy heart and a soul who stretched out to the land in which you lay, he fingered the vial of the vibranium infused tonic and dove into the depths of the sea.
Maybe someday he can give you the elixir that would give you life amongst his people, but for now, he had to lay his heart to rest from the pain that came from his yearning.
He would never have expected what nightmare you had to face in his absence.
You had called out to him, your God of the Sea, for the war you had thought you would have won was so close to its defeat. The Spanish had discovered you, uncovered your midnight gatherings, confiscated the arms that were left for the last day’s shipment.
You were successful in delivering the weapons to another safehouse, closer to the base of the inner city. Yet you had foolishly bought too many with the riches that came from your newfound wealth from the benevolent god of your ancestors.
No one would suspect a woman to be in the revolution. No woman was to fight in the place of a man. But you had garnered too much suspicion—a fake name of a noblewoman buying arms in the guise of hunting gear for their fiance—yet no woman would buy so much. No woman would buy arms that were made to shoot the lives of men, not pheasants nor game.
You called out to him during the night, when the Spanish had burned down your home with your procured medicines that were bought from the gifts of your god. You called out a name foreign to the friars present, and they had labeled you a woman of native witchcraft.
They spat at you like you were a demon from the depths of hell, beat you with whips that were blessed with holy water. You did not give them the satisfaction of your cries, but you did receive more of their ire when you screamed out to your god of the sea in your mother tongue.
You called out to him on the dusk that had come, your arms and legs tied with your camisa stained with your own blood. It stung like the pinpricks of hot needles, and the holy water that was thrown at your back served to make it even more painful.
You wondered if you were really a demon, as they had called you, when the blessed water burned your wounds.
They had hauled more men down to the beach and let them kneel in front of the ocean; a witness to your inevitable death, perhaps, that they so shamelessly presented the sea with the blood of the natives of the land that they had stolen. You were glad that most of the younger men under your wing had escaped, and what was left of the battered revolutionaries were those who had fought gallantly at your side.
You would assume that the message of your capture would have spread throughout the ranks, and you feared that the general would have to move the plans more quickly upon your discovery.
The guards tied blindfolds upon your eyes. The sea’s rage intensified in your ears, furious. You felt the wind pick up and the sound of multiple guns drawn a few meters behind you. You cursed yourself and this mess. You heard your brothers curse alongside you as well.
It was your fault, you had told yourself. Your fault that the rebellion had been discovered. Your fault that the war started when you were underprepared. Your fault that the general had to pay the price of your negligence. Your fault that the blood of your brothers would be shed in panic.
“¡Viva la revolucion!” Long live the revolution! You heard one of your brothers cry out. You held the urge to smile; for even in the face of the death penalty were they loyal to the cause.
Bang! The sound of a rifle. The sound of a body that fell lifelessly to the ground.
And that was one brother down.
“¡Viva la revolucion!” The sound of guns being switched around, the metal of the trigger being drawn.
Bang!
“¡Viva la revolucion! Mabuhay Pilipinas! Kalayaan para sa bayan!” Long live the revolution! Long live the Philippines! Freedom for our nation!
Bang!
Prayers were chanted amongst the friars of the sinful church, their doctrines washed away with the tide that had now touched your knees. It stung your open wounds as you let out a hiss, but you bare mind to it. You felt more blessed water being thrown at your whipped back and the beads of the rosary wrapped firmly around your neck.
“¡Viva la revolucion!” You cried out, your throat raw from the intensity of your cries.
And mere seconds from your inevitable death, just as the final draw of guns could be heard from behind you and the collective click of the metal from the triggers, you prayed.
Prayed for the God of the Sea to come save you.
Prayed for His salvation, for Him to deliver you to everlasting life as He had delivered your ancestors and gave them riches of gold and jade.
Prayed for the sea to curse the colonizers who had enslaved the people of your motherland.
And then your God of the Sea came. Your Maklium sa Tublig.
Namor had jumped in a blind rage, his cries for war now carrying all the hate of the world with a swing of his spear. He had just arrived to bear you new gifts, golden earrings that your past self had loved to wear, yet it lay forgotten in the sand as he tore down every single man who stood in attention to the suffering that they had caused.
His blood boiled at the sight of your ruined dress, the stripes of punishment fresh on your back and marking the skin that he so loved so much. He had caught the glimpses of wicked perversion from the blasphemous men of faith, and as soon as he had slayed the enemies that dared point their arms at you, he turned to the Spanish friars with the coldness of a god that besmirched his enemy.
“¡¿Quién eres tú?!” Who are you, one of the three friars asked, his legs betraying him as he fell on the sand. The others followed suit, too weak in the presence of a being as divine as he.
They shook at the sight of the ears that pointed to the heavens, cried out in shock at the feathered ankles that kept him afloat. He was a demon, they cried out in their tongue. But your digress. He was your savior; your god.
“My followers call me K’uk’ulkan,” he sneered at the tongue that had cursed him centuries ago, yet he continued to bear the weight of their vile language to deliver his message. His feathered ankles bristled as he hovered by your side; a clear indication of his protection. In the midst of his anger did he let his otherwise dutiful countenance slip from his control.
He could not fathom the rage that he felt. He will make sure that every drop of blood that has dropped from your skin and has yet to be spilled will be paid a hundredfold.
Although you cannot see your god who had answered your prayers, you cried behind the cloth of your blindfold in reverence to his name. Namor pointed his spear at the trembling men, and with a loud voice he had proclaimed—
“...and your people, my enemies, call me Namor.”
The friars had held their crosses in their dying breaths, chanting the name of their Christian god in vain. They casted out the demon of the sea with their very being, yet their god had forsaken them for the sins that they have committed in the name of crusade.
There lay no mercy to the blasphemous fiends of the high courts of the church; for their names shall not be engraved in the book before the gates of their salvation.
And the you who had so diligently called out to your own god for mercy was granted deliverance against the trials that awaited you. The prize you had won for your faith was more than riches and gold.
It was the love of your god—your God of the Sea.
Maklium sa Tubig. Your K’uk’ulkan.
“Stay awake for me, my love,” he spoke in your tongue with panicked breaths.
You hissed and grunted at the stings from your whipped back, but you felt at peace when he cradled you in his arms. He tore your blindfold off of your eyes, and you nearly cried at the sight of him. He was beautiful. Divine. Worthy of such a title of god. “do not dare close your eyes in my presence.”
“You came.” You pathetically rasped. Your lips were dry and chapped. It was almost painful to move your mouth.
“You called,” he carefully took your hand while being mindful of your wounds and kissed the calloused skin of your palms.
You replied in kind, weakly brushing your shaking fingers over his pointed ears. You held no such disgust to his form; only wonder to his majesty.
He leaned into your touch like a man starved of affection, and you wondered how blessed you were to get such treatment from your god, “how dare I ever ignore your pleas when I have given half my heart and soul to you?”
“I am hardly worthy—” you coughed out from the dryness of your throat, the sudden action shooting more pain up your body. Namor held you closer to him gently. In the arms of your god, you felt free, “I c-cannot possibly be worth half your heart and soul.”
“But you are. You are worth more than any riches, more worth than the blessings of the sea could give,” he connected his forehead to yours and submitted into your presence.
You were blinding, a sight for his immortal eyes, “you need to rest, my love. You are now safe.”
“It is too late for me.” You rasped. He shook his head in denial.
“You are not to die today. Your king forbids it.”
Your eyes fluttered shut despite the order of your god. You smiled in content at the feeling of the sea beneath your hips, the tide slowly bidding its final strokes of goodbye.
Namor’s eyes widened and his heart lurched painfully from his chest. He needed to do something, anything!
Then he remembered the tonic that he had saved to make you a part of his people. Surely the tonic would help remedy your wounds in some way, he thought in clouded desperation.
It had cured his ancestors from the diseases brought by the conquistadors, after all. He pulled out the tonic from the pouch of gold and jade he used to store his gifts for you, popped open the cork of the precious liquid, and directed the vial towards your lips.
His hands shook in great panic, the contents spilling from your mouth and down your chin, as if you were rejecting the life that he so desperately wanted you to consume. In his haste, he dropped the vial into the water.
He was quick to save it, but half of its contents spilled and saltwater had mixed with the concoction. Yet he did not mind. Just a sip was enough. Anything to save you.
“Drink, I beg of you. Drink.”
Yet you held no response.
And with a final desperate move to revive you, he put the vial to his own lips, gathered the medicine into his mouth, and kissed you.
The kiss from a god is one that should be revered as the highest form of praise. Yet you could not think of anything but the surge of power that coursed through your body.
It was as painful as it was comforting—it felt like your blood had flowed backwards, your lungs expanding and filling with water, yet there was a gentle wave that came with it, suspending you into a sensation of tranquility in the arms of the deep ocean.
You snapped your eyes wide open, your chest heaving with great gusto and inhaling as much of the air that sustained your lungs greedily. The sea, as if feeling the presence of its new ruler, shook and roared around you and your savior, ropes of seawater surrounding you in a show of your newfound authority.
Namor gaped at the sight—it was a power as beautiful and as powerful as you. It was befitting your own character, for you are as gentle as the waves of the ocean yet as harsh and as tumultuous as the stormy seas. Your heart lay deeper into the depths of ardor and the care for your nation.
You have proven time and time again that you were fitting to be his queen.
The pain from your wounds have gone, yet you still feel a lingering numbness from the effects of the medicine. Your eyes shifted to meet the magnificent earthen oak of the eyes of your savior whose tears overflowed at the sight of your breaths of life.
You smiled albeit weakly and wiped the crystalline drops of his joys and sorrows with your trembling fingers.
“Why do you cry, Maklium sa Tubig?”
He did not speak nor did he dare attempt to. He released a humorless laugh, one of great relief, as he tried his best to hide his tears from your eyes. But you have seen all of him; the raw and pure version of him that you have come to love despite your lowly mortal self.
And then with a shaky whimper, he said,
“Call me by my real name. I implore you, my love, for I have waited centuries to hear my name on your lips once again.”
And with a tired smile you replied.
“As you wish, K’uk’ulkan.”
For the first time in centuries, K’uk’ulkan finally felt half of his heart and soul at peace. The queen he had failed to save is now alive in his arms, breathing and healing from their past wounds.
She was as beautiful as the stars that had guided him through the open seas, as graceful as the sway of the forest kelp in the deep ocean floor, and there lay no more danger in their midst—for she was safe in the arms of the god she had begged to come to their aid at their deathbed.
“What is in your mind, K’uk’ulkan?” You asked him ever so silently, your hands trailing across the planes of his face in such delicate strokes that it made his whole body jolt in great adoration.
Three months ago you would have shrunk back and called yourself blasphemous; for there no existed such a mortal who would ever hold a god so comfortably. But now you surrendered to him so well and you have accepted his affections wholeheartedly. You were now free to roam your hands across the planes of his body and burn to memory his very existence.
“Nothing of importance,” he whispered gently, his breath fanning across the exposed skin of your neck.
You would have shied away if these were different circumstances; no woman should have a man even near their chambers when you only sported a sheer chemise and skirt. Yet you purged the thought in your mind.
Your lover was of greater renown. He would do anything within his power to keep you close to him as much as possible, “your wounds have almost healed. It should be about time before you have to go back to the frontlines to fight.”
