#notes from rain village

[hils79]

Pangzi says respect women even if you’re a cannibal

Fuck you, Wu Xie, who are you calling ordinary?

This is honestly the most Wu Xie thing. Doesn’t want to run an actual business so sabotages it until his award is rescinded

And here we all thought Xiaoge was the one who bonded with the cats

PANGZI BOUGHT A COW OMG

Aww the cow didn’t last long. Poor Pangzi ☹️

I suppose it’s a bit weird to say to a relative stranger ‘sorry but he’s married to me and our other husband’

Given how often they all get injured having a contact in the hospital does make a lot of sense

PANGZI IS HOLDING A BABY

It’s interesting that from Wu Xie’s POV this is a sad story. He doesn’t seem to realise that Pangzi is perfectly happy with him and Xiaoge

Anyway that’s the end of Yucun 2. I shall start Yucun 3 tomorrow

[lunarriviera]

cracky it may be but I ADORE IT—and it would explain so much about Yucun tbqh? there are too many things about YCBJ, and the whole Xilaimian business, which are in and of themselves cracky, and NPSS being drunk when he wrote it doesn’t begin to cover it; so i wholeheartedly accept your theory

Just thinking about the sliding scale of DMBJ meta analysis, from my position as a howling DMBJ nerd:

Oh, that mysterious key that was mentioned twice in a story and then disappeared? Yes, Book X, Ch Y explains what was done with it. Ch Z covers the other mysterious key that fell out of the narrative.

I can't quite prove that old man had the same ability as his grandson, but here's all the times he grazed up against the issue. Likewise, given the canonical obsession with immortality of X Expedition's founders, those snake eggs being smuggled out were probably considered part of a longevity medicine.

That thing, no those things that seemed entirely off the wall and out there are based on academically-studied phenomena. Well, huh.

Crash course in historical Chinese politics to understand the things that aren't being said out loud.

Character mentions one time that X is the cause of Y apparently unrelated thing and it's time to go mad looking for info on how that works.

But how do you know that someone with reality-warping powers really used them, huh? If he used them "it would always have been that way."

X lies a lot, and Y makes mistakes in inferences a non-zero amount of time so I can't trust what either say.

So I made up a crack theory because I didn't like the end of a book, and then I realised there's a fair amount of supporting evidence for it AND I WILL NEVER STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT...

[stormyrainyday]

if i ever feel too bad about lore dropping i just remember beyblade metal fusion episode 48 the truth about light and darkness

[pupsec]

𐔌 、kakashi　ﾉ　you quietly play the role of a dutiful wife—until you uncover his secret stash of smut and realize your aloof husband might just be a filthy, pervert 𓈒　◟

cw: arranged marriageノdubcon undertones ノ obsession ノ explicit content ノdark themes ϑϱ

୨ৎ dead dove: do not eat！minors, blank & ageless blogs will be blocked ୨୧ pt. 2

You married him under sakura blossoms and a sky the color of secrets.

Kakashi Hatake never looked at you during the ceremony. His Sharingan was covered, his visible eye lowered, posture slack like this whole thing bored him. A political bond, they called it. A strategic arrangement. You were nothing but a name on a scroll, a signature in ink. You half expected him not to show up. Maybe a crow with a note tied to its leg instead—Sorry, too busy training. Best wishes.

But he came. He said "I do" with a shrug.

You moved into his quiet house tucked into a hill on the edge of the village, where the wind always carried the scent of pine and earth, and the porch creaked with age. He gave you the larger bedroom, disappeared into the smaller one down the hall. Never touched you. Barely spoke.

"Don’t trouble yourself," he murmured the first day, not even glancing up from his book. "I won’t get in your way."

So you didn’t. You dusted. Swept. Folded. You ironed his uniforms and laid them out with care. Cooked meals and left them covered with a little note—If you're hungry. Most went untouched.

You tiptoed around him like you were afraid to wake a sleeping wolf. A wife in name only. You kept your head down, told yourself it was fine. Maybe even peaceful.

Until one day you were cleaning.

It was raining. The sound of it tapping against the window made the silence heavier somehow. Kakashi wasn’t home. An early mission. You hummed as you dusted the shelf in his spare room—a room you weren’t supposed to touch, really, but something about it called to you today. Maybe it was the crooked frame. Maybe it was boredom. Or maybe it was the little pull of curiosity that always got girls like you in trouble.

You tugged the drawer open.

And froze.

Stacked. Neatly. Organized alphabetically, even. Rows of smutty novels. The kind with aggressively suggestive titles and lurid covers—The Icha Icha Chronicles: Lust in the Mist, Kunoichi Heat 3: Forbidden Jutsu. One was dog-eared right in the middle. You flipped it open before your brain could stop your hands, and—

The scene inside made your face go hot.

Someone tied up. Begging. Calling the man sensei. Pages sticky from too much use. You dropped it like it bit you and stumbled back.

Kakashi—stoic, unreadable Kakashi—was reading this filth?

You snapped the drawer shut and ran.

You didn’t bring it up. How could you?

You just scrubbed harder. Smiled tighter. Tried to push it out of your head. But then your panties started to vanish.

Not the plain ones. Not the folded cotton briefs. No—it was the delicate lace, the soft silk, the ones you only wore when you were feeling fragile and feminine. You thought maybe you misplaced them. Laundry mistake. Until it kept happening. Until you knew.

Then it was the scent. On the laundry. Faint, but there—something musky and warm and male. You started doing your laundry in secret.

And then one night, you caught him.

You woke for no reason. A soft creak. A breath. The door cracked open.

You pretended to stay asleep.

You kept your breaths slow, steady, heartbeat hammering in your ears as you felt his presence at the edge of the bed. So close. So quiet. Something shifted on the sheets.

You waited until he was gone to peek.

Your underwear drawer. Still open.

The next morning, Kakashi sipped his tea like nothing happened. Same bored look. Same lazy posture. The man who used your panties as a midnight addiction was smiling politely and asking if you wanted more sugar in your tea.

Your head spun.

How could he look at you like you were glass, when he was sneaking into your room just to press his face into your scent? How could he act so unaffected, when the flush on his throat betrayed something molten just under the skin?

You started watching him. Closer. The twitch of his fingers when you bent over. The way his eye followed the line of your throat when your robe slipped just a little. You tested it—dropped a towel "accidentally," bent slowly. Kakashi didn’t move.

But he stared.

When you turned to look at him, his nose was buried in that damned book again. As if he didn’t just imagine bending you over the table and fucking you till your knees gave out.

He was a ghost in the day and a deviant in the dark.

And you were the good little wife who smiled and served tea.

But you felt it now. The tension curling around both of you like smoke. The sharp awareness. The way his voice dipped low when he said thank you for breakfast, like it had a thousand meanings under it. The way your thighs clenched when he stood too close.

One night, you found a pair of your panties—worn, damp, and warm—folded under your pillow.

Your hands shook. You didn’t throw them out.

You tucked them away.

You weren’t sure who you were becoming.

But it made you wet just to think about it.

[gumified]

PRICE TO PAY

pairing: god!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary: you had prayed and prayed for the drought to finally end, for the village to finally be granted rain, so when meeting one of the gods you strike a deal and pay the price.

content: 4.4k, smut, pwp, big dick!gojo, virgin!reader, praise, degradation, dirty talk, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), ice play, bondage, gagging, fingering, squirting, orgasm control, overstimulation, public but also not public sex

note: have fun :D

The heat beat down on your face as you walked up the hill, buckets of water straining your shoulders. Your throat was parched and you were drenched in sweat. You were so thirsty it was unbearable. It had been months since the last rain and the nearest stream was miles away. Your village had long since lost hope, abandoning their faith in the gods. But not you. You knew they were up there. You believed they would help.

While everyone else assumed the drought would eventually end, as it had before, you couldn’t wait. Your brother was so young; he might not survive much longer. Water was life and without it survival was impossible.

“Hey, Ren.” You forced a smile for your brother. His face was flushed, and his clothes were tattered. “Come on, you need to drink this.”

Ren coughed, struggling to sit up. “Y/n, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” You brought the bowl closer to his lips, urging him to drink. He sipped weakly. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel really hot.” You felt his forehead and sighed when you felt it even warmer than before. The fever he had was burning through his body. Ren wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging on you tightly. “Y/n you won’t leave me will you? Not like mum and dad.”

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, you felt your heart break a little. “Of course I won’t leave you. You’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life, promise.” He grinned, giggling. There’s a small bit of you that wished that this would end soon but you knew better. 

“I love you Y/n.” Ren mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you too Ren.” 

You were shaken awake and you nearly screamed when you caught sight of a beautiful face in front of you. His jaw was perfectly chiselled and his lips were plump, kissable almost. You felt your cheeks flushed. His eyes were what captured you most of all. Sapphire swirls painted his eyes, you felt yourself being pulled towards him. 

“You mortals really do sleep like - what’s the saying? Oh yes - like the dead.” His sneer transformed his handsome features into something far more menacing. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to spend the night at a temple?”

“I-I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep by accident.” You tried to move away but it was like an invisible force was keeping you from moving your limbs. He smirked, crawling closer to you so that you were inches apart. “W-Who are you?”

“Little mortal doesn’t know who I am.” His tongue flicked over his lips. “You’re in my temple, little one.”

"Y-Your temple…" The cogs in your brain turned and you let out a frightened gasp. "Y-You're a God."  

He grinned, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Smarter than you look. It's Y/n isn't it?" Words failed you and you felt your throat grow dry. He twisted a strand of your hair around his finger. "You've been praying for a heavy rain season for weeks. How could I not remember your name." 

"Does that mean you'll help me?" 

"I'm afraid the weather is in my brother's domain. I control the oceans, mortal." 

"I know who you are, Satoru Gojo, God of the oceans and earthquakes. Your brother controls the sky and its weather." You said meekly, feeling your cheeks burn at how close he was. The tapestries had always depicted him as a handsome man with bulging muscles. But something about seeing him in real life had you so enamoured. 

Satoru smirked, the blue in his eyes growing even brighter. His body glowed with a soft, golden aura. You gulped, unable to meet his gaze. "And yet you knew that, but still came to pray to me every day, making sacrifices as well."

"W-Well they say you're the most generous s-so I thought…"

"You thought I would help you?" Satoru cocked his head to the side. "Don't you know everything comes with a price?" 

"And I'm willing to pay that price." 

A silent pause passed between the two of you before a smirk crept up on Satoru’s face. You noticed his eyes grow darker, the bright pigment transformed into a much more seductive hue.

“My, my, little mortal’s brave.” You felt his eyes trailing over your body and you felt like you’re being hunted. “So you’ll do anything?” His fingers brushed over your thigh teasingly. You nodded. 

A wicked grin spread across his face. You squeaked in surprise when his mouth collided onto yours. The intoxicating scent of the ocean filled your senses and your eyes fluttered shut. Satoru’s lips moved ferociously against yours, it made you feel dizzy yet they tasted sweet at the same time. You could taste the sugary taste of leftover ambrosia as he delved into your wet cavern, tongue exploring each and every crevice. 

Your arms remained by your side, unsure of what to do. But when Satoru tugged you forward, they wrapped around him tightly, and you felt him smirk. Your hands wandered over his rippling muscles, trying to carve the feeling into your memory. He bit down on your bottom lip, drawing the slightest bit of blood.

The taste of your own blood mingled with the sweetness of ambrosia, created a heady mixture that made you gasp. Satoru pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Everything comes with a price, little one." He murmured, his voice a velvety whisper. "Are you sure you're willing to pay it?"

You nodded, breathless and trembling. "Anything, just please help us."

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Very well, mortal. But remember, once a deal is struck with a god, there's no going back."

His fingers traced patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "You'll belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Body and soul."

You felt yourself growing hot as he ravaged your mouth, a soft growl emitting from his throat. You weren’t familiar with his actions, you had never been bedded, too busy tending to your sick brother. The people had called you many names but you didn't care. But now, with your minimal experience, you were nervous, scared even at the thought of a God deflowering you. Nevertheless, you started to grow wet, your pussy started to stick to the thin piece of cloth that covered you. 

Satoru pulled away yet again, a single strand of salvia connected the both of you as he awaited your answer. You panted, out of breath and slightly intoxicated from just the sense of him. 

“Do you accept?” His voice was deep and sultry, something about him was so deliciously seductive that you couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

"I accept." 

Satoru's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good. Then let our pact be sealed." He captured your lips again, this time more possessively, his hands roaming your body with a newfound intensity. You let out a moan as his tongue slithered back into your mouth. 

He sunk two fingers into your folds making you whimper at the stretch. Your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging down. Satoru licked his lips, continuing to pump into you, gradually increasing the pace. The lewd noises that filled your ears made a blush rise to your cheeks. Never in your life have you felt so dirty, so shameless.

"You're dripping, my sweet. Who would've thought you'd be this turned on." His tone was laced with unmistakable lust and hunger. "Been watching you for so long. Couldn't wait any longer to be inside you." He growled, fucking into you faster, drawing louder moans out of you. 

"S-Satoru…" You gasped as he plunged another digit into you, manoeuvring his fingers so he hit all the right spots. "I-I…"

He stared at your core, your juices all over. For a second he slowed down, giving you a chance to breathe and relax before he picked up the pace. Curling his fingers, touching your sweet sensitive spots in your velvet walls. His thumb rubbed your clit, playing with your sensitive nub. A tight hot rope seemed to wrap around your stomach as Satoru continued to fuck you harder. He smirked as your walls squeezed his fingers. You let out a gasp when he touches a particular spot within you. 

"Close my sweet?" He whispered, lips brushing against your ear and it sent you closer to your high. All you could do is nod fervently, the twisting feeling wrapping around your stomach tightened. You mewled as he fucked you faster, adding another digit. “You can’t cum just yet, got to make sure you’re ready for my cock.” He hummed.

You clenched around his fingers once more, tears pricked your eyes as you threw your head back at the pleasure you were receiving. Satoru surged forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He swallowed your moans and whimpers. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your noises were like music to his ears as he drank in every moan, whimper, mewl - the breathy gasps and the lewd pants. 

“You know my sweet, there’s something that I love about being a God.” 

You gazed at him through your lashes, his lips curling up into a devilish smirk. An ice cube appeared in his hand. You weren’t sure what to think until he slid it up and down your hot wet folds, then you were gasping at the coldness that hit your core. There was a rush of newfound delight that filled you up and you were rutting your hips, asking for more.

Satoru simply grinned, pushing the cube of ice further inside you watching your reactions bloom in front of him. His fingers were dripping with both water and your arousal. You let out a soft hiss when the ice cube is pressed harder into you. The coldness contrasted with the warmness of your needy walls. It spiked through your body as it made your blood rise and your head became light at the overwhelming feeling. You were clutching onto Satoru with so much force that it would hurt him but he didn’t care, not when he was in the midst of unravelling you.

“Let’s see how many you can hold.” It shocked you into a frenzy when you felt another ice cube get pushed inside you, the last one still slowly melting. 

“Mmmph. Too much, ngh, feels weird, ‘s too much.” Your mind seemed to explode as you babbled incoherently. “F-fuckkk ‘toru it’s cold a-and-“

You were unable to finish your sentence as Satoru reached out his hands to pinch your clit causing you to jolt forward at the sudden gesture. You felt a rush as you gazed up at him. watching his smirk grow as he looked at your sopping pussy. 

“You’re so beautiful!” He teased your folds, rubbing against them harsher. “Take more for me okay? You’re such a good girl, my sweet, keep that dirty pussy dripping as I stuff you, okay?” Satoru’s lips brushed your ear. “Then I’ll let you cum.”

You felt yourself spiralling into euphoria when he slid his finger down your pussy. His tongue flicked over his lips as he admired your fucked out face. Morals left your body and you let your urges take over. All reason and thought left you as you were reduced to a whining needy mess. Your pussy clenched pathetically around the ice cubes, the cold still surprising you. Satoru did nothing but coo at you, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Come on my sweet.” He urged. “You're doing so well. This pussy is so pretty, she’s just so gorgeous, fuckkk, wish you could see her.”

“A-Ah, ‘toru good f-feels so g-good.” 

You were writhing beneath his grip, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure surged through you as he continued his actions. Your pussy constricted around his fingers and you felt something grow within you. Your nerves and senses were heightened as you felt his fingers nudge at your swollen clit. 

“I-I feel somethingg, ngh, f-feels weird like I’m gonna burst-” You gasped out, unable to keep the noises within you.

“Awwww.” Satoru’s tone was mocking as he watched your tiny frame twist and turn under his grip. A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re close, my sweet, beg to cum and maybe I’ll be nice enough to let you.” 

It was almost painful but the pleasure was so uncontrollable that it overtook any pain you felt. Satoru slid another freezing ice cube into you, making you scream. Your mind was dizzy and you could only feel yourself getting stretched repeatedly with the cold object. Your pussy walls were both cold and hot, the mixture that Satoru had concocted dripping from them. Sweat covered your body, glistening as the sun shone down. You felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, so desperate for an unknown pleasure to come to your saviour.

“S-Satoru...cum, p-please. W-Wanna cum…” You stuttered helplessly, silently shrieking at the contrast of temperatures.

“More, beg more.”

You screamed at the feeling as his fingers thrusted in you making your head light as you desperately gripped onto his shoulders, clawing at some sort of way to tether you to the present. His words were laced with seduction as he continued to tease you.

“C-Cum cum cum, please pleaseee, needa cum so b-bad ‘toru fuckkk! P-Please let me cum, ‘s too much need it s-so bad, please please please!”

Satoru laughed as he buried his head in your neck, placing kisses on the empty space. He loved your desperate pleas, the breathy moans that would fill the gaps and the tears that followed as you begged him for something you had never experienced before.

“You’ve been such a good girl.” He purred, his deep voice making you clench around him. “And good girls deserve to cum. Go on my sweet, let it all out on my fingers, make a mess of this pussy.” 

You felt a wave of ecstasy rush over you as he pressed his fingers down, biting into your neck. Your body shook at the sensation that overcame you. You rocked against Satoru as you felt your pussy squeeze and constrict. A newfound feeling gushed from within you and you felt yourself scream at the pleasure. Your mind was reduced to filth as you moaned, the ringlets of your release jolting through your body. Satoru groaned at the way your cum coated his fingers and he stared at your desperate cunt, watching the aftermath of the mess you had just created. You didn’t know what to think, your mind cloudy and confused. 

“You fucking squirted, dirty fucking girl.” His eyes were transfixed and suddenly you felt embarrassed at the wetness between your thighs. He reached his hands out forcing you to stay open for him, exposing your most private part for him to ogle at. “Who knew this cute little pussy was capable of such filthy things. You’re just a whore in disguise aren’t you?”

Your pathetic mewls convinced him of nothing. Satoru stared in wonder at your pussy, watching as you clenched around nothing. He slid his fingers in his mouth, tasting every bit of you. A low moan was heard before he dived down licking up your mess. Still sensitive, you cried in shock, threading your hands through his hair. He sucked harshly at your sensitive bud, lapping at your juices. The feeling made tears bleed from your eyes and you tug on his wispy locks. 

“Like it, my sweet?” His voice sent tingles down your spine and you held back the urge to scream. “Can’t hear you?”

“L-Like it so much ‘toru…” You let out a shaky breath, beads of your tears clinging onto your lashes. “P-Please…”

He lapped at your cunt greedily, swallowing every single drop. Your arousal dripped from his chin with a mixture of his salvia. His ears were blessed at the loud squelch that would emit from between your legs. Everything was so messy but he didn’t care as he continued to play with your pretty cunt. You could only whine and quiver at the feeling. Your legs shook, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Blissful thoughts whizzed by as he kept you locked in an euphoric sensation. You struggled to not cry out and sob when white dots blurred your vision. 

Satoru flicked his tongue against your engorged clit, plunging the wet muscle inside. His mouth was hot and you felt his tongue circle your swollen clit messily while you stuttered out pleading moans. He pried open your thighs, desperate to access deeper into the precious new heaven he had discovered. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overstimulation, finding it hard to focus on anything as your senses overloaded. Your mouth hung open as sweet whines constantly fell from your lips. All you could do was lie there letting Satoru ravage your pussy like a man dying of thirst.

“C-Close, close so so so close!” You gasped when you felt him release with a pop before diving back down to continue to suck. “Too much, ‘toru ‘s too much, feels t-too goodddd…”

It wasn’t long before you were cumming again. Another round of your wet arousal coating his face and he licked it clean. You were drooling now, salvia running down your chin as you felt the tears run down your face. It was too much and you feel yourself fall into a new world of pure pleasure. You could feel Satoru’s lustful grin against you as he sucked your pussy. Your thighs shook, chest heaving up and down. Despite the fact you had just released it never stopped the god from indulging you in his carnal desire.

"Sweet little Y/n." He cooed as his thumb ghosted circles around your puffy clit. “Think you’re ready for my cock?” 

It was a question that didn’t need an answer but you still nodded your head lifelessly. Your body was limp in his grip and you struggled to hold yourself up, relying only on him. Satoru smirked from above you, pushing you down on the marble floor. His hands were big and warm and the simple touch had heat blossoming at your pussy. You barely registered what was happening until you had your hands tied together. A thin golden cord wrapped around your wrists and Satoru bit his lip. You looked so beautiful, so pretty, so submissive. 

“I like you this way my sweet. All tied up and ready to be used.” He frowned and you panicked, scared you had angered him. He snapped his fingers and you found a piece of cloth in your mouth, stopping you from speaking. “That’s better, as much as I love your noises I find this much more appealing.”

Your eyes widened when he reached down to release his cock from its confines. You had never seen something so big and dare you say pretty. Satoru’s cock was red and flushed, pre cum oozing out of the swollen tip, dripping like pearls as they rolled down his fat cock head. You felt yourself drool at the sight and you didn’t think you would want something in your mouth so bad. He grinned smugly at your reaction, knowing you were unable to say anything as you stared transfixed at the sight before you.

“Don’t worry my sweet, I’ll make sure to make you feel so good. I know how much this pussy loves to be filled up.”

The words are dirty yet you couldn’t help but let out a muffled whine as he picked you up. His tip pushed past your folds, nudging into your pussy hole. You shut your eyes letting yourself feel the stretch that he gave you. His cock was so big and every bit of your body felt like it was on fire as he continued to push inside. He paused letting you adjust, whispering into your ear quietly. Filthy praises that only made you drip and mewl. It felt like magic and you whimpered into your gag helplessly. Satoru’s fingers brushed through your hair and he peppered sweet kisses across your face. 

It was like your world had imploded as he thrusted into you. Nothing else mattered as you moaned and squirmed at his touch. Your senses went into overdrive as he quickened his thrusts. He pumped in and out of you. He filled every crevice of your sex. His pace never slowed even as you felt all the energy leave your body. You screamed into the gag when he hit that particular spot that had you keeling. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasped for air through the gag. 

“Fuckkk you’re so tight, such a slutty virgin pussy. Look at how you’re gripping on my cock my sweet, she’s so loud.”

His words only made you keen with desire as you gave in to the carnal temptation that bloomed within you. 

“Mmmmph!” Your moans grew louder with every harsh thrust as his cock touched every part of your gummy walls. “Ah-Ah-Ah! ‘toruuuu!”

Satoru showed no mercy as he pounded into you. Cock plunging in and out of your pussy. Wet noises echoed through the walls of the temple and a small part of you felt bad for doing this, here of all places. It was inappropriate but it felt so good. Too good even. He continued his movements and the binds that once bound you vanished and you assumed that this was a sign that Satoru wanted you to touch him so you obeyed. Your fingers dragged down his back, sure to leave marks. Fingers fluttered from place to place, desperate for something to anchor you.

“You look so beautiful, pussy sucking in my big cock. Such a good girl for me.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Everything he did felt amazing. “Moan for me my sweet, go on let me hear those filthy sounds.” 

You obeyed his command letting the lewd sounds tumble from your lips as you gasped for more. Your hands roamed the vast expanse of his body, the taut muscles that lay under your hands, each touch ignited sparks. His grip on you tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp again. Every brush of his lip, every stroke of his tongue, every bite and nibble was a reminder of his power and you couldn’t help but give in completely. 

The vigor that he fucked you with was compared to no man and you couldn’t help the lustful sounds that escaped your lips as his hips snapped to yours. It made your mind reel with the feeling of pleasure. His hair fell into his eyes and you reached your hands to sweep through his locks. Satoru was so handsome. He was a god after all and you couldn’t help that your heart pounded whenever you looked at him.

You felt your orgasm approach and you clenched your hands around his toned biceps, nails digging into his skin and he hissed. You moaned repeatedly into the gag as your body shook frantically from the pleasure. 

“A-A-Ahhh! ‘toru ‘toru ‘s too much, nghh.” Your body thrashed in his grasp, wriggling and writhing as you felt the immense feeling build up again. Every movement magnified the intensity as you felt the shock ricochet throughout your body. 

“It’s okay my sweet.” Satoru whispered but his thrusts were unrelenting. His fingers brushed against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as he drew out your orgasm. “It’s okay, let's cum together. Soak my cock Y/n, such a good girl.”

Your juices overflowed and you felt his cum pump into your body, filling you up until you were so so full. Warmth blossomed throughout your body and you felt yourself wringing his cock with every drop of cum. The feeling was incomparable and you gasped for air once he removed the gag with the snap of his fingers. Satoru kissed you, his lips were demanding, moving against yours with raw hunger. The taste of the ocean filled your senses, salty and intoxicating. He pulled out to place a kiss on your thighs, on your pussy. You were so sensitive and you felt his cum as it flowed out of you. He stuffed two fingers in your pussy and you squealed at the sudden gesture. His fingers curled in and out of you before he slapped your core. The sting sent shock waves through your body and you couldn’t help the moan that tumbled out of your lips.

“Keep it in there my sweet, I’ll be visiting again.” His voice was a husky whisper, deep and seductive. 

Then, with those words, he disappeared, leaving you a naked mess on the temple floor. You were breathless and reeling from the pleasure that he had just bestowed upon you. You had just given yourself to a god, one that had just stuffed you so full of his cum. You stared at the place where he had been in shock, your head felt light from all that had just happened. Your legs gave way when you tried to stand up, they were sore and achy, covered in splatters of both of your cum. His smirks and groans filled your senses once again and you felt yourself flush at the memory. 

Satoru Gojo had just introduced a lustful desire that you didn’t think you would be able to forget for a very long time.

You gathered your belongings with shaking hands, urgently attempting to steady yourself as you stood. The wet splashes that painted your body were a stark reminder of what had just happened, and you tried your hardest to conceal them along with your flushed, fucked-out face.

You hobbled your way back to the village, heart pounding in your chest. Every glance from a passerby felt like they could see right through you. The sheer thought that someone would stop to talk to you had you eager to get home unnoticed.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching from Olympus, his eyes never leaving your retreating form. He grinned, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he saw your tiny self hurry home. The memory of your trembling body and flushed cheeks was seared into his mind and he felt his cock harden again at the thought. He knew you were thinking of him, longing for him, and that was exactly what he wanted. When the time was right, he would come for you again, and induce you in a pleasurable haze once more.

[k-hotchoisan]

missing piece

<seonghwa x fem!Reader>

Building legos is important business and Seonghwa knows that very well when he realises he’s missing a piece.

So who would’ve thought two people attempting to search for one Lego piece would lead to other things?

genres/warnings: smut, pwp, softdom!seonghwa, missing Lego piece (don’t worry it’ll get found later), dirty talk, it’s legit teeth rotting fluff and smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, established relationship, mild choking, clit stimulation

a/n: another fic exchange with @bro-atz ��👊🏻 it’s a competition of who can kill each other faster and we both LOSING. love u bro <3 and also finally serving you all the softdom! Seonghwa you all deserve 😛 enjoy my loves 🩷

read bro’s one here 💘

wc: 1.9K

‘A couple activity idea’—apparently the amount of countless generic couple websites would list this idea. 

Yeah, this would qualify for a couple activity idea casually, not when it seemed like a big business deal when it came to Park Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa had the ambiance set, his station ready—the Animal Crossing Soundtrack Playlist with Rain playing through the speakers, his desk clean and white—only stacked with the Animal Crossing Lego sets prepared to to be unboxed, in his favourite oversized shirt, and not forgetting you, who he dragged into his room to watch him build his little building block empire—comfortably seated across him on his bed. 

You didn’t mind watching your partner build the latest Animal Crossing Lego set he just easily blew a couple of hundred on hours before. You watched his inner child take form when he made you sit down with him to watch him unbox the first set he was gonna build, his eyes large and twinkling, just like his Animal Crossing character in-game.

Seonghwa hums softly, and it’s definitely his favourite soundtrack from the game. From time to time, Seonghwa would make the little critter noises his animal villagers would make while he fixes the animal villagers and you can’t help but giggle whenever he does the impressions. He’s finished a cherry tree, making sure he flailed his wrists to get your attention. Your lips pull to a smile when your eyes land on the pretty cherry tree he built, reflecting his satisfaction with his plump lips too. 

Then he’s back to his workstation, and you’re absorbed back into playing your switch. 

“This set is pretty easy”, you hear him comment. 

“Is it?” You reply, your attention focused on trying to slay the beast. 

“Yeah. I think I could finish this in another half an hour.” He sounds confident. 

“Good luck with that sweetheart”, you respond, your eyes trailing back to your game. 

Then midway through, Seonghwa demands your attention again, and this time you watch the way his eyes light up the whole damn room when he shows you the way the little Lego letter fits into its little Lego mailbox. Not gonna lie, it was a very adorable detail. He yaps about it for a good seven minutes before he sinks back into his building block world. 

“Now here’s the million dollar question—pink or brown for the door?” He asks, loosely fitting both coloured doors after one another 

“Pink, obviously”, you pick. Seonghwa seems satisfied with your answer, and you swear you see the little musical notes float out of him when he fixes the door onto the house. 

A couple more minutes later, you glance over at the messy pieces of Lego strewn all over Seonghwa’s table, below his half-completed Animal Crossing cottage. 

He has his cheeks puffed out, and his eyebrows knitted together while he’s carefully scanning over the table. 

“Are you missing a piece?” You ask, setting your console on the bed. 

“Yeah, I think I am”, Seonghwa mutters, his index finger pointing over each piece on the table, in hopes of finding it. 

You take the instruction booklet from his hands, skimming through the pictures before you settle it down onto the desk, your eyes laser-focused onto the mess too. 

“Do you wanna come over to my side instead? Maybe you can spot it better from this view”, you suggest, which Seonghwa takes, so he shuffles over to the bed, and moves to sit right where you are—and now you’re on his lap, with his chest pressing right against your back as he towers over you, arms hugging you from behind. He continues to search for the missing Lego piece. 

You take part in the search too, the game completely forgotten by then. You realise it’s nice just having Seonghwa sitting close to you like this. Maybe this was what they meant by building Lego as “a couple activity”.

“Did you drop it or something?” You ask, shifting slightly to have a better view of the floor. You hear Seonghwa grunt behind you, but you pay no attention, focusing on finding the piece. 

Seonghwa swears he’s focused on looking for the missing piece too—he really wants to complete the set, but at the same time, he’s watching and feeling you move against him on top of the way he’s able to wrap his arms around you easily, smelling his scent on you—it’s not helping his case. He bites his bottom lip, trying to manage himself. 

Obviously, it does nothing, considering he’s having you in such close proximity, and every movement you’re brushing against him is starting to make him grow sensitive. 

His hand snakes down to your thighs, drawing circles, his other hand sifting through the endless pieces of Lego. 

He forces himself to concentrate, and it works for a split second, that is, until you absentmindedly shift his free arm on under your loose shirt, and he snaps. 

“If this is your way of breaking my concentration, you’re doing a good job”, you hear his deep voice ringing in your ears. He’s letting his hands roam all over your body hidden underneath your shirt, his fingers grazing against your nipples teasingly, and it draws gasps out of you. 

“Focus on finding the block, Park Seonghwa”, you tease, readjusting yourself, making sure you press against his growing erection underneath his loose shorts. 

It’s Seonghwa’s turn to draw a shaky breath every time your clothed ass comes into contact with his erection.

You pretend to ignore him, but you can’t ignore the way he’s massaging your tits, and you find yourself sighing and growing hotter through each passing moment. 

You think he’s finally giving you a break, but you’re proven wrong when his hands are sliding down the waistband of your shorts. 

“You’re not finding the block, Angel”, Seonghwa points out, and you pout at his words. Your hand slips under the large opening of his shorts and fuck—his erection is only growing thicker. 

You hear him groan behind you when you let your hands wander to stroke his cock through his underwear. So he retaliates with his finger sliding past your panties, cursing when he realises your pussy is growing wetter by the second.  

“We’re supposed to be looking for the Lego piece, Hwa”, you mutter, mind growing hazy as his fingers get drenched from your slick, circling your clit gently. 

“Mmhm. We are, baby. You’re just not focusing”, Seonghwa replies, his index and middle finger spreading your folds open letting his index finger find your clit more easily, and it’s driving you fucking crazy. 

