Kaladin entered Shallan and Adolin's rooms tired. He had been worked to the bone with all the new recruits and his duties as a Radiant. The atmosphere was exactly what he needed. Relaxed and open. On the sofa in the corner, Shallan was sketching the view from the balcony window, doing her usual amazing job of capturing the incredible scenery in black and white with the new charcoals Adolin gifted her as a wedding present. Speaking of the blond man, he was gently braiding Shallan's hair in a rather impressive five-strand braid, his fingers seemingly knotted in the chaos of curls yet it formed a cohesive pattern that really stood out as the sun set her red hair on fire. (I have a headcannon the Adolin can braid well so sue me.)
He stood silent in the doorway, not wanting to break the tranquility. For a moment, he wished that he had Shallan's ability to take a Memory and sketch it out later so that he could remember it forever.
More can be read here on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1543562985-shakadolin-probably-oneshots-cuddles-fluff
sorry but I can't stop thinking about adolin sucking cock. he does so easily, well, handily, enthusiastically, and mind-blowingly. he has dick sucking lips. even shallan is like "this is wasted on me. let's goo find kaladin so someone can appreciate this gift you have". He can deepthroat so good and the other two are mad bc they need stormlight to be able to get anything past their gag reflexes
Writing prompt: Rlain declares his love for Renarin, and Renarin can't believe it, can't accept that someone, especially lovely Rlain, would fall in love with him. Rlain makes a grand gesture by going into the storm and choosing mateform.
It was after a long battle and Adolin was desperate to spend some quality time with Sureblood, his Ryshadium. As much as he denies the teasing accusations from Shallan and Kaladin, he is definitely a horse girl. Sometimes his lovers speculate that he loves Sureblood more than he loves them. But Adolin doesn't really care, and if you get him drunk enough, will definitely talk more about his Ryshadium than his wife (He can't really talk about Kaladin as much more than a friend because, despite the world being more accepting, it still wasn't accepting enough and Kaladin wasn't exactly comfortable with the nature of their relationship being public.), much to the despair of anyone who dares to get him drunk. So Adolin was more than happy to spend some time giving Sureblood a good groom after a battle, especially as he usually doesn't have the time and the grooms in the stable normally do it.
Grabbing a brush, he started on the Ryshadium's pure white coat, gently brushing out any dry bits of mud as he immediately felt Sureblood's mood lighten at the realisation that he gets to spend more time with his rider.
Full fic here: https://www.wattpad.com/1543790821-shakadolin-probably-oneshots-adolin%27s-a-horse-girl
Fandom: Stormlight Archive
Pairing: Tyn/Shallan Davar
Rating: Explicit
Details: No warnings, ~2,900 words, oneshot, technically maybe canon compliant. if you have a huge brain
Summary: butch tyn make shallan go brrrr; or, what if i rewrote the wor chapter 'tyn' to be about oral instead
A/N: I just reread this chapter then a few hours later wrote this so I probably completely made up what her tent looks like/how some of the canon dialogue went but who cares theres lesbianism afoot
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"If I can say, you've got quite the tongue on you, Brightness," the man laughed across the campfire at Shallan.
Shallan curled her legs in under her tighter and looked at him blankly.
"I've never had anyone's tongue on me", she said, the words coming out of her mouth before she could review them. Curse this tongue indeed! But she would not react, delivering the quip as dryly as she meant to. The merchants howled at it, including Gaz, who slapped his knees.
"It ain't half bad, miss," he said in mock lechery, "It's quite nice, actually." He was a man with rather base interests, but they both knew any serious attempt at seduction would embarrass and offend both parties. She leveled a look at him and he raised his hands in surrender. The caravan went back to their activities, Gaz brushing the leather of his boots with a cloth and Shallan to her note taking. She turned to a blank page of the notebook and wrote the names of the men she was with, as well as Tyn and the slaves. She tapped her charcoal pencil against the edge of the book, thinking. She didn't know what to make of the bunch yet, having only been with them a few days. Certainly, it was a busy few days, filled with travel and violence, but it was just under 60 hours by her calculations. Not nearly enough time to get a proper sense of anyone. And besides, if she was pretending to be a smooth and domineering woman like Jasnah, who's to say they were who they said they were?