“I love my people and I love my nation. But I would like to cherish these moments with you, irog ko.” My beloved. Such a sweet endearment from the chimes of your mother tongue.
You turned your body so you would face him, his eyes piercing through the morning sun. The rattan hut in which you’ve spent to hide from your foes was quaint, but it was close to the ocean and away from the nightmares of war.
The people deemed you dead, you had gathered. But your general knew of your whereabouts from the letters that you had sent after the catastrophe by the port bay. You were to rest and provide aid as soon as you were ready, and with the help of newfound powers of controlling the sea and water, you were sure to bring your people to victory.
“Are you certain you do not wish for me to whisk you away?” He asked, his feathered legs tangling with yours under the light covers, “My kingdom waits for their queen to sit on the right hand of my throne.”
“I cannot go with you. Not yet, at least,” you breathed in his scent—the smell of the sun and the oceans—and rested your forehead on his bare chest, the jewels that adorned his neck now lay idly by your bedside, “my people still have to be free from the grasps of their oppressors. My brothers and sisters are bearing arms whilst I lay in comfort. I will join them as soon as I have healed. For my nation. Para sa inang-bayan.” For the motherland.
Namor sighs, but it wasn’t from disappointment. For months he has asked you to return home with him, to hide away into the depths of the ocean and make you the queen of his great nation. But he knew that as much as you would like to learn the ways of his people, you still had to save yours from their own downfall.
It was a feeling Namor understood quite well. If he were to find the kingdom of Talokan in the hands of the enemy, he would also fight until the bitter end. He possessed the spirit of the warrior, and you possess a similar spark to save your motherland.
“I understand,” he feathered kisses over the crown of your head and basked in your presence. You still smelled like the roses and jasmine that adorned your headdress in your first life, “you were just like this in the past. Always thinking of your people, always fighting to protect the ones you hold dear.”
“How are you so sure that the me of the present is the me you have met in the past?”
“Because, in yakunaj,” he trailed his hands down to your back, his hands painting murals of his endearment. There still lie the lines of the whipped scars from the Spanish friars a few months ago, but K’uk’ulkan finds them beautiful.
A sign of your strength, “your soul resonates with mine. It is like a bond that can never be broken. I would pick your soul amongst a million that may ever hinder us, and the love I have for you is as timeless as the sand that settles down the depths of the sea. I will find you no matter what era; no matter what reality. I will still choose you.”
Overwhelmed with the ardent dedication your lover has presented you, you couldn’t help but lean forth to kiss him. He returned with such fervor that it elicited the sweet sounds of your excitement. K’uk’ulkan’s heart soared, and if it were possible, the love he had to give overflowed yet again in a larger tide than he had ever experienced before.
He was careful when he lay your back on the rattan bed, the covers now pooling beneath you and creating a halo so divine that he would mistake you as the goddess and he the devotee. You wrapped your arms around his neck, drew in closer to his swollen lips, and shivered at his very touch.
“I am ready, K’uk’ulkan.”
He stopped ever so reluctantly, his breath hitching whilst the heat that came from his heart doubled and spread to the tips of his feathered ankles. Suddenly, you were far too tempting beneath his arms, so ready for him to take you. You were tantalizing. Absolutely exquisite.
“Are you sure?” His hands ghosted the hems of your chemise as you shook under his concupiscent gaze, “are you not a woman of faith? To bed a man you have not wed is an act of sin in the eyes of your faith.”
“You are my faith. You are my god,”
You had spoken in hasty breaths, your hands now snaking itself up to his hair and tugging at the roots.
K’uk’ulkan released a shaky sigh, lowering himself to close the distance between you.
He could feel the suppleness of your attentive chest beneath his own, and the control he had over himself started to slip at the desire that coated your eyes,
“I care not for the faith that had cursed me in my times of desperation. You have saved me when I have called you, you have nursed me until I was well. You are my god of the sea, my K’uk’ulkan, and I will give you everything that I have to give in full faith, devotion, and love.”
He kissed you like never before, the walls that the both of you erected falling into pieces with every touch of skin. You created such beautiful music in his ears, begging him to take the precious gems of your prized possession, gasping at the sensations that only his mouth could dare place at every place that was otherwise covered by your clothes.
Yet he took his time with you; so soft and gentle, trailing his lips across the soft skin of your neck and the valley of your chest still covered in the sheer fabric of your laced chemise. He had undressed you just as quickly, and he wasted no time in bringing attention to your attentive buds.
You squirmed and gasped and moaned at his ministrations—this wasn’t what you imagined it to be. This was not the tales of the housewives of their husbands’ acts for they merely claimed their bejeweled flowers as soon as they had started. K’uk’ulkan was gentler, much more tender in the way that he kissed every surface of your skin.
This was far better than the countless tales you have heard of a woman’s loss of chastity. This was far better than anything you have imagined from a man.
He worshiped you like you were the deity of his faith, exalted in praise at every scar, every freckle, every imperfection that came with your physical self.
He had reached the point of no return; drunk in your presence and your mercy.
Drunk in your sounds of ecstacy. He trailed lower and lower, his lips finally finding purchase at the mound of your untouched womanhood. Yet he did not stop there, no. There were far more places to explore. Much more parts of you to worship.
K’uk’ulkan raised your legs over his shoulders with expert ease. You yelped in surprise, but those quickly turned into embarrassed moans of your pleasure as he kissed your ankles and your feet, going higher and higher until he nipped at the insides of your thighs.
You could not help but quiver at the man who towered over you, the one who asserted his control yet left room for such soft affections, as he finally pressed his nose to the throbbing core of your body.
“Beautiful,” he mumbled in his mother tongue, something you could not quite translate just yet, “you are so beautiful for me, my queen. So needy.”
“Please—” you begged him, the ache now painfully presenting itself to you in its desire. You bucked your hips impossibly higher, and you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moans you released when he collected the sweet nectar of your core, “please, my king. Do something, anything.”
“Anything for my queen.”
Your yells of bliss were muffled by your hands pressed so firmly at your lips that it became almost painful.
He paused in his ministrations to remove yourself from your mouth, held your crossed wrists together above your head, and stared at you with a gentle command;
“Do not silence yourself whilst I pleasure you, my love. Let me hear you scream my name.”
And you did just that.
“K’uk’ulkan!”
And the little patience K’uk’ulkan had left snapped in half, and by the time the sun had risen to the highest point of mid-noon, you were left undone in more ways than one. He did not stop until you were far too gone to think of anything but his name.
He did not waver as you quivered beneath him with your eyes rolled back in total ecstasy.
He lapped at your juices like a man drinking the last drops of life from the desert sand, his tongue doing wonders to leave you in a whimpering mess.
You let your voice ring through as he continued to ravish the sweet nectar of your sin; you were embarrassingly drenched, yet he paid no mind. In fact, it seemed to excite him more than it should have.
“You taste so sweet, my love,” he dragged his tongue on your slit, finally finding purchase at the soft pearl of your clit.
You mewled pathetically at his control as he swirled his tongue and nipped at the erected bud, “you like that, don’t you? So good and needy for my tongue.”
“Please, please, please!” You did not know what you were begging for, but you knew he was the only one who could possibly satiate the itch at your core.
As if noticing your lack of sense—too drunk with his tongue to even comprehend—he gave you a teasing smirk. “Please what, my sweet? Tell your god what you wish for.”
“There, there!” You bucked your hips closer to his lips, his teeth now grazing at your sensitive clit, “please, K’uk’ulkan. Please make me feel good. Please do your bidding on this shameless thing.”
“Then come for me.” More like a command than a suggestion, the knot that was building at your core burst into strings of white euphoria. You felt faint, as if you were suspended. But you were in a high that you cannot rid yourself of.
You were addicted to this sensation; of his tongue lapping at the juices that flowed out of you like a tide, of his mouth firmly planted to give attention to your swollen bud, and the throbbing ache of your pussy as he sucked firmly at your slit.
It was all too much, but you cannot find it in yourself to stop.
“We’re not done yet, my love.” he pressed you back into the rattan, the hard surface cold against your bare back. He pressed unto you until you couldn’t breathe, and that just excited you so.
You felt him feel you up, squeeze the flesh of your body until it was painted in his color, and marked your neck with indications of his passion. You were far too dizzy in his spell that you did not care about decency any longer. You just wanted him in you.
You felt the twitch of his clothed bulge poking through the folds of your drenched core. It proved to make you even more eager, but there was a twinge of fear that came with it.
As if sensing your distress, K’uk’ulkan removed himself from you ever so slightly and wound his fingers around your jaw gently, his eyes now staring deep into your soul.
“Are you sure you are ready?” He asked you, his other hand already discarding the fabric of his emerald shorts. You nodded eagerly. There was no time to hesitate when he had made you feel so good with his touch.
“I trust you,” you laid yourself completely bare to him, your arms now stretched by the sides of your head and your neck in full display for his eyes to see.
There won’t be a moment that the fear in you will subside—after all, this was your first time. But you trusted your god to never hurt you. He will eventually chase your fears away, “please be gentle with me, my love.”
With a clang of metal, his jeweled belt and the cloth of his shorts now lay discarded on the floor. You were now both bare to each other, and you had to marvel at the length and girth of your magnificent god in awe as he sat up and stroked himself to attention.
His pre-cum was already leaking and ready to bed you right then and there. You squirmed again when he lined himself up to you, the tip of his cock now stroking your sensitive clit.
“Look at you, so ready for me,” he practically growled as he humped himself with your slick folds. You moaned and called his name in pleasure at the new sensation, “there will be no more second chances, my queen. Are you sure?”
“Yes—” you helplessly breathed out. You moved in the rhythm of his teasing, roaming your hands on the soft flesh of his pecs.
You noted how he twitched and grunted in delight when your nails ran through his nipples, and you made sure to take note of it once you wanted to serve him more in the future, “please take me as you will, K’uk’ulkan. I am yours to do as you wish.”
And with one final confirmation, he slowly pushed into you. You thought you could take his sheer size, but you were proven wrong when you hissed at the stinging pain of your broken hymen. Noticing your discomfort, K’uk’ulkan kissed you with so much passion that you have momentarily forgotten the feeling, and his strong hands that intertwined with your own served to ground you and ease your worries.
He was slow and patient, the both of you panting at your successful union. He was now fully inside you, your walls clenching around him as you adjusted to his size.
He laid still on top of you, his thumb rubbing comforting circles around the back of your hand.
He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, words of praise and affirmation of taking him in so well. A few tears started to prick the corners of your eyes, but he kissed it away with so much love that he could possibly give.
“Have I hurt you?” He asked in your mother tongue. Your breath hitched and your sigh quivered, but you managed to smile at him and shake your head.
“You would never hurt me,” you squeezed his hand tighter in yours. You relished the feeling of his body on top of you, the sparks and the shivers as he twitched inside of you, and this momentous adoration that you felt in your heart and soul just for him.
You feathered loving kisses on his collarbones, left trails of your color upon his golden skin, and left more of your lips on his fine jaw, “you can move now, my love. You will never hurt me, I promise you that.”
K’uk’ulkan started slowly, his hips barely moving in fear that he might hurt you. But the sting that came from your initial deflowering morphed into that of pleasure, and you started to move in hopes that your lover would get the message.