Your legs push open automatically, your hands pausing stroking him off, well, not that Seonghwa minded. 

“That feels so good”, you sigh. Seonghwa’s other hand cups your jaw, and you turn to face him, feeling the way his hands slide down your throat while Seonghwa has your lips on his, eating up your whines and moans before letting you catch your breath.

“So fuckin wet for me, Angel. You like it that much?” He teases. 

“Mmhm, your fingers feel so good Hwa”, you nod, your grip around his arm tightening as the pleasure builds in your stomach every time his finger strokes against your clit. At this point, you can’t even pretend.  

His lips are pressed against your ear, his voice deep yet you sense traces of whining in his tone when he says, “Sit on my dick. I need you on my fucking dick now, Angel.” 

Of course, you comply, despite your legs trembling slightly, letting Seonghwa slip out of his bottoms. His arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him, his lips making a whole garden of bites down your neck before he has both his hands lift your hips. 

Seonghwa lines himself against your fluttering cunt and he pushes himself into your pussy hole, his moans of relief sending you into a spiral on top of his cock sinking into you. 

Fuck, he’s filling you up so fucking good. 

“Fuck. That’s it, babe. You’re so fucking good”, he groans when you squeeze against him. 

“Hwa, oh my fucking god, you’re so full in me”, you sob, trying to adjust to his length. 

“Do you think we can find the piece better like this?” He jokes while peppering kisses down your neck to distract himself so he doesn’t fucking just burst in you just yet. 

Even in your pleasured haze, you still manage to laugh while you try to keep your eyes open. 

“I think we can”, you reply with a giggle, before squealing when you feel him twitch in you. You shift forward slightly, feeling his cock shift in you, dragging along your walls, a small whine escaping past your lips. 

With the last of your sanity remaining, you glance over the desk one more time, biting your lip to stay grounded, obviously to no avail, especially not with Seonghwa and his little movement behind you. 

“I really think it’s-fuck-not here”, Seonghwa mutters behind you, forcing himself not to thrust into you, his fingers slithering down to your wet clit once more. 

“I’m pretty sure it d-dropped. We haven’t checked the floor yet-ngh-right?” you manage to ask.

“Mmmm nope”, Seonghwa responds, mesmerised at the way your slick growing thicker on your clit and on his cock as he continues to rub your clit. “I guess we can do that later ‘cause I really need to fuck your pussy right now, Angel.” 

He doesn’t give you much time to answer because you’re a complete goner when Seonghwa is making you bounce off his cock while he gets you off with his fingers. 

You’re trembling from the sheer pleasure, your vision slowly growing hazy, the knot tightening in your abdomen more quickly than you thought. 

“H-Hwa! Gonna cum-Oh fuckkkk”, you draw out, white clouding your vision. Your cunt flutters around his cock, dopamine shooting up your body while you completely let go on his cock as Seonghwa fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. “That’s it. Be a good girl and cum on my dick like that, Angel”, Seonghwa groans into your ear, his gaze traveling down at the way your thick cream streaks down his cock when he pulls out. He shuts his eyes, sighing into the nape of your neck while he listens to the way your cunt is just so loud and wet for him while he fucks your cream out of you, thrusting his hips upwards. 

“God, your pussy feels so fucking perfect. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good baby”, he pants before his hips thrust and press against yours, filling you up with his warm and thick cum accompanied by his low groans. 

You feel Seonghwa’s hands run down your body, soothing you after emptying his fucking load into you before he slowly pulls out of your cum-filled pussy. 

“I’ll get you a towel, Angel”, Seonghwa tells you, pressing his lips on your temple before leaving the bed. 

He retrieves a spare towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, before releasing you to wash up in the bathroom. 

When you renter his room, Seonghwa is switching gazes between his half-completed set and the instruction manual. 

He looks up at you with a grin that’s making you feel uneasy. 

“Babe, turns out I wasn’t missing a piece—I already had it in all along!”

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @woojirang @jjoongstar @yuyusgirl

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Castles

Castles, fortresses, and fortified mansions can be military and administrative headquarters for medieval feudal overlords, romantic ruins in a nineteenth century Count's estate, or haunts for ghosts… They hold our imagination, they show up in historical fiction and fantasy alike.

Types of Castles by Location

City castle. Found in the historical centre of a medieval city, and often as the core part of a larger fortification called a citadel, the urban castle houses the ruler of said city, city-state or realm of which this city is a capital.

Rural castle. Built as a standalone structure, this type of castle was more widespread than the urban castle in Western Europe. Often castles planned as standalone structures attracted folks from nearby villages and grew towns around them, eventually becoming city castles and citadels.

Types of Castles by Construction

Motte and bailey. The most primitive kind of castle, the motte and bailey is barely above a pre-medieval hill fort. It is usually just a tower or a fortified manor standing on a hill, which may be a natural hill dug over with artificial trenches and berms or a wholly manmade mound (the motte). The motte was also outfitted with extra defences such as a wooden stockade (the bailey). Often the bailey was located sideways of the motte and did not encapsulate it; the steep slopes of the motte made walls unnecessary. Note that not all castles built on mottes are motte and bailey castles: the central section of the famous Windsor Castle, which is far from being "just a tower", has a large motte under it.

Keep and curtain wall. To improve the ability of a motte and bailey castle to withstand sieges, medieval engineers went for the most obvious decision: build a solid wall instead of a wooden stockade around the motte. They built massive walls, high enough to be unscalable without proper siege ladders, and later augmented those walls with towers. The towers provided defenders a vantage point for raining arrows onto the attackers. The tower also became more fortified and turned into a keep, or donjon - the main tower or fort of the castle, a smaller fortress inside it. Even when enemies breached or otherwise surmounted the curtain wall of the castle, the keep was able to fend them off for a while, hopefully until the relief or backup forces arrives.

Moat. To add another layer of impenetrability to the curtain wall, medieval engineers augmented it with a deep ditch, or moat, around it. The purpose of the moat was to stop the attackers from breaking castle walls with battering rams and make it harder to use siege ladders. The moat was also often filled with water to stop undermining (digging under walls to make them collapse). A drawbridge or a permanent bridge could be used to cross the moat and reach the gate.

Gatehouse. Because of the moat, the castle gate became the prime target for attempts to breach the walls and break in. So the gate naturally became more fortified, built into a large, wide tower: the gatehouse. A typical gatehouse contained a lot of security measures to make battering the gate harder: corridors, portcullises, arrow slits overlooking the bridge.

Barbican. A barbican is another fortification built to protect the gate: a second, smaller gatehouse in front of it, connected to the main one with a pair of walls.

Enceinte. An enceinte is the motte, Mk.II, now made of stone! It's an inner solid stone wall surrounding the keep, making it a castle within a castle.

Concentric castle. Combining all of the above defensive measures resulted in a complex, many-layered castle with two or more sets of curtain walls and a keep surrounded with an enceinte. Such castles were built during the Late Middle Ages.

Quadrangular castle. A late development in castle building, this style does away with the keep and turns the curtain wall into a large rectangular building with a courtyard. In essence, the curtain wall is used as the outer wall of the building.

After gunpowder artillery became the main weapon of sieges, castle architecture entered into decline.

Low-profile and complex structures with thick earth walls were needed to resist artillery bombardments, and castles made way for bastions, star forts and similar fortified structures.

However, during the period of Romanticism and Gothic literature in the XIX century, interest in castles renewed.

These "revival castles" served no defensive function and were just stylized stately homes for Blue Blood elites; the most famous example of such a castle is Neuschwanstein in Bavaria, Germany.

In the 19th and 20th century, the romantic allure of castles even inspired some non-royals with deep pockets to build them as fantasy getaways.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Parts & Types of Castles ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[vivalabunbun]

An Encore of Betrayal

Summary: The devil with no sin nor memory and he who has held them all for centuries.

Word Count: 21.8k (get cozy)

Tags: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic, SMUT, NSFW, Historical AU, Fantasy AU?, Reincarnation AU, cursed!neuvillette, dragon!neuvillette, reincarnated!Reader, human!reader, Fluff, a lot of fluff, Melusines doing their best to play cupid, ex-lovers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers? ANGST, he's trying his best, dragon x human dynamics, Monsterfucking (two... I have no defense), cunnilingus(long tongue), marking, size kink? breeding kink, heat, overstimulation, hate sex? kinda?, slightly unhealthy dynamics (past life), dubcon, trust issues, immortal x mortal, slightly possessive!neuvillette, slightly yandere!neuvillette, TW: mild mention of blood, TW: descriptions of drowning, sin, and sacrifice. TW: Trauma from betrayal, themes of resentment, Infertility.

Author's Note: Wanted to try out a historical fantasy from Neuvillette's pov. I struggle with fantastical settings, so overlook any world-building confusion. Mihoyo won't give me his real name, and it's eating away at my sanity. Enjoy!

Somewhere deep beneath the waves, away from the omnipotent watch of false divinity, lies a village. A bustling home carved into an outcast cove nestled under the cover of suppressive tides.

One littered with tiny houses surrounding an impressive estate modeled much like the ones seen in those novels abandoned from capsized ships. 

Would you believe that such a place exists? 

Decorated with curious trinkets which sunk beneath the surface which had forsaken them, kept in this cove for so long that it was challenging to remember the azure hues. 

Ornaments decorating the expanse of this once lonesome cave, almost enough to conceal its true origin: A prison.

A fool sentenced to this penitentiary masquerading as a home, now affectionately named ‘Merusea Village’. 

Within that attentively built estate, a looming figure stood in front of a wall lined with neatly organized novels, lilac eyes running along the titles printed along each spine. 

A collection saved from watery abandonment after falling overboard by the curious hands of Melusines. Amassed throughout the years until the shelves of this humble library were without vacancy. 

Stopping a finger on a spine, he decided on the novel to pass the ever-plenty time bestowed upon him. He’s aware that each book amongst these shelves has been thumbed through by him.

But with enough years, the recollection of the contents contained within each one tends to become foggy. 

It's fate that the novel selected in his hands just so happens to be a collection of tales.

Humans have many strange behaviors, one might even call them traditions. One particular tradition mortals seem to indulge in often is that of storytelling. 

Lilac eyes browse through the pages, refreshing himself on the tale held within its faded covers. 

----------

There once was a lovely kingdom amidst lush pastures and fertile lands where the townspeople sang and danced under the bright sunlight.

But one day the sun disappeared, concealed behind ashen clouds that cried a lonesome hymn, plaguing the unfortunate kingdom with rain.

The origin of the rain stemmed from the lonesomeness of a great dragon of water.

Thus, to stop the rain, the king sent out a princess to the dragon, declaring that the kingdom gates wouldn’t welcome her back if rain fell from the sky. She was sent off in a white gown. 

Down below a flooded loch, the princess was offered to the weeping dragon. Looking up the princess saw the sorrowful pools in the beast’s eyes. 

‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, why do you cry?’ She asked.

Intrigued by the bravery of the young princess, the dragon answered: ‘Because I am lonely, I have no brethren left.’

Feeling pity the princess responded: ‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, don’t cry. I will be lonely with you.’ 

So the princess befriended a lonesome dragon under the hymn of softening rain, with his loneliness soothed, the sun peeked back out from ashen clouds. But one day, pitiful tears fell from her eyes and the princess wept so bitterly. 

The dragon could not bear seeing those tears stain her cheeks. He offered her pearls, jewels, and gold. Yet those bitter tears still fell, tainting the pristine water. 

‘Beloved princess, why do you cry so bitterly?’ He implored. 

‘I long to go home, I miss my kingdom,’ she revealed. 

But she could not go home, for if she stepped foot away from the riverside the lonesome rain would start again. The colossal dragon could not leave the loch, but he could not bear seeing those bitter tears.

So he relented, telling the princess a secret. A secret all dragons buried deep within: His true name. 

‘If you speak my name, my true name, then I can grant you one wish. But be careful, for there can only be one wish.’ The dragon whispered. 

‘Do you wish to return to your kingdom, beloved princess?’ He asked. 

The princess was silent for a long while, weighing the choices in her hand. She longed to return home, but she also longed to be by the side of her kind dragon. 

Confident in her decision, she beckons the great dragon closer, until her lips could reach the side of his large head where his ear lay. After whispering his name, she tells the beast her wish. 

‘I wish for you to become my prince, so we can return to the kingdom together, that way you won’t ever be lonely again.’

A clever wish he grants with a nod. Scales and claws shedding away until a handsome prince stood in front of her. Thus, hand in hand they returned from the loch to the warm welcome of the kingdom. 

And they lived happily ever after. 

----------

Ah, so it was that tale. 

Judging from the age of the novel, he guesses it must be a rendition of a rendition.

Words and events twisted, embellished, and simplified. Until it became nothing more than a mere fable told to entertain the wandering minds of children. 

A beloved tale of a maiden who got a dragon to give up his grand authority, stopping the flood of vengeance from drowning Fontaine.

This is what the origin of his damnation has turned into. The tales of the heroine’s feats sung and written throughout the narrative of time, passing from one generation’s lips to another’s ears. 

However, he supposes this is expected of humans. It’s their tradition of storytelling, after all, mending a fallacy into a tale palatable to their conscious.

Or perhaps, these embellishments were added to compensate for the hollows caused by the frailty of mortal memory. 

Patching over the holes with flowery words to distract readers from inaccuracies that were only compounded upon from the last. 

Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the dragon all that well, considering that they thought the proud dragon would bow to the whims of a meek human.

Placing a secret so simply in her hands at the mere sight of tears.

Did Fontainians not realize that the land they reside on once belonged solely to dragons? How preposterous it is that a sovereign couldn’t set foot upon his own land. Or did they forget why he couldn’t? 

What a naive ending, did mortals truly believe that blood and water could dwell together without consequences? That simply wishing the dragon to become a human could resolve all troubles?

To overwrite everything with a ‘happily ever after’ which never happened?

Regardless of his reservations toward such fables, the Melusines always seem eager to gather around for such stories. The towering figure lacked the conviction to deny such requests. 

From down the hall approaching closer came the pitter-patter of steps, he turned his tall frame toward the direction of the sound just as a few familiar faces revealed themselves from the library entrance. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette! Come quickly! A human! A human appeared!” A group of Melusines tugs on the fabric of his slacks while pointing toward the phenomenon. 

A mortal in this domain? A cavern hidden deep under the land and waters where the warmth of the sun couldn’t grace. How did such a being find their way into this sanctum?  It’d be best that he alleviates their worries. 

“Please lead the way.” Neuvillette closes the novel, returning it to the confines of its shelf. 

His swift movements in time with the melusines’ frantic patter as they made their way out from his estate.

Soon the tops of the Melusines’ cozy homes of Merusea Village came into view, as did the murmuring of a distraught crowd. 

“Excuse me.” His steps made their presence known, their heads perked up to look at him before parting a path for Neuvillette. 

Upon the maroon pasture of Merusea Village was a blanket of silk and woven lace, snowy fabric surrounding the still figure of a human.

Treading closer Neuvillette kneels down while reaching out a hand, weaving his fingers under the fabric which obscures the mortal’s face. 

“We found her while gathering offerings from the waters … Is she…” The anxious murmuring quiets to await his verdict. 

“She has a pulse,” he reveals, fingertips detecting wisps of warmth along cold skin. 

It was faint, but his attentive eyes caught onto the slow movement of her chest. The snowy fabric had greedily drunk up the essence of the sea. Cursing her to sink deeper below the tides. 

To leave a mortal in such a state would be too cruel of a fate. 

Neuvillette moves his hand to support her covered head as his other arm gathers the damp fabric under her legs.

Carefully, he stands back to his full height, cradling her limp body in his hold. An audience of fretful gazes follow his motions.

“Do not fret, she only requires some rest and a change of clothing, I’ll take her to my abode. Could you gather some cloth to dry down her body?” Neuvillette’s melodic voice just barely above a whisper, so as not to stir the figure in his arms.

His expression softens to offer the compassionate creatures some reassurance. With firm nods the Melusines scatter, determination alight in their bright irises as they sought the necessary items to care for their newfound guest. 

The dampness of the heavy fabric seeps into his own attire as Neuvillette turns the knob to grant him entry into his abode. 

Quietly ambling through the spacious halls, the master bedroom came into view. Neuvillette lays the limp form upon his sheets, ensuring that her head rests slowly upon the soft pillows. 

Just as her figure sinks into the mattress, a chorus of metallic clinks catches his attention. Glancing down her body his lilac eyes discover the origin.

A pair of silver shackles encased around her ankles, the unforgiving metal digging into defenseless flesh. 

Gingerly, he takes one ankle into his grasp to better observe the shackles.

This time he couldn’t fight against the deep frown as it debuted upon his lips. His eyes hone on how tightly those heavy chains were bound along the flesh. 

Soon the unforgiving metal crashes down to the floor, he soothes the freed skin with his thumb while checking for any other possible wounds. 

Lilac eyes travel up to her face for any sign of discomfort, only to be reminded that her face was concealed behind a shroud of lace. 

How uncomfortable it must be to have a cold piece of fabric to cover one’s face. Neuvillette places her ankle back onto the bed.

His large hands took hold of the damp veil to lift it from her resting frame, revealing to his draconic eyes for the first time their face. 

The veil stays suspended in the air as his hands cease all motion. Hardened gaze tracing over her features, the curve of her cheeks, the slope of her nose, and the structure of her face.

Repeated details he had long seared into his consciousness. 

Within those mortal tales, there’s a wide variety of beasts and fearsome creatures. Dragons were depicted as such omnipotent beasts. But there’s a monster all other beast falls secondary to, the devil. 

They didn’t possess the sharpest talons nor the largest fangs. No, what made them so horrifying is that they dawned the most enchanting faces. 

He’s staring at it right now. The face of the devil who deceived him. 

Those gods must be laughing at him right now. Those false idols, with their capricious fate and whims, who once must’ve shook hands with you to carry out their schemes all those years ago. 

The scheme which imprisons him here in this humiliating form of the mortal creatures those false idols loved so much. 

Yes, a devil, that must be what you are. For how did a meek mortal trick a dragon who once held the full authority of the tides?

His chest expands with a deep breath before a long exhale leaves him. Ah, yes that must be why this white gown has appeared before him again. He removes the senseless scrap of lace, checking once more for signs of discomfort before he turns his body away. 

Finding himself outside the threshold of his bedroom as he closes the door behind him. He should wait here for the Melusines to arrive with a change of clothes and towels. 

It’d buy him enough time to steadily return the tempestuous loch to a subdued ripple in a pond. His chest expands once more with a deep inhale. 

A second cruel rendition unfolding once more in the narrative of time.  

The crisp turn of a page resounds through the room. Lilac eyes glanced up from the text every so often to watch the steady rises and falls of your chest from his vantage point of a wooden chair pulled up to the bedside. 

Heavy lashes still shut just as they were the day your drenched figure was pulled from the tides by merciful hands. 

The journey to wisdom is lined with mistakes, mistakes providing teachings one must ingrain into their very being if they don’t wish to repeat such blunders again.

Just as how a burn seared into skin is a forever reminder that fire indeed burns indiscriminately. 

A scar ingrained deep within him cries out for Neuvillette to withdraw from the fire which scorned him so long ago. 

Alas, it’s duty which has sat him down beside your sleeping form. You’re the first guest this cove has seen in a long time, thus bringing you under the responsibility of the host, Neuvillette himself. 

A stir brings his stoic gaze back away from his thoughts. Your chest rises with a long inhale as leaden lashes flutter open.

The cadence of your breaths begins to rise as more of your senses return to you. Fatigue evident in each slow drag of breath. 

“Ah, I see you’ve awoken.” Neuvillette observes. 

Your muscles momentarily forget their fatigue as your head snaps toward the owner of the deep voice. Eyes now wide and alert. 

“My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to startle you.” He casts a glance toward the steaming bowl on the nightstand. 

He could feel the weight of your stare travels up his figure. Do you perhaps remember him? Can you recall his lush snowy locks streaked with azure? Irises that held an all too familiar hue, a multitude of lilac shades much like a field of lavenders.

Does this ‘you’ remember the dragon you fooled? 

“W-who are you?...” Your gaze was too cowardly to meet his.

Ah, have the cycle of death and rebirth washed those sins and memories?

The tonality of your trembling voice filled with puzzlement instead of recognition. He should’ve expected this much.

This you is nothing more than a stranger who shares the face of a devil. 

“Where am I?” Another question leaves those lips in the absence of a response. 

Just give him a moment, allow him to pacify the surging torrent within so their bitterness doesn’t seep into his words. 

“You’re in our village!” A cheery voice joins the conversation. 

Two pairs of eyes land upon a short figure with a pair of pastel horns. You blink once, then twice, then slowly thrice. Inquisitive eyes stared right back at you. 

“W-what… are you?” Instinct commanding your body to retract deeper into the sheets. 

A sharp cough halts your actions, drawing your attention back to the man as he lowers his hand down from his lips. 

“She’s a Melusine, they prefer to be addressed using she/her pronouns,” he elucidates, an ever so subtle chastise in his tone. 

“Oh…” You advert your gaze again, shame creeping onto your cheeks from your unintentional discourtesy. 

A few breaths of silence follow, he observes you studying everything but the two figures just beside the bed.

Your fingers soothing over the soft cotton nightgown against your skin, a change from that restrictive and ornate dress. 

“We, Melusines, helped you change out of that wet dress. Big sister Sedene said you’d get sick if we left you in that.” 

It looks like your diverted gaze wasn’t as subtle as you originally thought. Sheepishly you extend your gratitude. 

“Thank you…” Your words draw out, a brow quirked as your stare remained on her short form. 

“Kiara!” She points to herself with a mitten hand. 

“Thank you, Kiara.” You finish. 

Her mittened hand then gestures to the towering man beside her. 

“This is Monsieur Neuvillette! He’s the one who carried you here,” she announces. 

“T-thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You could only gather the courage to glance at the wall behind him. 

“Just Neuvillette is fine,” his tone melodic and calm. “Are you able to sit up?”

Nodding your head, you attempt to fight through the fatigue of your muscles. Neuvillette and Kirara offer their assistance, his firm hands guiding your body up as Kirara adjusts the pillows to support your back. 

Once you were situated, he reached for the bowl placed down earlier. A light clink sounds out from a spoon clattering about the porcelain dish. You glance at the contents, noting the clear amber broth. 

“This should be kind on your stomach while providing you with some much-needed hydration and nutrients.” He holds out the soup. 

A quivering hand attempts to reach up for the bowl, only for muscles to lose to fatigue as your arm limply falls back down to your side. Your strength has yet to return. 

Another clink from the spoon resounds in the room as it gets taken into the grasp of an attentive hand. He holds out a spoonful of the warm soup, but your lips remain shut as a skeptical gaze meets his. 

“Please forgive this inconvenience, but it’s best that you eat something to regain your strength.” The spoon remains unmoving in his hand. 

There’s a rumbling stir within him. A voice snarls into his ear, interrogating him as to why his hand is feeding the very devil who once bit it. 

“If you don’t eat you won’t get better.” Kiara’s eyes are riddled with concern as she observes your sealed lips. 

That was his rebuttal to that snarl.

The Melusines simply don’t wish to see a human in such a pitiful state. Blissful in their ignorance of events that conspired long before their birth. 

 Dignity overpowered by the guilt of seeing such pure eyes marred with worry. 

Soon your lips part, accepting the spoonful of broth delicately offered by him. After he observes you swallowing the first sip, Neuvillette holds out another spoonful. You part your lips again.

Neuvillette overrides the clamorous warnings of his instincts with the duty of being a ‘good host’, bringing another sip to your delicate lips.

 

With a regular diet of warm broth with servings of Bulle Fruit on the side, you were soon able to pick up the spoon yourself. The fatigue that plagued your bones finally leaves, allowing you to support your body off the mattress which had your shape imprinted into it. 

The Melusines, seemingly born infatuated with humanity, would often gather about your bed.

They were curious about you just as you were about them. To them, you’re the creature from those fairytales he’s read them. 

In exchange for your recollections of warm Summer days and descriptions of lush lilac fields swaying in a gentle breeze, they reveal more about this village.

About how the estate you were currently residing in was refurbished by their own-mittened hands, taking inspiration from the various books depicting what human abodes looked like. 

The beds, drapes, and even rugs are all arranged by them to create a lovely abode. A drastic change to the worn and rampaged shell it once was before their meddling.

Perhaps if he never filled their naive minds with those tales, they wouldn’t be enamored with you and humanity. 

Or maybe it’s the vibrance of your smile that drew their naive souls closer. A warmth like a flickering candlelight beckoning a moth closer.

What are the odds that the hands of fate stayed so faithful to the details of a heroine from so long ago? 

From your image to your bewitching mannerisms, and alluring voice, they’re all identical replicas. You and the ‘devil’ from that tale. 

Wisdom from a lesson learned long ago, he must not repeat the same mistake. He must not be enchanted by the same flame which scorned him. He must ensure a breadth between you and him, just as those tiresome voices call for. 

However, Neuvillette understands he has a responsibility as a host. Thus, he regularly checked on your condition, then when you were well enough to stretch your legs he accompanied you on strolls. Maintaining a respectable distance away. 

He guided you through the marble halls of the estate, showing the library and bath which were yours to access whenever you wanted.

Rooms illuminated with the muted glow of luminescence gems and pearls. Water sourced from a hidden freshwater spring. 

Impassive eyes observe yours as you look in awe at the facilities and commendations hidden deep under the tides. Were they comparable to the ones you’ve encountered back on the surface? 

This estate, these wide stone halls, those pearls and jewels once scattered about, were all made just to please the bitter tears of a mortal. Perhaps his first attempt was too subpar to quell the longing to return to the sunlight. 

But gauging from the glimmer reflecting off your eyes, it seems the Melusines attempt was satisfactory at least. 

Today’s stroll took you outside of the estate, Neuvillette accompanying you about a routine walk, watching from behind as your eyes scan the dim realm.

The lanterns lining the path of Melusine's home grace the maroon pastures and rocky walls in place of the faint wisps of sunlight offered by the depths of the sea. 

Very much expected for a village beneath the waves and earth. Were you reminiscing about the warm grace of the sun you felt up there?

It’s not fair to compare the vast sky of the surface to their cavern hidden away from the eyes of the mortals, perhaps even the divine themselves. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” You began today’s attempt at a conversation. 

“Yes?” He hums in acknowledgment. 

He keeps sentences brief, but informative. Counters to your attempts at conversation. 

“I’m aware this might sound strange, but is there a dragon down here?” Turning back to face him.

His strides stop as a lull of silence falls over the both of you. The weight of his unshaken gaze upon your shoulders caused them to tense up.

Your hands find each other for comfort under his oppressive stare as he awaits the reason behind this odd inquiry. 

“W-well you see, Fontaine has been having awful weather for years now. Saltwater ruining crops and persistent heavy rain, it’s because the Hydro Dragon is crying from his loneliness. I was selected and offered as his bride, to stop the rain, that’s what The Oratrice instructed,” you babble out. 

“So…do you know where he is?” Sheepishly you glance up. 

The lilac hues of his eyes connect with yours as his lips remain unmoving. Staring into your eyes as he contemplates what you have just revealed to him. Your hands fumble together as you await his response.

“So humans are still telling that local legend…” He sighs. 

He has to rein it back. The torrent which threatens to brew within him. Deep breaths to remind himself about the nature of mortals. 

Humans are fickle and meek creatures who constantly yearn for something divine to worship, a figurehead to guide them in the turbulence of life.

When faced with hardship and destitution, they believe such concepts to be punishment from above. 

Thus, they invent traditions to appease those false idols. Going to great lengths in attempts to pacify those unseen forces, even if it meant sacrificing one of their own. 

Perhaps this was the trait of mortals that made them so favored by the usurpers, their naive devotion feeding into the greed of selfish gods.

Maybe that’s why those false idols uprooted the land that belonged to dragons. 

“I wonder just how far that fable has spread by now,” he sighs again.

His lashes flutter shut in exasperation as a huff leaves him. It was a moment before they flutter back open to hone in on you. There’s no use in keeping his identity from you any longer. 

“Do I seem lonely in your eyes?” Baritone voice steady and low. 

No sounds fall from your agape lips as your eyes reexamine his features, this time shamelessly ogling the peculiar details you’ve brushed off previously.

Do you notice it now? How his ears were a bit too pointed, or those two particular cerulean strands of ‘hair’ poking out from his snowy locks. 

As you study the specifics of his eyes, do you now comprehend the sharp dark pupils that cut through the multitude of lilac shades? Much like a shadow cutting through a field of lavenders. 

“You’re the Hydro Dragon,” you deduce. 

He nods in confirmation. Only causing your eyes to scan over him again as your mind reels back from this revelation. 

In those stories you’ve read back on the surface, how did they depict him? As a towering scaled beast with fangs and claws? Are you wondering why he’s not matching that description? 

“I’m aware that my current shape might not convey such a presence, ” he answers your unspoken question. 

He fights for his lips to remain stoic, not allowing the weight of a frown to pull them down. You don’t know, you don’t need to know, he reminds himself. 

A detail excluded from the pages of that tale, the ‘princess’ would only ever look at him, would only ever smile at him when a dragon took on this shape. A form which mirrors humans. 

In fact, she was so fond of this human shell of his that she cursed him to dwell within it for the rest of eternity. 

Neuvillette takes another deep breath, quelling the stir once more. You look like you had more questions. 

“So… does that mean the need for a bride is fictitious?” You clutch your hands tighter. 

Some years ago, the Melusines were born from spilled blood. A new generation of successors of the brethren he once forsaken. Making this prison much less lonesome, voiding the accuracy of the sentence in that tale. 

If that was the case, then why did the waters still rage? Why did the pittering of rain drown out all bird songs and tumults of perplexed citizens? Is there a way he could simplify the details missed by storytellers for generations? 

After that ‘happily ever after’, a dragon cursed his devil just as she cursed him. 

No, such expositions would be an unfair burden upon your shoulders. 

“It’s not fictitious.” Turning to gaze out at the depths of the underground realm, he takes a breath before continuing. 

“The land which your nation, Fontaine, resides on is stolen land,” he reveals. “More accurately all of what you know as ‘Teyvat’ was stolen from the dragons, my fellow brethren.” 

The furrow in your brows deepens as you listen on. 

“My brethren were banished to the depths for the sake of humanity. A dragon’s rage isn’t something that can be easily quelled.” He glances back at you. 

“A union between a dragon and a human, a show of peace between the two species. Even if the origins of this ritual have been embellished heavily, it serves the same purpose to pacify the ancient dragon’s rage,” he concludes. 

Neuvillette wonders if this tale was enough to satisfy your inquiry, if his attempt at the human practice was enough to simplify the events muddled and twisted by time.

Impassive eyes scan over your expression, not missing the glimmer ever so bright within. 

“So… has the rain stopped?” Your hands almost clasped together in prayer. 

He nods, the shine growing ever so luminous in those blameless irises, one he couldn’t resist the enchantment of. That all too familiar look in your eyes. 

“That’s good.” A slow smile made its appearance upon plush lips.

Ah. He remembers what that look was called, voices of recollection pulling him away from the edge. Just before he fell into bewitchment once more.

That look wasn’t relief, nor was it salvation. It's duty. He takes a slow and deep inhale. 

Just as it was all those years ago, the narrative of this tale did not stray away from the plot. He must be more careful. 

There’s been a still lull engulfing the atmosphere down in a hidden cavern. So still in fact that walks amongst maroon patches of grass have stopped. Your body was well enough to explore the corners of the state without assistance. 

No reason for him to remain by your side throughout the day, and no reason for you to shadow him. 

Neuvillette and you keeping mostly to one’s self. It was just the natural progression of things. After all, the ritual had been completed and the tides had receded. You’ve served your duty once more. 

A foreign aroma was wafting through the estate, strange enough for Neuvillette to leave the library to investigate the origins of this aroma.

Steps slowing as the clacker of pots and pans becomes more distinct. The entrance of the estate kitchen comes into view, and he peers in to see a few familiar faces. 

“Oh? Monsieur!” Rhemia notices his presence. 

An assortment of vegetables, spices, and even some meats from fresh catches were spread about the table as a pan sizzling over a crackling fire.

Ingredients gathered from offering dropped down below the tides. The recent influx could be attributed to how the hymn of the rain has ceased. 

“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Your smile greets him. 

Ah, he’s found the explanation behind the foreign aroma and why the variety spread of ingredients was being utilized in a kitchen that was once mainly created just to match those diagrams drawn in novels. 

“I hope you don’t mind my use of the kitchen, I wanted something other than…Consomme Purete.” Wiping your hands with a rag. 

Yes, Consomme Purete.

It was the dish served when you had first woken up, a light but nutritious soup that was kind on your stomach. It had the right amount of hydration balanced with nutrients to sustain oneself, a perfect dish.

The only dish cooked in this kitchen, that was until today. 

Removing a pan from the heat, you carefully transfer the contents onto a plate then place the pan back on the wood stove.

The rich aroma caused an audience of bright-eyed stares from the Melusines to center upon the steaming plate. Their tails make their excitement clear as they gaze upon a dish they’ve never seen before. 