She went down the list and found Tyn's name. She wanted to get her alone and talk with her. Maybe there was something Tyn would admit in private when she wasn't being the leader of her Caravan. Shallan drew a column beside the list of names and labeled it "Initial Impressions". Maybe this could be an incriminating document if anyone here got their hands on it, but Shallan doubted any of them could read women's script. She also decided to write in Veden, lessening the chances of it being read. Down the line it was easy to reflect on her initial impressions of the men. They were largely deserters, gruff and not very bright. There were some hidden gems among them, but it was more like finding a skychip among your clearchips. Worth more, sure, but hardly brighter.
She found herself back at Tyn's name. Beside it, immediately she wrote "masculine". That was easily the first thing of note. Masculine, but in a way that didn't feel like a piece of circumstance. Shallan had met women before who wore trousers, or gloves. Usually dark eyed work women. And those women seemed to only do so because their job demanded it of them. It's hard to milk a sow with a sleeved hand, Shallan imagined. Or cut someone's hair. Or drive a caravan. The women who wore trousers always knew they had a dress waiting for them at home, for occasions they could shed the trappings of their dull, lower caste life and be women, fully as they desire to be. Shallan could see that in how even when scraping excess crem off her father's steps after a storm, the housekeepers still wore rouge on their cheeks. They still kept their hair up in ornate combs that could very well have been a precious gift to them. They still carried themselves with a feminine gait, much like the one that was trained into Shallan by her tutors. There was a grace and beauty to making anything you do feel feminine. Some women oozed the sweetness of their gender out of their ears it seemed. Those women could make shoveling chull dung out of a pen feel as feminine as painting a bowl of fruit while someone played the flute and another combed your hair.
Other women, ones like Tyn, had the opposite effect on things. She wasn't brutish or clumsy or dirty, of course, it wasn't an antithesis in that respect. It was more like everything she did held the masculine beauty that Princes, or particularly handsome men did. Using her safe hand didn't feel awkward for her, it didn't draw attention. Watching her with her sword gave the impression it was merely an extension of her arm, stretched out to defend her and her crew. The way she reached up to pull her hair back was masculine too, like she's never had anyone do it for her and has perfected doing it with both hands and grace. She sat with her knees open, none of the practiced positioning of a woman in skirts but all of the confidence and ease of someone very comfortable with their body and clothes. The thought of that made Shallan fidget. Were dresses uncomfortable for her? No, she liked them, liked how pretty they were. Liked how secure and modest she felt as they drape and shift over her knees. Looking at Tyn in her trousers with her legs spread like that was nearly profane, nearly erotic.
Shallan flushed, suppressing a squeak and shutting her book. Maybe she'd reflect on the members of her caravan later. She probably just needed to go for a walk. Though it was already growing dark, the fires of the caravan would offer enough of a lit perimeter for her to clear her head in. But before she could banish any thoughts about the suave woman she had only just met, one of her slaves approached her to inform her Tyn wished to see her.
Tyn's tent stretched out on the leeward side of her wagon, held up on thin but sturdy reeds and staked into the dirt so it wouldn't blow away Obviously it wasn't designed to weather a high storm, but rather to be quick to fold up should one come up unexpected. Right inside the door-flaps was her bedroll, which Shallan stepped carefully over. The rest of the area was occupied by a stack of crates with a board on top, and two more crates to either side, each with a small grass-stuffed pillow on top. Tyn sat on one of the makeshift seats at the makeshift table. Before her were two bowls, hers a dark red and heavily spiced, with a lighter dish on the other side, Shallan's. The intimacy of having both a man's meal and woman's meal at the same table wasn't lost on Shallan. But this was the frost lands, a long way from propriety anyways. Besides, Tyn was a woman. Shallan sat primly, carefully tearing off some bread to dip into her bowl. Now was her chance to get to know Tyn better.
After both bowls were scraped clean, and a glass of yellow-green wine to be had each (Shallan downing hers after sampling a bite of Tyn's curry, unaware of just how HOT food can get), their conversation had drifted. They had already talked about each other's motives, and had decided to go into the business of being confidence women together. For now, at least, until either got what they were looking for at the shattered plains.
"So," Tyn said in her raspy voice, reclining. "You've really never had a tongue on you?" This elicited a cough from Shallan, who was caught unawares by the shift in tone. She flushed, easily thanks to the mild drink within her. Tyn laughed. "Relax! No, really though, never?" Her tone was more than a little incredulous.