The feathered serpent god could barely hold it in together. He wanted nothing more than to fuck you senseless until you were too cock-drunk to even say anything but his name.
He wanted to make love to you, but centuries of depriving himself of your touch proved to awaken the primal urge to just take you, ravish you, in the most sinful way possible.
You must have noticed his focus, so you asked with a stutter, “Are you alright, my king?”
“Yes,” he grunted out, your walls clenching around his cock making him crazy. You were still so tight despite the amount of slickness that you provided him, “I will be fine. You’re just so tight for me. You’re doing so well, in yakunaj. So, so well.”
He kept thrusting into you at a slow and steady pace. He was making love to you, savoring his time and making sure that you felt safe and comfortable in your first time.
But your arms eventually flew around his neck, your chest now touching his, and you clawed at his back to steady yourself with the most lecherous words that came from your lips.
And that was his last stroke of control.
He gradually increased the intensity of his thrusts, his hands now gripping your jaw in a vice as he pushed his tongue into your mouth in a heated kiss.
You were in no means opposed to this, in fact, the knot that seemed to form on your core turned hotter and hotter with each passing second. He snaked his other hand to your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until your moans and pathetic little whimpers were muffled by his tongue.
His pace turned more animalistic, the slap of skin now echoing through your quaint little hut, and your prayers for his mercy were drowned by your own impending ecstasy. You shook and shuddered beneath him, your arms fisting his hair for dear life, and your nails painted stripes of red on his bare back.
“K’uk’ulkan!” You yelled out into the heavens as you felt your orgasm creeping near. You repeated his name upon your lips like a mantra and it only served to make him hasten his pace. He could not control his lust any longer.
He just wanted to mark what was his; to make sure that your pussy will only remember the shape of his cock, that no man would ever hold a candle to the intense pleasure that he would bring you.
“Who do you belong to?” He asked against your lips. You yelled out in reverence to his being knowing full well whose name was engraved on your mind, body, and soul—whose cock it was that was ingrained into your walls and memorizing each thrust of his generous splendor.
“Yours, K’uk’ulkan! I’m yours! Do as you will with me, my king!”
And with a final cry of praise to your god, you released the dam of heaven in blinding light sparks, the height of your orgasm making your vision go black and your body spasm with wonder.
Your lover followed close behind with a grunt of his own, and thick ropes of his seed now coated your walls in white.
The both of you laid still in each other’s presence, both panting and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He slowly turned both of you to your sides, his cock still firmly pressed inside you, and wiped your brow dry as you breathed out in stuttering breaths. There was nothing but peaceful lull in this tiny piece of paradise.
You smiled at yourself as he wrapped his arms protectively around you, burying himself deeper into you while caressing the bare skin of your stomach, just a breadth away from your womb. In a moment of solace, you found yourself surrendering everything in your name to be with K’uk’ulkan.
He had satisfied you, took your flower as his own, and cherished it with such tenderness that left nothing but adoration at its wake. K’uk’ulkan had received your gift in kind, and as such, he had made sure to pay you back with all the riches and love he could give you in this waking world.
“Mahal kita, sinta. Sa kasalukuyan man o sa walang hanggan.”
He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, cradled your frame against his, and gave you sanctuary in his arms.
I love you, my darling. May it be the present or through eternity.
For his love was limitless as time itself; and you did not doubt your divine counterpart to betray his own vows of long-lasting devotion.
A month has passed since K’uk’ulkan had bedded you, four months of your supposed death, and there was but a day left until you return to the frontlines of war.
Your lover stood beside you as you prepared for the trip; your load was light and scarce, just enough for you to get through the week of travel through horseback.
“Are you sure you are well on your own?” He asked in your tongue. He was already becoming proficient with your language from the countless days he has spent with you, but you had no such success in learning his tongue with such efficiency as he did, “your journey is long and hard. You might require aid.”
“You know as well as I do that you cannot survive the valleys and the mountains without any bodies of water,” you told him again.
You cupped his cheek into your hands and pecked his lips, “and your people need you, K’uk’ulkan, just as much as my people need me. Our motherland cries for its lost children, the land weeps for its stolen riches.”
“But my love—” you silenced him with another kiss, your body drawing closer to his. He replied in kind, now leaning in to capture your tongue with his own. A thin string of spit connected the both of you as you parted for air, and you had to burn into your mind the beautiful gaze of his umber eyes before you had to pull away.
“This is our battle. We fight for our motherland with our dying breaths. You understand that, don’t you?”
The implications of your question laid heavily on K’uk’ulkan’s shoulders. There was no guarantee that you would return in his arms again; just like the first time you had told him you would go to war in your first cycle of life, only to return back to a corpse of his beloved near the shores. He could not protect you as he had promised, and he was going to lose you all over again whilst you were far, far away.
“You are worried,” you stood in attention and leaned your forehead into his, your breaths intermingling as you tried to calm the ragged breaths of your lover, “tell me. Tell me what plagues your heart.”
“I am afraid…” he trailed off, his voice low and weak.
He pulled you impossibly closer, his hands finding purchase on the small of your back. You cupped his cheeks in your hands and he leaned in submissively to your touch.
“Do not be afraid, my king,” water from your sides trickled up like a stream, the ropes of liquid intertwining you both together. You did not care if your clothes become damp in the journey; this moment is all you cared about.
The moment where you comforted your god of the sea, “you are always with me. You have gifted me powers unimaginable to aid my brothers and sisters of the rebellion. A piece of you will always be with me, may it be through the gold of the necklaces that you gave me or through the heart of the sea that flows through my veins.”
He relaxed in your touch, his breath now evening out with yours. You wanted to freeze this moment, to stay in this slice of heaven that you had crafted for yourself and your god of the sea.
Yet revolution beckons you in its vicious arms, justice now weighing its scales in favor of your people. You wanted to stay in the embrace of your love, but you had to pull away in haste—for even a second more that you stay with K’uk’ulkan, your resolve will waver and dissipate altogether whilst you take his hand and ask for him to spirit you away.
“I cannot stay for too long.”
You mounted your chestnut mare in haste and pulled on her reins. K’uk’ulkan holds his hand out for you to take with a crestfallen defeat decorating the face that you had adored so much. You took his hands without hesitation and laced his fingers with yours.
“Reconsider this, my queen,” his voice was laced with worry, his hands slightly trembling underneath your own, “a kingdom awaits you at the bottom of the sea. You will be revered as one of our own. Someone as special as you need not to fight a war that would endanger you.”
“Before I am a part of your nation, I must fight for my own,” you told him steadily.
You squeezed his hand and gave him a look of determination, “I will not die in the hands of my enemy. What am I if I will not raise my voice against the oppressors that behave like children at the head of my country? We are more than just slaves; we are the people. The nation itself. I will not allow myself to die before I see this land free.”
“But you will die by the hands of your allies, just like the you of the past,” he finally revealed.
His feathered ankles lifted him up so he was at your level and you steadied the reins of your startled mare. He did not break eye contact nor did he release your hand from his hold.
“I wish not that you abandon the duties of your land, but beware of those of whom you trust. I cannot lose you again in the hands of those you thought were your brothers and sisters.”
You leaned in to capture his lips in another kiss, his worries dissipating in one simple act. You stared into his eyes as soon as you parted and the anxiousness he felt in the pits of his stomach transferred into your own.
“I will be careful, K’uk’ulkan. I promise you. I will return into your arms in one piece and finally rule your nation by your side.”
Somehow, this did not convince the feathered serpent god. There was a tug at his soul that was, oh, so familiar. Yet he let you go when he saw your conviction.
How could he ever say no to those eyes that lit up with such fire? You had the makings of a ruler whose hand stayed true and steady. He simply cannot wait for you to come back and stay by his side for the rest of his days of immortality.
You gave him one final kiss, a shy smile of endearment, and clicked your tongue and kicked the stirrups of your mare to be on your way. You waved him goodbye from the shore, his feathered ankles suspending him higher and higher until he could not see you.
Before you could reach underneath the thick foliage of the forests, you called out.
“Meet me back here in five months, my king! I will return with the news of our nation’s victory!”
For the days that passed, he returned to his kingdom to prepare the arrival of their new queen. He kept it as discreet as possible, but the Talokanil were abuzz with rumors of their ruler’s new partner.
His heart swelled when he told his confidants the tales of your bravery and of your wit, your beauty and your grace, anything that he could have ever foretell to his children on the magnificence of their future queen.
And so five months have passed.
The promised date was fast approaching, and K’uk’ulkan’s heart was beating out of his chest in anticipation. He watched as midnight turned into dawn, the dawn to noon, and finally, he waited by the shores near your rattan hut by the fall of dusk. He was now filled with worry. What if you couldn’t make it? What if you perished in war? What if—
“K’uk’ulkan!”
His heart soared at the mere mention of his name. How could one's voice be so calming to his heart?
His feet carried him afloat to the approaching horse that galloped to the direction of the beach. He could not fight the smile that appeared on his face as soon as he saw you. Although you sported more scars and possessed the eyes that have seen countless deaths, your love remained the same. It was still infinite, boundless in the midst of eternity. How he missed you in his arms.
He called out your name in joy, you leaping into his arms despite the speed of your mare. He caught you just in time and swung you around the air with glee. You were far too happy to think of anything else but your love, and there you lay in his arms after five months of separation.
"How I've missed you, my queen." He whispered into your ear. He led you to the rattan hut that he had meticulously prepared for your arrival, your feet now touching the sand as he descended from his flight. Your mare was already stationed near the grassier areas of your home while resting its legs from the week of non-ending travel.
"Oh how I've missed you too, my king." you cupped his cheek and leaned into a kiss, and he was more than happy to reciprocate the action. He still smelled like the sun and the ocean, his skin hot under your touch.
He wore nothing less than a smile for your arrival and that alone had sent you in a euphoric bliss.
But K'uk'ulkan had to upturn his smile into a frown as soon as you looked down at your feet in grief, the momentary joy you had felt now overcome with overwhelming regret.
"What is wrong, my love?" He asked as the sting if tears finally gathered in the corner of your eyes. He drew himself in closer to your trembling body and wrapped you in a secure embrace.
You immediately melted into him, the warmth of his strong arms most comforting in the midst of your sorrows.
"You were right," you hiccuped. You buried your face into the jewels of his collarbones and wept, "our own brothers have betrayed us. We freed our people, claimed our independence, yet they sent our own to slay us in Cavite. There were tensions in the rebellion before, but I didn't think—I never thought that they'd turn against us. My general helped me flee, but he and his brother were slain. I couldn't even save them with my powers—they had deprived me of any form of water to control."
K'uk'ulkan's blood boiled at the revelation.
How could they defy his queen? How could they have turned their backs against her when she had given them their freedom? Have they not fought alongside each other like siblings? Have they not watched their own spill their blood in the name of freedom? How could they, he wondered, abandon such a talented leader and leave them executed when they had done nothing but care for the land that was yours and had reclaimed back?
"What is important is that you are safe," he began, his hands tangling with your matted hair. You must not have made any stops in your journey, scared and helpless you must have been to have your own betray you at the height of your independence,
"you are back in my arms, safe and sound. That is all that matters."
"We cannot stay here for long, K'uk'ulkan," you told him, "I fear I might have been followed. I made sure to cover my tracks, but they outnumbered me ten to one."