Was this a new passion of this life?... Or was it just one he never got the chance to witness?

Was this the devil before the role of a bride was forced upon her? A devil he’s never known, for all he saw was her performance to stop the deafening rain all those years ago.

His attention was brought back as the chime of cutlery against porcelain was heard, cooked veggies stabbed between the teeth of a fork.

Cupping a hand under the fork, your body leans down to the Melusine’s height, feeding them a bite of the fragrant dish. The wags of their tails increase in cadence as they chew. 

“This is Tasses Ragout, tasty isn’t it?” The corners of your lips curl as you watch their little heads nod eagerly. 

The suspicion melts from his gaze as he observes to the delight in their expressions, a few mitten hands tugging at the skirt of your gown for a bite. A giggle bubbles from your throat.

A scene mirroring that of a mother trying to appease the appetites of her ravenous young. 

Soon your eyes connect and he straightens his posture. Brushing away the nonsensical musing, lilac hue advert away momentarily to recompose themselves before returning. 

“Would you like a taste?” A fork offered in his direction, beckoning closer to take a bite. 

There’s a myth he’s read about, of a forbidden apple held out by the tempter of all tempters, an apple so red and lustrous it made any mouth salivate. 

“Thank you for the offer, however, I’ve already had my lunch.” He refrains. 

A bite from that forbidden fruit was the genesis of disgrace and banishment. A betrayal of commandments once promised. Neuvillette won’t be deceived again. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Monsieur! Monsieur! Come look!” 

Mittened hands grasping upon his coat and gloved hands as a circle of Melusines guides him through the winding halls, anticipation amping their voices. 

There’s a chorus of giggles resounding through the halls, a joyous clamor of pattering steps against the marble floors.

The estate has been lively ever since your arrival in that white dress, a liveness which reaches his pointed ears even from behind closed doors. 

Regardless, he allows himself to be towed by their skipping steps. Leading him to a room he recognizes as a space where many fabrics and gowns were collected and stored.

Garments made with the intent to be sold to Fontainians, but their crates were capsized over by the ravenous tides. Saved from watery abandonment by curious hands. 

While this form of his could wear a few of those garments, the Melusines had statures much too short for pools of fabric to not drag along the ground. Thus, that collection of fabrics found themselves collecting dust. 

Their steps abruptly stop just at the threshold of the door, mittened hands pressed up against their lips signaling for him to remain silent.

Soon their sights glance into the room as he follows, lilac eyes opening ever so slightly wider as they process the scene in front of him. 

Evening gowns crafted by skilled tailors to be sold to Fontanian ladies, you had the right frame for those garments as well.

A trail of lustrous sapphire silk gathered behind your figure. The artistic stitching and pleating draping the silk around each curve of your body as if you were the only person meant to wear it. 

A few Melusines fussing about the silk train, ever so curious of humanity, they must’ve requested for you to dawn the gown.

Just as they often had requested for him to dawn those fickle suits and coats for their enjoyment.

It seems you bent to their childish whims just as he does. 

“How do you like it?” You ask your audience, twirling about in front of a mirror. 

It’s different from those hardier dresses for when you wandered about the village and estate, in comparison this dress was much less practical. 

“It’s beautiful, Madame!” Their round eyes were enamored.

“I’m glad, who knew you had such an aesthetic eye.” Your expression softens. 

Bending down to Carole’s height, you scooped her up. Cradling her as your forehead touches her horns gently.

“Thank you for such a lovely dress.” Placing tender pats along her head, careful to not disturb her horns and hair. 

Carole leans into your touch as your smile widens. Twirling once more with her in your arms, giggles ringing throughout the room.

Until your head peeked up, finally aware of the silent spectator just behind the door frame. 

“Oh, hello Neuvillette,” you greet him with a smile he doesn’t return.

A tense lull creeps in, and a chill begins to mix with the quiet atmosphere. Lilac eyes pass over your form as Carole remains sat in your arms.

“Monsieur! Isn’t Madame pretty? Look!” Cheery and oblivious voices chime returning the warmth to the air. 

Mitten hands release your skirt as they skitter toward his towering figure. Pride shines in their beaming smiles, awaiting validation of their handy work.

Steadfast eyes lowering themselves to the level of their short statures until the sharp edges gradually dissipate. 

“A fine effort indeed.” A gloved hand extends to rest atop their heads. 

Patting their heads tenderly as they closed their eyes in contentment 

A warmth in those lilac hues, endearment no word could ever encapsulate fully. 

“Are they your daughters?” Your head slants to the side.

His body stills, strictness reinstated in those violet irises just as they met yours. Studying that look within your polite smile, one which didn’t seem to reach your eyes. 

Gloved hand ceasing all movement, his concentration now elsewhere. That expression ghosting your face, what does it mean? 

“My apologies, was it too impudent of a question?” Your gaze adverts away, searching for reprieve in this heavy hush.

A deep breath as he formulates his response. 

“I don’t share blood with them if that’s what you’re inquiring. However, they are the successors of my brethren.” 

“Oh, I see,” you hum. 

 Neuvillette returns to patting their heads, while you readjust your hold on Carole. Subtly bouncing her, while turning back to face the standing mirror.

Casting a glance, he could discern the softness returning to that polite smile. Yet, the dragon has yet to unravel that luster in your irises. 

An audience of bright eyes switches between the Monsieur and Madame. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Bring these to her, you should greet the Madame!” Tiny hands push against Neuvillette’s back. 

The traitorous clicks of his shoes against marble expose his approach.

Your head peers up from the book resting upon your lap, in the midst of reading a tale aloud to an audience. 

Just in time to catch the tall figure of Neuvillette emerging into the library at the behest of the Melusines. 

Lilac eyes meet yours ever so briefly before his gaze averts elsewhere. Gloved hand adjusting a bundle hidden a broad back, brings the other hand up to clear his throat. 

“The Melusines found these when retrieving some offerings from the water, I believe you’ll enjoy them.” He presents their trinket. 

A simple collection of dainty petals clustered together, pastel hues contrast against vivid virescent leaves. A quaint ribbon tied around the stems holding the bunch together held out in front of your face.

The recipient stares in round-eyed astonishment at the fragrant blooms before a smile melts into your lips. 

“Thank you.” You accept the bouquet from his hand. 

Admiring the rustic arrangement and the saccharine aroma as the Melusines sat around you leaned in closer to catch a whiff too. 

“These are called Pluie Lotus up on the surface, they smell nice right?” Giggling lightly as you held the bouquet closer to their noses. 

Grin ever present upon your lips as your soft eyes watch their marvel of such simple weeds. A bloom foreign to this realm abandoned by the sunlight. 

There’s subtle slack in his posture, a budding smile just about to unfold just as your head peers back up. Every fiber in Neuvillette’s being tenses, goosebumps slithering up his nape. 

Frozen there only able to witness your eyes study back and forth the hues of his irises and the periwinkle color tinting the fragile petals.

He watches an epiphany light up in your widened eyes as the bouquet was lifted higher, turning back to face him. 

Don’t. Don’t say the words he knows are hanging off the tip of that honeyed tongue. 

“They are the same lovely color as your eyes, Neuvillette.” You beam at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling from the stretch of your lips. 

His posture returns to its rigid and upright state, a hand hidden from view balls up into a fist.

A sharpness threatening to break through leather confines and into his palm, as if they were attempting to grapple the surging torrent stirred up within himself. 

Why? Why was this line from a script being recited word for every damn word? All said with that saccharine smile plastered over those wicked lips? 

Indecipherable eyes narrow ever so slightly before he catches himself. Reining in the torrent just before it seethed out.

He clears his throat again to swallow back the bitterness. 

“Do excuse me, please return to your reading session,” he utters his parting. 

Promptly turning to return to his secludedness, stepping past the Melusines gathered by his side.

Swift strides through the empty halls leaving you to your peace and him to his peace, just as it should’ve been. Much to the pouts of a disappointed audience. 

However, he didn’t have the mind to contemplate their discontent. Not when these rabid bellows drown out every other thought in their rancor.

Like a sea starved for vengeance, ravenous to settle a debt against those vile gods and their beloved creations. 

A brass knob was abruptly twisted, hinges squealing in surprise as at the force as Neuvillette shuts it behind himself.

Ragged breathes resounding through the reprieve of his bedroom. Away from innocent bystanders and the devil who showed her face again after all these centuries for an encore.  

Has he not been humiliated enough? He tugs at his cravat, freeing himself from the fickle decoration constricted about his neck in this already imprisoning body.

A form which binded him no matter how violently talons and fangs clawed and chewed, unable to leave a singular dent upon this damn curse. 

This was humiliating enough, bound to this cove that separated him from the sea which cries for their sovereign.

He once believed this penitentiary was obscured away from the peeking eyes of capricious gods. Perhaps, he’s wrong. 

Why is this fantasy being played out right in front of his eyes now after all these years?

To have you by his side, to have you reside in the home he craved out and inlaid pearls into, to see you smile and cradle young against your bodice. It’s insulting. 

Because this was all he ever wanted. This was all he had ever wanted. 

The lonesome dragon only ever yearned for a maiden’s endearment. He once believed she adored him back just the same. 

Because while she lay within his arms under silken covers, her bare skin pressed against his mortal shape, her enchanting eyes always regarded him with such tenderness as her delicate hand stroked his cheek. 

A glimmer he once believed was love.  

The tale written along the parchment implied that the ‘princess’ loved the dragon. However, that was inaccurate. She never did. 

For if she loved him, then she wouldn’t have deceived him.

She wouldn’t have ever whispered his secret to the town’s folk. Those foul creatures who then used his secret, which was once reserved solely for ‘you’.

Why? That simple question taunted him for decades as he rotted in this mocking solitude.

Why did ‘you’ yearn for the sun more than him? Was his love not enough to replace the warmth of a star? Was the home he made not enough when compared to the extravagance of humanity? 

Or was it because blood and water, no matter how much they intertwine and mix, could never produce wine? 

If… if the Melusines had been born just a few centuries earlier, then would you have been satisfied by his side? An answer he could already discern.

 Because after his decades of solitude within these deridingly hushed walls, he finally accepted the truth. 

 She loved her people, they took up all the space of her heart, leaving no room for a prideful leviathan.

What a clever plan it all was, to distract a sovereign from his duty, cleansing stolen land with a flood of vengeance, by sending a maiden.

A woman so bewitching, so enchanting, and so lovely, that a proud dragon couldn’t resist bending to her whims. Spilling the secret hidden deep within him into her ear. 

Abandoning his true form to be confined in the shape she favored the most. Then lured up to the surface, suspicions obstructed by the dazzlement of a false welcome from the nation of Fontaine. 

Unaware until the scorching knife was already lodged in his back. Using the secret he had only ever told you, those meek creatures of the usurpers wished:

‘For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides’. 

What a clever ploy, a masterly crafted master plan. Did that Oratrice bestow it upon mortals? Or was it your own little scheme? A devil in human skin who must’ve been enlisted by the god themselves. 

 That day when he was chained by that loch, you didn’t even bother to grace him with your presence.

You cruel, cruel devil whose heart only had room for her fellow citizens of Fontaine, whose eyes only ever glimmered with duty. 

Neuvillette had finally comprehended the truth, he had made peace with the disgrace he brought upon himself. 

So why did those vile false gods dangle you back in his face? They had already taken fragments of his authority.

Was his torment entertaining to them? 

Lungs shaking with unsteady breaths, he could feel the pricks of scales dotted along his skin only for this body to swiftly reject it. A turmoil of draconic influence constrained by a mortal curse. 

Like a beast kept in a cage much too small for it. If Neuvillette wishes for this agitation to cease, he must cease the stirred emotions. 

 Emotions don’t settle quickly once agitated like sand attempting to settle at the bottom of violent tides. He paces his shuddery inhales, biding in the solitude of his room until the storm dissipates. 

To avoid the placid lake within him from thrashing violently to the woes from the throb of a wound which has yet to scar over, Neuvillette found it best to avoid your presence. 

The lanterns outside the Melusine’s homes had long gone out as they followed their routine bedtime.

The expanse of the cavern dimmed to near blackness, the small creatures all tucked away soundly in their beds. A hushed ambiance provides a suitable environment for reflection. 

His steps flatten the grass underneath as they accompany his strides with their rustling.

The absence of light had never bothered him, it’s within his nature to detest it. Any beast would withdraw away from the mere image of fire. 

The rustle of the grass halts, a wispy aroma of smoke wafts towards him. It doesn’t take long to identify the origin. Only a small flicker broke through the shadows, candlewick fostering only a weak flame.

But it was enough to fend the shadows away from your frame. 

The flame’s light caught on each subtle ripple of the pond you were kneeling over.

The seemingly unremarkable pool served as the sole entrance and exit to Merusea Village. Where the Melusines traveled through to gather food, fresh water, and trinkets swallowed up by the waves. 

Cold waters catch the bitter droplets of your pained eyes in the reflection of the ripples upon the surface, the distorted silhouette of a weeping devil. 

An unspoken gospel revealed to draconic pupils. 

Under the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen, behind the diligently tailored gowns, and hidden in the cadence of your voice as you read tales aloud, laid the yearning for the rays of a bright star. 

You’re human, a creature fleeting and meek by nature. Blood yearns to be with blood just as every drop of rain yearns to return to a cloud. 

A sharp rustle of grass under a heavy step jolts your hunched-over posture straight, head whipping around to face the uninvited audience.

Once those weeping eyes recognize the brooding figure in front of them, your face adverts away from his direction. Shame evident upon your expression. 

A concerned hand reaches out only to retract away, contrition marring his shut lips as Neuvillette diverts his eyes too.

Fire burns indiscriminately, even the dancing flame of a candle can sear its mark upon skin. Neuvillette knows this all too well, for the lesion he received from embracing that flame once still festers even after all these years.  

However, lilac eyes pan back towards the orange glow illuminating your melancholic face. Warm hues contrast against the wet trails down your cheeks. There’s an ache more agonizing than a festering wound. 

His steps advanced closer until he was knelt down by your slump frame. A benevolent touch lands upon your shoulder. Guiding you away from the taunting waters and into his arms, hiding your face in his broad shoulder. 

 Offering you a semblance of warmth in a coven shunned from the grace of gentle sunlight.

With your face away from his gaze, the cacophony of your sobs returns, digging your fingers into the folds of his dress shirt.

Echoed back mockingly by the cold cavern walls.

Perhaps a foolish dragon has yet to learn his lesson, still lured in that the brilliant light of a flame. 

A gentle hand traces up along your back, softly brushing your hair away to reveal the skin of your nape to his sharp pupils.

Honed in upon untainted skin, the courts of rebirth may have removed the proof of your damnation, but not the hex itself. 

Or maybe, a foolish dragon feels some responsibility for being the one to curse you to this fate. 

A mark once imprinted upon your nape by a lonesome dragon, a heavy oath sworn to you engrained into the very fabric of your soul amidst the first rendition.

One which then became the cursed chains that sunk you under the unforgiving waters.

It’s said that love is heavy, a weight greater than the density of water. A heaviness which could sink anything and everyone under salty tides. 

A heaviness originating from this accursed prison where a disgraced being resided.

Even as the earth above welcomed new generations as they said goodbye to bygone times. 

The solitude of a fool turning into ravenous waves which seeped into soil until its appetite was satiated by the return of its beloved treasure.

It’s his fault that the tides stole you from the sunlight. 

The courts of rebirth had already forgiven you of this burden, not a single memory remaining of that tale.

What right does he have to place it back upon you? There’s no point in punishing one for a sin that had been cleansed by the tides of time.

You didn’t deserve to be held away from the warmth of a benevolent sun.

To have been dragged down below to these depths. To have been stolen away from the warmth of the sun by the command of fickles gods and ancient grudges.

It’s much too severe of a sentence for you, someone who didn’t deserve to repent for a sin that wasn’t truly yours. 

Is it okay for his hands to wipe away your tears when this cursed dragon was the cause of your agony?

Even if it’s wrong, Neuvillette holds you closer. Even if he didn’t have the right, he pressed your face in his shoulder. Allowing the vehemence of your tears to scorch his skin as you buried your cries into him. 

Glancing at the pool you had been leaning over, he watches as the ripples of the surface taunt you and him the same.

Two beings whose bodies couldn’t embrace the tides. Two cursed beings who’ve been trapped in repeated play. 

“It seems you’re bound to this prison as well.” He scorns those gods and ancient grudges, but he scorns himself the most.

Confined behind a human face and a human body, a traitor who’s lost his birthright over the waters who couldn’t welcome him.

How can a cursed dragon quell those choking sobs of yours? How can he atone for his selfish sin?

Neuvillette takes a deep breath just your tears continue to soak his skin. Steeling his resolve, he meditates on the one resolution he can offer you. 

“Fontainians still tell a tale about a princess who wished a dragon to become a prince, yes?” He begins. 

After a pause filled with hiccups and shaky breaths, you nod your head as an answer. 

“It was when she spoke the dragon’s true name that he granted her one wish,” he recounts the tale, feeling the trembles of your shoulders. 

“That part of the story isn’t fictitious,” he reveals.

Voices from the depths of his rationality whisper for him to stop, to expand no more upon this secret of his brethren. Clamorous warnings to a traitor to not repeat his past transgressions. 

However, he obeys no edict from the heavens or origins. Not when an unjust punishment caused such heart-wrenching sobs. 

“Names hold great significance to dragons. So much so, to whoever learns their true name, a wish can be granted.” 

Slowly, your tear-stained face pulls away from his crinkled dress shirt. Finally meeting his lilac gaze. He notes the bewilderment which surrounds his reflection in your eyes. 

“Is… your name not ‘Neuvillette’?” You inquire. 

“It’s a surname bestowed upon me by the mortals of the land.” 

“Then… What is your name?” A glimmer of optimism ever so subtly debuts in your eyes. 

He could not tell you. No matter how beautifully that light shines, this was one ordinance he couldn’t ignore. All he could do was glance away as he shakes his head. Unable to bear the sight of that light extinguishing. 

“That is what you must find for yourself.” 

Perhaps this is his defiance of the plot which has been unraveling for so long. His attempt to step off that circular path, searching for a different end. 

The silent audience of fate watching on with bemusement to where this rendition will lead. 

“Oh?”

“Oh?”

What a peculiar occurrence, Neuvillette was just about to exit his study when he found himself just a breath’s width away from you. Instinctively, he takes a step back behind the threshold of the doorway.

Passive eyes studying your form, you must’ve been standing there for a while. A hand held up intending to knock on the oak door returns to your side as you stare at the floor. 

“Is there something you need assistance with?” He continues to study you. 

Lilac eyes observe as your fingers clasp together, a common habit of mortals when nervous, if he recalls the contents of a book correctly. Another minute passes before you take a deep breath. 

“Is your name Guillaume?” You peer up. 

Ah, so this is what you wished to inquire about.

The secret revealed to you that day beside an exit neither he nor you could cross. Guillaume, a name befitting of nobility. But unfortunately, not for a dragon. 

He responds with a shake of his head, expression stiffening as he watches the corners of your lips drop ever so slightly. 

“Oh…”

It seems his existence brings nothing but a frown upon those soft lips, Neuvillette felt it’s best to retreat from your sight. 

This attempt was evidence of your determination to return to the embrace of a warm star.

It wouldn’t be right for him to interfere, despite those vile voice whispers murmuring from the depth of his mind. It wouldn’t be fair to you. 

It’s best to maintain this distance between his hand and yours, for your sake and his. 

Which begs the question, why were you still standing here in front of him? 

“Is that all you wished to inquire?” Neuvillette hopes the Melusines will lift your spirits after he withdraws. 

“Actually…” You began. “I made some soup and if you haven’t had lunch yet, would you like to try some?” 

Although his stoic face might not reflect it, he’s positively baffled. Were ‘you’ always this enthusiastic about food?

The devil he knew before would view the freshest catches and clearest waters offered by a dragon with blasé reactions. 

You used to recoil away from the fishes and meats he held out to you, they were only ever touched once he charred them over a fire. 

Then again the kitchen back then was much more barren than the present, cabinets now decorated with bottles of fragrant spices and herbs. 

Was it just a difference in palate? To reject such an invitation would be to squander a precious opportunity for investigation. 

“The pleasure would be all mine.” He matches your strides as the two of you traverse toward the kitchen. 

Settling down in a chair at a wooden table, Neuvillette watches as you ladle some soup into a bowl. Following your form as you set the bowl down in front of him. A pleasant aroma accompanies the steam emitting from the bowl. 

“It’s Fontainian Onion Soup.” You hand a spoon over. 

“Thank you.” He takes the utensil and scoops a hearty serving of the rich soup.

A distinct flavor of caramelized onions and the creaminess of cheese. The broth had been thickened with a bit of flour and the cheese added to the heavy mouth feel. 

This dish certainly expresses the flavor preferences of humans… but could such a thick broth really be considered soup? 

“Do you like it?” Your head tilts to the side as he feels your inquisitiveness. 

Dabbing a napkin over his lips, he clears his throat. 

“A fine dish indeed. Although increasing the liquid content and reducing the amount of fat could improve it,” he advises. 

A hush falls over the kitchen, nothing but the occasional crackle of a fire filling the space. 

“Oh… I’ll keep that in mind.” Your voice was restraining something. 

As you turn away, Neuvillette catches the subtle shakes of your shoulders. 

Ah, has he caused offense? He recalls how cooking and food preferences amongst humans tend to be a sore spot for most, some books going as far as to claim critics as attacks on one’s pride. 

You had taken time out of your day to prepare a bowl for him, and he gave senseless comments in return. 

“Ah, but it’s delicious regardless, thank you.” He has to remedy this situation. 

The shakes of your shoulders increase, as a hand covers your lips. 

“Thank you, Monsieur.” Your lips seem to be trying to stifle something. 

After finishing your sentence, your lips pressed tighter together. He could see the corners twitching as they tried their best to remain neutral.

Before he could get another word in, you excused yourself. Leaving him in front of the warm soup. 

In that moment, Neuvillette vows to himself that even if you were to hand him a piece of charcoal he’ll swallow it without a single complaint. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Is your name Édouard?” 

Your voice causes him to turn his attention away from the pages of a book this quiet evening.

You stood just off to the side of the bookshelf where he was browsing, a candle illuminating the curiosity held in your eyes. Presenting a name likely discovered from those very same shelves.

Dirges ring from the corners of his mind, warning him not to allow the light to approach so close.

However, where is a shadow supposed to withdraw to when the light seeks him?

Just as how the tide couldn’t run away from the shore for long. Steadfast and constant attempts to unravel the secrets held by the ebbs and flows. 

Alas, he shakes his head again today, steeling his nerves as he catches the slight drop in your shoulders. Louis, Étienne, Théodore, and all those previous guesses, are names of heroes in Fontainian tales and epics. 

Popularized to the point many boys were named after them, but no parent would ever want to name their child after a dragon, a beast.

He doubts the pages of history have ever recorded his name. 

Your disheartened gaze couldn’t meet his, choosing to stare into the space beside him. He couldn’t fault you for that.

All your efforts of combing through old novels to search for obscured monikers just to be undone by a shake of a head.

He’s not sure how much longer he can endure being the origin of your melancholy.

“There’s a tear in your coat…” 

Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, he glances at the spot your eyes were honed on and spots the aforementioned tear. 

“Ah, I see. My apologies for being in such an unsightly state, ” he sighs. Lilac eyes ran along the jagged seams. 

He should go find a replacement from his wardrobe, but you still looked like you had something to say. 

“I can fix it if you’d like,” you offer. 

It’s just a garment, a piece of cloth that fell off some merchant’s ship and found itself in the walls of a cove. There were plenty of other garments that suffered the same fate, picked up by pairs of curious mittened hands. 

To replace this robe would be simple, but he notes the concealed eagerness in the fidget of your fingers. It must be rather dull for you down here for the past year, to the point you resorted to repairing old fabrics for enrichment. 

Regrettably, Neuvillette admits he’s not the best host. He’s got no talent for small talk nor does he know how to entertain you, thus he left it up to the Melusines. However, he could at least do this much as a host. 

“Thank you, I’d be grateful if you do.” 

His steps in time with yours through the halls as an old storage room comes into view. Still filled with collections of folded gowns and coats.

As he observes the room, you guide him to a pair of wooden chairs, a box filled with needles and threads beside one. You place the candle down on a nearby table.

“I’ll take your coat.” Holding out your hands. 

Following your request, he slips the robe off his shoulders, leaving him in a dress shirt and slacks.

Attentively you take the garment, settling down in a seat as your hand searches through the box. After your rummaging stopped, you glance back at him. 

“It won’t take long, please have a seat.” Gesturing toward the other chair. 

Lilac eyes scanned the aged seat, the door was just beyond it, it wouldn’t take much of an excuse for him to walk past the wooden threshold.

However, he pans back to your anticipatory gaze still awaiting. It wouldn’t be polite to deny such a simple gesture. 

Thus, he heeds your request, ambling toward the empty seat, he begins to settle down just as a rip resonates through the air.

His body halts all movement just as yours did, toward pairs of eyes trained on the sleeve that had been caught on the edge of a wooden table. 

The fibers of his shirt entangled with the jagged edges causing his sleeve to rip. Neuvillette truly has yet to acclimate to such fickle inconveniences. 

“Pfft!-” Quickly your hand covers your mouth. 

Lips pressed together as they tried their best to stifle the sounds threatening to leak out. Your shoulders shaking from the effort, just as they did that day in the kitchen.

Although his expression remains the same, he’s quite dumbfounded.

Unable to contain the sounds any longer, you erupt into a fit of giggles as he continues to stare. The bright chimes of your laughter fill the room, a melodic tune he had longed to hear for so long. 

“S-sorry, I just didn’t expect you to… be so clumsy.” Giggles fragment your sentence along with a brief pause to collect yourself. 

Clumsy. Yes, he remembers that word, an adjective you used to describe a dragon whenever he took on the shape you favored so much.

Of course, even a great beast like a dragon would totter and stumble when in such a foreign body. 

Although he has been in this body for many, many years now, yet, Neuvillette hasn’t acclimated to these fickle mortal attires.

If these garments weren’t pushed into his hands by the Melusines and their bright-eyed stares, he’d prefer to not dawn them. 

Neuvillette shuts his eyes. His lungs intake a deep breath, stifling the sway of these trivial inconveniences before they cause any ripples.

Once he’s certain there was no jagged edge to his stare, lilac hues peek back upon your figure. 

By now those fits of giggles had faded into a tranquil lull, your content face focused on the stitches. Body relaxed against the back of the chair, weaving the needle through the sides of the tear.

Subconsciously, his frame begins to mimic yours, rigid muscles melting against the wooden support. 

Lavender hues follow the disappearance of a sliver point, then catch its emergence from the fabric.

The torn and frayed edges draw closer and closer together by the coaxes of the thread, each stitch attentively placed by your graceful hands. 

“Neuvillette?” Your serene voice interlaces with the placid interlude. 

He hums an answer. 

“That night by the entrance… you said ‘You're bound to this cove as well’.” The pace of the needle slows. 

“Why did you say that?” You finish your question. 

Observant, a characteristic of yours he’s always deemed quite commendable. Ever so keen on the nuances of his sentences. 

The piercing stare of draconic eyes weighs on your shoulders, despite that the cadence of the needle didn��t falter. A ripple makes its appearance within a placid pool. 

“Do you really wish to know?” He warns. 

You hum resolutely. A bitter taste creeps its way up his tongue, the recollection of the string of words which damned him here. 

Instinct advises him to swallow them back, to conceal his shame from your awaiting ears. However, answering the call of your curiosity should be enough of a repayment for repairing a coat. 

“For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides. That is the curse set upon this body,” he reveals. 

The needle stops.

“A curse?…” you stammer out. 

Under your breath, Neuvillette hears you recount the disclosed secret. Repeating it to yourself as if to decipher the syntax, to find some answers to his condemnation.

The answer was sitting just in front of him. 

“…For the rest of one’s life… well, how long do dragons live?” 

To mortals, it’s time who is the reaper of their existence. From the moment a newborn sounds their first cry to the final draw of air on their deathbeds, it was the hands of a clock who ruled over them.

But such hands could not touch a being such as him. 

“The life of a dragon begins and ends in the Fontemer Sea, born from it, made from it, and shall return to it to be born again.” He wonders if mortals could grasp such a concept. 

“Oh…” Your tone grew more somber. 

Judging from your tonality, you must’ve pieced the allusions together.

To be contained within these stone walls with only a pool of seawater he could not touch as the opening, is to bestow upon him immortality he never asked for.

For the Hydro Dragon could not return to the Fontemer Sea. 

Even if dragons had long lives, it didn’t mean the humiliation of immortality. The true cruelty of this seemingly kind curse. 

“Why?” Your voice just barely above a whisper. 

Why was he cursed? Why is he in this sham of a mortal body? Why did he reveal the secrets of his brethren? All of this at the trifling sight of bitter tears. 

“Because the people of Fontaine found my name and they wished for it.” 

Why did he give you his name? And why did you then give it away? There are many questions left unanswered by that tale. 

Why did a proud dragon bow to the whims of a mere mortal in that fairytale?

A creature as potent as a dragon should never bow, not to the ordinances of false gods, not to the turbulence of fate, and not to a mere mortal. 

 Why did a maiden wish for a dragon to become a human like them? Water is an adaptable element, able to take on any shape it pleases. However, it yearns to always return to its natural shape. 

Perhaps, his ‘natural’ form appalled the devil too much. So much so, she used that one wish to confine him in the form she favored most.

More confoundingly, why did Neuvillette allow such a request? A creature favored by the usurpers dared to wish a dragon to abandon his heritage, to cross over the threshold of humanity just for their sake.

Why would a dragon ever bow to a mortal’s request?

The commandments of a false god and the howling thrashes of wind can’t make a proud dragon bow, but the weight of love might be enough for a prideful beast to lower his head towards a mortal. 

A traitor to his own fallen brethren is much too dignified of a title for Neuvillette. No, it’d be better to call him for what he is: A Fool. 

What a spectacle it was that day, even those fickle gods peered down just to watch. A fool who lost his form and authority was imprisoned beneath the tides.

A stir shakes that pool, whirling and writhing, the billows of bitterness mounting. 

“… could it be wished away?” Your voice beckons his thoughts to return to the present. 

Unlike how it was written in those tales, a curse can’t be ‘broken’. Not by a kiss, and not by clasping one’s hands together in prayer. 

“Not even a miracle could make a curse vanish, a curse only ever goes away once its clauses have been fulfilled.” 

Until the stars burn out, until the sky caves in on itself, or until the oceans of this uprooted world dry up, he shall remain here. The retribution a traitor deserves. 

He shall remain in this sham of a body, unable to become the form he desired the most in the next life he’ll never reach.

Not a human, not a dragon, just an atrocity somewhere in-between. This must be what humans call ‘purgatory’.  

“I see…” Your attention never leaves the half-stitched garment sprawled upon your lap. 

A heavy silence fills the space between you and him once more. To conclude a conversation on such a doleful note would be a disgrace. 

However, what is he to say? What words can salvage this situation? Neuvillette has no talent for small talk, he doesn’t have the same mortal heart as yours to provide you with any solstice. 

Amidst his contemplation, a soft hum resounds through the quietude, and the melodic rhythm of a lullaby begins. It seems that you took matters into your own hands, ending the doleful silence at your own discretion.

Once more his back reclines into the wooden chair, pointed ears indulge themselves in a nostalgic tune.

It’s strange, that rippling pool is swaying back to equilibrium. The surface returns to its placid rest as tension melts from his muscles. 

Unaware of the hushed pitter-patter of a curious audience, drawn in by the gentle song as their bright eyes peer ever from the cover of the door frame. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Madame! Look I got more Pluie Lotuses!” Kiara’s little steps rush across the marble floor. 

Getting up on the tips of her feet to show the bundle of fresh blooms, salty water still dripping from their petals, as her bangs stick flush to her face still damp from the sea. Her pink tail swaying behind her.

Your body turns in her direction just in time with Neuvillette. 

“Kiara…” A subtle layer of disapproval emerges from lilac hues.

“Remember to dry off before entering the estate, the floors can become quite dangerous when wet.” 

“But…” the flowers lower. “I wanted to show Madame the lotuses…” 

There’s a drop in her tail and horns and a sharp sting to his chest. Her sisters were gathered around in a circle, a story having just concluded, he could feel their stares upon him. Adding to the sharpness of guilt. 

“My apologies, Kiara, I only meant to warn you.” 

She nods her head silently, tail still dragging on the floor. Ah, just what should he do? A frown begins to weigh down his face. 

“Thank you, they’re wonderful, Kiara.” Your gentle chime breaks through the stalemate. 

You take the bouquet from her mittened hands, placing them atop a counter, in exchange you offer her a towel. 

“But Neuvillette is right, it’s not good to run through the halls right after you returned from the waters. It’s dangerous, okay?” Your voice as gentle as the towel rubbed over her hair and horns. 