"Never," Shallan admitted, not meeting the warm pale brown haze of her dining partner.
"Not even any of the tradesmen-?"
"Tyn! Of course not! I am betrothed after all." Shallan bristled at the idea of doing anything, ANYTHING, with the likes of Tvlakv and company. They were close to thrice her age to begin with! Tyn was one of the younger ones, and she still probably had more than five years on Shallan's 19. It was hard to tell with her.
"It's a causal," Tyn reminded her. "Besides, everyone fools around a bit sometimes. Never even as a kid?" Shallan bit down on an admission that she was kept sheltered at home, only really ever seeing her family. She settled for shaking her head. "Storms, girl."
Tyn shifted in her seat, moving to face Shallan more directly. She brought her bare safe hand (the glove tucked into her belt, as she need not cover it in her private quarters) up to cup Shallan's jaw. Shallan inhaled sharply, praying Tyn didn't notice the slight flicker to the gemstone lamp in the corner of the too-dark tent. Of course Tyn didn't, for she held Shallan's gaze in her own eyes, whispering so quietly that even if anyone was listening they wouldn't hear. Shallan felt Tyn's hot, spicy breath on her lips before her words registered. "Have you done this with anyone yet?" Tyn waited only a beat, giving Shallan a chance to rebuke her, before leaning in to kiss her. Shallan froze momentarily, ten thousand thoughts filling her head at once, each and every one of them getting stuck in the sap-like ichor of wine and good company that resists such busy thinking. She opened her mouth against the kiss, taking Tyn's upper lip in between hers. She covered Tyn's hand with her own, which made the older woman hum appreciatively. As suddenly as it had happened, it was done, however. Tyn pulled away, standing. She held her hands down and out for Shallan to take.
"Come here, girl." Dazed a bit, but thoroughly entranced, Shallan took her hands and let Tyn lead her to the bedroll. They stood there, nearly brushing the roof of the cramped tent with their heads. Tyn had to lean down, even, something she didn't seem to mind as it let her put her face closer to Shallan's. Her fingers went up to the clasps of the front of Shallan's dress, near her neckline. "May I, Shallan?" Shallan nodded, swallowing thickly, and gasping as Tyn's lips, then tongue, found her neck. Tyn made quick, careful work of the frog ties that held the two halves of the dress together across her bodice. Storms! Shallan's heart pounded in her ears. What was she doing? Anticipationspren wiggled silently around her feet. Should she stop this? Tyn knew she was promised to someone else, but that was to a man. This was different, right? It wasn't like this counted as violating the marriage bed, right? Never had Shallan felt such a gentle focus on her like this before. It was certainly lust that had her entranced. Infatuation or love had no part in this. Her heart continued to thud relentlessly under Tyn's lips. Storms, the men were right, it does feel quite nice to have someone's tongue on you.
Tyn's hands slipped into the top of Shallan's dress, cupping her breasts through her slip. Shallan wasn't stupid, she knew this was part of… well part of… sex. But she had never indulged herself like this, with fingers circling her nipples, ever before. She usually had nursemaids to bathe her, and tutors declaring it wrong and unladylike to even think about. She'd seen a diagram, once, and got the briefest of explainers from a tutor in the general mechanics there upon, but that was what it was like with a man. This was Tyn, who while masculine and leading the way, was no man at all.
Shallan didn't know where to put her hands. They fidgeted at her sides and up to touch Tyn's back and back down between each shaking breath she took. Oh, Almighty this was…. something so new. There were senses being activated she didn't know she had and-
Tyn kissed her again, skipping her tongue into Shallan's mouth. Tyn spun the pair of them and lowered them to the bedroll, Shallan on her back and Tyn, still kissing her, above. She pulled away, kneeling back and looking at Shallan.