"Then return home with me, my queen." He cupped your cheek into his palms and you surrendered yourself to the touch of his affections.
"Then what of my country? Of my people?"
"Have you not delivered their independence? Have you not fought for their freedom? You are free now, yet they dare bear their teeth at the warriors who have fought for them. What then does that say about your people?" He leaned his forehead against yours and drew circles against your cheek.
Your breath hitched at the new option presented to you—something you would not have considered in the past. But now, in the presence of a new enemy that was your own countrymen, you were given the choice to flee from your own death sentence and become the queen of a powerful nation beside the man you love.
But your motherland calls you, her land cries out in your possible absence.
"But I have only ever lived in my motherland my whole life. I cannot possibly part with it."
"You are not abandoning your homeland, I assure you that. Another home awaits you in the depths of the sea, my queen; where your citizens will not betray you, where they will serve you with dedication and remember the debts that they have owed. You need not to forget your practices and your culture. You can practice both in any land or water that your feet could lay upon; for you are now both a daughter of the Pacific islands and the ruler of the great nation of Talokan."
It was everything you could have ever imagined and more.
You nodded your head in eagerness to his proposition. His face lit up with great elation and joy. He spun you around with the help of his winged ankles and laughed at the greatest joy that could have ever felt in his life. He finally felt complete in your arms.
A queen. He was finally going to bring his people the queen that they deserve.
He kissed you mid-air, your own laughter silenced with the touch of lips upon your own. You felt the sparks of his unbridled happiness as he descended into the sand yet again, your lips never parting from each other until you were drunk with the taste of his lips on yours.
"You are perfect, in yakunaj," he said in his tongue. This time around, you had understood him, "I finally have you. I can finally make you queen to my kingdom. There will be months long celebration on your arrival, and we shall feast at this new blessing. How wonderful of a gift this truly is!"
This celebration was short-lived, however, when a trigger was pulled from the foliage of the trees and cut through the air with a deafening bang.
Time stilled for the both of you, but not in the way that it was magical as the hands that would grip your waists nor the way his lips would fit perfectly into yours. It was one of horror; of sudden doom.
And by that moment, when blood had dripped from the corners of your mouth in spurts and the wound had stained the fabric of your stomach, did time start winding again.
K'uk'ulkan called out your name in vain, his arms catching you as you fell. The bullet was lodged firmly into your mid-back, you noted. Just a hair away from your spine. Blood had gushed in rapid succession whilst your god could only watch you fade from his arms.
"Stay awake, in yakunaj. Do not dare close your eyes!"
In the haze of it all did you feel K'uk'ulkan leave your side for a brief while, the wings from his ankles flapping in aggressive strokes. You heard the cries of sorrow, the yells of pain, the dying gasps of almost ten uniformed men at the point of a spear from the mighty serpent god.
You would have called out to him at that moment, trying to appease the tears that were flowing from his eyes as he subdued his enemy—for they were merely your brothers who were led astray, and you cannot find it in your heart to resent them.
"My king…" you tried to call out, but your voice was weak. Yet you underestimated the attentiveness of your god when he landed by your side once again, his knees painfully dropping to the sands of the beach, and cradled you in his arms whilst your life slipped away from his fingers.
"No, no, no. Not again. Please, not again." He cried out desperately in his own tongue, panic and despair now clouding his otherwise clear judgment.
He spoke nothing but mumbles of desperate begging; begging for you to stay. Begging for you to remain by his side. The tears from his eyes landed on your skin as he cradled you and rubbed his cheeks against yours.
But you knew it was inevitable. You knew it was your time.
"Mahal ko…" my love, you trailed off, your bloody hands reaching for his cheek. He had dropped the conch shell that he had used to call forth his subjects and hastily grabbed your wrist and buried his nose into your palm, not minding every bit of blood that smeared in his face.
"Save your strength. I have called for aid from Talokan. Do not dare close your eyes, my love."
You must have been out of your mind, and K'uk'ulkan must've thought so too, for your grunts of pain were replaced with that of reminiscent laughter. There was joy to beget in your final moments; the most pleasant memory to have ever graced your mind.
"T-this was how we met, wasn't it? In my first and current life?" You stuttered. Your mouth was still upturned in a pleasant smile, "you came in to save me whilst I was injured, then—then you killed off those who hurt me."
"I told you to save your strength!" He cried out helplessly. You could only shake your head.
"It is my time to go, K'uk'ulkan."
"Silence. I will not permit you to say such things."
"I wish to meet you again in my next life…"
"There will be no such thing! I did not meet you in this life and the life before this to lose you again!"
"You are wrong, my king," you inhaled a sharp breath as the stabbing pain at your backside turned numb. You knew it was about time before you passed, so you continued, "you met me in the lives before this and the life after to love me—the different versions of me—and love me again as soon as I pass. The time we have spent together has been nothing but special. Do not let my death hinder such joy from your memories."
"Do not say that. You are not going to die." he pleaded.
"If I were to return in your arms again…I promise to find you first. I promise to be the first one to lay my eyes on you and fall in love at first sight; for my soul knows the weight of your love for me. And I shall—I s-shall call you by your real name. The name your followers proclaim, for I will not dare utter the loveless name bestowed upon you by our enemies."
"I have told you to save your strength," he gripped your hand tighter, as if you were to fly away if he ever so lightened his hold on her physical body. You could feel him trembling in grief and rage.
Oh, your poor love.
You did not wish to hurt him so, "I do not wish to meet you in another life; I want you by my side now. I want you to become the mother of our children, the mother of our nation. I told you I did not meet you just for you to die in my arms over and over again!"
You smiled weakly, the final spark of love you would ever give to the man who had taken your soul by storm.
You took this time to take in his presence, his face, his gorgeous eyes that seemed to speak so much wonders to you as he told you stories of the past; told you stories of his people, the future you would have built together, and the endless possibilities of your reign as his new queen.
You prayed that your soul would remember him, to pull you into the direction of the man who loved you in your past lives when you would be reborn.
"Hindi ko man hawak ang bukas, nais kong tanganan mo ang aking pangako na ilang ulit kong pipiliing mabuhay at pumanaw upang patunayan sa iyong mali ka.
Hindi ako bumati sa simula upang sa huli ay magpaalam.
Sa ating susunod na pagkikita, aking sinta."
And with that final farewell, your body lay limp. The hand that caressed your god's cheek had finally fallen into the sand. K'uk'ulkan desperately chased your dying breaths, rocking you back and forth in hopes to wake you.
I may not hold the future in my hands, but I wish you will remember this promise; that I will live and die again and again just to prove you wrong.
I have not greeted you at the beginning just so I could bid you goodbye.
Until we meet again, my beloved.
But it has proven to be futile—your motherland has claimed your life for itself like it had before in your past lives. Your blood colored the seafoam that fateful day.
Namor's heart and soul were torn in half once more; for he was reminded of the curse of his own name.
Niño sin amor. A child without love.
Zama Tulum, Northern Yucatán Peninsula, 2024
It had been a century since then, perhaps longer. But Namor still remembers you. He always has. His people mourned for your loss, and the seas had gone quiet for at least a decade to honor the loss of its queen. Despite not meeting you, Namor’s people had felt the sorrows of the oceans and its king. They have lost the ruler that they have yet to meet, and their heart also cries out for their missing queen.
He had waited patiently for you to arrive. You had promised him so; that you would be the one to find him in your fourth rebirth and say his name on your lips once again. That you would fall in love at first sight as soon as you see him for your soul would guide you to the arms of your god once again.
And he waited.
He had waited for you even as the surface world grew in its technologies, waited for you even when the threats of a celestial god had emerged from the earth's core and turned to stone. He had waited for you in fervor, protected his people against the threats of his enemies, and shared stories of your wonders through the tales of the tongue and of the murals of his underwater chamber.
He always left your throne pristine. You will be reborn to take the crown of your majesty and become the supreme leader of his nation as you should have been. It has always been your birthright. It has always been yours to begin with.
He created an alliance for you—the alliance of Wakanda and Talokan—so you would inherit the legacy of this new pact of civility. Despite his initial plans to thwart those who had opposed his kingdom, he decided in his best interest and yours that this will benefit the you of the future that will stay by his side.
Yes, everything he did was for you. It was for you to assume in your reign.
He painted murals of your likeness in his study, ones that he had presented to Princess Shuri of Wakanda, and concentrated on the strokes of his brush to capture your brilliance. It was never enough, of course, since you were a masterpiece that could not be replicated by the hands of a five century year old painter. You were far too precious, far too complex, to even comprehend.
But he still tried in fear of forgetting the smile that adorned your lips. He wishes to immortalize it in the walls of his kingdom.
“In ajawo,” my king, Namora emerged from the waters , the sway of his brush never ceasing in its meticulous strokes. Namora, one of the best warriors of his kingdom who loved to hear the stories of your past selves, continued with her words, “a surface dweller lurks at the entrance of the caves. Our warriors feel a strange power from them. How shall we proceed?”
“Strange?” Namor’s hands did not stop painting the depictions of waves that were obediently at your command, “strange how?”
“The sea favors them, my king. It guides them here.”
The hand that held the brush stopped. Namora cocked her head to the side as her king froze in place. It would look as if he were contemplating, but Namora could see the trouble that lingered from his stance.
“In ajawo?” She asked again. Namor turned to her after a few moments of reverie.
“I will deal with them. Send the warriors to guard the entrance. Do not surface until I give the command.”
There was a moment of resistance from the decorated warrior, yet she did not question her king’s decision. She bowed her head in obedience and joined her hands to mimic that of a serpent’s mouth—a gesture of respect to K’uk’ulkan—and descended down the depths of the underwater cavern to convey the message to her ranks.
“Líik’ik Talokan.”
He removed the ceremonial garbs on his shoulders and hung it on his chair. He quickly took his spear, one adorned with the gold and pearls that your first self had given him, and submerged himself in the deep waters. He still feels the phantom sting from his fight with Princess Shuri on his winged ankles, but it was nothing a few more weeks of flight could heal naturally.
The claw marks from the Black Panther have gone and healed with his people’s technology and he was grateful that your future self would not have to witness the scars of his near defeat.
There was a little voice in his head that was praying for a miracle; that the stranger that the sea favors was the promised meeting that you had so foretold.
He passed by his loyal warriors and regarded them with Talokan’s gesture of respect, his people replying in kind. Attuma and Namora, his strongest and most trusted combatants, were at the head of the company and regarded him as well with the highest respect.
With a pleased nod, he passed through the underwater tunnels of the caverns and slowly ascended into the surface.
It was just like this when he had first met you in your past lives; the gentle coat of the corals of dusk, the gentle breeze of the ocean’s hymns, and the pleasant scent of the sea and land tickling his decorated nose oh so amiably.
It was nothing compared to the Pacific islands five hundred years ago, but perhaps this was one of the fewer slices of paradise left in this otherwise tainted world.
He slowly rose from the waters, his spear held firmly at his side. His wings beat ever so silently whilst he stalked the upper waters of the cove, but he saw nothing as he approached land. Nature was abundant in this sacred place of Yucatán, but there was a lack of songs from the native birds and wildlife.
Something was there with him.