A content smile returns to her round cheeks as she diligently nods, promising that she’ll be more careful next time. Tail lifting up from the floor as the fluffy towel wipes away the ocean droplets. 

Once fully dried, she joins her sisters. The Melusines cast shifting glances toward one another until one finally steps out from the crowd. 

“Madame…” Carole calls out softly, tugging a few times the hem of your long dress. 

“Hm?” Giving her your full attention, a towel set aside. 

“I overheard you inquiring about names with Monsieur in the library once, could you be…” Her eyes downcasted. 

Oh. This time it was Neuvillette and you who exchanged glances, eyes both reflecting the same dread.

They weren’t supposed to know. They weren’t supposed to hear those slapdash guesses. 

He never meant for them to find out. Always careful to never discuss such matters in their earshot.

For how could he bear to tell them that their cozy village was actually a prison? 

His mind was unable to conjure up an excuse, tongue unwilling to speak it. They weren’t supposed to find out. Oh, what shall he do now? 

“Could you be expecting?” 

Huh?

Two pairs of eyes widened with bewilderment, mind stunned into silence and lips just as confused.

Somehow they’ve huddled even closer than before, encircling you and him with their bright eyes and tails swaying with anticipation. 

“Will there be a new addition to the village?” 

“How long do we have to wait?” 

“Are we getting a brother or sister?” 

Their chatter and probes homogenized into a jumbled symphony his flustered conscious just couldn’t distinguish. Trying to reel his senses back from this unexpected turn of events. Neuvillette clears his throat. 

“No,” he coughs out. 

A collective ‘aw’ resounds through the air, their tails and horns drooping down at the announcement. Guilt pierced its nail through his chest once more. However, he couldn’t lie to their bright eyes. 

“N-not, yet.” You add to his statement. 

A wave of inquisitive‘oh’ ripples through the crowd. Tails picked up from the ground as the glimmer in their eyes returned.

A sweet lie sprinkled over the truth neither of you dare tell, that blood and water can’t make wine. 

“Then, do you want a little prince or little princess?” Carole chirps. 

You remain silent, only gazing down at their faces as they stare back.

A lilac stare was also focused upon you, his curiosity awakening at this question as well. He watches you take a slow breath before leaning down. 

“I’d like to have a daughter, sweet and kind like all of you.” Your hand strokes her soft trestles. 

Her head nuzzles into your palm as giggles fill the air. Only draconic eyes study the small smile upon your lips, dipped in bittersweetness. 

Did you have a lover back on the surface in this life? Perhaps someone who was promised to you. A real prince this time. 

Did you have dreams of basking in the grace of the sun, cradling a bundle as a pair of tiny fingers encase around your own?

Was this the hard-earned happy ending you yearned for?

“Monsieur…” Mamaere tugs on his slacks. 

Neuvillette reigns his thoughts back from their escapade, he angles his head down. 

“Where does a baby come from?” 

The smile on your lips stiffen just as Neuvillette’s body does.

If there’s a god who’s peering into this cavern deep below the land and sea, must they send such dilemmas his way?

How does one navigate through this treacherous domain?

“Oh dear! I just remembered.” Your hands clap together.

“There’s a few ribbons and clips in the fabric room, do you girls mind getting them? So we can braid Monsieur’s hair?” 

At once the Melusines stand at attention, focus diverted over their excitement at the prospect of decorating snowy locks.

The patters of their little steps trample down the hall, allowing you and Neuvillette a well-deserved moment of reprieve. 

“Thank you.” His posture drops slightly as a hefty sigh leaves him, lids shut for a moment of rest.  

“Of course, Sébastien.” 

His eyes crack open, casting you a glance with a raised brow. The ghost of a grin barely contained by delicate lips. By this time, Neuvillette couldn’t recall all the past attempts. 

“Regrettably, that is not my name.” 

“Was it at least a decent attempt?” 

He could hear the pout in your voice, one that didn’t last long before a light-hearted laugh follows it.

Closing his eyes once more as he indulges in those chimes, he nods ever so slightly. It was a good attempt, for it brought out those sounds he enjoyed. 

His lashes flutter open at the sensation of his hair getting gathered in your tender hold. Passing the carved wooden teeth of a comb through his snowy locks.

Careful to not pull or tug on them as you coaxed the tangles out of their knots. The heaviness upon his shoulders leaves with a deep exhale which left his body, indulging in your attentive touches.

Subconsciously, his gaze trails up at the bundle of flowers resting along the wooden table. It wasn’t the periwinkle blush of the delicate petals that commanded his attention.

No, it was that salty, oceanic wisp mingled with the flora aroma. A fleeting essence of the sea.

“Do you miss the sea?” 

Ah, it seems that his stare wasn’t as subtle as he had hoped. Neuvillette turns away from the flowers as if he had been caught amidst a scheme.

Facing in front of him, your paused hands signal your wait for his response. 

“I suppose it’s only natural for me to long for it.” 

After all these years, Neuvillette believes he has finally grasped it, an answer to that void filled with ‘whys’. As if he had seized the reflection of a star from the bottom of a deep lake.

Neuvillette thinks he understands why you and the devil yearned for the sunlight. 

Perhaps the one similarity between proud dragons and arrogant humans. They both ache to return to where they came from.

One yearns for the sea. One yearns for land.

For there and only there, could their sins and grudges be purged. To gain the most restful sleep before the hands of fate shape them anew from the element.

“Hmm,” you hum in acknowledgment. 

Fingers gentle and slow as they brushed through his hair. You hum a lullaby to accompany each pass of the comb. Melodies that made his ears yearn for more, craving for more sounds to leave your plush lips. 

His hair had always been an inconvenience, capricious strands that were seemly curious of everything in his environment.

Snowy tresses find themselves gravitating towards door hinges, door knobs, and even the minuscule gaps in ornate furniture.

However, your patience hands untangled those unruly stands. 

When a knot proves to be particularly stubborn, you tend to lend closer to hone in on the troublesome tangle. 

It just so happens that a stubborn knot appeared, causing you to decrease the proximity between your bodies.

The heat radiating from your frame sends delightful pickles along his skin, a delicate warmth making his flesh grow feverish. 

A hunger deep within begins to grumble and wallow, a greed that wishes to dig past those frivolous fragrances to get to the true taste he craves.

An ugly gluttony pleading to delve into your soft flesh. Ah, he recognizes the cause of this turbulence now…

Neuvillette clears his throat. 

“I believe I’m beginning to feel unwell, so please refrain from venturing into the cellar for the next few weeks. I should quarantine myself.” Too ashamed to turn back and face you. 

“Oh?...” The comb stops.

At this distance, he was well aware of your scent. A fine fragrance no water or bloom could hope to imitate. Concealed under a layer of lavish soaps and oils dropped from the surface was an aroma that was wholly yours and yours alone. 

A gloved hand reaches up to cover his nostrils, seeking some barrier between that tantalizing whiff. 

“Please, excuse me…” He pulls away swiftly. 

The sudden action must’ve jostled his hair too much, for the sultry sensation of your fingertips was felt along azure ‘strands’. 

Just a minor touch against his horns, yet shudders rack up his nape. His teeth sink into the flesh of his bottom lip, sharper than they’re supposed to be, anchoring those ravenous voices at bay momentarily. 

He needs to leave now. For your sake. 

Rushed strides stow a distance between his body and that delectable warmth of yours. His back turned to you as he couldn’t bear to see the expression upon that saccharine face. 

Just what expression were you making as a dragon retreated?  

The cellar of this estate was always cold, its stones never having once touched the sunlight before, thus they only brood in their frigidity. A somberness fitting to quell a heat which yearned to burn. 

The fever has consumed his body wholly, each pant leaving trails of foggy wisps. Neuvillette burrows deeper into the hoard of sheets, pillows, and blankets. The brush of the soft fabrics prickles his skin. 

How strange it is that despite the fever of heat igniting each corner of his flesh, despite the numerous thick covers twisting and burying his bare form, he’s still shivering. 

A chill ingrained so deep it’s in his very bones, skin alight but bones frozen over, just what is this purgatory? 

Annually it happens, a period where primal instincts exude past the rigid confines of a mortal form. Making its influence in the resurgence of draconic features over the mortal flesh that traps him.

No matter how raw his true form claws to be released, the mortal prison doesn’t relent. A curse he’s brought upon himself.

Laceratations of gluttony and cardinal sin sink deeper with each provocation. The creeks of the floorboards above and the sweet voice which leaked through the woods, the morsels of you that stirred the waters of instinct. 

From the depths of the torrent, he’s so desperately suppressing came the unquenchable thirst to lure you in. Beckon you down to this shadowy cellar so that the ugly and primal waters could swallow you wholly. 

But he mustn’t. Those soft touches and smiles had just been bestowed upon him, the twine of trust still delicate. How could he ever squander such privileges? For those lovely eyes of yours to look at him filled with nothing but fear and disgust, he’d rather be chained down here for the rest of eternity. 

He must endure it for a bit longer, he knows it’ll be over soon. The gale which sweeps through him is slowly lessening its blows. 

Even if the waters of primitive instincts howled and stormed, Neuvillette refused to leave this tangle of blankets and pillows. An unwavering grip refusing to submit to those demands. Thus nature had to find its own way to subsist off a drought. 

The heat hazed over his mind, conjuring up fantasies to appease the ever-unsettled water from its vapid reality.

“Neuvillette?” A soft voice calls out.

Just like now. Desire fogs up his senses to create a delusion, mimicking the way your warm voice beckons him. It’s nothing but a figment of his depraved lust. 

“Neuvillette?” 

He buries his ears further into the down covers to block the alluring mirages. Tickling him to submit to the temptation. But he mustn’t. Nothing more than a manifestation of lust. 

 The phantom donning your sweet voice calls out for him, and gentle touches send shivers through his nerves. Ah, he must vanquish this mirage before the fraying line of his self-restraint splinters apart. 

Nothing but smoke and mirrors conjured by desire, a rigid arm expels out from the covers to dissipate the siren’s lure. 

However, it wraps around something warm, a heat which his fever wails for. Intrinsically his shivering body covets that warmth, to be buried flush against the source so that this chill may finally stop its torment. 

So like any greedy dragon, his claws enclose around temptation and drag it into his decrepit cave of blankets and sheets. 

A satisfied purr judders through his stalwart body, a warmth which could finally reach his very bones. Thus, he burrows his face deeper into the shoulder of this phantom, a lovely aroma beckoning him to pull their soft body closer. 

“Neuvillette?…” 

His eyes snap open, realization flooding through him just as the chill that had been ingrained into his bones. This wasn’t an illusion. You weren’t an illusion. 

He tears himself away, just as a moth does once they realize a hypnotic flame had set their wings alight. Trembly arms firmly planted on either side of your body, snowy locks falling onto your face. 

“Are you alright?...” The sapphire luminance of his elongated horns shines across those sinless eyes. 

The strap of a nightgown halfway down your shoulder from when he snatched you beneath his savage form. 

“You… you shouldn’t be here,” he breathes, voice unsteady and taut. 

“You’ve been away for an awfully long time… I-” Your eyes were blown wide and lips pressed together, aghast gaze not daring to glance down at the raging rigidness pressed against the silk of your nightgown. 

Frenzied shivers of pleasure jostles through his veins, tremors racking his body all the way to the tips of his horns. In desperation his rigidnesses pleaded to feel you, throbbing so painfully a hiss leaves his lips.

“You need to leave, quickly please.” Leave before he traps you again.

 Before this pathetic excuse of a sovereign loses against himself, before he makes a fool of himself. Neuvillette tries to pull away, against the weeping wishes of his erections. Face too ashamed to even look at you, but a pair of tender hands guides his cheeks back.

“...But I missed you…” You whisper. 

Why are your hands embracing his face in this unsightly state? Are they not appalled by the patches of scales littered across them? Like a flame reaching out towards a moth. 

“Leave, please.” Don’t tempt him like this. 

“... Don’t you miss me?...” Your hold doesn’t budge.

Why do you look at him like that? Irises filled with warmth as his image is reflected in the flickering candlelight. Gazing wholly up at him. A cerulean glow tinting your hair and supple body. 

“Don’t…” He reasons, the last of his sensibility crying a warning of a sinful fruit. 

“Please, Neuvillette… won’t you hold me for just a bit? I missed you so much….” The shift of your shoulder causes the nightgown to slip further off your shoulder. 

Don’t call out to him like that. No, not as your bewitching body was so close to his. The glow of a candle illuminating the curve of your cheeks, disheveled hair framing your wide eyes. 

Don’t show him such a sight, for he’ll salivate to devour you until his teeth rot.

“Please?...” Coaxing his head down so that his forehead rests against yours. 

Your warmth, your soft touches, and your delectable aroma, they parch his throat so much it pained him. Just as painful as attempting to swallow down sand from a hellish desert, it aches and lacerates his throat. 

And here you were offering a lustrous fruit, so juicy and filled of sin, in front of his famished eyes. A cruel, cruel mercy. 

“... May…May I?” It’s unbearable, this parchedness in his throat, would you be so kind to quench it? 

Your sweet hum grants him permission. Eyes closed just as you turn a blind eye to his ravenousness, still stroking his tender cheeks. Neuvillette couldn’t deny himself any more of the warmth he’s coveted for oh so long. 

Thus, he delves head-first into the glimmer of that enchanting flame. Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, so vulnerable and complacent, to hoard your bewitching fragrance all for himself. His skin flushed against yours as his bones delight in your heat. 

The reigns of self-respect slip out from his hands as they let go in favor of running along your curves and edges. Each feature, your shoulders, and hips, aligns with details he’s long ingrained into his memory.

His fervor touches pushing down the silk fabric which dare disturb his worship. Nevuillette cants his head up momentarily, puffs of smothering breaths clouding the frosty air. 

Lilac eyes drink up how the chilly air made your delectable breast perky, trailing down the goosebumps lining your torso, and landing on your exposed thighs.

A dryness itches in his throat as callused hands bite into the tender skin and he parts those placid legs away. 

Oh, how could one ever take their eyes off that shiny, succulent fruit held out so openly in the hands of the tempter of all tempters?

They reveal to him the oasis he’d been hallucinating these grueling weeks. The tip of a serpentine tongue slips across his parched lips.

Since you so brazenly offered your body up to him, you wouldn’t have any objects against him finally getting a taste, right? 

His foreboding figure traverses downwards until his delirious face is right between the cusp of his salvation and demise.

Dilated pupils peering up at you for approval, an invocation for clemency from this drought. A merciful hand graces his cheeks once more, granting him his salvation and demise. 

His tongue escapes past his parched lips, as lengthy as it was insatiable, it licks a slow and passionate strip up your slit. A taste he once would only recount in the depths of his recollections. 

Does this new body of yours still have the same weaknesses? Will you still writhe in madness if he sucks on that delectable little nub? Or how about those hidden points concealed deep within?

Could this tongue of his bring you past the brink of insanity in this life as well?

There was only one way for Neuvillette to grasp the answers he sought. A long tongue slips past the entrance of your satin walls, welcomed with a lewd squelch. 

Grip parting your legs from his path further. Those quivering calls of ‘Neuvillette’and the pawing of your small hands against his head beckon him deeper. 

Ah, redemption, it’s far too late for him now. For Nevillette has taken a bite out from that forbidden fruit, the evidence of it was dripping down his chin. 

Ah, these slick velvety walls, he missed them. They clamp down with such ferocity along this beastly tongue, extensive enough to reach the deepest cavern of you.

A divine nectar begins to pool, Neuvillette retracts his tongue just enough for the heavenly taste to slide down his throat. Your sweet musk sends his olfactory system into chaos, rampant tongue returning to ravish you.

Not one drop of restraint left within him. It’s beastly how he’s devouring you. His tongue craves more of the delicacy he’s denied himself these past years, a thirst no water could quench. Wet muscles sliding up the whole length of your slit in a meticulous long lap, his nose bumping into your clit. 

Your mewls and sobs echo off the walls when he flicks his tongue over that sensitive nub. Your body jolts violently as the length of his tongue ventures into the honeypot, toes curling in the air, but his iron-clad grip doesn’t allow any room for escape.

Delicate fingers now entangled into his tussled locks, grasping onto illuminated horns. You were likely trying to find something to ground your dissipating sanity, how unfortunate that your actions only flamed the fires. 

A guttural growl echoed. Tongue now plunging further, slithering back and forth along your walls. For being such a sweet sacrifice for him, he’ll give a reward. Slithering tongue making sure to drag against that spot he’s memorized.

Judging from how your feet were arching off the sheets, it seems this sinful detail of yours was repeated as well. 

Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls, your body twitching and flailing in reaction.

Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations. Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.

He could feel your muscles begin to seize up, slick walls clamping harder on his writhing tongue. Was this foreign sensation too much for you already?

His long tongue explores every last crevice, tastebuds lapping against those weak spots deep within as his nose bumps and grinds against that lewd clit. This unsightly side of you. 

There’s more fervor in the lashes of his tongue, slurping up the nectar trickling out your greed, mixing with his spit dripping down his chin.

Your legs trashing but unable to go anywhere in his unrelenting hold, only able to pull on his silky locks for dear life as sobs tumble out. A flood of arousal adds to the mess on his chin. One he gladly laps up. 

Oh’s and ah’s were the only choked sounds your lips could make as your eyes rolled to the back of your scrambled mind.

Neuvillette still relishing in the elixir he’s denied himself for too long, not even the purest water could compare. Reveling in the taste until every last drip ran down his parched throat. 

Pulling away, a trail connects his lips with your quivering folds.  Callous hands dig further into your legs, making room for his body. Watching as the movements of your chest slowed, his brute figure engulfed your frame.

The ache was unbearable now, each impatient throb reprimanding him for delaying their greed. Neuvillette couldn’t deny their request any longer.

Back sitting up straight, his cocks thrumming against his abdomen, precum exuding out from their swollen heads.  

The cool air did little to calm the throbs of his fervors, the girthy shaft standing tall as its engorged tip weeped precum, its twin weeping just the same.

They hover over the softness of your belly, sharp pupils trail up the shadow they cast, heralding to where they crave to be buried. 

The heat of his body was suffocating, the burn in his throat greater than ever before. But why? He had drank from that forbidden oasis, it’s dripping down his chin, yet why has his thirst grown greater than before? 

Neuvillette was so… so close. If he had only endured it for another day or two, the gale within him would’ve relented and retreated away in defeat. But oh how viciously it’s gloating in its victory. Getting a dragon to bow his head to its cardinal blows. 

“Do you… feel better now, Neuvillette?” Slow pants leave your curled lips as your hands reach up to caress his taut face. 

This brazenness, this shamelessness, this insolence. Ah, these characteristics have followed you through the grave and into this life as well. You weren’t skilled enough this time around to hide your desire glazed across your pupils. 

Did you do this in hopes of making him indebted to you? Offer your sweet body in return for stealing his name from his locked lips? Was this why you traversed down to this dark cellar so late in such flimsy silks?

That gleam in those deceptive eyes, the audacity to believe you could tame the sea with just a flick of your finger. You devious temptress. 

“Better?… you’ve only fanned the flames, you devious woman.” A snarl from the depths of him. 

Before another word could leave your lips one torrid hand pins your wrist to the sheets. Nails much too sharp to be human dig into those fickle and troublesome fabrics hiding your skin from his touch.

An all too satisfying rip resounding through the air along with your yelp. Scraps join the tangle of sheets. 

Did his mortal prison deceive you too much? Did his mild mannerisms trick you into believing that he’s a merciful soul? Or did you always ignore the warnings?

A monster with a human face is still a monster. To believe that one’s patience is endless, only a human could be this impertinent.

His other vascular hand slides down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs hook behind his firm thighs. The ridges of his lower cock drag against your slick folds, wetting his girth from its leaking tip sliding down against your swollen clit. 

Precum mixes with the concoction as the glossiness spreads about his length. A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Neuvillette positions his engorged tip at your dripping entrance.

The sensation must’ve cleared the daze from your mind, your head cants downwards to stare at the two oddities. 

“A-are both of them going to…” Your grip tightens on the sheets, a subconscious search for comfort. 

Ah, now you remember danger. Now you realize your insolence to believe that a mere human could ever tame a proud dragon. 

“There won’t be any point in breaking you so quickly,” he snarls. Not missing the flutter of your hole as the weeping head dragged over it. It wouldn’t be good to break you so quickly. His sweet little sacrifice. 

Taking the erection which hung lower, he rubs its flushed tip along your slit. Each flinch and tremble sparked gratification through his veins.

The lashes of his tongue had aided in the preparation of these sinful walls, but the girth of his beastly tongue could not compare to the thickness pressed against these leaking folds.

The ghost of his breath flutters over your prickling skin. Neuvillette takes deeper breaths as the weight pressed against your core grew, the bulbous tip inching past the puckering entrance.

The stretch was maddening despite the restrained pace. Your walls fluctuate in a surging dance between clamping down and trying to remain relaxed.

As Neuvillette sinks his girth in bit by bit, its envious twin slithers against your aching clit. The sensitive bundle of nerves drags against each ridge and vein, sending jolts of searing pleasure through him and causing your satin walls to flutter. 

A velvety sack kisses against your slick folds, signaling that his length has reached its end. The fat tip of its twin resting just above your naval indicated just how deeply he was buried, trapped between your soft flesh and his sculpted body.

It’s crowded inside you, girth parting and stretching these satin walls while the length is pressed against the deepest most intimate part of you.

Forcing delectable little whimpers and gasps from your haughty lips. Quivering legs now locking ankles behind his back, like a pitiable attempt to hamper him. 

That arrogance disgraced to nothing but obscenity upon a wanton face. To see the devil so helpless and lewd under the manipulation of a dragon. What a wonderful sight. 

Surely your body remembers his. If not, then he’ll ensure it does now, he’ll engrain it into you for the next life. 

One cock slid against the satin ridges of your walls, the other indulging along your searing skin and grinding against your clit. He can’t deny how addictive your body always has been. 

Dragging as far back as your locked legs would allow him, the flushed head of one dick kisses your twitching clit, and he sinks back in.

Grunts and purrs reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open. 

His pace is methodical and controlled to his liking. Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge.

Each time making your core empty and yearning to clench around his girth. Just as a whine would leave your drooling lips, his hips would return to you what your core longed for. 

Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. Back and forth, back and forth the resounding slaps echoed. Mingling with his low groans and your pitched gasps, creating a sacrilegious yet divine hymn.

Your hand rakes deeper into his toned back possessed by desperation.

A few snowy strands are trapped between your writhing fingers. Pulling him closer to your smoldering skin, causing your clit to grind intensely against his swollen cock, as its twin twitches within your velvety folds.

Those babbles falling from your fed lips, were they pleas for him to bestow upon you leniency or begging him to speed up? 

“Do you wish to climax?” A polite façade purrs into your ear. 

Lilac eyes were not ignorant to how a devil keens under his body, her gaze drunk off a feverish potion of lust and desire. He could feel it, these velvet walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming ache within you. 

“That’s too bad.”

 His hips remain steady contrasting against the unevenness of your own pants, unaffected by your desperate mewls. You’ve been selfish enough, you’ve been greedy enough. If he were to grant you a taste of ecstasy, then it’ll be on his terms. 

He hasn’t gotten his fill yet, no, he wants to pound his shape forever into these lewd walls. The way they contract and squeeze around his girth with each drive of his hips, they’re practically begging him to.

Thus, he accelerates just a bit more, then a bit more, then a bit more again. Nearly folding you with how flushed he was against you. 

The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into a spark. One which set the both of you ablaze. Your nails digging into his skin and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent prattles resound through the room.

Your devious walls clamped around his length with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling to guide his throbbing head to your deepest greed. It was too much.

Neuvillette was powerless as his body pressed yours deeper into the damp sheets, trying to grasp onto any fleeting wisps of control as euphoria overtook him. 

Sinking his ravenous teeth into the tangle of the sheets beside your neck, he stifles the admission of his defeat. 

A heftiness is spilled within your walls and paints the expanse of your skin in an all-consuming wave. Thick release coating every corner of your core, to finally quell that ravaging heat.

Each subsequent twitch pours more into your crowded cavity and stains your skin. The filthiness of it all seemingly prolongs your sinful depravity. 

Chest expanding with pants, pressing your erected nipples against his taut chest. Neuvillette remains buried against you, brutish arms holding your body flush against his.

As if to anchor you, to not allow the turbulent waves of madness to sweep you far from him, or him from you. Keeping your quiver body safe against his. 

In the darkness behind his shut lashes, he felt it. Your soft caresses his silky tresses and heaving body. Even as your body heaves and quivers in exhaustion, why must you touch him so tenderly?

Why must you be so cruel? If your hands keep caressing his clammy skin, stroking his peeking scales, he’ll misunderstand.

He’ll believe the delusion that you love him.

Him and not the swaying flower fields of the sunkissed surface. 

Whispers cut through the haze of lust and passion, warnings crying for Neuvillette to escape. So he pulls his face from the tangle of sheets, lungs huffing as his eyes find yours.

Exhaustion muddles the hues of your gaze, but not enough to completely smother that glimmer still present. Ah, he knows that that glimmer was. 

Even in his heat-induced daze, he’s not naive enough to believe the sincerity presented in your eyes was anything other than duty.

He doesn’t want to be reminded that those hands, which cup his face with such tenderness, are bound by a sense of duty.

A reminder that he’s merely just a stepping stone on the path of your true desire.

He doesn’t want to see it. 

The head of his cock parting with a deafening squelch. A darkened gaze follows the pool forming between your splayed legs. Disgruntlement muddles lilac hues. 

But such discontent couldn’t last long when the twitch of a neglected length protests. Its bulbous tip longed for its turn within those sticky walls. A primal ordinance he couldn’t resist.

What to call this sensation, to scorn yet desire you just as much. 

It wasn’t long before your hips were maneuvered up, your plush ass now up in the air as your quivering arms and face pressed into the sullied sheets.

As one hand supports your unsteady hips. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your cunt, glistening with temptation and dripping with sin. 

Hooked fingers slides up the weeping slit, collecting the sacrilegious mixture. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Spreading them in front of his gaze, tracing over the stringy nectar stretched between them. 

How strange, those lying lips of yours whimper for ‘rest’ and a ‘moment to catch your breath’. Yet your body is still so eagerly exposing itself to his eyes, agape cunt so eagerly twitching and slick. 

You don’t even try to writhe yourself away from his hold, not even a single attempt to hide yourself from his hunger.

How skilled you are at fanning the flames, perhaps it's a talent inherent to devils like you. The tempter of all tempters. 

You’ve always been like this since the very first rendition. 

If only you weren’t so strong-willed. If only you weren’t so clever to trick him. If only you weren’t so enchanting. 

Then he wouldn’t have bent to your whims, the sea would’ve cleansed out the mortal filth from stolen land. Then he wouldn’t be trapped in this disgrace of a body. Then he wouldn’t be in love with you.

The betrayal, the disgrace, and this punishment would’ve never happened if only a fool didn’t surrender everything for a mere, fleeting creature.

Why must you make him repeat the same mistake again?

There it was again, that surging torrent within him making its voice known in the echoes of his mind. Whispering the hint on how a dragon would defeat the flame that had scorched him those years ago.

Smother the flame with the tides of depravity and vulgarity. Taint your arrogance with shame. 

There wasn’t an ounce of gentleness remaining within his eyes, a beastly hunger taking its place.

Yes, you must pay the debt of reducing him to such a humiliating state.

His neglected cock prods against that greedy cunt of yours. Unmerciful hands bruising the plushness of your hips. 

The sinful concoction from the previous sessions allowed his tormented length into your walls without resistance.

The neglected cock finally indulging in the spasms of your abused walls, it’s its turn to bully those weak spots with its thick head. 

Sobs sung in broken chokes leave your drooling lips. Trembling fingers enmeshed into the fabric as if to find some ground for your senses to land after their fall from euphoria.

He won’t allow you reprieve. No, not even for a moment. He’ll shatter your sanity and arrogance once and for all. 

Nothing interrupted the pistoning of his hips as he fucked you through overstimulation, heavy balls slamming against your swollen lips.

The previous twin cock was now experiencing the hard nub of your engorged clit running along its veins and ridges. 

There’s no room for an exchange of words. No, the two of you have long been pasted that point.

No sandy ground beneath as the two of you sank under the ravenous tides of primal instincts and pleasure.

Cacophonous growls, whimpers, and sobs filling the absence along with the thwacks of skin against skin echoed back from the cellar walls. 

You keen under the ram of his hips, jostled head writhing against the soiled sheets. The motion allows your hair to fall over your shoulders.

Exposing an untainted patch of skin. Sharp pupils watching how beads of sweat trailing down your nape reflect the azure glow of his body. 

An itch assailing his fangs even has his hips continue their barrage against your soft ass. Those lovely vulgar moans wane out from his hearing as his senses could only obsess over the untarnished expanse. 

Ah, what if there’s a way for him to pin you here until the stars themselves burn out? You were given to him as his bride.

An offering made to him.

So why can’t he forever confine you within his clutches? Just as you were the original sin which damned him to this cove.

Long tongue dragging along the fresh skin, feeling the jolts of your body. 

He’s done it once before, he’s cursed you before. Imprinting a curse upon your very soul, one which followed you through the hands of death and even when the hands of life reformed your body from the earth.

Why not renew it? 

Neuvillette pins your upper body further into the tangled bedding, one hand abandoning your hips in favor of raveling in the mess of fabric.

Your heated skin felt against his exhilarated fangs, hungry to sink into your nape. 

‘Till death do us part’, that’s not enough.

Such fleeting mortal oaths are much too meek for dragons.

No, those atrocious murmurs in his thoughts command him to curse you in the next life. And the next one, and the one after that as well. 

It’s not like your muddled head would understand, nothing but mindless prattles and mewls from the suffocating pleasure only he could ever give you.

But that’s fine, just drown nicely in lust and desire. He’ll always be waiting there at the bottom to drag you down deeper. 

Just as the tips of his pointed teeth broke through quivering skin, delicate fingers grasp upon a burly hand.

Intertwining their grasp together upon rumpled linen, a subconscious search for comfort.

An action that remits an iota of reason back to his foggy mind, hazy eyes moving toward the sight of your hand clutched around his. 

Even as he’s ravishing your weeping walls, flooding your body with his filthy essence which trickles down your thighs and ass, and chasing his own carnal needs… you still reach for him.

Shamelessly pulling his touch closer, even when the throes of rapture banished all thought from your jostled mind. 

A whisper resurfaces amidst the fog and clamor of instinct and rage.

However, it’s a whisper which made his incisors dare not budge another inch. The inkling of truth which he thought he had silenced within the depths of his heart. 

The accuracy that this wasn’t love. No, what his instincts craved was not love, it was obsession. 

For love was not this sadistic possession, not to curse you just to ease his own damnation.

No, love is supposed to be much like the warmth of your palm flushed against his knuckles. 

He remembers now, the lesson you taught him all those years ago. A demonstration witnessed with his own eyes.

Love was sacrifice, just as how you offered yourself to the tides, quelling the rage of a vengeful dragon. Because you loved your village too much to allow them to drown. 

Retreating away from the transgression almost committed, fangs repressed behind closed lips. Neuvillette presses a sweet kiss against the shallow wound.

 To love you isn’t to steal you away from the embrace of the star who’s forsaken him. It’s to hoist you up to that beloved sunlight. Just where you belonged. 

Oh, how could he not love you?

The bride offered to a dragon in a white dress who once dared to command the great beast to stand still as she braided flowers into his hair.

A brazenness contrasted with the gentleness of her smile. 

The voices of heart and cruelty rang out in vociferous battle in his mind, Neuvillette buries his face into your shoulder. Pursuing the savor of your skin, pinning you deeper into the tangle of bedding.

Providing more simulation for the pulsing cock wedged against your swollen clit and messy sheets. The neediness of his movements exposed just how close his undoing was. 

The hand on your abdomen pulled you impossibly close, adding pressure to the bulging outline of his cock.

Amplifying the ecstasy coursing through your veins, abused walls clamping down on each ridge and each vein of his heft girth. The shape engrained into your wanton core, marvelous sobs and mewls echoing off the empty walls. 

Soon those moans become shattered in your throat, eyes rolling back further with each heavy thrust and slap of his balls. Lungs cease all function as rapture unravels you wholly and exhilaration becomes your undoing. 

Sloppy contractions mix the repercussions of multitudinous ruination, dripping out your convulsing cunt. Just before a hot surge replenishes the brood that oozed out on the sullied sheets.

Grunts vibrate against your back reminding your body to breathe. 

Thick ropes paint your belly and sheets, making an absolute mess. Contracting walls trying but failing to contain the aftershocks from his cock buried deep within, already stretched to their limits, capacity long exceeded. Shudders rack your body and his the same. 

With hands still entangled, he coaxes your body around. Granting him a mesmerizing view of your debauched face.

The face he’s so enamored with that he bows his down closer, bodies still connected as he wishes to echt every last detail of you into his being. So that eternity may remember you. 

Softness resurfaces in his bones, a tender kiss pressed upon your fingers. Soothing those tremors as he guides your consciousness back to reality. 