"Whew," she whistled. "You're something else, girl." Shallan blushed at her state, disheveled and half dressed. She moved to cover her chest, but Tyn swooped in, capturing a dark brown nipple in her mouth. Shallan keened, tipping her head back against Tyn's pillow. Oh! That is what they meant with the comments about tongues. Tyn's tongue flicked around the stiff peak, suckling at it greedily, her hand massaging the neglected breast in turn. She pulled away, switching sides and returning to her efforts to rip every breath from Shallan the second she inhaled them. Shallan curled her fingers into the bedroll, shuddering. Tyn was being so gentle with her, yet so focused on giving Shallan everything. This reminded Shallan nothing of what crass talk she'd heard her brothers or the sailors make. That had always made it sound so violent, so transactional. But nothing about Tyn's mouth and hands lavishing her breasts made Shallan feel like a whore. It made her feel good. Really, really good.
Tyn slid back off Shallan, but not before stealing another kiss, the taste of Shallan's salty caravan-trodden skin mingling with the lingering spice of the curry on her tongue.
"Don't stop? Well, if you insist," Tyn laughed, and Shallan only then realized that she had breathed the command at the conwoman. "I've got something else in mind though, I promise you'll like it." She scooted back, carefully running her hands up Shallan's legs under her skirts. Shallan blushed, realizing she hadn't been wearing bloomers, just the blue dress and slip. The one pair she had were borderline unseemly to wear, and she hadn't had a chance to wash them yet. Tyn lit up at this discovery, flicking Shallan's skirts up to her waist, exposing her thighs and crotch.
"A girl after my own heart," Tyn chirped, before petting Shallan's thighs and coaxing them apart. Tyn was still fully dressed, so what could she possibly want with Shallan's- Shallan inhaled sharply as Tyn's warm brown fingers traced through the thatch of red curls at the apex of her thighs and in between. Shallan didn't realize she could be so sensitive there, so sensitive in such a wonderful, delicious way. Tyn rested her forehead against Shallan's, practically panting like someone who had ran a marathon. "I didn't expect you'd be this slick for me, Shallan," Tyn gasped, pleased. "Just you wait." She pressed on with her fingers, teasing at the top of Shallan's slit, massaging circles into something that felt so so so so so good. "I know it feels good," Tyn whispered. "Let it."
She leaned back, moving to lay on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, her mouth puffing hot breaths onto Shallan's lower body. She wouldn't… would she? That can't taste- it can't be clean! How filthy! Shallan thought, shaking with pleasure at the thought. What would anyone think, to see the only heir of house Davar, a proper lighteyeed woman, betrothed to a prince, be taken apart like this on a dirty bedroll in a slaver's caravan, by a woman in trousers. Shallan bucked her hips up against Tyn's face as soon as her lips brushed her skin. Tyn reached around her thighs, holding Shallan in place so she wouldn't float away into the skies as Tyn's tongue parted her folds. Her tongue flicked its way through the warm, slick, and terribly sensitive slit, before circling that spot again. Tyn sucked it in between her lips, brushing it again and again with her tongue. She lapped at Shallan, who had abandoned all pretense of trying too keep her head on straight, a long breathy whine falling from her mouth around a bit knuckle. Unconsciously, her other hand found one of her nipples and pulled at it, desperate for something, something just out of reach, that maybe if she just overwhelmed herself, if she just kept feeling everything she'd find it-
Shallan came apart beneath Tyn's ministrations with a choked cry. Her thighs shook in Tyn's arms, the other woman drinking in Shallan's pleasure. She carefully pulled herself from Shallan and pushed herself up to her knees. Shallan looked positively ravished, her bodice undone and bearing her small pale breasts, nipples red and pebbles against the cool air and a faint bruise starting to blossom on the side of one of them. A little momento Tyn left for her. Shallan heaved another breath deep from her chest again and again, trying to will her soul to cram back in her body for a single thundering minute. Sweat stuck hair to her face, and she released her knuckle from her jaws to brush it from her face, teeth marks denting the flesh on either side. She felt the cool wind whisper through the flaps of the tent and against her wet thighs and groin, which she pulled her skirts against the chill of. She looked up at Tyn, who looked as pleased as a mink who had found a fish. Tyn pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face and her hands with it. The room, however drafty, hung with a scent Shallan had never encountered in such pungency.
"That, Shallan, is what it feels like to have a tongue on you." Shallan sighed, drained of any energy to reply with more than, "I think you mean it's what it feels like to have a tongue in me, Tyn."
a/n: this is the first fanfic ive written in literally half a decade. also if theres typoes: no there isn't. you're imagining things. i refuse to have my shit betaed
#project hail mary
#photography
#lana del rey
#iron lung
#oc art