He brought his spear to his side, cautious yet unafraid. Whoever dared enter the premises of his kingdom without his permission, may it be a child favored by the sea or the evil-doers of surface dwelling nations, will know his wrath.
“I know you are there,” he spoke in the tongue that most surface-dwellers would understand, “reveal yourself at once.”
Just behind the thick fauna, you steadied your breath and clenched your hands tightly around your dagger. You were sent here to investigate the odd readings from the ocean a few months ago by your organization; the source leading you here to the northern parts of Yucatán. You were sure you were breaking more than a dozen laws and treaties just by breathing in this sacred place, but you had to obey the orders of your higher ups.
You had been scouring for clues for the past few hours, diving into the clean waters and looking for any sort of clue to what you’re searching for. The sea was much calmer here, as if it greeted you like an old friend. And although you loved to swim freely through the oceans of your own homeland, the waters of this place enchanted you.
As you were about to give up your search—sending the pointless recordings of your exploration to your organization—a voice had emerged from the coves behind you. You were met with a man with feathered ankles and ears that pointed to the sky, decorated with the treasures that the sea would give him in obedience.
Your breath hitched, your heart lurched, and somehow, in the pits of your soul, you felt the weight of an unknown feeling pulling you towards this man. He was armed and had an air of regality, yet you did not care if you were to be stabbed by his spear in that instant.
Or more clearly, you had a keen feeling he would do no such thing to hurt you.
He will not harm you, your soul whispered into your being. And your heart lurched again at the strange message.
His words rang clear through the coves, the baritone of his voice bouncing through the damp rocks and being carried into the wind at his command. You could not dare speak at such authority, but instead of being alarmed at the eyes that threatened to kill the likeness of a man in his territory, you found yourself dropping your dagger unto the grass with a faint thud.
With such speed unmatched even with the fastest rockets, a spear had directed itself on your throat. You fell on your back in surprise, but this magnificent man did not yield. Instead, he pressed the tip of his spear even closer. It was enough to puncture a small wound that trickled a small dribble of blood across your neck.
And then you locked eyes for the first time.
At last.
Namor’s heart soared, his soul finally recognizing yours and turning whole again.
The revelation of your sudden presence had hit him with finality that it was almost painful for his heart as the surge of emotion swept him up like a vicious tide. He gaped at your brilliance—just like the times he had before in the past—and found himself motionless at the mercy of your stare.
Seizing this opportunity while ignoring the painful lurches of your heart, you gathered what was left of your senses and flipped you both around. Namor was powerless beneath you as you straddled his waist, the beads of crimson now dripping down to his cheeks.
You gestured for the water from the sea to come forth, and strings of water formed into sharpened spears right above his neck. He laid in awe at your prowess.
He did not fear that you would kill him; your eyes lay neither malice nor intent to harm him in any way; his soul whispers to him as well.
“Who are you?” You asked him with gritted teeth, the beating of your heart almost deafening against your ears.
“Is it not a custom of your world to present your name before you ask others to give theirs?” He replied with a smirk. You felt heat from your neck go up your cheeks as you stuttered, the water spears under your control wavering ever so slightly.
“If you haven’t realized, I have the upper hand here,” you proved your point by drawing your weapons closer to his neck with a gentle flick of your wrist, “so talk. Who are you and why are you here?”
“I could ask you the same.” He mused. You found his nonchalance absolutely irking.
“Don’t play with me.”
“I should be the one to ask you those questions. Are you not the one who had trespassed this sacred place of worship?”
That shut you up for good. You said nothing as your stance wavered ever so slightly. He was right—you trespassed into the ancestral home of a culture you did not know without permission, and that in itself was something to be ashamed of. His garb, his jewelry, and his accent were indications that he must be a native, but you still had to be cautious around him—especially when he is a peculiar man who could use his winged ankles to fly.
“Why I am here is none of your concern.” You sensed no more hostility from this man, and he even bore an amused smirk at your thoughts. Your heart had told you to trust him so you slowly lowered your hands and dispersed the weapons from your control.
Maybe you were foolish to believe in your heart, but as soon as you had lost your grip, he flipped you again until you lay on the ground. There were no signs of danger, but the surprise you felt had elicited a sharp yelp from you.
The man with the pointed ears chuckled in amusement, his hands caging you in as he spoke again.
“But it is a matter of my concern. You have stepped into my lands and scurried around in secret. But I will forgive this transgression. You interest me.”
“By what authority are you to tell me what to do?” Namor chuckled. You still had that spirit of a warrior that he adored so much. Only you could question his authority like this without fault nor opinion.
“I am the king of this land that you step on and the seas that go deep down below the unimaginable depths.”
He saw your breath hitch, your eyes widening a fraction in realization. The regality, the grace, the jewels, his power—everything were signs of his majesty at work. You would have been filled with fear when you realized you had raised weapons against the ruler of the land you had trespassed, but somehow you did not feel as such.
Caged in the arms of this man, this odd entity that had drawn blood from your skin and raised his spear to your neck, wrapped you in the feeling of safety; as if nothing in this world could ever touch you with malicious intent.
“What is your name?” You breathed it out without thinking.
Your eyes held the stare of majestic earthen oak in a spell of unknown sentiments. Your very soul tugged on the strings of your fate, drawing you into the allure of this stranger that held you hostage. But your soul convinced you that he was no stranger. You had known him in the past, somewhere in the crevices of your memory that was forgotten long, long ago.
“If you insist,” he smiles and draws in closer, the scent of the sun and the sea upon his barren skin.
In any normal circumstances you would have kicked him off of you and battled him to the death to return home to your country, but you did no such thing. You wondered why it was so, but the only explanation you could conjure was the one that tugged painfully from your heart.
“My people call me K’uk’ulkan, but my enemies call me Namor. You are free to choose which name you would prefer.”
Namor waited in anticipation for your response, his heart and soul throbbing with a longing that has plagued him for a century.
He wondered with a deep sadness if your response would be the same as the one in your second life; to thrash in his presence in fear and curse him out as the demon of the sea. Memories that opened wounds in his heart.
Yet such aching fears were purged from his mind as you stared at him quizzically, as if the name that rang through the dusk was a name that you should have known from the start.
A recognition, perhaps, that should have sparked the memory of your three lives.
“I am not your enemy,” you started, your voice held nothing but such tender welcome, “and somehow, I wish to be your friend.”
“Then say my name, I implore you, for the name you will choose will set your fate into stone.”
You blinked at the hidden implications of his statement, but you chose to pay no mind.
“K’uk’ulkan.”
And for the first time since the end of your third life did his heart and soul thrive and overflow with all the love that he had to offer you in great reverence to your existence.
K’uk’ulkan helped you up to your feet and held your hands gently, tracing the lines and calluses that adorned your palms in great happiness.
You let him do as he bid in great confusion. Why were you so at ease in his presence? He, a mere stranger and possible threat, puts your mind in so much ease.
The questions that lingered in your mind had gone and replaced with the urge to know him better; to know his secrets, his interests, his dreams, the numerous things that would make him the man that he is today.
You reminded yourself that this was a king—that you should not even dare be in the same presence as he. But he looked at you with so much compassion, so much love.
It was impossible to pull away from the gravity of his own magnificence.
An unknown force had beckoned you to cup his cheek, swipe the tear that had unknowingly escaped his eye, and asked him his strife in your mother tongue.
“Why do you cry, K’uk’ulkan?”
K’uk’ulkan released a humorless laugh. It was filled with relief. With joy.
“It is nothing of importance.”
“You understand me?” You asked in surprise. He chuckled and leaned into your touch, his own mother tongue slipping from his lips and into your confused ears.
“I know more than just one, in yakunaj.”
“I don’t understand.” He removed himself from you and took his spear from the ground. You did not move to keep you guard; for his intentions did not read any malice.
He offered his hand for you to take, his feathered feet now stepping back into the pool of water from behind him.
“It is nothing for you to worry about. Now come, were you not in search of something in the depths? I might have what you seek.”
You looked down on the contraptions from your pack, all ready to take samples and readings as instructed from your organization.
But a little voice in your head said to leave it; to take the hand of this feathered man and swim with him into the depths of the ocean without regard to your mission. What you seek was not something ordered by your group.
It was something much deeper, something that has been clawing at your soul beyond what you could have ever known.
And with a final decision, you stripped off every bit of equipment from your person and took the hand of the man you so oddly trusted with your whole life.
K’uk’ulkan could not possibly contain this joy.
The promises of your third life came to fruition at last.
His love could not be described by mere poets nor painted by the hand of any god.
It was as endless as the waters of the deep sea and the stars that stretched across the night sky.
Blessed is he to have received the shower of your trust and have gained the prize his soul had set to win from the centuries long of wait.
“Are you ready?”
He gripped your hand tight, the heat from your skin burning him pleasantly like the fire from the sun.
Maybe you were right along. He did not meet you just so he could say goodbye. You have given him the love of three centuries and a century more.
His grief could not possibly overshadow the exuberance of his never ending affection for you.
“Yes, K’uk’ulkan.”
He will love you for a millennium more and wait for you to be reborn;
for his love was as timeless as the sands of the deep sea.
End notes: I would like to thank my darling partner, the love of my life, for helping me edit this monster of a fic. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you sweetiee <33
Taglist: @rokuhoku @l0ner-girl @zeeader @urielliii @namorswifey @themology
#namor x reader#namor x filipino!reader#namor x fem!reader#namor x you#namor x poc!reader#mcu namor#namor mckenzie#k'uk'ulkan#k'uk'ulkan x reader#wakanda forever#namor fanfiction#namor fic
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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.
#namor x reader#namor x poc!reader#namor x you#namor x y/n#namor x black reader#namor#namor x fem!reader#namor smut#namor x f!reader#black panther smut#namor fics#black panther fic#namor lemon#tw: noncon#tw: dark content
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Sweet like mango
Namor x goddess!reader fluff
Summary: You had always remained loyal to your promise to stay ashore, despite a certain god’s best attempts to persuade you otherwise
1.6k words
Warnings: slightly suggestive at some points. Other than that pure fluff
Author’s note- The reader is a woman of color implied to be of a browner skin complexion. The place she rules is a made up country in the Caribbean Sea.
You never grew tired of this.
The long pathways of sand that stretched far around the coast of the island, tucked underneath the shade of many trees. The sleek texture of the leaves beneath your fingers as you foraged for any fruit that would be viable. The feeling of his gaze as you went about your tasks.
It was your job to look after the resources of your people, a people that dwelled on an island safe from the hands of the outside world. One much like the African nation of Wakanda, hidden to all outsiders; though that never stop him from coming. Everyday you’d stroll around the shores of your quaint island and everyday he’d make it a point to see you: It was from him that you even knew what Wakanda was. You weren’t the kind of goddess to meddle in the business of other nations, so a lot of your knowledge about the outside world was through what he told you. On his visits he’d bring stories of foreign lands along with more gifts than you could manage. Necklaces, gold, Talokan’s finest pearls littered your hut. Despite your best efforts, he insisted you accept his gifts and you never had the heart to turn them away. He liked to jest that one day he’d bring enough jewels to fill up your entire island, to let anyone who sailed by know just how much he cared for you.