He holds you, remaining inside as to contain his greed spilled deep inside. The heftiness of his cock prods against your shuddering walls. Every last fiber of your being overstimulated with pulsing pleasure. 

Yet, your hand refused to let go. Still holding him toward your exhausted figure in the dying light of the candle.

Whimpers and coos exchanging in a duet of devotion, a hymn so placate it quells the vapid torrents ever so slightly.

Placid fingers drawing circles into your sore back. A gentle lilac gaze keeping watch as your teary eyes retire behind heavy lashes. 

Blood and water no matter how much they’re mixed, won’t produce wine.

However, just for tonight in a realm heavy with lust, passion, and phantasm, they’ll craft a wine of delusion. One filled with nothing but wishful fantasy. 

This wine of delusion shall be enough to quench the thirst of lascivious compulsions and vengeance. 

The gentle caresses of steam ghost past your leaden lashes, lukewarm ripples lap against your skin. Your sore body propped up against the porcelain, as Neuvillette drags a dampened towel along your skin. 

A pang of guilt stung him each time the cloth passed over a discolored imprint. No amount of diligent rubs would purify your skin of those bruises in the shape of his fingers. 

A stir from muscle gradually awakening from slumber reflected in the wavelets of the bath. The sensation of a damp towel must’ve further jolted your senses back to alertness. 

A cerulean glow glistens off the polished surface as your vision finally centers on the figure rising warm water over your limp body.

Attentive eyes immediately connect with yours as he scans your expression for discomfort. 

“Are you hurting anywhere?” Neuvillette halts the towel. 

You respond with a slow shake, your throat must be too sore to answer. Despite how he tries to conceal them behind a robe, blotches of azure painted along his fair skin.

Proof that draconic influence was still in rebellion of his body. All the while he’s very much aware of your eye’s every move. What an appalling sight it must be for you. 

“If I make you uncomfortable I’ll leave promptly, this was just the only solution I could find to bathe-”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Voice hoarse as your frame melts closer to his, delicate fingers intertwining with between the spaces of his own scaly fingers.

Allowing your breaths to minge in tandem in the steam-damped tiles of the tranquil bathroom. 

“Does it hurt?” A warm thumb traces soft circles along the rough scales along his hand. 

Did you catch the subtle twitches and jolts of his muscles? A mortal body rejecting draconic influences, draconic influences revolting against a mortal cage. Still, he shakes his head. Lilac gaze watching your eyes trail between the scales and his eyes with skepticism. 

“I’m not quite sure as to why I’m still in this… state.” Neuvillette gives a preemptive answer to the question he assumes to be hanging off your tongue. 

“Do you… miss the sea?” However, it seems you had another inquiry hidden in your ever perplexing mind. 

A deep sigh resonates through the tranquil air. He stares at the tips of his fingers dipped into the warm water, a taunting substitute for the sea that called for him. 

“I suppose it’s natural that I yearn for it…”

A hum was your only response, eyes hidden behind closed lashes. Neuvillette just couldn’t decipher that smile of yours, curled lips reflected over the rippling surface of the steaming water. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Your body is still delicate, please let us return back to the estate-”

“I might actually grow roots into that bed if I’m to rest there any longer.” A pout was evident in your voice. 

Taking a few greater strides, your body pulls in front of Neuvillette’s pace. It was only momentary of course, for he swiftly rejoins your side.

Observant eyes not missing the subtle wobble in your steps along the pastures of the village.

“Please just don’t stray too far.” He relents, offering up his arm for support. 

With a gracious smile, your arm curls around his, interlocking your fingers with his as two pairs of steps ambled along the grass.

Soon a familiar pool of water came into view, enticing two pairs of eyes with its glimmering ripples.

What it strange sight those waters showed, a cursed dragon who yearned for his place and a cursed mortal who longed for the sun, two cursed beings holding hands in the reflection along the pristine surface. 

“I believe this is far enough. ” His arm pulls your frame closer, a subtle hesitance tainting his tone. 

However, your body didn’t budge. Resolute stance not moving even one bit watching your reflection warp and contort in the water. A deep breath echoes off the wall. 

“Neuvillette… do you miss the sea?” Your stare parts with the water, now peering straight into his lilac hues. 

‘Do you miss the sea?’ You’ve asked him this question many times. He's always given a composite response, but maybe his flowery words diluted the meaning too much to your ears. 

“Yes, I do miss the sea.” His candid yearning. 

There was a question his lips didn’t dare ask, ‘Do you miss the sun?’, Neuvillette wanted to riposte your questions with this question of his.

But he knew it would be pointless, for he already knew the answer. Wordlessly written all over your melancholic stare into the pond, the longing to return to the sun, to be with blood and not water. 

To love you, would be to hoist you up to where you longed to be, in the embrace of the warm sun. Neuvillette had thought he made up his resolve long ago.

However, would it be too selfish of him to wish to turn back?

To convince you to back into the tranquil estate where the Melusines await your return with those dishes you taught them how to cook.

Or maybe would at least try on those gowns still untouched? Could you wait until all those books in the library were read through by your sweet voice?

Would you be oh so kind enough to hold his hand just for a moment longer? At the very least, would you allow him to memorize your warmth? 

His grip on your hands tightens ever so briefly, a shaky breath trembles in his chest before he releases it along with the tension in his fingers.

No, it wouldn’t be fair to stall any longer, you deserve your happy ending. 

Calmly, the dragon bows his head closer to yours. Ignoring the aggrieved voices that cried for him to swallow back to secret just about to spill from his tongue.

The ending of this tale won’t ever change, for a dragon is just as foolish as he was before. 

“My true name is-!” His voice was stunned as a pair of soft lips silenced him. 

Your lips pressed against his own, forcing back the secret. His bewildered eyes hone in upon your face, but your lashes were shut as your hands pull his face closer. The resolve wanes from his bones as he sinks into your embrace. 

As your lips pull away, gasping for breath. He places his hands atop yours, searching your face for an answer. All he got was that indecipherable smile. 

Pulling his face down closer to yours again, your lips find themselves right next to his pointed ears. Under a faint breath which left your parted lips came the secret he kept locked away.

Since when? When did you find his name? Or… did you know this whole time? 

Neuvillette reels back in the embrace of your cruel hands. Lilac eyes stare deep into yours, peering through the cracks in that enchanting façade of yours. 

Ah, this whole time, did he not discover the false innocence in the irises of the deceptor of all deceptors? 

A foolish moth fell for the deception of a devil once again, flying to the flicker of a candle until his wings were charred off into ash.

Those sentences written upon parchment weren’t lies, all other monsters fall secondary to the devil. Even a dragon. 

“Why?” Was all he could muster, oh cruel devil why did you play him a fool once more?

“Because I wanted to see you again… but I knew you wouldn’t quite share the same sentiment since the moment I heard your voice… so I lied,” Those audacious eyes of yours never looked away. 

Ah, how could he forget how crafty and observant a devil is with her schemes? The charming enchantment as she performs her deceptions. Speaking shameless lies with those bewitching lips.

“If you wanted to see me… then that day at the loch… why weren’t you there?” The stir of the torrent within put a snarl into his throat.

Why must you keep lying to him? 

Ah, from the start, Neuvillette should’ve listened to the clamorous cries of his instincts. To withdraw away from the flame, to extinguish the hell fires before they left another lesson learned upon his skin.

Yet, he’s still within the embrace of your cruel hands. His body just wouldn’t pull away. 

Just what is this level of stupidity called? For a moth to still crave the warmth of the flame which charred its wings into ash. Just what is this lunacy called? 

“The nobles locked me away after those tyrants stole your name from my tongue, they locked me away.” Torment brewing in those irises which reflected him. 

A chill staggers the surge of the torrent, an icy sting which stupefied the rampaging currents.

For generations upon generations of scribes and poets never penned this detail down in any rendition of a classically beloved tale. 

“I begged them, I banged against the bars of the cell, even clawed at the stone walls until my fingers were raw, but they left me there to rot in the cold… I just wanted to see you one last time, just once more.” Those bitter pools formed in your penitent eyes spill over. 

This wasn’t how the tale was supposed to end. The maiden, who deceived a dragon for her people, was supposed to be hailed a hero. You were supposed to have a happy ending, so why didn't you get that? 

“All I ever wanted was for you and me to walk amongst humanity… look where that got us…” Tears descend from your cheeks and onto the grass below, a humorless chuckle. 

Was this another lie falling from those saccharine lips of yours? Sugar dusted on the shell of a vile trick? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore. 

“That foolish wish of mine… it must’ve been so painful. I’m so sorry.” Your thumb traces over the scales dotted over his cheek, evidence of a draconic rebellion against a mortal condemnation. 

Does your touch scorn or soothe him? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll say sorry one thousand times if you wish.” A tremor in your voice.

The surge within him couldn’t sustain itself, faltering and receding back to a placid, pathetic ripple. Perhaps… It's tired.

Tired of holding onto this futile grudge. Not when the bitter answers its tides were ravenous for had finally sunk in. 

He takes a deep breath, collecting his resolve. 

“...what… what do you wish for?” Just how will this rendition end? Neuvillette doesn’t know. 

But he knows his hands should hold onto yours, desperately etching the details of your tender touch into its memory. Rations to sustain him for the rest of a solitary eternity. 

He hears your slow inhale, preparing your throat to speak your selfish desires. 

“I wish for your curses to become mine alone to bear.” You reveal your selfish wish, pressing the voucher of freedom into his hands. 

He had that look on his face again. Disbelief stupefied each muscle of his dashing face, wide eyes peering into yours trying to find the hint of a jest. Your gaze doesn’t waiver as your finger tightens around his. 

“Grant me my wish… please.” Lips stretching with a reassuring smile.

His lips press into a thin line, face returning to its place between your warm hands, he takes a deep breath. Perhaps it’s just his sense of responsibility and fairness that compelled him to fulfill this wish. 

Or maybe, the dragon just couldn’t help but submit to the whims of his beloved, a statement that remained no matter what rendition of the tale it was.  

Releasing the breath he held, the shift in the air was palpable, a lightness in his chest. The pond off to the side billows momentarily, drawing focus toward its excited ripples.

Releasing his hold, feet leading him to the side of the saltwater before his mind could process his own actions. 

He could hear it again, the hymns of the water singing the end of his exile. Reaching out a hand, it sinks past the cool surface, the tides welcoming back their prince with mellow kisses. 

The ocean calls for him, so why is he still staring back at you? The one who’ll never embrace the sea again for the rest of her life, nor ever feel the sway of Summer days in a field full of Pluie Lotus. His eyes conveyed a question his lips couldn’t bear to ask. Thus, you give the answer he seeks. 

 “Think of it as my reparations to you, an overdue apology for my mistake, for making you to suffer so much.” That glimmer in your eyes, one he understands now. 

Moving the hex to a body whose true master was the mistress of time, a body blessed with mortality. If a miracle isn’t enough to make a curse break, then perhaps the tides of time could. 

Taking a piece of the curse with each tick of a clock, just like how the waves take with it grains of sand from warm beaches. 

Once a withered mortal body is called back to the earth, the clauses will be fulfilled after many centuries. Unsettled grudges eroded away like those sandy banks. 

Until the pull of the ground makes its visible influence on your skin. Until your locks come to resemble the snowy shade you’ve lovingly run your fingers through. Until the sweet earth hums for you to embrace it once more, you shall remain here. 

What a clever scheme it all is, a masterful plan which could only ever be conjured by you. You devil, oh so devious, devil. 

“You can hate me, I won't hold it against you,” you whisper. “May this tale end in your happiness, let me do this much for you.”

A bitter bile festers at those lies of yours. How could such lies fall from your lips so easily when they always left such a vile taste upon his tongue?

Gaze honed in upon your frame, watching the gentle smile hold back the slight quiver of your shoulders. He stands back up, slow strides returning him to your side. Taking your hands into his larger ones, placing your soft touch back along his cheeks. 

“Silence… I won’t hear such deceit.” Snowy locks brushing against your fingertips.

“But I wasn’t lying…” Confusion furrows your brow, but your hands remain cupping his face.

Moving away, he studies the rivulets of regret and anguish that leave bitter trails down your cheeks. He swallows back the objections clawing up his throat, such vile words don’t belong on your tongue. 

“How could I hate you?” he confesses. 

Neuvillette has finally come to a realization. All those renditions, all those differing retellings of a classic tale. He had read them all wrong, basis clouding his interpretation. 

For the princess did love her dragon. Just as he loved her, all this time. 

Together in the depths of a cave away from the prying eyes of the divine. Breaths in time with one another as they stand in the embrace of one another, until the dragon bows his head back down.

Touching his forehead to hers, so that maybe Neuvillette could get a glimpse into that ever mystical mind of yours. 

“How can I ever hate what I’ve coveted for so long?” He asks. 

That ever-stirring torrent, that spiteful surge, where did it go? Those clamorous voices with their vengeful snarls and cynical bellows, why weren’t they intrepid enough to direct those foul words toward you? 

Not you, never you. How could they ever hate you, the heroine of a Fontainian fairytale they’ve pitifully yearned for so long? 

“Am… am I loved then?” Your lashes were squeezed shut as if death was rapping upon them. Too cowardly to face the verdict. 

“Yes… yes, you devious devil…” Neuvillette couldn’t help but chuckle at such an endearing sight.

He feels your fingers tense around his skin, astonishment in the features of your face. It soon melts away into those welling pools as a smile pushes against the corners of your eyes. 

Pressing your forehead to his, a warm droplet rolls down your cheek and over the curve of your lips. He simply rests his head against yours.

Only now in the last sentence of this retelling of a tale which has been twisted, distorted, and embellished away from the initial narrative did an unwritten truth emerge. 

A clever maiden was just as foolish as a proud dragon. The weight of their foolishness was so great it dragged them beneath the waves and kept them in a cove deep away from the prying eyes of gods. 

However, if this idiotic dragon could intertwine his fingers with yours. If he could be by your side until the hands of time call you back to the earth in this final rendition. 

If he could be the happy ending you deserved, then he wouldn’t mind in the slightest. 

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[iplayghoul]

let the light in

xx: cowboys! eren & onyankopon x reader . .

9.9k words — life on a ranch, porn with plot, tension, feelings, eventual sex, fucking in.. mud & rain, reader is referred to as 'she', 'girlie' etc, use of 'daddy', lots of spit & being dirty, reader is a country bumpkin, light arguing, thumb in ass, pussy spanking, spitroasting, cunnilingus, crying, some squirting & creaming, lots of shortened words & punctuation (country dialect duhh), not proof read sorry, awkward moments.

notes: been writin dis since december 2023... enjoy u guys :] rbgs appreciated

“hiya mrs. brown!”

worn out boots of marble cake pink and brown swirls, graze the dirtied gravel near the elderly woman's cottage as you slip from the horse. mary-lou, you affectionately call her, dusting her pinked moist nose with a pat before hobbling onto the stone path. over the horizon, the pastel orange and yellows of the sun threaten to melt into your skin, kissing it golden as the morning begins and so do your deliveries. 

golden-blonde, french curl braids woven into your roots fall past your lower back ending in thick, loose curls, some held together by bows and others hair clips. they bounced with every step. mrs. brown was the first on your list of deliveries today. on cool mornings like this when spring teases its approach, you often bake little treats for the other villagers. apple tarts, blueberry jellies, cherry pies with freshly picked fruits, warm buttery honey-milk breads and healthy breakfast muffins: all made with ingredients grown at home! but, we'll explore the garden later.

calling this a village was a bit of a stretch, realistically, a happy delusion at most. acres of farm property was shared by each of the residents whose homes were nearby, despite the farm areas creating distances of land behind them. tok, tok, tok! the haste below mary-lou's hooves pulled you back to your task as you rearranged the goodies and stepped onto the wooden plank. mrs. brown sat atop her rocking chair, crocheting a blanket you'd commissioned. a chuckle, “ [  ] , dearest, always in y’head, aren't yuh?” mrs. brown softly muttered, deep brown skin crumpled besides her lips, short pastel curls tickling her ears. hands busied with the neapolitan coloured yarn. her countryside twang was a pleasant aerated tone, reminding you of your own parents. 

you huff and offer a smile. “mrs. brown I've—”, “must I remind you, dearest, eleonora,” the playfulness in her voice offers it a quiver. “and let me guess . . . cherry pie?” thin, quivering lips stretch to a smile, your plump ones mimic hers as you nod with a sweetened expression. “yes, eleonora, I know how much y’love cherry pies n’–”, “and my grandson does too, y'know!” you stop to stare at her as she wears nothing but a smug look on her face, her head bobbing side to side with a ‘you know damn well’ manner. 

eleonora lived mostly alone. when her daughter married, giving her a sole grandson they'd moved to the city. luckily for her, and you, her grandson moved back on his own to the country. he fixed cars, motorcycles, tractors– you name it, he's got it covered. she said his name was onyankopon or, ony’. to be honest, you spied around one time to catch a glimpse of him. back when you first moved in and eleonora became immediately smitten with the idea of you and her grandson as potential lovers, you snuck around where ony's ranch was, peaking at who the man could be. you barely saw him really, the small flash of him you saw all greasy with engine oil was so far away! but infatuation always grew in you from a small bud, slowly growing before flower petals started spilling out your throat.

“are ya’ stoppin by him too, darlin’?” she pries further, “I ‘dunno els’ . . . y'know I haven't actually met ‘em right?”, “oh I know dear,'' she breathes, “ he's strong, he's tall, he surely is handy ‘round the house and- and he's not ‘onna dem toxic masculine things i hear ‘bout on the Internet! I think he's had a boyfrien’ b'fore, that must count!” she relieves your hands of the heavy treats while speaking, “eleonora . . .”, “c'mon darlin’, you've got t'get married someday, n’ imma’ be the flower gal!” 

all you can do is shake your head and accept the sweet kiss to the cheek she offers you before trotting back to your horse. mary-lou grew rather impatient! settling her brown and white spotted body to the ground awaiting your return. to be completely honest, you craved love. the partying, sex and relationships of college got old and moving here right after left you high and dry with the weight of ‘unlovable’ bearing down on your shoulders. the lack of men your age was . . . a troublesome dilemma but who were you to complain? you hiked yourself back onto mary-lou and continued your journey to the next cottage home. 

looking over the blueberry skies and whipped cream clouds kept you in grandiose delusions of a love so pure and sweet, like powdered sugar that you could indulge in, maybe one day.

♡

“down girl, down!” 

The rough, deep voice shakes the silence near the upcoming ranch. after your deliveries, you'd end up with a few apple-cherry tarts remaining, sometimes the neighbours are vacationing in the city, or insist you keep some! by this time, the sun shone fully now, its warmth tingling your skin. “awe, shucks, man!” another voice caused your brows to furrow, peering up ahead at the ranch . . . the one in which eleonora's grandson resided. from what you could see without the sun in your eyes, two men of tall statures– roughhousing with gorgeous horses. the one in the cowboy's hat was doing a terrible job of trying to calm one of them. their manes were a beautiful silky white, shining healthily under the sun as they lifted their front legs to the air before trotting around the . . . shirtless men again. mother would scold you now if she could see you openly ogling at the two, you push that thought to the back of your mind.

mary-lou slows on your command beside their ranch gate, huffing and happily shaking out her mane as she watches the other horses play. something possesses you to hop off with the remaining tarts, awkwardly shuffling to the fence– your pink-brown boots were worn mismatched to your strapless white lace top and similar mini-skirt. “uh . . . howdy there fellas!” both men turned to your direction, blocking their eyes from the sun and beginning to stroll over.

the closer view made your breath catch in your throat. the one on the left, you assume is el's grandson, his skin was a dark mahogany brown, he glistened slightly with sweat in the sun, deeply defined muscles prelude veins below his belly button then covered by bright blue jeans and black cowboy boots to match his hat.

he had a handsome face. 

thick two-toned lips spread to reveal a bright smile, a few teeth plated with gold caps as he teased the man to his right. this man had dark, black, shining curls that rested atop his shoulders, two eyebrow slits decorated with piercings, matching ones on his . . . pretty lips. his skin was a dusted tan, sunkissed tone and he wore black jeans atop his brown boots. You couldn't miss the tattoos that crept up the side of his abdominals, you were curious.

“how c'n we help ya’, miss?” the left spoke up and your cheeks felt hot, it's been a while since you heard that pet name, you chalked it up to the blazing sun. “well, uh, you're eleonora's grandson, right?” you nibble on your nails nervously, he nods, “I just . . . thought it’d be nice to give y'all these extra treats i baked.” pushing the basket in their direction and allowing the dark haired one to peep under the cloth, he had a mischievous look to him and he elbowed the other in the ribs with a slick smile, “wass ya’ name, pretty? ‘m eren, dis is ony’,” he pointed between them, “ n’ y’made these y’self, ma’?” eren pulls out a tart, staring down at you through long eyelashes, “oh! uh I‘m [  ], n’ yes! I did n' I grew all'em fruits m'self too!” you bounce on the heels of your boots, nervously.

ony’ stays mostly quiet you've noticed, taking in your outfit as well, his eyes raking over you. eren warmly feeds him a bite of the tart as their horses trot over to mingle with mary-lou. “how long ya’ been livin’ ‘round here, sugar?” ony’ speaks up soft and mellow, grabbing himself his own tart to taste. eren reaches out to pet mary-lou. “i guess it’s been a about a year now! y’see i moved out ‘round here after college.” you nibbled your shiney bottom lip, “what ‘bout y’all? your grandma talks ‘bout you all the time, but, i ain’t really seen you round here?” you turn to eren who makes a kissy face at mary-lou before turning to you. “i mostly tend to the farm ma’, as y’can tell, ‘m better with the animals than ony’ here.” he flashes you a smile and props his arms against the fence biting his lip and lowering closer to your eye level. ony’ playfully smacks his arm, flashing a gorgeous smile with his gold teeth sparkling in the sun, “shut up, man.”

you look away quickly, catching yourself staring at his lips, he certainly doesn't miss it. you totally push the basket towards eren’s arms, “y’c’n have the basket y’know i always weave more, i’ve gotta get goin, now,” you rush, “wait– take m’ number, pretty,” eren offers before reciting it a couple times so you’ve got it down. “n’ which onna’ these ranches ‘s yours, mama?”, you're mounting mary-lou once more, “it's not too far! it's the ranch with the blue fence n’ the pond out front!” 

♡

the days after that remained uneventful, with no deliveries of any kind, you preferred to remain on the ranch tending to the animals and house work. you'd never texted eren, only saved his number and stalked his contact profile . . . and opened his chat section many-a-times without saying anything. taking a liking to someone new is hard. you don't forget the many times a partner toyed with you, assuming innocence and naivity of you based soley off your appearance, then doing whatever they'd wanted behind your back. you were past that now, hopefully at least; the concrete walls you used to block others out wasn't something you'd liked to be reminded of.

padding out the back door, the coldness of the stone path chills beneath your bare feet. your toes painted with the cutest design within your artistic range, accompanied by the musical arrangement of your anklet. you pick up a dirtied bucket with the many things you'd needed to complete your chores for the morning, taking a long look at the expanse of the ranch. 

a deep breath of clean air, healthy green fields relieve your eyes of their stress; partly cloudy skies was the forecast! weather for hanging outside, the cumulus clouds indicated it to be the perfect day for fishing too! the pond was still, the little lambs were just waking up in their pen, the gardenias were blooming; the white dexter cattle mulled around, seemingly bored behind the fence. just as you begin to walk by with the bucket of feed, the cows behind let out soft, deep ‘mooooo’s’: a ‘good morning!’ greeting in their own way. each receiving gentle pets to their fur.

your mental list of duties was shorter today: pet the cattle, inspect the lambs & brush their fur, throw feed for the chickens & clean their coupes, feed the dogs, feed the fish.

you couldn't help but wear your best little dress to do the tasks today, a simple white thing that cupped your breasts just right. “oh, how are ya’ buttercup!” you squealed in delight as the silky white wolf dog rushed up to lick your feet, his opposite onyx counterpart, bentley offered a short bark to show her delight, sitting peacefully and obediently. she'd recently fallen pregnant with pups, confusing as you'd given both animals the proper precautionary procedures! while filling their food bowls, you couldn't help but be reminded of eren and ony’. your toes dug into the grass a bit, excited at the idea of . . . sharing your home with someone else again. both men seemed pleasant, highly attractive, but feelings always confused you. perhaps they were only being decent human beings to you, nothing more.

to be honest, you hadn't had the best history with relationships. it's part of– it's one of the main reasons you'd decided to move out to the countryside. casual sex was fine, yeah, whatever, you enjoyed it. however, when it comes to your relationships, you refuse to believe you attract shitty people. from making fun of how excited your are by things, to the way you dressed, wore your makeup, your hair, how you cry— the whole works had been used against you. there was only so much of it you could handle. moving away meant . . . fresh start, new people, new experiences. and most importantly, a place where everyone did as they pleased. as much as people think gossip goes around in small villages, the country area was mostly pleasant. neighbours traded crops for items, enjoyed each other's company and minded their own business.

sitting beside the pond, bentley and buttercup eagerly cuddled up at your side; the joy this life brought you was comparable to hot chocolate at the end of a winter day. now you think about how long its been since you could cuddle someone on a cold day. it probably hasn't been since your mother was alive. now was a good time to visit eleonora.

♡

a raspberry lemon loaf warmed your hands as the weather began to cool. the trudge to eleonora's ranch was tranquil, pleasant animals, butterflies and chirping birds kept you occupied for most of it. that is, until your boots dragged to a stop in the dirt, noticing a familiar face in el's front yard. 

onyankopon's hair was short, brushed into smooth waves atop his head and faded on the sides, revealed by the lack of cowboy hat. he was shirtless, once again, knee deep in the dirt of his grandmother's yard where he dug the soil for new plants. you swallow, nibbling a plump lip that made your mouth spring from the strawberry flavoured gloss. a colder breeze blew up under your thighs, blowing your simple little dress slightly; furrowing your brows with concern as you peered at the beautiful bright sky, you force yourself to walk up to the gate and begin to unlatch it. 

eren's grassy green eyes meet you first, his hands busily feeding a plump cherry into his mouth. pretty pink lips sucked them in, unwelcoming to the juicy red droplets that escaped the cherry. he licks his lips to pull them in. you take a deep breath and focus on not dropping the raspberry lemon loaf. “h-hiya everybody!” you greet, noticing eleonora seated in her usual spot on the rocking chair of her porch while observing the two men. 

you hold the loaf somewhat close to you and swallow hard, walking along the stone path of which both men were at either side of. ony’ in the dirt and eren manspreading on the front steps. you held eyes with the ground. “howdy ony’, eren, nice to see you two ‘gain,” you say in a pleasant mumble as you make way up the stairs to eleonora. “brought you this raspberry lemon loaf els’!” you look at her smiling slightly, caught off guard by that signature smug look she held. what insane thoughts about your love life could she be brewing now? the silence from the two men was noticeable too, you were sure they'd turn to look at you as you presented the treat for el’, “my, my! well doesn't this just look lovely!” she claps clammy hands clad in flower themed rings and laughs jolly. “ony’, son, could you get us some tissues n’ forks? oh- n’ eren darlin’ why don't you bring out the pitcher ‘f lemonade with s'm glasses.” the two men stand as she calls upon them, uttering out their deep ‘yes ma'am's’ as they towered above you in walking by. your eyes trailed them slightly before turning back to eleonora who never (not once) misses your silent pining.

ony’ wore his jeans low on his waist, the band of his boxers showed off its maker's name. eren, on the other hand, wore a white wife-beater below unbuckled blue overalls, leaving them hanging over at his waist. “so, have ya’ found y'self a boyfren’, honey?” eleanora asks somewhat loudly as the two men shuffle around the kitchen bearby and your eye widen. “now what kinda’ question is that els’?” you sputtered, “you know I haven't got one.” eleonora giggles like a school girl. you take a cool seat onto the steps. eren and ony’ share small smiles as they return with lemonade and dishes. ony’ takes a seat in a chair opposite eleonora, elevated above you whilst eren makes himself comfortable back in his spot across from you on the steps. raspberry lemon loaf is shared around with the cool glasses of not-too-sweet lemonade to wash it down, eating brought silence besides low groans from the two men who seemed to enjoy your baking. their groans were not sensual, but pressing your thighs together was still a must as a reaction to the unexpected sounds of pleasure. fuck, you felt like a creep. eleonora complimented your skills, asking, “[  ] , did ya’ grow these in the box gardens y'made?” you nod and swallow quickly, all attention to you as eren mumbles ‘box garden?'. ``yea els’, the box gardens ar’ doin’ great, but I've got some extra wood around I think I'mma try to make a few more like the boxes I bought from the market!” eleonora smiles as if she were expecting to hear you randomly bring up your recycling duties. 

“ony’, can't you n’ eren build those boxes f’[  ]? I strongly believe lil’ ol’ her shouldn't handle all dat’ wood . . .” you internally blush deeply at the innuendo and take the final bite of your slice of the loaf. eren speaks up, “y'sure right on we can, els’ . . . y'okay wit’ us helpin’ y'out ma?” he takes a quick glance up at ony, locking eyes with him who also lets his stare above you burn into your scalp. “s– sure, I don't mind!” you mutter out lightly and eleonora gives a jolly clap, “well ain't that just darlin’! the day's young, y'all can get started right now!” you have to hold your breath to avoid your last sip of lemonade going down your larynx. the two men mentioned how they're not busy the rest of the day and wouldn't mind before you can even collect yourself. somehow, coming over to eleonora always results in you being roped into another scheme of hers.

and just like that, you found yourself on a quiet . . . and awkward walk back to your ranch with the two young men following closely behind you. anxiety bubbled in your stomach, clamping your lips shut to avoid letting the insecure feeling from escaping your lips. the nerves were getting to you with every second that passed by. “s-so, uh– wassup wit y'all ‘round here?” they both walk up to match your pace. “oh, well, ony here prefers to do all the technical shit like– fixin’ cars n’ all'at.” eren shoves his palms into the pockets of his overalls, walking up ahead where he could look back at the two of you while talking, he maintains glances with onyankopon that you just don't seem to understand. “I prefer to stay on the ranch n’ watch the animals– y'got any besides that horsie?” 

“oh– yea i've got m’ horse, mary-lou, two wolfies: bentley n’ buttercup.” a sweet smile stretches on your face, tummy warming a bit. “oh! and I've got names f'all my fish in the pond, my little lambs– oh they're just the cutest! a–and my fluffy cows! they're lovely,” you clasp your hands in excitement, eyes following your footsteps, sputtering happily over the animals. “gosh, n’ I'm tryin’ out a little butterfly area in my front garden, but m’ not the best at it, can’t tame butterflies y’know— they pee on ya’ too! that's fuckin’ crazy,” you reveal with a giggle. as you look up to ask the two a question, you can't help but blush, embarrassingly at that. eren and ony stared at you with pleasant smiles, deeply dimpled too. “oh my, m’ sorry for my ramblin’ how rude of me–”,”no. no, keep talkin’ pretty.” ony's deep voice encourages you and you peer curiously at him: trying to figure him out. he turns away from you licking his lips and spares eren a look before he starts walking again. it urges you both to continue onto the ranch as well, eren shakes his head with a chuckle; he thinks he’s got a handful on his hands. 

“y’got a boyfren’ ‘round here, [  ] ?” eren brushes hair over his shoulders, asking the question calmly whilst maintaining a look up the path, ony’s arm brushed yours as he walked close by. “well– no, what about you?” you melt your lips together before stuttering out,”wait, not– i mean, girlfriend . . . well– i don’t care–!” ony barks out a laugh while eren turns around to give you a bright smile, all three of you burst into giggles. “nah, no girlfren’ or boyfren’, ma’.” ony speaks up gently, “but, uh– me n’ E’ might be lookin’ for a third to make us official, i dunno.” your eyes widen but ony gives a nonchalant shrug, handsome face glowing with a smug smile like he didn't just drop #thebomb on you. it reminded you of his grandmother, you look to eren who’s looking back at you and onyankopon with just a slight grin and your breath catches in your throat. “oh! there’s the ranch just up ahead,” you blurt out and skip past eren, scurrying over to unlatch the gate to your front garden as the two followed you in.

now your heart felt like it could melt. like– like a huge strawberry ready to burst! what did ony’ mean by that?  oh, how you felt like a dizzy little dove. luckily the dogs rushed up to you, excitable and ready to meet the new visitors who they eagerly sniffed. ony’ and eren were happy to roughhouse on sight laughing with the dogs and complimenting the patch of primula's you were trying to grow, the pretty pinki-ish flowers were just beautiful. you lead them through your home, overly conscious about each step you took while they surely eyed every nook and cranny of your decor. “um- y'guys need anything? I've got some snacks . . .”, “nah, we're good,” eren mumbled, sounding obviously distracted by their nosey observations of your living space. you hear the tone of your dryer going off just as you unlatch the netted back door that served as another layer next to the already opened wooden one. 

