The tavern was alive with warmth—crackling firelight, clinking mugs, and the low hum of voices drifting through the air. In a dim corner, away from the crowd, sat Frieren.
She looked small in the oversized booth, her slight frame wrapped in a travel-worn cloak. Petite in stature, her figure held a quiet allure—soft, shapely hips beneath the fold of her robes and a modest, graceful bust that rose gently with each slow breath. They weren't large, but they were just enough to draw the eye, just enough to be called beautiful. Everything about her body felt subtle, refined, and quietly tempting.
A silver strand of hair fell along her cheek as she lifted her mug of dwarven ale. Her lips pressed to the rim slowly. She wasn't in a rush.
"Is this seat taken?" a low voice asked.
Her golden eyes met his. Calm. Cool. Then, a faint nod.
He sat without ceremony, but his presence had weight—confident, unrushed, with no need to prove anything. He asked simple questions. Small ones. And to her surprise, she answered.
She didn't smile. Not yet. But she didn't look away either.
The second drink was sweeter. The third even more so.
By then, her cheeks had flushed, her shoulders relaxed. The edge in her posture softened, and when she leaned in slightly, the top of her robe shifted just enough to reveal a tempting hint of pale skin.
"You're persistent," she murmured, brushing her fingers along the base of her mug.
"And you're prettier than I expected," he replied, his voice smooth and warm.
She raised a brow, but didn't protest. In fact, she smiled—just a little.
Later, her laugh was low and lazy, her hand resting on his now. When he leaned in, she met him halfway. Their kiss was slow at first—tasting of wine and quiet want—but deepened with growing heat.
She pulled back just enough to whisper, her voice breathy: "Come upstairs."
The room was small. Private. Candlelight spilled across her curves as her cloak fell to the floor. Her body, petite and delicate, moved with quiet confidence. Her chest—small, but beautiful—rose as she exhaled, and she let her robe fall from one shoulder.
He touched her like she was something rare. And for one night, she let herself believe it.
In the silence, under the sheets, Frieren forgot the weight of years.
She just breathed.
And let go.
Nsfw link: https://www.pixiv.net/en/users/115785201