“Must you always watch from the waters?” Your voice broke the air in what sounded like but a whisper. You stood just off the edge of the sand, waves flowing gently at your shores and making ripples as they returned to the ocean. He was there and you were sure of it. A gentle breeze made its way through the trees, taking pieces of your knit skirt with it. Comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you waited for him to reveal himself and it wasn’t long before he did. He heard you, he always did. His black hair stuck to his face as he rose from the waters, bronzed and covered in heavy jewelry. Before you was K'uk'ulkan in all his glory.
“Ma'lob Ja'atskab K'iin, in yakunaj” (Good morning, my love)
He knew you couldn’t understand what he was saying and yet he refused to stop speaking his language to you. Maybe the absence of understanding was apart of why he did it. Maybe it allowed him to be comfortable saying the things he wouldn’t dare slip off his tongue if he knew you’d understand.
“K'uk'ulkan”. His name fell from your mouth with ease, the way it had thousands of times before. You never tired of seeing your water god, not when he came to your shores looking the way he did. Namor sauntered slowly up to you with a small brown box cradled in between his fingers. Those green shorts left little to the imagination, not that you were complaining.
“How have you been” he asked genuinely, eyes finding yours as he slides his had gingerly around your waist. His fingers moved cautiously around the gems of your waist beads, testing how far you’d let him get as if he had never touched you before. It wasn’t until he was close enough that you could see the state he was in. Battered, bruised, littered in cuts.
He hadn’t visited you in a week which was unlike him. In the event that his duties as king would tear him from you for longer than he liked, he would always make sure you knew. Worry crept up your spine when he hadn’t paid you a visit in 3 days time and you waited desperately for any sort of sign. A smoke signal, a message in a bottle, anything, but nothing ever came. You suspected something dubious was going on with him. Your suspicion was correct.
“What happened to you”
You saw the way his eyebrows raised slightly, as if he didn’t expect you to ask.
“What would it matter if I told you, in yakunaj”
“You leave without a trace in the ocean and you expect me to not want answers? Do you think just because you’ve returned that I’m not owed an explanation?”
You had a point, he couldn’t deny.
“I had a run in with the Wakandans, their new queen is a formidable warrior. I have done things I don’t know if I’m proud of. Things I’d rather not tell in fear you would look at me differently”.
“Does war follow your actions K'uk'ulkan?” You had to know your chances of loosing him. The brown in his eyes soften as he gazed upon you, his hands gripping your waist with more force as if he’s scared you’ll blow away with the wind. The sun made the brown of your skin dance beneath his finger tips, a sight he wouldn’t trade for the world. To him, your beauty could not be matched by any woman, land or sea.
“Not anytime in the near future. Not with the Wakandans. Despite my wrongdoings I have secured an ally for Talokan”. His response seemed to calm you and he took notice of this. As much as you tried to deny it, you did have feelings for him.
This encouraged him to lean into the dip of your neck, inhaling your scent. Honey and mangos with a hint of cinnamon, a smell he would burn into every fiber of his brain had the heavens above allowed it. Opening the box he slowly removed its contents, a beautiful Amber necklace with a pendant surrounded by Talokanil pearls. You didn’t flinch as his wet hands turned you away from him, moving to clip the necklace on with ease. You saw the admiration in his eyes as he scanned down the valley of your breast to look at where the necklace rested. It was beautiful against your complexion and sat comfortably on the knit bra like top you wore. To colonizers your dress was primitive, to him, it was beauty in it’s purest form.
“I count every hour until I am able to see you again. Will you not return to Talokan with me to save me of the pain of having to live without you”.
Would you go with him? You truly didn’t know. Your duty was to your people, to your island, who were you to abandon them? The gods had given you life to serve the islanders and your power of growing plants on a whim served the people well. At a moments notice you could conjure up rows of fruit trees to feed the village. Despite this, you couldn’t help your mind when it wondered to thoughts about what it would be like being his queen. Adored by him and his people. He had walls covered in tapestry depicting you, what would it be like to wake up to them in his embrace every morning? The feeling of him kissing up the side of your neck pulled you out of your thoughts. As much as you’d love to spend every waking moment like this, you knew it wasn’t possible.
“We both know that cannot happen. I have a duty to my people and yours deserve a queen that is one of them”. The words left your mouth so quietly you had to second guess if you had actually said them. His response assured you that you did. That wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“What would lead you to think you are not one of us? You can breathe water like us, swim like us, eat like us. I’d never let the name Namor come from you, is that not testament enough to your place in my life?”
“I am neither your enemy nor your people, what am I to call you? Surely the better of the two names”
“In yakunaj would suffice”. A smile graced his face as he pulled away from your neck. Watching as small purple bruises burned into the brown of your neck.
“I will not call you a name if I don’t know what it means”
“And yet you call me K'uk'ulkan without a care in the world. Do you trust that it’s meaning is good? Or is it that you trust me, lòol (flower)”
In all honesty, you didn’t have an answer. He must have taken your silence as confirmation of your trust as he worked to push you up against the mango tree behind the two of you. He did it with more force than intended but you were quick to catch the mango as it fell, not without accidentally bruising it. It’s juices flowed onto your hands and covered you fingers with its sticky substance. Namor’s eyes darkened as he watched you attempt to clean the mango’s residue from your hands after placing it to the ground. He gently gripped your hand and brought it up to his mouth, eyes meeting yours. He began to slowly suck the juices from your skin in a way that set your body a blaze. Everything about the scene was seductive and you enjoyed it more than you felt you should have. You tried your best to mask the shock as he slowly dropped to his knees before you.
“Maybe I need to use a different approach to make you change your mind”
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Imagine:
Meeting Namor
Request: Yes or No
Forgive my spanish, I can only speak it and read it but writing it is a bitch.
~~~
Weaving the thread through the perfectly shaped hole, you tied a knot at the base as you listened to the waves roll. The warm water lapped at your soaked legs, inching further into land with each wave. It wouldn't be long before the water reached your waist and you'd have to move.
Despite the peaceful, calming atmosphere, you couldn't shake the familiar feeling of eyes on you. Every time you visited the beach, it'd only take a couple minutes before he arrived. He never outright approached you, only watched from afar. Of course, the first time had left you unnerved as you never no stranger to the tales your mother often told you. And yet, he never bothered you, never made an attempt to hurt you.
"¿Quieres uno?" You called out, remaining focused on the necklace until the sound of water sloshing around reached your ears. It stopped and you looked up, taking in the man infront of you. He looked... oddly human.
Lifting your hand, you offered offered the necklace. "Tómalo. Es gratis."
Looking rather perplexed, he reached out, letting a finger drag over the thread before taking it. He let the seashell rest on the palm of his hand and studied it for a moment before looking back at you.
"(Y/N)."
"Kukulkán." His voice was unexpectedly warm and smooth.
"Encantado." You smiled, planting your feet into the sand and standing up, the water splashing at your ankles. His lips pulled into a small grin and his fingers wrapped around the seashell.
"Níib óolal." He murmured and you found yourself wishing you'd paid attention to your mothers teachings. But his eyes only twinkled with mischievous. Despite everything about him screaming power, he appeared boyish and playful.
And for a moment, you wondered if speaking to the mysterious stranger from the ocean who was said to be a god had been a good idea.
Gifs aren't mine.
#x reader#x you#x y/n#x male reader#x female reader#x gender neutral reader#black panther wakanda forever#black panther wakanda forever x reader#wakanda forever#wakanda forever x reader#wakanda forever x male reader#namor mckenzie#namor x y/n#namor x reader#namor x male reader#namor x poc!reader
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𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒚 𝑺𝒂𝒍𝒕
Part One
Mature | 18+ Minors DNI
Pairing: Namor x Mutant! Afro-Latina OC
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: kissing, heavy touching, grinding, some rough handling (list will grow in the next part)
It started with a scent.
The jungle was an array of experiences to anyone’s senses, but to hers especially.
Why are we leaving again? Disappointment. Fear.
There are some things we haven’t fully explained to you yet—
She let the voices of those she loved the most fuel her rage, the betrayal she felt.
The thick, humid air clung to her skin as she ran. She carried on through the jungle’s lush green undergrowth, the white moon’s glow cutting between the tree’s broad leaves from above. Even with the scarce lighting, she moved with ease to nowhere in particular.
Or, maybe she was determined to be lost, if only for a short time. Lost to it all—the aroma of fresh rain, thick undertones of wet dirt, fleeting hints of flowers, sounds of crackling branches beneath the weight of wildlife, the soft whisper of the leaves rustling against one another and the trickling of water somewhere in the distance.
It wasn’t hard to lose herself to it, embrace herself in it. Because that’s who she was, that was her truth—a mutant with senses like an animal, a predator.
But tonight, it wasn’t enough. Everything was too much and all at once. Something burned within her and struggled to reach the surface.
Her escape between the trees had started from impulse—to get away, to process her emotions—but quickly morphed into a search, a chase. Her body was after something, she realized. Her head hurt with the efforts to understand, but it seemed a part of her already knew.
No, she hadn’t run because she was mad at her parents, had she? She didn’t wander into the night to get away. No, she realized. She was looking for something. Or being drawn to it. With her speed, it didn’t take long before she found it. Him.
She slowed her movements while the thumping of her heart became a frantic drum off beat. It was so loud. Could he hear it too?
An invisible pull from within—an instinct—and she was close enough to touch him.
Her mind fractured then, pieces of reason shattered like glass. Pieces fell in the direction of hypervigilance—who was he, he could be dangerous, why does he look so different. Other pieces melted in the uncontrollable heat blossoming beneath her skin—get closer, kiss him, take him.
Their gazes met, broke apart, and met again. He parted his lips and she moved.
He tasted like the sun and sea salt.
Shivers wrecked her body. She braced herself on the tips of her toes, fingers threading into his dark hair. His chest, bare, brushed against her front. She felt her nipples harden into tight peaks and she pressed further into him until they were molded together. She’d never kissed anyone so intensely before, but the knot of fire in her belly guided her ruthlessly. She drove her tongue into the hot cavern of his mouth.
Like a wall, he seemed to break with the taste of her. He groaned. His hands found the fleshy mounds of her backside and he squeezed, his pelvis grinding into hers. His actions made the blood in her veins feel like liquid fire. Her knees buckled and she could smell the pooling of her own arousal between her thighs.
She hooked her hands into the thick belt around his midsection, tugging him frantically as she stumbled back until her back pressed into the nearest hard surface. She’d pulled her lips away to breathe, but never kept her mouth from his for long. She tasted him—his lips, his tongue, his beard, his neck—and nipped at his earlobes. She had him panting.
When she cupped him through his clothing, he hissed through his teeth and one large hand wrapped around her jaw to tilt her head back. His touch was gentle, but firm. He managed, though breathless, “Pa'atik—”
He studied her beneath glowing moonlight.
Suddenly, a scream—her mother’s.
She ripped herself away from the stranger. “No! No, I—” But she didn’t have the words. Then she disappeared into the jungle’s depths.
The feathered serpent god moved by night.
Within the river’s darkness, beneath the cool, still water, was his passage to what he sought—what he needed. He rose, gradual and silent. Before the water’s gentle ripples settled around his break in its surface, he was in the air.
Beneath the white moon, he weaved a familiar path within the shadows on the outskirts of Birnin Zana. A handful of his warriors were not far behind.