“holy shit,” ony’ whispered, your organization of the backyard was impeccable. clean and solid fencing around the cows, plants on the left with storage on the other. you left the two to walk out into the cold breeze that passed by as they observe the surroundings and the pile of wood waiting for them; all while you quickly rushed to the laundry room nearby to dislodge your clothing and stuff them into a basket. you hurry back out to join them.

“so, here's one of the other boxes i made,” you gesture to the dirty box filled with planted Spanish thyme, “i know it looks kinda wonky but, hopefully you guys can do better,” you offer an awkward laugh and sit on the back steps, legs crossed. 

eren and onyankopon share a look, then grab some planks bringing them more into your line of view with some of the tools nearby and sitting in the grass. even in your own home, you felt a little out of place. in silence, eren and ony’ shared alot of chemistry you didn't understand. despite this, what ony’ said on the way here never left your mind. “y'guys got alot ‘f experience . . . relationship-wise?” you scratch behind your ear. they worked separately lining up wood and nailing them into place, muscles working diligently. “mm, yea. ‘guess y'can say that ma',” eren glances at ony who hums low and offers you a small smile.

“it's jus’ that– ‘m thinkin’ ‘bout watchu said earlier . . .” you blink, fumbling, “unless that was like a joke ‘r somethin’—”

“i wasn't joking.” onyankopon confirms calmly, his jaw tight. you allow the silence to continue for a few beats, eyes flickering back and forth between the two and your hands petting the dogs that came to lay beside you. “we don't expect ya’ to jus’ trust us like that, missy,” eren offers gently, shoving his curls into a small bun and you nibble your bottom lip. 

ony's brows furrow and he's hammering the last few nails into his box before he speaks up. “how c'n we get to know you ma’? me n’ E’ been . . . chillin’ for over a year. since college, actually, n’ we been watchin’ y'too. w’dont expect you to feel the way we do in 10 minutes or even in a day. let us get t'know you.” you squint a little.

“y'serious?” your chest feels a little hot and you're praying to the gods you don't fuck this up. “c's i don't intend on gettin played wit’ ‘specially not out here, y’hear me?” and you don't mean to raise your voice a little, the sounds just flow out. “hey, hey now,” eren pushes his finished work aside and stands, tugging his overalls up, hands resting on his hips. “we don't got no bad intentions, sugar, chill wit’ us,” and you blink up at him, unmoved.

“m'kay, let's just say i decided to ‘chill’ wit’ y'guys,” you stand up, fold your arms and start, “what exactly are we g'nna do, hm?” you look back and forth between them, not missing the way your buttercup whines on the steps where she lay, evidently fed up with all the chatter. “y'got 3 seconds n’ don't say sex. one,” 

“who said anythin’ ‘bout sex?” ony’ joins you two as he puts the tools down, “two,” “yea, y'better shut that shit up. let's bake sumn together, show us around y'day, hang wit’ us at our ranch, talk about shit. fuck y’mean sex?” you stubbornly stay silent and stare. eren’s jaw bone pokes out with the way he clenches it. “we're not lookin’ for sex. if we wanted sex from you we coulda seduced you a long time ago, sugar,” he shrugs with a smile and you lick your lips, sighing. “okay, ‘m sorry. I’–I'm such a bad host,” you mutter out, “y'all want anything to eat? or some water.” you hear a low ‘okay’ from ony’ so you shuffle away to the kitchen to grab some bottles for them.

you tried to focus on the coldness of the bottles on the way back as a way to cool your temperament. “i moved out here wit’ intention ‘f startin’ fresh n’ shit.” you start, tossing them bottles before plopping yourself beside buttercup who nuzzled her cold nose into your thigh. the two men were sitting once again, evidently having spoken to each other in your absence.

your voice was shaky as you took a deep breath, garnering the courage to speak up for how you felt, “i'm tired of gettin’ dogged out, n’ played wit’ n’ allat bullshit.” you pout.

“‘m not exactly sure how gettin’ involved wit’ two handsom’ fellas is gonna help me figure out to– to i dunno, regulate m’ emotions.” you frown and shove some braids back behind your ear, “s’ like i damn near avoided it– i moved back t’the country damnit.” a sigh, “i cant just figure out how to adore n’ love– people again or if i'mma be able t'dish it out as much as before.”

“you get what i mean?” your ramble ceased as you finally look up from your focus on your knees and look back and forth between ony and eren. ony chuckles softly while eren offers you a smile and speaks up.

“we'll take it slow, you'n gotta ‘love’ anybody yet, mama,” ony nods at his words, “gotta build a friendship wit'chu first, we not playin’ ‘round.” 

♡

a week or so passes in which life goes by as normal. you spend your days busying yourself with gardening and grooming your animals, baking treats and new concoctions. the only exception is eren and onyankopon have somehow easily squeezed themselves into your life.

on your deliveries you hear, “howdy, ma',” they chase across their lawn and hop across the fence to drag you inside and sit you down in the warm house where the two eagerly pester you to try the . . . ‘shrimp alfredo’ they whipped up. 

thus, the two would end up in your kitchen, breathing over your hair whilst you instructed them on the proper technique. “naw, i don’ told E to do all'at,” onyankopon protests. so too do they pester mary-lou and your dogs, roughhousing and giving them baths much to their dismay.

through many experiences you learn, onyankopon isn't particularly fond of being tickled, or of wearing shirts. he stays shirtless almost all twenty-four hours of the day and you can only avert your eyes. eren is obsessed with overalls and has an array of them: gray ones, distressed ones, short ones, and he never buckles them properly.. on the ranch, the two gorgeous white haired horses were named armin and reiner, two friends they shared from college. sparkling like diamonds as you're given the opportunity to ride them each around the boys’ ranch in the golden sun. you'd also learned that the two were sexually . . . fluid, they'd called it. vaguely, they'd mentioned their sex lives and based on what they said you couldn't help but assume they were talking about each other. who else was there out here except you?

“yeeehaw! can't catch up, can'ya’?” eren howls and shouts as he trots across the ranch on his horse, ony lagging behind in the chase. here you sat on a wooden little bench near the steps of ony' and eren's ranch; clad in a simple white cropped tank and blue jeans with a chunky belt, your cream coloured cowboy hat sit pretty atop your head. a pretty calico cat licked at your bare feet and nudged you for pets. 

at this point, you felt yourself slipping. it was obvious by now you'd grown to enjoy each other's company and serious conversations were imminent.

what were we, how will the dynamics work, what would they expect from you? just then you felt a tap to your forehead.

“heya, girlie,” eren squats down before you to grab your attention, “watchu, thinkin’ ‘bout,” ony’ mumbled, toying with a toothpick between his teeth. 

you smack glossy lips together, “jus’. . . ‘bout us three y'know? how- like, where do we go fr'm here huh?” your eyes flutter, cheeks warming. you feel the silence actually, eren and ony’ are doing that stupid thing where they talk to each other with their eyes. 

butterflies flap their wings about, joyous as ever. it makes you smile a little, as you're beginning to grow nervous. “let's talk inside ma’,” onyankopon suggests, stepping past you into the house where eren follows. 

“me n’ ‘ren c'n take care ‘f each other n’ you, know that?” 

you all shuffle onto the dark gray couch in the living space. ony’ and eren's ranch had a deep modern aesthetic. dark oak accents adorned both the outside and inside, complimented by gray and brown shades of furniture. 

“i know that . . . ,” you pout, 

“so wassup,” eren stares you down, the emerald swirl of his eyes warmed your belly yet you couldn't maintain eye contact with him for long, eren just had that kind of stare without realizing it himself.

“‘m g'nna be frank, ion wanna impose on nothin’ y'folks got . . . n’ my past relationships ain't been the best.” you huff and continue, “‘m jus’ puttin’ that out there. i feel like we've been talkin’ for a while n' I'm fond of y'all.” 

“i jus’ don't wanna be the one to mess things up,” you finish in a whisper. 

onyankopon hums low and eren plays with his lip ring, “n’ das’ all, girlie?” he asks and pursed his lips, dimple deepening at that. you give a nod and a small ‘yup’ while intertwining your hands onto your knees that were pressed together. “y’ talk to us, we talk to you, got that? if it's an issue y'got: don't hesitate to let us know,” ony’ iterates.

eren makes a noise of agreement, “y’communicate everythin’ wit us, sugar, we're serious,” and you nod slowly. “‘kay . . . i get that,” your eyes feel a little wet with emotion, ones you're not too sure of yourself.

you were happy to hear them affirming their commitment yet still anxious for the future. regardless, you couldn't help but lurch forward, you grab the back of eren's neck to press a sweet strawberry jelly flavoured kiss to his cheek, leaving a baby pink glossy print on his cheek along with a loud ‘mwah’ as you smiled. similarly, you crawl over his lap to do the same to ony’ who only bit back a grin, gold capped teeth glistening in the light much like the glossed smudge on his face.

♡

inevitably came the days you'd call the ‘honeymoon’ phase in a relationship, except it lasted what felt like forever.

these days you preferred to be cuddled up in your bedroom, legs being warmed by a black, gray and white blanket you were committed to crocheting. with a couple dark, gloomy days where the usual creamy clouds frowned down on you, the animals often retreated to their pens and little beds of hay to seek warmed from stormy weather. buttercup and bently invaded each others personal space in their dog beds down at the living room, you smile a little at the thought.

“yeen gotta be like that, ony’,” you hear eren groan in a mischievous pout as the two men exit your bathroom smelling of your bath soap. onyankopon mumbles something of ‘’s a stupid idea’. you giggle under your breath, hands hard at work weaving and looping the thick yarn for the blanket. 

“ [  ] , watchu’ think, sugar?” eren plops himself onto the bed, “hm?” still fixated on your progress, ony’ huffs from his seat on the ottoman, lotioning his chest and arms then turning back to rub some excess onto eren's foot. “i told ony’, let's take the horses f’ a ride, ma’, he talkin’ bout ‘oh it's rainy’, i think it'll be chill,” he smiles big and winks expecting something of an applause for his great idea of fun.

“ion mind whateva’ y'guys wanna do, jus’ once we shower ‘gain after, ‘fore we get sick,” you shake your head at the thought. ony’ smacks his teeth, “c'mon, don't support him.” 

“what, playin’ in the rain is fun, baby!” you chuckle, eren simply props his head on his palm, enthralled by your meticulous work. regardless, he nods mindlessly in agreement at the discussion.

just like that, cowboy hats and boots were thrown on and you head down to the stables to round up the horses. ony’ and eren raced each other down to them before you could even get a word in. the thought reminded you of buttercup and bently who currently settled and slept with one's head atop the other.

the fresh rain smell hits your nostrils quickly, smelling of the humidity off the grass and pitch of the street. you could audibly hear the wind bristling about the bushes as it cooled your skin. all you wore was a thin white tank top, jeans along with your classic pink-brown boots to match your hat. eren and ony’ warmed up the horses, encouraging mary-lou to shake out her mane and trot a little. onyankopon was seated by reiner, rubbing at his legs to warm him a bit and doing the same to armin. of course, you stare unabashedly, his muscles (unclothed) bulged with each motion, waistline visible amid his jeans.

you stare so much so, that you don't even notice eren come up to your side to press a wet kiss to your neck, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives your ear a kiss too, “starin’ at my man, girlie?” he laughs boyishly and you swat him, “dat’s m’ man too, freak,” he gasps falsely at the insult and you speed off to grab the harness for mary-lou; ony’ pretends he didn't hear the bickering and mounts his horse.

“s’ not rainin’ all too much now, see?” eren comments, scooping his hair back into a low bun under his hat. the three of you clicked and clocked through the damp grass and onto the street, letting the drizzle of rain moisten your skin with each speckle. you gnaw at your bottom lip, lost in thought as you trail behind the two men. at the same time, another cold gust would brush past you three, drying your skin again. yet, as you flinch when a particularly large droplet mands on your cheek, the rain picks up again and you smile.

sometimes moments like these felt so good, connecting with nature and taking in the beauty of the weather. it didn't stop you from being distracted, eren's white wife-beater was getting soaked. the tattoos creeping up his side peaked through the material and stared right back at you. you bitr back a groan and cover your warming face with your palms, wiping it clean of rain, while eren and onyankopon fall back on their horses. the peaceful silence with nothing but the ‘tock’ of the horses’  hooves kept your mind wandering. 

now drenched, you could only imagine peeling off these clothes, a strap of your flimsy little tank top blew off your shoulder, and you felt the material sticking to the bulge of your breasts nestled in your black bra that now stood out ten times as much. god, you felt like a fuckin’ pervert. you couldn't even bring yourself to look down at your own chest, feeling scandalized enough. something about thinking of yourself in . . . near erotic situations such as this made your clit thump like a sweet little rabbit's nose.

nonetheless, you ignore it and allow the rocking atop mary-lou as she walks to distract you. onyankopon rides his horse nearer to yours and eren does the same, you gasp under your breath when ony’ nudges you. “wassup,” he murmured, “nothin’ ‘m jus’ distracted.” you comment plainly and eren huffs out a laugh beside you. 

all you do is stare down at mary-lou and pet her mane, the pulse between your legs pushed to the back of your mind. “y'so bad at lyin’, know that?” eren laughs, you blush and groan, “no ‘m not, shut up,” 

“chill, chill,” ony’ whispers, in his stupid, sexy, amazing, deep voice and you let out a big shuddering breath. as you're riding you feel ony's wet bicep brushing against yours. this had to be the end of you.

ony’ reaches an arm behind you, stretching to meanly pinch eren's shoulder. you're not sure what that meant but you didn't care to know. “where we ridin’ to?” you ask, rubbing glossy lips together. “mm, let's jus’ head to me n’ ony's ranch,” 

“kay,” you settle with that, sweet n’ soft.

“wanna race, jaeger?” ony’ slips in lowly, pulling ahead and looking back at you two with his. . . stupid handsome smile, “h- hey now, let's not–” and you're interrupted by shouts, “let's go!” eren pulls off.

you groan softly, hiking up mary-lou’s harness a bit as you begin to gallop behind the two men. the raindrops stung against your skin and you whined trying to catch up to the two and your breaths harsh. with each hard breath you let out you couldn't help but let it bubble up into laughter, you just felt so good. 

you felt giddy, blinking away raindrops that attacked at your eyes and racing past the two men, who yelled and called out to you, “yo, ma’ we gon' catch up,” ony's cowboy hat flies back behind his head, held up by the string beneath his string as he pulls the white horse forward chasing after you.

the three of you speed past grunge fencings and rosey bushes all bowing their heads now from the deluge. your tank top was completely soaked, and you imagine so was eren's when you pulled in the gates of their ranch and headed around back where you could free mary-lou to run around in the fenced horse enclosure.

you sit on the ground and linger near the side of the house by some plants, boots kicking about scattered hay and picking up sticky mud. eren and ony’ pull in the same time, wet chests heaving and eyeing you as they quickly hop off and lead their horses to the enclosure. “you win, watchu want?” eren huffs out, swinging his hat off and tossing it to the side, letting the rain seep into his curls. “hm?” you moan while rain kisses you, “i get a prize?” 

he nods and slumping down against the wall next to you and propping his arm on a plant. you take the time to stare at his pecs . . . light brown nipples peaking through at you. eren catches you staring, it forces you to look away quick and brush a wet braid out of your face just as ony’ arrives.

“yall chillin’?” 

“yea . . . mama's chillin’ alright,” eren smiles up at ony who lays in the grass beside you. “she baskin’ in her– win,” eren laments, reaching forward to tickle you and you bark out laughter lurching at him. his fingers pet your ribcage and you grab eren's shoulders, “what the– fuck! eren!” you squeal and wrangle with him. ony’ sits in the wet dirt beside you guys with his hands resting behind his head, basking in the rain and ignoring the shoves and pushes nudging him.

“i swear t’ god ‘ren, you– ack!” eren flips you on your back and you land hard with your head on ony's thigh while he wrangles your hands above your head. digging your feet in the ground for leverage couldn't help with the mud slipping beneath you. onyankopon only hums in amusement, watching you stop struggling beneath eren, your chests bouncing with gasps of air.

“you . . . y'know that's not fair, eren,” “i know what's not fair, sugar?” he stares you down, grip on your wrists tight with his chest pressing against yours. the swell of your breasts popped out of your tank top, glistening and sticky when it touched his skin. “mmm, you want somethin’?” he sucks his lip rings into his mouth teasing you, eyes wide and glossed over, throat drying. you lick your lips and slip from his grasp, sitting up and leaning your back onto ony's chest. just as you make that decision you swallow hard feeling his wet chest through your thin top. you wipe some wetness off your forehead evidently applying some mud that was on your arm to the spot.

you catch your breath, rubbing dirtied arms onto your shirt to clean them as best you could. you felt filthy but god, your fat little cunt ached laying in the dirt. 

“onyan'” you call out to the man behind you with your eyes trained on eren who simply sits back smiling impishly at you, “yea, sugar?” 

“wan’ m’ prize,” it comes out in a whine.

“yeah? ‘n what's that gon’ be,” he murmurs low in your ear, eren still hears him. you let out a ‘hmph!’ deep in your throat. then, you drag dirty hands against your tank top before peeling it off you and above your head, tossing it into some grass elsewhere.

crawling on your knees, ass arching in ony's direction, you gesture to eren with a finger, “come here, c'mon,” and you grab the back of his neck, kissing up his sweaty wet throat licking and sucking up anything your mouth touched. you press your lips to eren's, cold wet metal between you two when you let his tongue into your mouth, sucking it up when your lips lock hot.

eren groans into your mouth, hand gripping at your ass concealed by your jeans and he falls back into the mud. you reveled in the slick sound of your lips separating from each other, tuning out how soaked your jeans were getting in the rain. the ambient pelting sound on the rooftops only edged you on further, sitting in eren's lap.

“fuck, you're nasty,” eren mumbles against your lips when you pull away for a second, fingers toggling with the buttons on his jeans. he resists a big smile, elbows resting in the muddied dirt to hold himself up while you roughly tug his jeans down a bit. just enough room for you to reach his dick.

“see how she treatin’ me, ony'?” eren wipes rain off his nose, locking heavy-lidded eyes with onyankopon then down at you, “she roughin’ me up ‘cause she won,” he grumbles and you pull his cock out.

eren flinches when his dick is exposed to the rain, tan-brown tip oozing pre mixed with droplets. your knees dug into the mud beneath you, ass arching up. you stare shamelessly at eren's dick, letting the saliva build up about your tongue while you press a few kisses to the tip. his breath shudders above you, leaning his head back for the rain to fall on his face. “c'mon, pretty, do watchu want,” you grip him tight, feeling like your palm could memorize the girth and veins that popped out. then, tugging him up slightly, you slot your mouth in the gap between the bottom of his dick to his balls. sucking on the skin, you let you built up salivation drip down his balls, slurping the heavy sack onto your tongue.

you suck eren's balls into your mouth, swirling your tongue around mounds and his mouth drops open revealing his tongue ring. he grins, giving you a loud shameless groan, he was certainly showing off for ony’ who sit behind you watching. “suck it like dat, yea,” eren mumbles to you, licking the rainwater off his lips. he lets you have your way a bit more, focused on your features: the way the rain made your eyelashes clump together, the droplets sliding down your nose, to the spitty goop around your mouth all over his balls.

“c'mon, c'mon,” he pulls your mouth off him with a hand gripping the base of your hair, licking the splittle off your chin then kissing it into your mouth and swallowing your whines. “y' fuckin’ nasty, jaeger,” onyankopon mutters lowly behind you and eren bites back a smile. “filthy ass, take that shit off,” you up off your knees, flopping back on your ass where you fiddle with the buttons on your jeans. 

your cheeks burned, both eren and ony's eyes grilled into you and everywhere you touched got streaks of mud in it after having your hands dig into the sopping ground. on your arms, your boobs, eren's shirt. slowly, you shucked your jeans down, slipping them past your ankles along with your boots. your panties were stuck up your ass when you sit in some wet patches of dirty hay, tossing the jeans aside realizing you wore significantly less than the other two men with rain beating all over you.

eren and ony’ share a look then eren's the first to lurch forward gripping your legs with his muddied hands, pushing you back to lay in the dirt and kissing about the clear parts of your belly. he nips at the swell of your breasts in your bra, sucking and kissing wherever he saw fit. “er– eren,” he's prying your legs apart, pushing them ‘till your knees were besides your ears. “eren, stop–,” then he's plucking your panties out your ass and sliding them up your thighs, he stretches the thin little things beyond repair to sling them off your ankles. “what the fuck,” you whisper, eren's fucking unreachable n’ you're both staring at your fat puffy cunt. he takes a second to look to the side at ony’ before returning his attention to your pussy, sprinkles of water sliding down, yet the blubber of slick collected between your lips was noticeable.

the pretty thing was so fat your hardened clit could barely peak through. eren dips his tongue deep, digging at your hole then dragging his tongue through your folds illiciting a low gasp. the cold metal bar in his tongue nudged at your clit. he curled his tongue around the bundle of nerves, giving it a few flicks before spitting and licking another strop up your cunt. “feels– fuckin’ good, eren, oh,” you whimper, his gentle motions paired with the ambient beating of rain against your skin had you on a high. he shakes his head side in your cunt, arousal making sticky strings beside his cheeks as his nose nudges the fat of your pussy. “holy shit,” you press your head into the soft ground beneath you, eyelids fluttering shut when eren suckles softly on your clit. you hum and moan, licking your lips and feeling your head spin, “‘ren . . . oh my god,” he slurps noisily suctioning his mouth over your pussy, sucking hard over and over and over again relishing in the throb of your clit against his tongue.

“he knows, baby,” ony’ murmurs and your mouth drops open with a loud moan, his voice just did something for you. you felt the muscles in your legs twitch, itching to close them with each swipe of eren's tongue and swirling pleasure in your tummy. your hands dig into the dirt behind you, legs quivering.

“tastes fuckin’ good don't it?” he's mumbling and eren's groans into your pussy sends shockwaves against your clit, he nods vigorously. “ohh– shit,” you sit up on your elbows digging in the mud, hair soaked and heavy and your legs only spread wider; your eyes trained on eren's tongue making sloppy circles around the fat mound in your pussy.

eager, you slip your hands into eren's wet curls, stuffing his face into your cunt, “eren, eren– yea-ah!” his groans rumble in his throat and here came the fucking waterworks. your climax comes hard along with several slick kisses to your clit, beads of sweat and rain slipping down between a furrowed brow and a guttural moan ripping from your throat.

eren's mouth releases its latch onto you, your legs flopping into puddles of dirt beneath you. “prepped her f'you,” eren licks his lips and looks to onyankopon who sits there with a fat bulge beneath his jeans although unbuttoned.

“mm yeah?,” you both shuffle over to the wet patch of hay ony’ sat in, slightly less soaked albeit equally as muddy.

onyankopon gestures to eren with two fingers as he lifts himself up, brushing water from his face and allowing eren to take a seat against the wall. your eyes flicker between them, sitting with your butt resting on the heels of your feet feeling exposed. it doesn't help that eren reaches behind you to unhook your bra, your cheeks feel hot. nevertheless, you slip them off your arms.

onyankopon shucks down his jeans just below his ass,  “ [  ], come right here,” walking on your knees you shuffle forward to ony’ who puts a hand above the swell of your ass, pressing his bare chest to yours. ony's gaze is something serious, he bends his neck and clasps his lips to yours. it's slow, methodical and hot. onyankopon breathes deep and groans into your mouth. your body goes limp a little: drooping in his grasp and relaxing against his body as his tongue gently guided yours against his own. “mhm, okay . . . okay,” he presses a few kisses to your lips with a squeeze around your throat as he weans you off his mouth.

“turn ‘round,”

you whine, “w'nna look at'chu,” 

ony's unmoved, he swallows, “look at ‘ren, baby,” and he guides you as you turn in the slippery mud to arch your ass up to him, his palm glides down the small of your back deepening that arch while your head rests on your folded arms before you. the position makes it hard for you to focus properly on eren, you peep at him through your eyelashes.

your cunt is sticky, swollen lips bound together by the white film of your arousal after the orgasm eren gave you, and you feel ony's hands kneading your ass. he spreads them, watching your pussy lightly spread open with it. you hear his belt buckle jingle slightly as his hands continue to massage your back right along with the downpour. ony’ grips his cock in his hands, tugging the thick thing lightly a couple times. he catches eren staring as he pumps it harshly before pressing the fat tip against you. 

“fuuuck,” ony’ slaps his cockhead at your entrance letting it get coated by your arousal before slipping the first inch in slowly and already you're speechless. “holy– shit,” your cunt stretched to accommodate the girth and ony’ grips the curve of your back for leverage, letting out a guttural groan while slowly inching into you. 

he sits in it for a moment, allowing you just a moment to familiarize yourself with the fat pipe he just lay in you; then, he's pulling out slowly and pushing in again and you whine. “what the fuck,” you feel ony’ lean his weight over you, and you gasp as he starts smacking his hips to your ass.

paired with the wetness of the rain, his hips leave a stinging slap against you and you're faltering with your tits mushed against the mud. eren left your pussy sloppy, your cunt whipping up loads of cream slick around ony's cock and your mouth is just ajar. jaw tightening with shallow, whiny moans cascading past your lips, ‘ah's and ‘oh's are all the men hear. “mm, ony’,” you try to murmur, body giving way fully to the mud beneath and ony's grip on your tightens,”watchu’ want, hm',” he grumbles.

oh how he knows nothing of the way your clit throbs everytime his heavy balls slap against your cunt.

“wan'— wan’ it deeper, please,” and you gasp hard when ony’s hand comes up to your ass, digging his thumb into the curled rim of your butt before bringing a foot to the ground for leverage; his ankle beside your ear, you eagerly grab onto it. “got fuckin’ good manners, don't she?” he grunts out, and the other man nods. 

onyankopon gives you two warning strokes, pressing his cock to the hilt and curling his thumb inside your ass and you feel overwhelmed. then, you gasp in a loud sob  as ony’ starts drilling his cock deeper into you, his hips smack you hard and his weight presses you everytime he drives his cock in. “fuck, fuck–,” you're squealing, hands draw digs into the mud as you can't help but writhe against the mud. “feel good?” you all but whine in response, “feel fuckin' good?” “ye- yes!” you mewl out. ony’s muscles contract and you can see it in his leg, intent on keeping you from sliding away from him under the soaked muddy slop.

the noises are . . . obscene. pornographic bursts of air shooting out amidst the stirring up of your melting cunt and your cheeks burn with embarrassment along with fresh tears streaming but you're breathless. “so fuckin’ loud,” ony’ mumurs,  his lips curling into a smile when he hears the noises you make.

“m’– fuck, m’ sorry,” you weep and your walls squeeze ony’ tight. you feel a glob of slick collect at the tippy top of your cunt, the fat bulge of your clit and stickily drip down onto the ground with each rock of your bodies. “takin’ m'shit fuckin’ good, sugar,” onyankopon drawls low and you sob.

you hear him whistle above you and with  a quickness eren's pants come into view. he sits, legs spread with his groin in line with your face against the ground. he scoots forward enough so he can lift your head and replace the mud beneath your nose with the musk of his balls. “‘ren, ‘ren, ren,” you're chanting, itching for your orgasm approaching with each quick and sloppy drag of cock in you. “m” right here, girlie,” ony's pummeling you from behind and your drooly mouth now has eren's pretty tanned cock slapping against it. “holy– fuck, hng- shit,” you mutter out before you're latching your lips onto eren's tip, inviting him into your mouth. he controls it, gripping your braids and rocking your head onto his dick.

“c'mon, c'mon, takin’ that shit s'fuckin’ good,” eren praises when he starts to snap his hips into your mouth, matching ony's strokes. he strokes your soaked hair gently, juxtaposing the nasty aggression each rock of his hips brought. you gagged, muffled, globs of spit streaking down your chin as you relaxed your throat for eren's dick. in the same way, you're making a mess on ony's cock, coating his length in hot creamy release that trickled down your own cunt. “she's fuckin’ creamin' on it, E',” and you moan when eren laughs cruelly above you, “cream on y’fuckin’ cock, ma’,” he grunts.

each drag of cock against the ridges of your cunt, the slosh of your mouth had you moaning in a frenzy. “was’ ya’ problem, huh?” eren groans out, and onyankopon knows exactly what your problem is.

“mama's bout to fuckin’ nut, huh?” he can feel the extra squeeze around his cock and rolls his neck to let some rain coat his face and distract him from his own ache. they listen to how you squeal around eren's cock, hands grabbing at his jeans and ony’ pumps his thumb into your ass consistency. 

“mmm, fuck,” onyankopon hums, angling himself so the curve of his cock digs at you just right, and he smiles: satisfied when you start to squirm and fuss beneath him. eren pulls you off and you sob, coughing a little to clear your larynx. you whimper as eren all but ruts against your face. “keep her right fuckin’ there,” ony’ groans and you grasp onto eren's jeans, cunt twitching with each movement yet eren forces your shoulders back to keep your body where ony’ wants you: daggering his cock into you with a forcefull quickness that eren's rutting mimics. 

“ohmygod, oh!” you blubber out, chanting ‘shit, shit, shit's

“gon’ leave you fuckin’ gapin’, quit playin’,” and you weep.

your hips twitch and you feel the knot in your stomach stiffening, “wan’ you're cum, want y'all's c–cum, fuckkk,” wail into eren's skin and take his cock back into your mouth just as your cunt spurts and your ears feel clogged from the rush of blood to your abdomen. “take it, take it, take that cum, baby,” eren groans. you felt light-headed, stars twinkling at you around the edges of your vision as your eyes rolled and soon you were forced to blink away the brain fog to swallow the thick loads eren gushes into your mouth. 

he whines, unabashedly and onyankopon gives you a couple more strokes before his cock is digging into you to bury his surge of cum into you with a hiss.

eren falls back, letting you catch your breath and stroking rain away from your face. ony’ pulls out quick before you start to get sore, giving your cunt a few wet slaps before eren's pulling your limp aching body onto him to give you some relief. “gotchu’, gotchu’.” he consoles.

“c'mon, E,” ony’ rushes, “huh?”

“gotta’ get out the fuckin’ rain,” he puffs out a laugh before he's lifting you off eren. they both try not to slip in the mud, hurrying off into the ranch for long hot showers.

[noirscript]

the lion's shadow

PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader

Warning/s: Surprisingly, none?

Read the series: [ ONE ] | [ TWO ] | [ THREE ] | [ FOUR ]

Note: I might publish this series and other future releases in advance somewhere. Also, if I were to write a book, will you support me? Just wondering before releasing something.

TIP JAR | COMMISSION

For the first time in a long while, your days were quiet. Peaceful.

The shack, though small and weathered by time, had become a sanctuary. The morning sun spilled through the cracks in the wooden walls, dust motes dancing in the golden light as you stirred awake to the soft chirping of birds. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, a stark contrast to the stifling perfume and candle smoke that clung to the walls of the palace you had once called home.

Here, you woke to silence, not the murmurs of servants or the distant chime of the court’s bells. Here, you chose how to spend your days.

You had found a rhythm in your solitude. Each morning, you would step outside, feet sinking into the damp soil, hands brushing against the wildflowers growing in the clearing. The wind carried the scent of honeysuckle, mixing with the distant smokiness of burning wood from a village far beyond the trees. You would gather what you could—berries, roots, herbs that you recognized from your mother’s teachings—and return home with your hands full, your child growing steadily beneath your ribs.

At midday, you would sit outside, weaving. A half-finished sweater lay in your lap, the wool coarse against your fingers, but you took comfort in the act of creating something. A gift for the child who had no name yet, who stirred within you when the sun was at its highest, reminding you that you were never truly alone.

Evenings were the most beautiful. When the sun dipped behind the trees, the world turned golden, the leaves burning in hues of amber and rust. Fireflies blinked to life, flickering like tiny stars caught between branches. The air smelled of earth after rain, of moss and damp bark, and in the distance, the distant hoot of an owl signaled the coming of night.

It was a quiet life. A small life. But it was yours.

For the first time in so long, you felt… safe.

No whispered court gossip, no watchful eyes lingering on your every move. No suffocating presence lurking just beyond your reach.

You dared to believe you had finally escaped him.

But peace, as you would soon learn, was a fleeting thing.

It came first as a sound.

A knock.

Loud. Desperate.

Your heart seized.

Another knock—no, pounding now. Fists striking against the wooden door, heavy enough to rattle the walls.

Your breath hitched. Hands trembling, you set the half-knitted sweater aside, gaze darting toward the door.

The knocking didn’t stop.

You swallowed down your panic, muscles coiling with the instinct to hide.

Then—

“Help me, please!”

A voice. A woman’s voice, raw and desperate.

“Help!”

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. In two quick strides, you were at the door, hand hovering over the latch.

A plea like that—you knew it too well. The breathless panic, the urgency, the weight of something unseen pressing against the voice.

You had once been on the other side of that door.

With a final glance around, you unbolted it and pulled it open.

The woman before you was disheveled, dressed in tattered cloth, her hair clinging to her damp forehead. She stumbled forward, barely catching herself. Wild eyes met yours, and something in them—a deep, unshakable fear—sent a chill skittering down your spine.

She had been running.

And something—someone—was coming after her.

"Hurry," she gasped.

Without thinking, you pulled her inside.

Your peace was over.

She sat hunched in one of the old wooden chairs your father had carved, hands curled around a steaming noggin of water. It wasn’t much, but it was the only comfort you could offer.

She clutched it as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

The flickering candlelight revealed the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her fingers, dirtied and trembling, were curled tightly around the mug, the heat of it seeping into her skin. The moment she had stumbled inside, she had sunk into the chair as if her body had finally given out.

You watched her cautiously, standing by the small counter, one hand still resting against your stomach—a protective reflex.

The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken questions.

When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. "How far along are you?"

You blinked at the suddenness of the question, then hesitated, glancing down at the curve of your belly. "I… don’t know."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she meant to say more, but she simply nodded. "Ah. My apologies."

A beat of silence. Then she took a sip from the mug, the warmth chasing away some of the tremor in her hands.

You weren’t sure why, but you found yourself speaking. "I’m not a lady."

Her gaze snapped to yours.

You gestured toward the tattered drape over her shoulders. "The quality of that fabric alone could feed an entire village. If anyone here is a lady, it’s you."

Something flickered across her face, a shadow of something old and weary, but she didn’t deny it.

"You could stay," you offered quietly, watching her reaction carefully. "This shack—it’s safe. If you need somewhere to hide, you’re welcome to it."

Her eyes widened, caught between gratitude and suspicion. "And you?"

You shrugged, already gathering what little you owned into a cloth bundle. "I need to get further away. If you found this place, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does too."

Her head bowed, shame and guilt evident in the way her hands tightened around the mug. "I’m sorry…"

"Don’t be," you said simply.

She hesitated, then set the mug down and looked up at you. "Please… take care of yourself. And if—if we ever meet again, I hope I can return the favor."

A wry smile tugged at your lips. "I hope so too."

And with that, you turned toward the door, pulling your hood low over your face.

You didn’t look back.

The journey was grueling.

For days, you moved through the forest, guided only by fading memories of old maps and the sun's slow arc across the sky. The dense canopy above swallowed most of the daylight, leaving you to navigate through shadows. Your feet ached, blistered and raw, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavy on your shoulders.

But you kept moving.

Every rustling leaf, every snap of a branch in the distance set your nerves alight. The paranoia never faded, not even when the trees thinned and the scent of burning wood and fresh bread filled the air.

And then, at long last, you saw it.

A village.

Small, tucked away beyond the treeline, its lantern-lit streets brimming with life.

The sight made your knees weak.

You pulled your hood lower, adjusting the strap of your bundle, and stepped forward.

The village was a sanctuary—a place untouched by the cruelty of men who sat upon thrones and dictated the fates of those beneath them. Here, the air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the laughter of children filled the streets, and the golden hues of sunset painted the rooftops with warmth. It was the kind of place where people looked after one another, where neighbors shared meals without expectation, and where secrets were hidden beneath smiles rather than steel.

It was the kind of place you could imagine raising your child.

Life had been kind since you arrived, a stark contrast to the gilded prison you had once called home. You had your own little room tucked away above the restaurant owned by Mia and Taren, two retired adventurers who had seen enough of the world to know when to walk away from its chaos. The couple had taken you in without question, providing a roof over your head in exchange for helping around their small yet bustling establishment.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt safe.

Mornings were spent preparing the restaurant for the day ahead—wiping down tables, slicing fresh loaves of bread, and brewing pots of strong tea that carried the scent of herbs and spices through the air. The afternoons were busier, filled with the chatter of travelers passing through, adventurers boasting of their latest feats, and villagers exchanging gossip over steaming bowls of stew.

Evenings were the best. By then, the restaurant would settle into a comfortable hum of low conversations, the lanterns casting a soft glow that made the space feel even more like home. Mia would lean over the counter, eyes twinkling as she spun stories from her days as an adventurer, while Taren would shake his head and grumble about how she exaggerated every detail.

It was an ordinary, simple life. And it was yours.

You had begun to hope that maybe—just maybe—you had escaped the past for good.

“Did you hear?” Mia leaned in conspiratorially as she set a steaming bowl of soup in front of you. “The king has returned from his campaign.”

Taren scoffed, taking a long sip from his mug before setting it down with a dull thud. “Hmph. More like another bloodbath disguised as a campaign. Every time he rides out, he leaves behind a trail of bodies, and when he returns, the nobles praise him as if he’s the second coming of the gods.”

You blinked, gripping your spoon a little tighter. “The king?”

Mia nodded. “King Aurelian.” Her voice dropped lower, almost hesitant, as if speaking his name too loudly might summon him. “They say he’s taken a new interest in something—or someone.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the unease curling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Taren exchanged a glance with Mia before exhaling sharply. “Rumors. That’s all. But the capital has been restless ever since he returned. People whisper about a woman, someone he dragged back from the outskirts—”

Mia elbowed him. “Enough. We don’t want to be accused of treason, do we?” She turned to you with a reassuring smile, but there was something tight about it. “Don’t worry about it, dear. It has nothing to do with us.”

You forced yourself to nod, even as the conversation left a lingering chill on your skin.

Nothing to do with us.

And yet, an unease settled deep in your bones.

Two months passed in peaceful monotony.

Your belly grew heavier with each passing day, and though your movements had slowed, you were grateful for the stability the village provided. The people here were kind—offering remedies for your aching feet, slipping extra portions of food onto your plate, and treating you as one of their own despite your foreign accent and unfamiliar past.

The world outside these borders felt like a distant nightmare, something that belonged to another life entirely.

Until the night he arrived.

The moment the doors swung open, you barely registered the gust of cold air that followed. It was the silence that struck first—the sudden, crushing weight of it. The air in the tavern shifted, thick with unspoken tension, a hush so absolute that even the crackling fire seemed subdued.

And then, the man stepped inside.

You didn’t recognize him, not in the way you had once memorized names and faces back in the palace. But you recognized something else. The kind of presence that did not belong in a quiet village like this. The way everyone around you reacted—Mia shrinking behind the counter, Taren stiffening as his fingers curled tightly around his mug, the way the remaining patrons averted their eyes, some even lowering to their knees as if bound by an unspoken law.

Your breath caught in your throat, something primal and urgent seizing your gut. Your fingers clenched against your lap as you forced yourself to breathe, to stay still—because a reaction would only draw more attention. But it was useless.

His gaze swept the room, deliberate and slow, and then—

He saw you.

The moment his eyes met yours, something inside you recoiled, the hairs along your arms rising. You didn’t know this man. Had never met him. And yet—

Your stomach twisted.

The way he looked at you, the way his lips curved into something almost lazy, almost amused—it was the look of a man who had found something valuable. Something he wasn’t supposed to have, and yet here it was, sitting right in front of him like an offering from fate itself.

You felt sick.

He doesn’t know who you are, you told yourself. He can’t. You had left that life behind, abandoned it in the dirt along with everything else. You were just another villager now, another nameless woman hidden away in a place the court had no reason to look.

And yet, instinct screamed at you that it didn’t matter.

Because he didn’t need to know your name.

He only needed to know that you didn’t belong here.

That someone, somewhere, would pay handsomely to have you dragged back.

Nausea clawed its way up your throat.

“I never thought I’d find her here,” he murmured, his voice smooth, almost indulgent, as if he were savoring the moment.

Your stomach clenched.

His gaze drifted, lower now, to the curve of your belly. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, intrigue, and something deeper, unreadable. Then, a slow, dark amusement settled into his eyes.

“And a bonus.”

The floor seemed to tilt beneath you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, and for a split second, you couldn’t move. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to run, but your limbs felt frozen, locked in place by the suffocating weight of knowing.

He wasn’t here for you. Not specifically.

But he would take you anyway.

And once he knew—once he realized—

Your stomach twisted violently.

You didn’t think. You moved.

The chair scraped against the floor as you shot to your feet, your heartbeat thundering. Taren inhaled sharply, but you barely heard him. Every instinct was screaming now, every muscle coiling with the need to flee—

Then, he stepped forward.

Unhurried. Certain.

His guards shifted in tandem, just enough to remind you that the door was no longer an option. And suddenly, you knew.

They weren’t going to let you leave.

Your breathing came fast, too fast, and for the first time in months, you felt truly trapped. Not by walls, not by distance, but by the simple, cruel reality that you were prey.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

You had made a mistake.

You had let yourself believe you were safe. That peace could be more than just a fleeting dream. That no one would ever come looking.

But safety has always been a lie.

And freedom?

It had never been yours to keep.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt

← Previous | Next →

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude: chapter iii.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 masterlist.

cw: implied familial issues, fluff, first kiss, medium burn?, suggestive content, paige is never beating the down bad allegations, implied mental health issues.

notes: hello, hello. this is one of my favorite chapters. the songs used are "tinsletown in the rain" by the blue nile and "78fahrenheit (unreleased)" by ethel cain. i hope you enjoy yourselves. love you. can't wait to see you in my inbox.

III: INTERTWINED.

» please don’t break up with me, but i accidentally watched two episodes ahead of you

azzi smiled as her phone vibrated with an immediate response. since their dinner, there had been coffee. then another. and then another. another, another, another—until the cups blurred together, indistinguishable from habit. paige was so easy to slip into her life. a stone in the creek, changing the flow of water without trying.

azzi wished she could have kept her in new york forever, tucked her inside a pocket, but paige had to go back to dallas, a reality that nearly tore her apart. distance became a thing to work around.

they read the same books (paige used her ipad, which azzi found vaguely offensive—she was on a quiet, private campaign to convert her to a kindle). they made each other playlists, exchanged photos of their separate days. street signs, sky colors, the shine of oil on the concrete beneath their identically booted feet. this reminded me of you. 

azzi had even mailed paige a dark denim jacket she spotted in a boutique window in the east village. paige washed it immediately, wore it out the next day, prompting the internet to go feral trying to find the designer.

they had inside jokes now. a growing, shifting list of them. one of azzi’s favorites: “please don’t break up with me,” a melodramatic phrase they’d stolen from a book and used whenever one of them committed an unforgivable offense, like finishing a show too soon or forgetting to send a good morning text. 

the light ping of another message brought azzi back to the moment. 

» i’m never speaking to you again » wait which show?

watching things together was their ritual. the old-fashioned way: facetiming at the same time, counting down, pressing play in sync. there were easier ways to do it, probably, but azzi liked the effort of this. the reaching. it made her feel like she was participating in her own life, actively choosing it.

» chef’s table

azzi held her breath as she sent it.

» i can’t believe you, az!! » p, i fell asleep i swear it wasn’t on purpose. rehearsal was brutal and i went straight after the studio » the show is really calming and i was so sleepy from the warm shower » idc you KNEW

then, 

» mind you, YOU crashed out over ME watching FITEEN MINUTES of anthony bourdain 

azzi pressed her lips together, failing to contain the joyous twist of her mouth. the grin eventually broke free and spread through her cheeks. she tucked her hair behind her ear.

» that was different » bro, how????? » whatever! look, p, i can rewatch! i don’t mind, you know i don’t » … » i’ll consider it

with a soft huff of laughter, azzi rolled out of bed and opened her blinds. her joy seemed infectious, coaxing the sun through the open pane of her window. she stood in the middle of her bedroom for approximately three minutes, her feet bare against the wooden floor and one arm up and stroking the hill of her shoulder. 

she felt both unreasonably young and, in some absurd way, already old in the faint light of the morning. she looked down at herself, taking in the wrinkled pink-striped boxers and the vintage yale sweatshirt that seemed to have settled around her with a tired resignation. she remembered when she'd wanted to go there, when her mother had taken her on a visit, the two of them wandering new haven, pretending it could be a future. the thought hurt, brief but sharp. she couldn’t remember the last time she and katie had been…right, together.

her phone buzzed—a quick, familiar pattern. katie.

azzi twisted her hair into a messy knot at the back of her neck, securing it with an elastic, and lowered herself into a half-hearted yoga pose. three more buzzes. then, the phone would ring.

azzi sat cross-legged beside her bed, feet pressing into the floor like she was willing herself to grow roots. she picked up the phone.

“hey, mom.”

“hey, honey. were you in the shower?”

“azzi’s face scrunched as she lied, a gesture so automatic it felt like a tic. “um, no, just doing some stretches. i started wearing earplugs to block out the morning traffic. sorry. what’s up?”

“you shouldn’t do that, baby,” katie said, that casual tone that still landed like a reminder. “look, i’m outside your apartment. brought breakfast.”

azzi almost groaned but swallowed it, layering her voice with fake enthusiasm. “yum,” she said, but it came out flat before lifting just enough at the end to sound like a decent person.

⟡

her mother had gotten a haircut.

katie’s blonde hair had been cut into a sharp bob, and azzi noticed it immediately. it suited her, the kind of sharp, neat cut that was popular on magazine covers in the coffee shop she liked to frequent. azzi felt a small pang of something—resentment, maybe, or just recognition that katie was doing things for herself again, things azzi couldn’t quite figure out how to do.

still—she was glad her mother was finding things to do outside of managing her. thanks, max, she thought.

she opened the door still in her pajamas, and katie was standing there, two large boxes of breakfast from the diner a few blocks away, the coffee holder hanging from her hand like a prop. katie didn’t say anything, just gave her the kind of look that azzi couldn’t place but that made her chest feel tight. azzi leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mother’s plump cheek, the skin softened by her morning creams and serums. 

azzi wandered into the kitchen, pressing her finger against the surface of her rose gold ipad, searching for the song paige had sent her a few days ago. she’d been meaning to listen to it, had actually enjoyed it when she did.

she found it—‘mythological beauty’ by big thief. paige had sent it to her with the message:

» idk why spotify recommended this to me, seems more up your alley » discover weekly my ass, half of these songs suck

azzi had hidden a smile behind her hand while standing in line to pick up that night’s pizza order. she’d texted back teasingly, saying,

» this may be a sign to let go of drake  » i ain’t holding on to him 

azzi hadn’t replied until later, sending back a grainy video shot on her old iphone se, its shaky camera making her look soft-focus. she was sitting on her bed, a sage-colored silk scarf holding back her curls, listening to the song. the video ended with an awkward thumbs-up and a muffled giggle. “i love it,” she said, like it was a confession.

now, azzi snapped a photo of the song on the tablet and sent it to paige.

» miss you

“azzi?”

azzi turned around, startled by the sound of her mother’s voice.

“yeah, sorry. what were you saying?”

katie, looking shy, busied herself unpacking the breakfast boxes, rearranging food on pale green plates with hand-painted garlands of pink roses.

“i was saying that, well, i miss you.”

azzi didn’t know what to say to that. “oh,” she said, and immediately regretted it, as if the word had been a reflex she hadn’t meant to expose. 

katie’s posture deflated, and azzi rushed over, sidling up to where her mother had begun cutting up the eggs into neat squares. she grabbed a plate and began assembling breakfast, the rhythm of the task comforting, familiar. she pulled away to grab glasses from the cabinets.

“you know, i was thinking about our yale visit when i was obsessed with going.”

katie looked up, eyes softening. “i remember.”

azzi half-smiled. “i wouldn’t stop playing that song, and you were so close to kicking me out of the car. i can’t remember the song, though.”

katie’s lips curved into a fond smile. “'need you now' by lady a. you played it on repeat because you were convinced you could sing it better than they could.”

azzi laughed then. she sat on a stool at the counter, the ache of the morning light catching her in its awkward glow as she ate, chewing slowly, mindlessly.

“why the hell was i so obsessed with yale anyway?”

“honestly? i think you saw it as your last shot at normal. you could dream about college, like the other girls, instead of being in the studio all the time, surrounded by everyone except your family. you were twelve when you got discovered, fourteen when you had your first album out. and now you're twenty-three, still trying to figure out what the hell you're doing.”

azzi didn’t say anything, but the words settled in her chest like something unexpected. there was a relief in it, in hearing it out loud, in realizing that, maybe, they weren’t as different as they sometimes seemed.

“i guess i fed into it because i felt guilty,” katie added softly, almost to herself.

once again, azzi was unsure of how to respond, but she felt it—the weight of that invisible truth that had always sat between them. she felt herself relax, the air clearing just enough for her to breathe a little easier.

“maybe i should release a country album,” azzi said, and katie barked out a laugh, sharp and familiar.

if azzi didn’t know better, she might’ve thought the sound was her own.

⟡

but azzi’s largest issue remained: she was unable to be content for long periods.

happiness came, stayed long enough to fool her, then drained away in increments. moreso now, as she slogged through the laying of the bones of her new album. she found herself withdrawing.

since that morning with her mother, it had gotten easier to admit to minor irritations, the small inconveniences of daily life. but there were still things she kept to herself. like how badly she wanted paige back in new york.

their movie nights had transitioned from ‘facetime + film’ to just ‘facetime.’ azzi hadn’t asked for it outright. she had just postponed pressing play, filling the space instead with long, looping stories, tangents about nothing, stalling without meaning to. eventually, paige caught on. and being paige—being someone who never let anything slide—she finally said,

“if you wanna talk to me, just say that.”

azzi looked up from her desk. she’d started handwriting songs again, her moleskine journal thick and inflamed, its strap barely holding it together, blood red cover scuffed and soft at the edges.

it took a second to process what paige had said, her voice still rough from sleep. only an hour between them, but it always felt like more. when the meaning finally settled, azzi flushed hot, ducking out of frame.

paige smiled, amused, rolling onto her stomach so her face pressed into the cotton of her pillow. she looked soft like this. angelic. her blonde hair waved around her shoulders, those blue eyes dark in the low light, the lilac strap of her nike sports bra just visible. azzi focused on that instead of responding.

“you don’t sleep in that, do you?” she asked instead. “it’s bad for circulation.”

paige grinned, pearly teeth gleaming. “oh yeah?”

“yes,” azzi said, exasperated. “it can, like—affect development. it’s not good for you.”

paige hummed like she was considering this. then shifted just enough for azzi to catch the dip of her cleavage. “yeah, i think we're past that point, baby.”

azzi turned a deeper red, arms crossing over her stomach. she tried to sink further into the gaping mouth of her navy blue hoodie. paige could see the whisper of a dress beneath the hem.

“shut up,” she muttered. “i wasn’t—i wasn’t trying to comment on your tits. i was just saying.”

“oh, my bad. sorry, princess.”

“i’m hanging up,” azzi deadpanned, face blank.

paige held back a laugh. “aight, chill. you just so easy to fluster.”

azzi scoffed. “i’m easy to fluster? be serious. when my calvin klein campaign dropped, you quite nearly went into cardiac arrest.”

paige’s face immediately went pink.

“aight, now.”

“no, not ‘aight now.’” azzi leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “you left me on read for two days. if i hadn’t dmed kk on twitter—of all places—i wouldn’t have even known you spent the entire time curled up in a little red ball.”

paige shrugged, still a little pink, biting down on her lip. she was thinking. then deciding. letting her lip slip free, her expression turning lazy, sharp. azzi felt something hot unfurl low in her stomach. 

“okay, yeah, i had a minor crashout,” paige admitted, dragging a hand through her hair. her cross pendant dipped into the hollow of her throat. “a lil’ itty-bitty breakdown. but can you blame me?” she looked into the camera then, voice low. “az, you looked so fucking good. the baby pink ones were my favorite.”

azzi stilled, fingers twitching.

paige grinned. “you get to bring a pair home?”

azzi hung up.

the callback was immediate. she let it ring, took her time answering. finally, just before it stopped, she picked up.

“did you just hang up on me?”

“no,” azzi said, voice smooth, wide-eyed like she meant it.

paige let out a slow, dry laugh, her nose flaring. “aight. keep playin’.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “will you fly out if i do?”

paige’s face softened.

azzi sighed, already standing. she drifted away from her desk and set the phone down on her floor, balancing it against the nearest stack of books. she slipped away, and when she came back into the frame, she’d changed.

the hoodie was gone. instead, the soft curve of her shoulder, the clean line of her collarbone, the faintest trace of tan lines against her skin. the dress was simple—cream-colored, thin-strapped, almost weightless. the silk shifted when she moved, clung to her like a second skin.

paige didn’t say anything at first. just stared.

azzi adjusted the strap where it had slipped. “are you okay?”

paige’s voice was slower now, almost slurred. azzi’s body began to tingle with the recognition of desire. “you just look real… delicate.”

azzi’s brows furrowed, but the flush was already creeping up her throat, settling at the tips of her ears.

paige watched her, half-lidded, half-smiling. “like, if i touched you, you’d bruise.”

“do you want to bruise me?” azzi asked, tucking her legs beneath her neatly. 

paige didn’t have an answer, and the silence made azzi press her tongue to the back of her teeth. she made a face, pressing her lips together, but she laughed a little, shaking her head. 

paige was still watching.

azzi fidgeted, like she might change the subject, then reached for something off-screen. a small, instinctive movement. when she lifted the moleskine journal into the frame, she didn’t say anything. just held it there and tilted her head. 

paige raised a brow. “you gon’ show me?”

azzi exhaled. then nodded, shifting the camera down.

the pages were a mess, ink heavy in some places, light and faded in others. words crossed out, rewritten, and pressed deep into the paper. paige recognized azzi’s handwriting—messy when she was in a rush, looping and neat when she was careful. there were little angel wings in the margins. a few water stains. coffee, too. 

azzi flipped to a page near the middle. “this one’s kinda about you,” she murmured.

paige felt something warm unfurl in her chest, slow and blooming. she cleared her throat. “yeah?”

she could see some of the lyrics, but the words were twisted and reversed. azzi reached forward, picking up her phone, switching the camera so she could see them more clearly. paige knew she should’ve been reading, but her eyes caught on the strong bones of azzi’s hands instead, the slight tension in her knuckles, the chipped ballerina-slipper pink clinging to the edges of her fingernails.

do i love you? yes, i love you will we always be happy go lucky do i love you? yes, i love you but it’s easy come and it’s easy go all this talking talking is only bravado

“it’s a dance song. kind of 80s. i wrote it forever ago, but now i—” azzi hesitated, just for a second. “i feel it again.”

paige blinked as the camera flipped back, azzi’s face coming into view.

“it’s me singing about you,” she said. “but also asking myself if i’m gonna fuck it up. if it’s gonna last before i—” she made a little motion with her hand, something between a wave and a slow collapse—“bring myself down.”

she paused, tilting her head. “but the beat pulses. it kinda—” she hopped her fingers across her thigh, gave a small, absentminded shimmy of her shoulders—“jumps around, so you can’t tell if i’m happy or sad. i remain an enigma, and you really hope i’ve got it under control.”

her voice was light, teasing, but something about it snagged in paige’s chest, caught in the tender spaces between bone.

azzi tapped the page with her pen. “mm. it’s not done.”

paige smiled, slowly. “sing it to me.”

azzi’s lips parted like she might object. but then something in her expression shifted, went softer. she turned the page over, tapping her nails against the paper.

her throat trembled, a melody climbing inside it. then, she sang.

her raw voice was husky but light, full of something old and unnameable, something that had always been aching. it knew nothing of peace, and it invaded paige in the same way. the sound of it as it peaked—high and breathless, curling at the edges—went through paige like a pulse, like a shock of warm water against her ribs.

it was orgasmic. it felt like a million birds bursting into flight underneath her skin.

⟡

the venue smelled heavily of varnish and sweat, the air thick with the ghosts of girls azzi had been before, versions of herself she was trying to slip back into, feel out like old sweaters. some still fit. some itched against her skin, wrong in ways she couldn’t quite name. 

she had been moving for hours, letting muscle memory guide her through old material, testing where her voice still lived in them, where it wavered, where it no longer belonged. it was a relief for her body to find the old melodies still inhabitable, to still understand where best to collapse and rebuild. 

barefoot, azzi traced slow circles across the stage, rolling her shoulders, stretching her arms above her head. the room was empty except for a single spotlight pooling around her, turning the sweat at her collarbone to gold.

she had yet to notice that paige was there.

paige had slipped in through the side door, keeping to the shadows, her heart pounding hard enough that she could feel it in her fingertips. the flight had been an impulse, the need to see azzi—unshakable. now she sat in the darkened auditorium, watching azzi move like she was underwater, like she was feeling her way through something only she could hear.

the usual spectacle was stripped away—no sequins, no stage makeup, no cameras angled to catch her best side. just azzi, raw and untethered, her voice curling into the dark like smoke. paige could feel it under her skin, the way it lifted, shimmered, the way it sent something sharp down her spine. even the music was muted and warbling; azzi relied on her own words to paint the picture of what she envisioned.

she lost herself in the song, body twisting, spine arching, a prayer in motion. and when she reached the last line— is it something i did? and did i do it to you?—she reached blindly into the air, fingers grazing nothing before coming back to wring loosely around her throat. but something in her must have felt it, some part of her must have known.

then she rolled, first onto her stomach, then onto her back, arms flung wide. her head tipped back until it hung off the edge of the stage. she opened her eyes, her mouth—

and saw paige.

she was upside down in the seats below, watching her, blonde and breathless.

for a moment, neither of them moved. azzi’s chest rose and fell, her breath still uneven. paige’s hands had curled into fists in her lap. her pulse slammed against her ribs. she felt eerily close to claiming something; it was the same feeling that rocked her when she was on the court. 

and then, like she was being pulled by something outside of herself, she stood. climbed onto the stage, moving toward azzi’s sprawled-out form, laid out like an offering. azzi blinked slow, gaze molten and unfocused, but she wasn’t stopping her.

paige didn’t think. she moved.

her fingers found the warm column of azzi’s throat, thumb pressing just below her jaw. she felt her swallow, felt the rapid, unsteady beat of her pulse.

then she bent down and kissed the damp, brown skin just below azzi’s ear.

azzi made a sound, soft, almost imperceptible. paige might have imagined it, but she didn’t pull away. so paige kept going, trailing her mouth along the sharp edge of azzi’s jaw, moving slow, reverent. when she reached the corner of her mouth, she hesitated, just for a second—

azzi turned her head the tiniest fraction. not much. but enough.

paige exhaled shakily, then kissed her, lips parting, tasting sweat and something animalistic, something electric. azzi sighed into it, a quiet, complacent thread of air, and the sound sent a shiver through paige, sharp and unbearable. she wasn’t sure if she was shaking or if it was just the world moving underneath her.

somewhere in the distance, a door slammed. the spell snapped. paige pulled back, breathless. azzi stayed where she was. 

lips parted; eyes hazy. a beat. then another.

azzi’s lips curled, just slightly. “i didn’t even know you were coming,” she murmured.

paige laughed, suddenly and breathlessly. she pressed their foreheads together, her head heavy with the force of her blood flow.

“yeah,” she whispered. “you knew. you asked me to.”

⟡

karnold: i feel as president-elect of bueckers-fudd nation, it's my duty to let you know that paige might in fact be locking in ⤷ drewbuckets: she’s going to murder you in cold blood ⤷ uconnsports: who elected you?? ⤷ username: the question we all need to be asking ⤷ username: mind you why is uconn’s update page here if paige is now in dallas??? ⤷ dallaswingsofficial: we’re all invested ⤷ username: omg wait are they gfs??? ⤷ karnold: mind the business that pays you ⤷ karnold: but no #wives 

© hcneymooners.

[hils79]

Yes, Wu Xie is so normal about Xiaoge he has an entire wall of carefully collated research about his family

Wu Xie could have built a treehouse for Xiaoge. He SHOULD have built a treehouse for Xiaoge. Because he chose not to I had to write it myself

Yes, Wu Xie canonically said it was wonderful that he could see Pangzi sunbathing naked

I cackled so hard at this. Wu Xie dismayed that not everyone in this franchise treats him like the main character. This is honestly one of the most relatable things that has ever happened to him.

Oh, yeah, HeiHua are doing something big in Russia alright. Each other.

Friendly reminder that @mekare-art has drawn Pangzi steeping on the giant koala and it’s amazing

And that’s the end of part 1. I love how soft and domestic this whole thing is. Part 2 and beyond is a mystery to me so I guess we’ll see what that brings

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: You had only wanted to petition the god of summer for rain to ease the drought. Locked away for your crimes, the god of summer, Johnny comes to your aid to set all things right. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Please comment and reblog. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you both and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for the beautiful dividers I use in everything. @itsagrimm it would feel wrong not to tag you in something I had written.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, some violence. Let me know if I missed anything!

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

Even on a summer night, wrapped in darkness and starlight, sweat insisted on gathering at your temples. The fire cracked as you added your willow bark and woven cattails to the flames, praying to the god of summer, Johnny, for rain. You anxiously rubbed your arm over your beloved leaves' trellising along your arms, watching the embers' pops fall on dead grass as you stood beside your bucket of dirty water. Crispy and dry, shriveled and withered, the once green leaves of the oaks looked yellow, some falling away to join the dusty ground below. When you traveled to the lake to gather your offering, the water seemed putrid, mostly evaporated, leaving muddy banks to dry in the heat. It reeked a musk so awful; you wondered how even the fish stood it.

Come harvest, the looming hunger would cause an instability you feared. If the tradespeople hadn’t food, your people would not have even a foraged berry; the livestock not a blade of grass to chew.

“The council of elders dictated no fires, little lady.”

You jumped, turning to face Phillip Graves, your neighbor and ever-faithful watchdog for Elder Sheppard. Clutching the fabric of your dress, you licked your lips before tilting your chin up.

“Someone had to appeal to the gods about the drought. Or does the council think they can strong-arm the clouds to gather?” You bit. Pressing your lips together as Elder Sheppard followed behind his dog.

“My mother used to wear the robes of a priestess. I find it odd you wear those robes as well when the last of them burned with her body,” Sheppard noted.

The body of the last holy woman, who had mysteriously burnt to death in her home as her son had conveniently been away, was found with chains tethered to her body. Your family had always insinuated it was Sheppard who had murdered his mother and tried to cover it up, but there was no proof, no investigation.

Power begets power without hesitancy, and nothing made Sheppard hesitate.

“They were a gift, Elder-”

“Stolen or forged items ain’t gifts, little lady,” Phillip interrupted. He moved to stand beside you, circling you wolfishly. His grin never seemed to fit his face, always too small for proportion, a liar in disguise—a mutt of deception.

“How dare you imply such things about my character without proof?” You hissed, hands coming to clutch your skirts.

Phillip lurched forward, grabbing your arm. He tore your sleeve from your dress, the fabric popping at the delicate seams. You stepped back, only for him to hold your arm still in a grip that dimpled skin and muscle. Pain simmered below his touch, dancing with the fear curling in your throat. Philip glared at the tendrils of silver scars blessed to you by Kyle, god of Spring.

If Sheppard killed his mother, what would keep him from murdering you?

“Are there more marks?” the elder inquired, hooking a finger under your belt with a tug to suggest removing the garment altogether. 

Enraged, you smacked his hand, retrieving your arm from Phillip’s death grip, “My body is none of your concern!”

“The safety of the village comes before you!” Graves sneered, yanking your skirts towards him until you toppled forward. His hands moved to your hips, and you shoved at him until his hand came sharply against your cheek, the sting of the slap making you gasp.

Phillip… had hit you. Your eyes stung with tears as you grappled against him, shoving your elbows and hands anywhere near his body until you were free, only to be pulled back by Sheppard.

“I think it’s time for you to learn your lesson on hearsay, foolish girl,” Shepard hissed. “The gods are unkind to those who take liberties.”

“I’ve found favor with them. Cannot learn a lesson that is not there,” you quaked. From the corner of your eye, Philip pulled his dagger from his belt, flipping the hilt. With one quick flash, he struck your temple, leaving you crumpled into the cracked, dusty ground.

The moonbeams blurred the walls covered in cobwebs, revealing a thin layer of dust on the floor. Your beloved temple once stood as the prized gem of your people, welcoming all to a haven of peace and community. Pushing into a sitting position, the room tilted like the waves of the rushing river. The darkness of the windowless temple entryway echoed with the dry summer winds, carrying nothing but the singing yearning of water from the plants.

Shepard and Graves deserved to be hung on the oak for treason against the gods, the people, and yourself. Your arms, once covered in Kyle’s beautiful marks, claiming you as beloved of spring, now were dotted with drying scratches and swollen welts of discolored skin from their harsh treatment.

“Happy summer solstice, I guess,” You huffed, slowly hobbling to your feet, using the locked door to bear your weight as the spinning room settled again.

There were worse prisons to be had than a dusty temple. At least in the dusty temple, you were safe and alone from those who wanted you dead. You furrowed your brow and pushed off of the wall, heading deeper into the holy rooms. If they had wanted you dead, they should have stabbed you.

“Gods help me,” you huffed, sitting on a bench along the hallway leading to the offering room. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the wall, feeling a touch of a headache thump harder against your skull.

“You called Fawn?” 

You cracked open your eyes to see a man standing at the threshold of the altar room, beams of fire light flickering from the once dark room. He stood on his toes, seemingly bursting with energy, trying to go. Where he wanted to go, who knew? Perhaps he didn’t know himself? 