The city was a maze of towering structures and crowded streets almost all hours of the day and night. Fortunately, there was no need to travel too far into the city’s realm. He’d flown this route many times over the last few weeks, arriving at his desired destination with ease: a small house in a village not far from the shore.
He found her sprawled across her sofa with the lights on. She’d fallen asleep while working, again. And not unlike most nights, she left the window near her kitchen open.
He gave a simple commanding gesture and the hypnotizing hymn of his people carried through the quiet night. Only loud enough for her ears, he entered with the promise she would remain asleep and unaware.
He gazed upon her sleeping form. She lay curled on her side, a pen still folded in her hand. Papers littered the coffee table and rug beneath. Her sleep was deep, from what he gathered. She’d drooled over a sheet of paper caught between her cheek and the sofa cushion. Still, despite the melody’s strong lull, his presence seemed to affect her—stirring something deep within her dreams—and she turned over in her sleep with a small sigh.
He almost laughed when he'd put it all together.
Weeks ago, when he’d led an attack on Wakanda, she’d been there. She’d thrown herself haphazardly in front of an elderly woman in the midst of calculated chaos, using her body as a shield from debris. Her arm was outstretched and then a command snapped at one of his warriors: “No—stop!”
Her voice should have meant nothing, just another casualty. Yet, the moment it reached his ears, something struck within—like the deliberate tug at a string pulled too tight. He’d ignored the strange occurrence then, but then a hazy memory of wild violet colored eyes bled into his dreams. And it clicked.
It was decades ago—during a different time, on a different coast. It had been brief. But it was her, without a doubt. She’d disappeared after that night, and he’d assumed she’d died. How wrong he’d been. The small woman he’d met in the jungles off the coast of the Caribbean Sea was alive and well.
The god knelt.
She looked the same as she did all those years ago.
A sudden urge to brush a stray curl from her brow made his fingers twitch. A certain pull, a warmth, enveloped his chest and spread like a whisper down his bare spine. She'd come for him, he was sure. He'd give her little choice in the matter.
Softly, he placed a conch shell atop the paper and books on her coffee table. Within it, a message.
A threat, possibly. But he'd do what he'd have to. As a king, as a god.
With a solemn breeze, he was gone and headed back for Talokan.
Aza woke when her kimoyo beads began to sound an alarm.
With a loud groan, she tinkered with the bracelet and shut the alarm off.
Aza rubbed at her eyes and blinked slowly until her surroundings came into focus. There was a slight burn—she'd fallen asleep with her contacts in again.
Sitting, she rested her elbows atop her knees and yawned. A few moments passed and she felt something off. A quick glance around and she saw what caused such a feeling.
A subtle hint of sea salt lingered in the air, a presence almost all its own. A large shell, placed upon her coffee table with unquestionable purpose. Sunlight highlighted the ridges of its beautiful texture. Gingerly, she reached for it.
As she brought the shell to her lap, something else slipped to the floor. Her brows lowered, trepidation beginning to build a force to weigh on her shoulders and set her nerves alight.
A note, she realized. What is—
There wasn't but a single word on it, and yet she felt the bile rise to her throat.
Mutant.
Aza replayed the events of her incredibly mundane day in her head. She remembered heading home after a long day of lectures and making a quick bite to eat. She had a few essays to go over and made the bad decision of sitting on her comfortable sofa rather than her desk to work. The last thing she recalled was promising herself she'd only rest her eyes for a few minutes. But then—
Near her kitchen, the window she forgot to shut solidified a pestering notion at the back of her mind. She slammed it shut, biting the inside of her cheek.
It was him. Namor.
The one that had murdered their queen, among many others.
When Aza had learned of Wakanda's newest threat, she knew it was only a matter of time. Word spread across campus and among her colleagues like an airborne illness. Rumors sang of a man from the sea with wings on his ankles and the strength of a god. Aza tried to act intrigued, but truthfully, she'd heard it before.
She'd seen him before. Ages ago, when she was a different person. He didn’t have a name then, and in her memory, he hardly had a face. Too many things happened that fateful night—the reminder of the irrational decision she made to kiss a random pointy-eared man in the jungle when she was young had been the last thing her subconscious kept readily available.
How hadn’t she heard him in her home? Caught his scent when he was so close?
Aza stared at the conch, thrown haphazardly on her sofa. So, he’d finally found her. And he’d used some sort of trick to get into her home.
She was sure here, in Wakanda, she'd never run into anyone from her previous life. She hadn't accounted for a god, though. Shit.
Aza waited at the shore, the conch shell in hand.
It was almost midnight now, and the tension in her back that had been resonating all day was mere seconds from snapping.
Although she expected to see him rise from the sea, she wasn't at all surprised when she felt his presence in the sand behind her. He’d been watching, she was sure.
"You came."
Chills danced along her skin and her breath almost escaped her with the ocean breeze. Still, she set her shoulders straight and turned around.
"You left this behind." Aza dropped the shell to her feet. It made a muted thud when it hit the sand. His eyes never left her.
"Beeyo'." The god dragged his gaze across her rigid form. He tilted his head slightly, "Incredible."
Aza lowered her brow, "What is it you want?"
As he approached further, she kept her lips from parting in awe. He was a vision—from the collar weaved of precious shells and vibranium that hung from his neck, the jewelry adorning his pointed ears and piercing through his nose, the golden bands around the thick muscles of his arms.
He presented himself as nothing less than a king.
Decades ago, when she'd first laid eyes on the legendary god, there hadn't been time to gawk.
Something had changed within her—a transformation taking shape within her own body that ripped any sort of facade of normality from beneath her feet. And when her parents had tried to explain, she’d been inconsolable. You were made for something important, her mother had said. And then her mother’s life was taken by those very people that had “made” her.
Aza caught a glimpse of the final feature so many knew him for: the wings.
"I am in need of your assistance." He said simply.
"Whatever it is you need assistance with, keep me out of it." Aza folded her arms across her chest, hands curling into the sleeves of her thin sweater. "I don't want anything to do—"
Namor took another casual step closer. "How long have you been here, chan ch'úupalo, hiding right under their noses? Hm?" Aza narrowed her eyes and a corner of his mouth ticked up in a smug smirk. His head lowered, dark eyes glittering with fascination. "It’s nice to see you again."
Aza's heart stammered in her chest. "There isn't really a point in denying it then, is there?"
"No."
"So," Aza resigned herself, partially out of curiosity. "What exactly do you need me to help you with?"
Namor's features were enhanced when a smile tugged at his lips. The white of his teeth was a stark contrast to his dark facial hair.
“Come with me to Talokan.”
"Come with you to—?" Aza met his eyes, incredulous. “Wait a minute, I can’t just—”
Namor continued, unconcerned with her reaction. “Of course you can.” His lips pursed in thought for a beat, brows lowering and then lifting again. “And you’ll marry me, too.”
Namor wasn’t the least bit surprised when the little mutant’s first reaction had been to attempt to crush his nose with that tiny fist of hers. She’d been quick too. But he’d caught her wrist mid strike.
A fury was trapped behind her eyes, “Marry you? Are you out of your mind?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Aza yanked her hand from his grasp and turned, beginning her walk back through the surrounding trees and brush.
Namor promptly followed. “We aren’t finished talking.”
She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder, “You might not be, but I am.”
He let her retreat until she reached the edge of the brush. When she was moments from passing a tree, Namor flew the distance in a second and reached for her again. To his amusement, the little mutant just narrowly avoided his grasp and swiveled away, her back pressed against another tree an arm’s length away.
She glared. “I said I’m done talking.”
He was beginning to tire of her insistent stubbornness. He hadn’t even gotten through a fraction of what he planned to say. He increased his speed the second time around, encircling one arm around her middle and hurtled them through the air until he had her pinned against another tree, her wrists trapped within one iron tight grasp.
The impact hadn’t been hard, but her breath left her in a gasp of surprise. She jerked in his hold.
“But I’m not.” Namor said gruffly. “And if you even think about kicking me between the legs, x-ch'úupal, I won’t hesitate to break these little wrists of yours.”
“Fine,” She hissed, “But let me go.”
Namor’s eyes traveled down. He watched and waited for her breathing to slow. It didn’t go unnoticed that her flimsy sweater had parted in their tussle. Cleavage spilled over her top of her tank top as his body pressed into hers. Memories collided into the front of his mind, dragging him back through time.
He inhaled. Mangos and cinnamon.
The scent bothered him, an uncertain restlessness growing. Figuring the sooner he returned to his kingdom, deep beneath the earth, the better. Something about this night was off.
Before he lifted into the air, his steps slowed and he was drifting. His mind began to grow hazy as he wandered. Moments later, he thought he might’ve been seeing things.
A woman had appeared through the trees, her expression unreadable. He narrowed his eyes, traveling the length of her body with an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.
She was dressed plainly, her arms bare and her hair, a wild dark mass of curls, tied back loosely. Her skin was a rich brown and looked incredibly smooth, even from the distance in which he stood. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, drawing his attention to her breasts—a fine sheen of sweat glistened down her neck and collarbone—before he met her gaze.
As she drew close, he noticed the glimmering shade of violet in her eyes.
She didn’t appear dangerous, but something radiated from her. Like hunger, he thought. A wave of her scent flooded his senses, wrapping his body in heat that demanded control. She was dangerous, he decided. He just wasn’t sure how.
His lips parted to speak, but then he was saturated by something entirely new—by her.
Her lips were clumsy, inexperienced, but the grip she had on his hair was confident. He didn’t have the time to think—to question this surreal situation he’d somehow found himself in—before her tongue met his, allowing him to taste her fully.
And he was lost.
His hands moved, finding anchorage through a firm grip on her ass. She pushed herself impossibly closer until they were an entanglement of hot limbs and desperate mouths. His mouth worked over hers to its own accord. A battle of dominance began when his lips dragged hers forward to the point of almost breaking the contact, making her chase for what she was after, and she returned the torment with vigor.
He wanted more—needed more. His hips ground forward, instinctively searching for the warmth he sought to bury himself within. He was so fucking hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on the verge of spilling this fast and all she’d done was kiss him. His cock ached between their bodies, against the softness of her belly.
Finally, she broke for air and he licked his lips because he instantly missed the taste of her. When her hot little tongue returned, it was everywhere but his mouth. She held onto his shoulders, blunt nails digging into his flesh as she ravaged her way across his neck.
With a small whimper, she gripped him by his belt. He let her tug him along with her until her back was pressed into a rocky formation and he had her pinned. She nipped at his earlobe and he felt his sac tighten in anticipation. Take her, fuck her, keep her—
And then she cupped him, the direct touch thrusting him into some semblance of cognizance.
Wait—
He wrapped his fingers around her jaw, ceasing her movements. “Pa'atik—” He managed, slightly frustrated at how subdued he sounded. What was happening? Who was this woman?
He drew her head up carefully, searching for her eyes again. He wanted to look upon her face once more while she was close. He tried to ignore the hints of her scent that lingered and he exhaled slowly, forcing his focus to remain on her features and not how fucking good she felt against him.
Though, before he could consider what he’d say next, a scream ripped through their moment of silence. She was out of his embrace with a sharp “no”. The word fell from her lips with a tone of bewilderment.
His arm felt heavy when he lifted to reach for her, as if a part of him already knew it was too late anyways.
Wait—
And then she was gone.
Namor held his forehead against hers, “Ba'ax ta meentaj?” His voice was barely a whisper, “That night—what did you do to me?”
-to be continued-
A/N: Hello, hello. Jeez, I can't even remember the last time I wrote a fanfic. It's been a long time. Please let me know if there are any warnings I forgot to mention. Below are the translations, although I did use an online translator so if anything is incorrect, please let me know! This will probably be in 3 parts, but I just wanted to set the stage for the smut that is to come lol.
Translations:
Pa'atik : wait
Beeyo' : that's right
Chan ch'úupalo : little girl
X-ch'úupal : girl
Ba'ax ta meentaj? : what did you do?
#namor 18+#namor smut#namor x mutant oc#namor x oc#namor x reader#namor fanfiction#namor x poc!reader#namor x black reader
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Talokan trio x black!reader
since it's black history month here's headcanons about what the talokan trio would to if they had a black s/o! (black readers follow me and wattpad:saturnshaze)
NAMOR
.he was kind but serious when you first met him, definitely fell in love first
.will hype you up every chance he gets
.will treat you like the world
.tries to learn about black hair so he can do yours
.It tells you random black history facts he just learned
.If you take him to parties, if you can't find him that'll be because he's in the middle of the dance circle or taking food home for attuma and namora
ATTUMA
.At first he was standoff-ish and cold but as you got to know him he softened up a lot more around you
.Learned how to go to the store to buy you hair products (he brought cantu the first time and almost got cussed out so he won't make that mistake again)
.You walked in on him learning how to braid hair. when you tapped him on the shoulder to let him know that you're there he hid it as quickly as possible. when you tried to press him about it he ignored it. the next time you went to do your hair he stopped you and hair that he could do it himself. (he actually did pretty well)
.goes a little bit to overboard with the compliments
.when you're in an argument with him you threaten that you're gonna cut his hair off and use it as a lacefront, he'll say he will take your bonnet/durag off in your sleep
.likes to hear stories about your culture's folklore when you're sleeping
NAMORA
.very cold when you first met her, opened up to you sooner or later
.if you give her tribal print of your countries, she will get the best seamstresses in talokan to make jaw dropping clothing for you
.Loves traditional instruments of the black diaspora
.her favorite movie you showed her was def by temptation
.braids your hair when you ask her too
#mcu namor#namor x poc!reader#black!reader#black panther 2#black panther wakanda forever#attuma#namora#talokan#k'uk'ulkan#marvel headcanons#marvel#bpwf#marvel fandom#black panther#king namor#mabel cadena#tenoch huerta#mcu#namor the sub mariner#alex livinalli
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The best smile there is
#marvel#namor black panther wakanda forever#black panther spoilers#mcu#namor x wakanda!reader#namor the sub mariner#namor x poc!reader#namor x y/n#namor x mutant!reader#namor x you#namor x reader#tenoch huerta#wakanda forever spoilers
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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.
#namor fluff#namor x reader#namor x y/n#namor one shot#namor x black!reader#kukulkan one shot#kukulkan x reader#namor x you#kukulkan#namor x poc!reader#namor imagine#tenoch huerta fic#tenoch huerta fluff#kukulkan x you#royal!namor#tenoch huerta mejia#black panther fanfic#black panther fic#namor fics
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CEO! Tenoch/Namor x CEO! Reader Aesthetic Board
“You are sent by your father, the owner of the company, to represent this proposal which involves merging these two companies together. “, sitting facing him, barricaded by his sleek office desk and listening to him repeating my proposal. His intense gaze piercing through my soul. “And once the companies have been united, he will retire and you will be the successor, correct?” repeating the proposal while cocking his to the side. However, I sensed a but...
“Allow me to include my additional proposal before sealing the deal” he proceeded to rise from his chair, walked towards me as if a predator stalking its prey, turned my chair to face him. Still remained sitting, he crouched to my level, caged me with both of his palms resting upon the armrest of my chair and leaned towards me. My heartbeat quickened at the close proximity, intoxicated by his scent. A mixed of leather, oakwood and tobacco.
“What does it take to seal the deal?”, I questioned.
“You”
“A king will need his queen by his side to help him rule his empire. I want you to be my partner, both in the office and personal life. How does that sound, amor?”, tilting my chin up, proceeded to caress my jaw with his knuckle and his warm brown orbs boring into mine.
“Marry me, be my wife and let us rule this empire together. Side by side, for I have long an equally compelling queen to reign by my side.”
🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱
Heyoooo this B is back again with another CEO!Namor moodboard, but decided to add a short fanfic this time, coz i’m feeling ✨extra✨ today. Enjoy peeps ❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥🌊🔱🔥
#namor#namor fic#namor fanfiction#namor mckenzie#namor x you#namor x#namor x poc!reader#namor x reader#ceo!namor#au namor#namor smut#tenoch huerta#tenoch x reader#tenoch huerta mejia#wakanda#talokan#wakanda por siempre#king of wakanda#k'uk'ulkan#k'uk'ulkan x reader#wakandaontheweekends#black panther#mcu namor#mcu x reader#mcu#mcufam#mcuedit#marvel cinematic universe#marvel community#ceo
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Masterlist
Avatar:
Neteyam
Lo’ak
Neteyam- Self Assurance
ATWW X MARVEL 2 3 4
Aonung 2
Aonung- The Tree
ATWW 2 3 4
Wednesday:
Wednesday & Wick
Xavier Thorpe- Mind Reader
Bianca Barclay- Rave N Dance
Bianca Barclay- Sparrow
Namor:
Namor*
Namor- Mutant/Bender
HOTD
Aemond T.
Euphoria
Ashtray - 4>1
Ashtray- Training Wheels
Fezco- Crash Landing
MCU
Wanda- I See You
TASM- Flame On
Druig- I’m My Own Boss
Druig- Disguise
Sprite- Honey Bee
Eternals- Twister
Gilgamesh- Passage
Wanda- For You
Druig- I’m John Cena
Shang-Chi- So Your Like The Avatar?
Druig- Shifter
Makkari- Picnic
Thena- Starring Contest
#avatar the way of water#avatar 2#addams family#avatar fanfiction#wednesday series#marvel x you#neteyam x reader#avatar x you#marvel mcu#namor x poc!reader#namor x you#fezco x y/n#ashtray x reader#thena x reader#eternals x you#house of the dragon aemond#tasm spiderman#wanda x y/n#masterlist
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POV: K’uk’ulkan only feels at ease with you.
Me: Why aren’t there any gentle xReader art of Namor yet >:(( If only I could draw uugghh
Also me, an art student: Oh wait.
I’m still in an art block so I can’t make a full render of Namor yet (pain), but here’s a little sketch of him ig😭
#namor x reader#namor x poc!reader#namor x y/n#namor x you#namor art#wakanda forever#wakanda forever fanart#k’uk’ulkan#k’uk’ulkan x reader#namor x filipino!reader#namor x filipina!reader#nelly’s art#tenoch huerta x reader#tenoch huerta namor
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Take to the Sky
Namor x Udaku! Reader
Author's Note: Hey Guys!!! This is finna be my first foray into the Black Panther Universe. I saw Wakanda Forever last Thursday and it was a THRILL RIDE. As with most writers, I got inspired to write my first one-shot based on the movie with Reader chan and everyone's fave agua DADDY NAMOR so let's see how your story unfolds.
Also, I used a translator for the Yucatec Mayan so if it's off. Tell me in the comments
As I offered you to BAST when you were just a little babe, the winds around us blew wildly. Suddenly you were lifted from my arms. The elders were in surprise but the shaman was not surprised for he saw in you a greater purpose as well as a great danger which you are the key to stopping...............
That was your favourite story growing up, the one of your birth. The Ukadu's are Wakanda's Royal family and the guardians of the Black Panther mantle for generations but with you it was special. Your birth was of significance since it was not Bast who visited but the wind goddess who blessed you with bird wings to soar above the clouds. Yet with this power came a great danger which was unknown. Ever since then, you were hidden. Coming out when deemed necessary as well as acquiring the best training necessary from Okoye and the rest of the Dora.
Life for the most part was peaceful, loving and full of happiness for your family and people but it was not meant to last. The last six years being the most painful for your loved ones. Losing your father along with your siblings forced you to conform to the duties of becoming a future leader rapidly. Though you didn't need to inherit the throne for a good while, Queen Ramonda needed the assistance to best lead Wakanda during its turbulence as well as lifting some of the burdens from her shoulders. Not long after the blip's reversal, T'Challa's health deteriorated and eventually, he succumbed and joined the ancestors. Holding your mother's hand with eyes bloodshot red staring off into space, it felt as if your body went numb. The emotions depart with your brother until a hollow husk was left. It was always the 3 musketeers but now it's down to two. You knew it was never truly the end only its beginning.
ONE YEAR LATER............................................................
The sky was a place where you found solace. The impossible fades away and the unknown reigns supreme. Today is the One year anniversary of T'Challa's passing and mother wanted us to take a day to pay homage to his spirit as well as finally put our grief behind us but you couldn't shake the feeling in your bones that something is to occur today and you prayed to Bast that it's not serious.
Mini time skip
You all were sitting by the river's edge, a fire roaring to keep warm as well as a family of elephants to keep companionship with.
"Come girls, we are going to enact the final piece of the grieving ritual", Queen mother states as she surrenders her white garb to the fire, its heat and flames consuming it.
"Buring of the garbs marks the end of the grieving process and how we fully connect with those who have passed on to the spiritual plane.", she says solemnly.
"I can't do that. If I think of my brother too long it's not those clothes I would burn, but the world.", Shuri responds. You can feel where she comes from with being gifted a brilliant mind but unable to save whom she loves most.
Suddenly the elephants sense a disturbance and the Queen Mother goes to investigate with a spear in tow along with your sister. You grab your sword ready to defend your family and that's when a human or what you can describe as human for this male has wings at his ankles that play off of the Greek Messenger God Hermes as well as adorned with many jewels and clothing which also gives off remnants of a lost period of history.
'Who are you!", Your mother interrogates the stranger.
"This place is amazing, the air is pristine. My mother told me stories of a place like this, with people who never had to leave or change who they were. What right did your son have to reveal yourselves to the rest of the world," He says almost deathly calm.
"I'm not a woman who likes repeating herself, WHO.ARE.YOU", your queen mother says with authority.
"I have many names. My people me K'Kul'kan, but my enemies call me NAMOR.'' he says finally revealing who he is.
After laying his case, or more on the lines of his demands for the American Scientist who engineered the Vibranium detector he proceeds to leave but not before he speaks once more,
"To'on yaan k suut kaxtik chan ch'íich' '' and with that, he dolphin dives into the water once more.
"Well that's an entrance,", you say but gasp in horror as your eyes gaze on the underwater machine beside the mini camp setup.
"The council must be alerted immediately", Ramonda says urgently
Meanwhile in Talokan..............................
''Le chan ch'íich'o' ts'o'ok u revelado. Yuumtsilo'ob finalmente in u séen revelado ka sabrá u propósito yéetel le k'iin.'', Namor says while continuing his ancient painting.
#namor x reader#wakanda forever#tenoch huerta x reader#mutant#kkulkan x reader#one shot#short stories#namor x poc!reader#shuri#black panther
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