“Johnny?” You guessed, gazing at the god of summer. His blue eyes glittered like gems as he nodded. 

“As smart as you are, bonny, ain’t ya?” he teased, coming closer. Standing before you, he narrowed his eyes, moving your jaw to examine your temple. “Ach, that will do. What happened?”

“Got in trouble for trying to petition for your favor. Tore my dress and all,” you huffed. “Now I'm locked in here. I'm sure I can get out through the window in the east corridor if I break it.”

Johnny chuckled, holding your chin in both hands as he ran his thumb over your temple, smearing the blood. A breath of warmth trickled from his hand, allowing the skin to stitch together. Your eyes fluttered closed as you soaked in the warmth. 

“You could. Or you can stay the night with me,” Johnny teased. “Feel better, Fawn?” He questioned, leaning down to place a kiss on the healed skin. Your face warmed, suddenly bashful of his affection. 

“If you want, I’ll spend the night, Johnny,” You muttered as his nose brushed your cheek.

“Nae, spend it if ye want. If ye did nae want to, don’t. I want our Fawn to be comfortable above all.” He gave a bright grin before leaping to his feet and stepping back. Rocking on his feet, he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“I am comfortable with you. I wouldn’t accept it if I weren’t.” You stood, slipped your hand in his, and followed him into the offering room.

The offering room, dressed in old tapestries covered in dust and neglect, still looked magnificent and of the wealth the gods deserved to be honored with. The wealth came in the delicate hand-spun embroidery lace that decorated tables, and in the hair-line needlepoint stitches one of your ancestors had sewn into the tapestries. It was in the richly dyed fabrics of floor cushions and pillows, the foraged metal bowls with intricate silver detailing that held fruits Johnny fed you with.

Fruits that he summoned after you had explained the drought and how you ended up locked in the holy shelter. You chewed on your berry, leaning against him as he pulled you to his side once you sat. The god of the West absentmindedly brushed your arm or hand like he couldn’t help it, needing your skin like a lifeline. He looked at you similarly, leaning forward as you spoke, quietly nodding or humming under his breath, staring at you like you spoke words of newfound wisdom that were important to him. Words he held deep in his heart.

“I am sorry. You might think these problems in the village bellow you, as a god,” You murmured, bashful under his intensity. Setting your meal of fruits and other delicacies aside by your water glass, you let the god pull you into his side once more. “Drought and intrapersonal strife are not new in this world- certainly won’t end anytime soon either.”

“I ken what ye mean, Fawn,” Johnny kissed your hair as you turned into his chest, more so laying on top of the god. His hand slid down to your back, continually moving. “But Kyle was the one to start the drought. These are not normal climate patterns or political drama; they come from us because we protect ours. And you are ours, no?”

You blinked, lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. You understood the gods had wanted you. You wanted the gods in return. But the gods came and went with the seasons, only able to be in the village one at a time, Kyle had once told you. Not all gods were as peaceful as the four who loved and cherished one another. Allowing the gods to gather in groups in mortal lands would destroy people, animals, and the Earth.

“Have I not dedicated my life to the service of the gods?” You questioned. “I belong to you, but you are a god- gods. You cannot belong to me, a mortal.”

Soap hummed, kissing your forehead before saying, “Willne stop us from being loyal to ye. But you need to ask for help, Fawn. We canne help without mortal consent. If either of those haughty bastards lay a hand on ye again,” He tipped your chin up and brushed his nose against yours as he spoke. “I’ll kill them myself. I’ll hunt down their soul in the other world and kill it until nothing is left of them or their legacy.”

A breath caught in your throat. The god of Summer was serious, bluntly stating how he would end the most immortal parts of a human for you. You opened your mouth once, twice, three times to find the correct words to thank him, but it did not matter. His lip quirked into a smirk, knowing he had rendered you speechless. You scoffed quietly in disbelief yourself, smiling, as you reached forward and kissed him, crawling into his lap.

“Mmf, Kyle dinne say you were this eager,” Johnny teased between kisses, eagerly pulling at your hips to be closer.

“I learned it from Kyle,” You giggled, tugging the hem of your skirts to straddle the god of the West. Johnny laughed, finding his hands beneath your skirts, slithering to knee the softest parts of your legs and hips.

“That I believe, but no more eager than me. Might say he learned it from me, Fawn,” He muttered between kisses along your neck until his hands slid to your ass, groping you while pulling you forward, cunt flush with his aching cock. You inhaled sharply, looping your arms around his neck as you gave a gentle rock of your hips.

“Go on, Fawn, take what ye need,” Soap encouraged, pulling your robes from your body with reverence for the material and laying it on the floor with care. His eyes flickered to your breasts, hands itching up to cup your breasts as he mouthed at your nipple. Closing your eyes, your hips continued their gentle grind as he licked and sucked and nipped your skin. His hips started to roll, his cock pulsing under your slick heat.

“Wanna ride you, Johnny,” You muttered as you slid your hand to his cock, stroking him with slow, twisting motions. The god tilted his head forward, resting it on your neck as he groaned.

“Ye could ask to kill me, and I would say yes,” He chuckled.

“Wouldn’t want that. Whose pretty cock would I get to sit on, then?” You giggled. “Besides, you’re not the one I want dead.” Rising to your knees, Johnny moved his hands to your hips and leaned back to watch you sink on him with a groan.

“Ye, ye want someone dead?” Johnny cursed as he throbbed inside of your slick pussy.

“Thought it was obvious, darling,” You breathed, letting your hips come flush to his thighs.

Legs settling to his sides, you sat there momentarily, soaking in the feeling of being connected to the god. He radiated heat, chest pressing against your own until your hearts beat a wild back and forth, call and response. His hand slid along your spine as the other cupped your cheek to bring your lips to his.

Just as it had been with John and Kyle, when the sun rose, and the village awoke, so too would Johnny leave. The infinite curtain of the universe had once separated your two worlds of divinity and morality. Still, it had been risen for you to peek into, touching and tasking the tremendous edges of the divine.

“I adore you,” You whispered against his lips. “Come what may in the morning, I adore you.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it, Fawn,” Johnny teased, smirking. “Move those hips, Gaz won’t shut up about.” He smacked your ass, making you squeak and jolt, but his hands pushed your hips back down. Moaning, you tangled your hands in his hair as he bent his head to play with your tits.

“Fuck, Johnny,” You gasped as he moved a hand to your clit, following the tilt of your pelvis until that familiar heat simmered in your abdomen.

“Feel good, Fawn? Yer choking my cock, love.” Bending his knees, he planted a hand behind himself as an anchor and thrust his hips up, taking the breath from your lungs. Since he couldn’t rub your clit anymore, you rubbed yourself, clenching tighter and tighter as the heat in your body rose.

“Our good little mortal,” Johnny groaned. “So pretty dressed in her robes Price gifted you. Bet you would be prettier spread out on my altar, huh? Dripping on the cloth as I watch you gift me orgasms.”

“I,” You whined at a harsher thrust, hips chasing his for more.

“Dinne fash, Fawn. We all will get our orgasms from you, altar or not. You’re too beautiful not to be blissed out before us.”

Your body tightened. Wetness gushed around his cock as you came unexpectedly from his mouth. Your eyelids blurred with black and white streaks as blood rushed to your head. In all of it was Johnny’s steady thrusts and your slowing rubs, dragging you through your orgasm. Johnny grunted and came, watching his cum spurt along your folds.

You both laid back on the floor to catch your breaths, Johnny’s cock still standing at attention. Brushing your head down to the ends of your hair, he kissed you gently.

“We adore you too, Fawn. So much,” Johnny whispered. “Orgasms on our altar or not,” He joked.

“Well, that’s good. I’m sure plenty of women in the village would offer it if they knew.”

“Wouldne want them, just yours. Few in your village believe like you do. We don’t care for offerings made out of obligation.” Johnny stretched his arms up, bracketing them behind his head. “Price is thinking of how to set things right in your village. But it is difficult.”

“A good many things in life are difficult,” You agreed. “It just depends on the price you are willing to pay for peace.”

It came about Wednesday morning. You had escaped the temple days before with help from the god of Summer to find your home, thankfully untouched by the elders or their dogs. Remaining in your home or the wilds of the woods, clouds slowly gathered. Soap visited you as he could with gifts of food to sustain you and other necessities, so you did not have to go to market, but the darkness gathered.

When the storms came, winds carried the dust like leaves, pelting rocks at your walls. Thunder cracked open the skies and earth, shaking the home’s foundations. You prayed through the storm, thanking the god of summer for rain and praying that your village would not be flooded.

Most said it was an unfortunate coincidence when Phillip Graves’ home got struck and sparked like kindling.

Some said his home alight in the rain was as moving as the dawn of a new day, a reminder of nature’s might.

The smoldering embers of Phillip Graves’ home told another story as they pointed to the West, marking this as the divine punishment for his despicable behavior. That night, when Johnny entered your home, he gifted you a small cloth bag of charcoal, promising you the gods were not done working in your village.

Me again! Hope y'all enjoyed. Don't forget to comment/reblog.

If anyone knows how to format here, could you tell me how to get an extra space between paragraphs? Having everything scrunched together is driving me nuts. When I try manually, the format reverts to the original. Any tips/tricks are welcome :)

[houseofaegon]

ENCHANTRESS ╱ BOB REYNOLDS SERIES

✷ ─── +18 MINORS DNI 𓏲  ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪ emotional trauma, mentions of death/grief, witchcraft, blood magic, mentions of tony stark and natasha romanoff's deaths supernatural possession, canon-typical violence, discussion of war and loss, found family themese, bucky being a big brother, heavy emotional reunion, psychological instability (enchantress/void dynamic), first contact tension, slight walker slander lol.

✷ ─── AUTHOR'S NOTE. this chapter is the beginning of everything. this is her history, her haunting. arabella means everything to me!! she's my baby and i love her so much, creating her character and her backstory has been both amazing and heartbreaking, especially because of tony and natasha and her grief after losing them. thank you for reading and giving this unhinged little series a chance. love always, bri.

✷ ─── ENCHANTRESS SERIES. chapter one: beauty in tragedy. chapter two: the devil you know. chapter three: the witch. chapter four: moonlit waters. chapter five: divine hunger. chapter six: to burn & be burned. chapter seven: of teeth & tenderness. chapter eight: bound by blood. chapter nine: ashes between us. chapter ten: salt in the wound. chapter eleven: blood moon. chapter twelve: whispers in the dark. chapter thirteen: the witch and the void.

ARABELLA MONTENEGRO never knew her mother. Nor her father 

She never knew the warmth of a mother's voice singing lullabies until she fell asleep, or what it meant to be held in soft arms. Never learned what it felt to be cherished. To be wanted. To be loved. To be a daughter.

Her mother died giving birth to her under a blood moon eclipse in the cold Andean highlands. The air was thin and charged with unspoken energy, the earth wet with rain, and her first cry was followed by a gust of wind so violent it shattered the windowpanes of the midwife's hut.

There was never a father to begin with. The village whispered she had been conceived through a blood ritual the witches performed in desperation—calling upon something old, something nameless, something far more powerful than any of them could control. They said her soul was not entirely her own.

She was raised by witches—her grandmother at the head, the matriarch with weathered hands and eyes that could turn anything into flame. The women in her bloodline had always walked between worlds, but Arabella was different. She didn't channel magic like her sisters. She was magic—uncontrollable, wild, ancient. And at six years old, something inside her opened its eyes.

The Enchantress.

Not a whisper. Not a ghost. A prescence. Always watching. Always waiting. Sometimes Arabella would wake up with her feet dirty and raw, her hair braided with herbs she didn’t remember picking, blood on her palms and a taste like copper on her tongue. The others said she was sleepwalking. But she knew. It was her—and it wasn’t. She saw things—glimpses of herself standing in the woods, barefoot and laughing, darkness blooming from her palms. But it wasn’t her laughter. Not really.

Her grandmother tried to train her, to tether her to the earth with chants, crystals, and sacred prayers. But even she, the oldest and most powerful of all the witches in her village, feared what Arabella was becoming.

They all did.

They never said it out loud. But Arabella saw it in their eyes.

Fear.

Of her hands. Her eyes. Her potential. Her power. Of what lived inside her.

The Enchantress wasn't a passenger. She was a fracture in her mind. A second heartbeat. Arabella felt her stirring in moments of pain, in flashes of rage, in silence too long left untouched. She'd whisper—not in words, but in urges. In hunger. In need.

At sixteen, it happened. A fight. A bad one. Someone touched her—grabbed her wrist, called her a monster. She doesn’t remember screaming. Doesn’t remember the words. Just the fire. The sensation of being split open, of something rising from her spine like smoke and rage and divinity.

It was raining. Pouring rain. Arabella remembers the smell of wet earth, the way the sky seemed to known what was going to happen. Before it all happened. Before it bled. The power erupted out of her like a scream. The Enchantress took over her entire body. She was transformed, became something else. A curse. Her body shifted, her voice fractured. Eyes glowing, mouth open wide—screaming spells older than language itself.

When it ended, the entire village was gone.

Ash.

Smoke.

Blood.

Silence.

Arabella woke in a crater of scorched stone, her hands trembling, her dress shattered, her body painted in blood. She remembered nothing—but in her dreams, she saw it all. Screams. Flames. Her sisters on their knees, begging. Untammed. Unable to control herself. Unable to snap out of it. Dangerous. Feral.

The Enchantress laughed through her.

Arabella had killed them. All of them.

And so she ran

Left the rotting, burning village behind. Left the only people who had ever called her family. Her heart broken inside her chest. She couldn't trust anyone—not even herself.

Because when she loved, when she cared—people died.

She didn't stop.

She ran.

Ran until her feet bleed. Until she couldn't breathe. Until the blood blurred.

And then somehow, she ended up in New York.

Concrete. Neon. Noise. A city too loud for her ghosts.

She slept in alleys. Kept salt and crystals in her pocket. The Enchantress whispered constantly, her presence heavier in the city than ever before. Arabella wore her grief like a second skin and hid her power behind trembling hands.

Until he found her.

Tony Stark.

It was raining—of course it was. New York in one of those late spring storms that felt biblical. The streets washed in rain and car lights and memories. She was half-starved, fingers glowing black under her hoodie. Curled up outside a bodega, eyes half-closed, a protection spell barely bubbling in her throat.

And still—she didn’t cry.

She was too empty for tears.

Then someone stepped through the rain and crouched in front of her. He didn’t step back. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stare at the light bleeding from her fingertips or the sigils etched into the concrete around her feet.

He just knelt beside her slowly and said, "You look like hell, kid. Let's get you warm."

She blinked up at him, dazed. And that was it. That’s how it started.

He didn’t ask her what she was.

He just held out his hand.

He brought her to the Avengers Compound. Let her shower in hot water until her skin pruned. Let her sleep for two days straight in a room so layered with protection spells, even the ghosts in her blood went silent.

He built her a room lined with vibranium and blessed by both Wanda and Strange. The walls were filled with runed she carved herself, deep and crooked with shaking fingers. Salt lined the windowsills. Crystals in every corner. Every inch a sanctuary just for her.

He called her kid. Said it like it was a nickname, not a burden.

Pepper brought her tea in the mornings. Clean clothes. Soft smiles. She tucked her hair behind her ear like a mother would. Arabella didn’t know how to handle it. She didn’t know how to be held without breaking. But Pepper made it feel like maybe she could be something other than a curse.

Maybe she could be… a daughter.

And Tony? He was the first person to make her laugh. The first person who didn’t treat her like a prophecy, like a monster. He made her feel safe. He taught her how to channel, not contain. He never told her to be less. He never told her to be afraid.

He made her feel like maybe—just maybe—she could be Arabella again, and not the thing the ghosts whispered about. Not the girl born under the blood moon. Not the prophecy in flesh.

Just a girl. Living. Learning

But deep down, The Enchantress never slept. Never faded. She waited.

And Arabella always felt her… watching. Letting her pretend she was normal. Letting her pretend she could be loved.

She became an Avenger at twenty. Not because she believed in saving the world—but because Tony did. Because he looked her in the eyes and said, “You’ve got more heart than most people in this place. Let it beat for something.”

She fought beside them—Steve, Nat, Bucky, Wanda. Bled for them. Protected them. Called them family.

She saved lives. She laughed again. She thought—just for a moment—that maybe she could have a life.

But when Tony died, something inside her broke.

She didn’t scream right away. She just stood there—frozen in the chaos, in the smoke, in the aftershocks of war—and stared. Stared at the arc reactor dimming in his chest. Stared at the blood on his mouth. Stared at the way the sky looked too clear. Too quiet.

He had snapped his fingers. Saved the world.

And it had killed him.

Arabella dropped to her knees beside Peter, who was sobbing. Pepper was whispering, voice cracked and crumbling. Steve stood in silent grief. And Arabella?

Arabella shattered.

The scream ripped through her like a blade. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even hers.

It was The Enchantress.

Magic exploded from her in violent, pulsing waves—black and poisonous, raw and ruthless, tearing through the rubble like a second earthquake. Spells older than any living tongue poured from her lips like a curse cast by grief itself.

She didn’t know who she was hitting.

Didn’t see Peter until it was too late.

He reached for her—“Bella, stop—please—”

She nearly broke him in half with a single word.

Wanda stepped in, her own power crashing into Arabella’s like a tidal wave of chaos and grief and fury. The ground split beneath them. The sky turned red.

And still, she couldn’t stop.

It was Bucky who pulled her back.

He found her in the aftermath—crumpled against the side of the battlefield, her hands trembling, her body still glowing faintly like a dying star. Blood on her palms. Ash in her mouth.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise a hand. He just sat beside her, quiet, solid.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know what it feels like when grief breaks you open.”

She let him pull her into his arms.

Let herself sob until her throat went raw.

She disappeared after Tony's funeral. No goodbyes. No notes. Just gone.

She couldn't bear it—Tony’s lab, untouched and echoing. Natasha’s absence like a ghost in every corner. Steve gone, like a whisper fading in the wind. Everyone trying to move on. Everyone pretending they knew how.

She couldn't pretend.

She couldn't stay in the places where laughter once lived. Couldn't sit at a table set for ghosts.

Thanos was gone. But somehow, she still felt like she had lost.

Like she had failed.

She couldn’t save them.

She wasn’t enough.

Because Arabella Montenegro was never built to bury her dead.

Not when their voices still lived beneath her skin.

Not when the dead still whispered through her veins.

Bucky Barnes hadn’t seen her in years.

Not since the funeral. Not since the battlefield where she nearly broke the earth open with her grief. Not since he found her curled into herself, shaking and bloody, sobbing over Tony Stark’s lifeless body. Not since he held her like a brother who didn’t know how to fix her—only he knew that he had to.

He hadn’t expected to hear from her again.

Not really.

She didn’t owe them anything—not after what she’d lost, not after what she’d given. Arabella had always been something untouchable. A ghost in a pretty dress. A girl with shadows in her lungs and thunder in her fingertips. She was never meant to stay. She was made for disappearing.

But he missed her.

God, he missed her.

Because Arabella Montenegro had done what no one else had.

She got through to him.

When the world still looked like war behind his eyelids and everyone treated him like a loaded weapon, she looked him dead in the eye and said, “I’ve known worse monsters than you. I keep one inside me.”

She never tiptoed around his past. Never judged him. Never tried to fix him.

She just… stayed.

Showed up with tea laced with cinnamon and protection charms she slipped into his leather jacket without telling him. Stitched sigils into his gloves and his suit. Knew when to sit in silence, and when to drag him out of bed at 3am to dance barefoot on the compound roof like two idiots with more power than they wanted.

She made him laugh.

She made him feel like a man, not a weapon.

He used to call her “brat” when she got on his nerves, and she’d roll her eyes and call him “abuelito” for fun. But when things got real, when the Enchantress clawed too close to the surface or her hands shook after missions, she’d whisper, “James,” and he’d come running.

He was her anchor. Her constant. And she? She was his warmth. His moonlight. His reminder that he could be soft without falling apart.

They didn’t need to say it aloud.

She was the little sister he never had.

He was the big brother who never asked for anything but gave everything.

And then New York cracked beneath The Void, when Bob Reynolds began unraveling the fabric of reality one thought at a time, Bucky didn’t know who else to call. There was no Steve. No Natasha. No Tony. So when he dialed her number, voice tight and half-broken, he wasn’t sure she’d even pick up. Left a message she might never listen to.

Just six words.

“If you’re still out there… please.”

Part of him hoped. Prayed.

Because if anyone could help them now…

It was Arabella.

He didn't think she'd come. Not after everything. Not after all the pain and suffering she'd been through.

But she did.

Three days later, the elevator doors opened at the Watchtower, and Arabella Montenegro walked in.

Barefoot, as always. Her black silk dress clung to her like smoke, high-necked and long-sleeved, sheer, embroidered with dark thread in sigil shapes. Obsidian rings adorned her fingers, and a silver charm glinted at her throat—something old, something protective, something hers.

Her hair was longer now. Wilder. Cascading in thick curls down her back like a midnight waterfall, still damp from the rain. It framed her face like a halo of shadows. Haunted in a way that told him the past years had carved her out like a cathedral. Her eyes, rimmed in black, gleamed with something other. The blood-red of her lips looked like the last kiss before a storm. She looked older. More dangerous.

More beautiful than ever.

Bucky stood frozen halfway across the room, breath lodged somewhere in his throat.

She saw him immediately.

Her mouth curved. Soft. Familiar. Just for him. “James,” she said softly.

“…You came,” he whispered, the words barely making it out of his throat.

Arabella tilted her head. “You called.”

And that was all it took.

Bucky moved before he could stop himself—crossing the floor in three long strides. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t wait. Just wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her in like he was afraid she’d disappear if he blinked.

Arabella let out a sharp breath against his chest, the air knocked out of her with the sheer force of his embrace. “James—” She laughed, breathless. “You’re crushing me.”

“I don’t care,” he muttered into her hair, squeezing tighter. “You’re real. You’re here.”

She clung to him just as hard, arms wrapped around his waist, face buried in his shoulder like she was ten seconds from falling apart. He rocked her back and forth without realizing it. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, thumb brushing through damp curls.

“You smell like rosemary and grave dirt,” he said softly.

“You smell like gunpowder and old guilt,” she shot back, muffled.

His laugh cracked, deep in his chest. “There she is,” he murmured. “My little menace.”

Arabella pulled back, blinking up at him. Her eyes shimmered—just slightly. “You missed me.”

“Of course I did,” he said, brushing her hair back behind her ear like she was still that nineteen-year-old girl Tony brought home. “I’ve missed you every goddamn day.”

“I didn’t think you’d say that out loud,” she teased, her voice trembling with more than amusement.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, still holding her. “Getting soft in my old age.”

“You’ve always been soft for me,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes. “You hex my coffee once and suddenly I’m emotionally compromised.”

“You are emotionally compromised,” she whispered.

His face sobered. He reached up and cupped her cheek. “You good, Bells?”

She hesitated.

Then she nodded, slowly.

“Getting there,” she said. “But I knew I couldn’t do it alone. Not this time.”

“Well, you’re not alone anymore,” Bucky said, his tone quiet, firm, the way big brothers spoke when they made promises they intended to keep. “Not ever again.”

And Arabella, for the first time in years, believed him.

But then the room shifted.

All eyes were on her now.

Arabella turned, facing them fully for the first time. Her presence hit like a ripple in still water—slow, sudden, undeniable. The kind of entrance that made rooms fall silent, made hearts stall in place.

Her magic followed behind her like a scent: wild roses, burnt sage, candle smoke. It draped over the room, pressed into the walls, settled deep into the floors.

And they felt her. Not just her energy—but the presence curled behind her bones.

The Enchantress.

Yelena didn’t even stand up.

She looked Arabella up and down from her spot on the couch, one leg hooked lazily over the armrest, a protein bar half-eaten in one hand. Her sharp gaze swept over the black silk, the bare feet, the storm that shimmered around Arabella like perfume.

Then she said, dryly, “You look like you’ve buried at least three exes and didn’t bother wiping the blood off your mouth.”

Arabella barely blinked. “Only three?”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Two were accidents. The third had it coming. The fourth is still in the freezer.”

Yelena grinned, slow and wicked. “Do you want to be best friends or enemies who share eyeliner and hide bodies together?”

“Can we be both?” Arabella asked, tilting her head.

Yelena tossed the protein bar aside and stood. “God, yes.”

Bucky groaned audibly. “No. Nope. This is a mistake.”

Arabella and Yelena ignored him, already circling each other like twin wolves. Dangerous. Beautiful. Laughing under their breath like they’d been born for this.

“You ever hex a man so his dick stops working?” Yelena asked casually.

Arabella’s eyes glittered. “Only on Tuesdays.” She leaned in. “And only if he ghosts me.”

Yelena let out a delighted gasp. “Okay. I love you. Teach me your dark arts, my Sith Lord.”

Arabella smirked, one brow arched. “Only if you promise to use your powers for petty and chaotic purposes.”

Arabella and Yelena bonded instantly.

Within five minutes, they were seated on the floor, knees touching, comparing knives and horror stories. By ten, they were whispering chaos into the walls—how to enchant Walker’s shampoo, how many ways you could curse someone’s sex life, whether blood magic could double as birth control.

It was like Arabella was meeting a version of herself—sharper, louder, equally unbothered.

And then Walker came in.

Arabella didn’t even turn when he stepped into the room—she just felt the misplaced authority before he spoke.

“So this is the witch,” he muttered, all folded arms and puffed chest.

Arabella turned her head slowly, almost lazily, and looked him over with the kind of gaze that made men reconsider their entire careers.

“If it isn’t the Dollar Store Captain America,” she said, deadpan.

Yelena barked a laugh. Bucky sighed, trying his best to hide his smirk.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Arabella continued, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve. “Honestly? I expected more muscles. And less… mall cop energy.”

Walker’s jaw tightened. “You know, you witches are all the same.”

Arabella leaned in. “No, I’m worse.”

He muttered something under his breath and stormed off. The door didn’t close fast enough to muffle Yelena shouting, “Try the clearance aisle next time!”

Then came Alexei.

He strode over like an avalanche in boots, face split into a grin, eyes crinkling with delight.

“You,” he declared in Russian, “are the little shadow witch. I have heard things.”

Arabella raised a brow. “Good things?”

“Terrifying things. My favorite kind.”

She smiled.

“I brought gift!” he announced, pulling something from his jacket. “Very sharp.”

He handed her a vintage combat blade—slightly rusted, beautifully heavy.

Her eyes lit up. “This is better than flowers.”

“You are better than daughters,” he said proudly. “I have too many of those. But you—? You are dangerous. I adopt you now.”

“Do I get a pin?”

“No,” he said. “You get vodka.”

Arabella grinned. “I knew I liked you.”

Ava came last. Quiet, hesitant, but not afraid.

Arabella turned the moment she stepped near, gaze softening.

“You’re beautiful,” she said simply. “Not your just face. Your aura.”

Ava blinked. Said nothing. Arabella reached into the folds of her coat and pulled out a crystal—clear, sharp-edged, humming faintly.

She pressed it into Ava’s palm.

“You ground the noise,” she whispered. “That’s rare. Don’t let anyone take that from you.”

Ava stared at her. Not used to praise. Definitely not like that.

“Thank you,” she said, voice small.

“You’re welcome,” Arabella replied, just as softly.

And then—him.

She hadn’t looked at him yet. Had felt him the moment she stepped into the room—golden, fractured, watching. But now she turned.

And there he was.

Bob Reynolds.

He stood like a storm held in skin. Curls tousled, hands tense at his sides, chest rising and falling too slowly. His eyes were full of something that wasn’t him.

Something dark.

Something waiting.

Arabella met his gaze—and time bent. Her pulse jumped. Her magic reacted.

And inside her chest, The Enchantress inhaled sharply.

“Him,” she whispered, breathless. “He’s—he’s not like the others.”

Arabella felt her limbs go cold and hot all at once. Her fingers trembled. The air between them shimmered like heat off pavement.

Inside Bob, The Void purred.

“She’s like us,” it whispered, reverent and hungry. “I can feel the darkness inside of her. Let me touch her.”

Bob didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Arabella’s mouth parted slightly.

The Enchantress hissed—“Feel that? That pull? He’s not just broken, mi niña. He’s bound. Like you. Like me.”

Arabella swallowed, but the breath barely made it down. The air was too thick. The space between them pulsed with something unspoken, ancient. Not recognition—no, it was deeper than that.

It was kinship.

It was want.

Bob still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t blinked. His fingers twitched once, a tremor that betrayed everything simmering beneath the surface.

Arabella’s voice was barely more than a breath when she finally spoke.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Bob’s lips parted.

Inside his chest, The Void leaned forward, eyes glittering in the dark.

“She knows,” it whispered. “She sees you. And she doesn’t run.”

Arabella didn’t blink.

Neither did he.

And in the space between them, something shifted.

Something began.

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 © 2025. DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR COPY THIS STORY TO TUMBLR, WATTPAD, AO3, OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM. Moodboards and graphics made by @houseofaegon DO NOT repost or reuse without credit. chain divider by @cursed-carmine

♱ ˖ ࣪ . taglist: @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans @uracowboylikemee @sxlsvv @stillinracooncity @deltamel (if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know in the comments. love, bri.)

[leyavo]

Omega!Reader that grew up with humans thinking they were one too till a certain task force travelled through their village.

A small human collective, a new alliance with the shifters that leads them to you. John steps back as your faint scent lingers a little longer, it burns his nostrils and stands out against the superficial aromas that humans scrub their bodies with. If he wasn’t close to his heat, he might have missed it completely.

He turns to face you, tilting his head and standing toe to toe with your scuffed trainers. There’s nothing in the weight of your posture telling him that you can sense his energy, if you even know you’re like him. Your scent isn’t something he’s familiar with, as if it’s something that only blooms at night. The underlying notes mingling with an unknown odour. Whatever it is, it makes his eyes water and he doesn’t like it one bit.

John plays it by the book, notifying the shifters wellbeing society (SWS) about a possible wolf living among humans.

You’re taken to an in between facility, poked and prodded by curious doctors trying to awake your senses. It’s not till they draw some blood do they discover the humans were feeding you a toxic plant, crushed into your food that dulled your instincts. No wonder John couldn’t figure out your scent.

The years of ingesting it though had ruined your sense of smell, you can’t even tell the difference between a Beta and a Delta. Alpha’s were an overpowering stench, nose scrunching if you were in their presence too long followed by a pulsing headache. Your instincts are all over the place, you weren’t quite sure who you were supposed to be dealing with it. It’s made those ranking higher above you irritable as they thought you were rude. The facility wanting rid of you, so they dump you on John’s pack.

Nothing, but the clothes on your back.

John uses this opportunity to finally teach Simon the basic fundamentals by lumping you two together. The beta refused to learn how to nest as he never grew up with one and didn’t see the point of it now. You coming along changes that, Simon can’t stand your mumbled replies or the fetid air that taints the room.

The window wide open until you can control your emotional responses, but he knows he’ll have to resort to comforting you if you can’t soothe your own nerves. Bloody humans. He gives you a week, which ends up being two before he gives in. You’re standing in the corner of the room, clutching your pillow to your chest. Simon balling the sheets on the bed and creating a border around the edge of the mattress.

“What are you doing?” You ask, stepping forwards. It does look warm and inviting, fabric soft as your fingers trace the intricate pile of pillows and clothes. Most of them Simon’s, a few of your T-shirts sandwiched between his, a perfect piney blend of fresh rain washing over you. Like you’d stepped into the forests behind the cabin you’d grown up in.

Simon snatches the pillow from your grasp, pulling you down with it. “A bloody nest,” he grumbles, plumping your pillow with a clenched fist. He glances over his shoulder at you and sits on the wall of clothes, squashing them beneath him. “Fuckin’ hell. Did they not teach you anything?” He has to remind himself that you’re no more than a pup since you thought you were human.

“Like a birds nest?” Your knees sink into the mattress trying not to ruin his hard work. “What is that…” your nose twitches as you shift on top of the crumpled sheets, a sweet floral scent hitting you each time you move. It’s familiar though, something that you’ve only caught in your dreams, but not as frequent as you notice it more now.

“That’s your scent.” His fingers curl around your wrist and guide it to your nose. The faint aroma clinging to your skin, as if a blossom of jasmine had latched onto your arm and grown there.

You’re staring at his hand on you, a tingling warmth accompanying his touch. “What do you smell like?”

Simon sighs, letting go of your wrist and slipping his palm to the nape of neck. A squeak falling from lips as he pulls you closer, your nose nudging the side of his neck. Ohhhhh.

[main masterlist] & [omegaverse masterlist]

[nizhspo]

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader x sukuna ryomen

synopsis: you were just a village girl, stealing glances at your childhood friend by the nile, when the priests came. they said ra had chosen you—that you would speak for the sun god. now, you’re bound in gold and blood, cut open in the name of divinity, and praying to a god who never answers. until one does, and he looks like yuji. he calls himself apophis.

content: ancient egypt au, oracle!reader, apophis!sukuna, ra!gojo, smut, childhood crush on yuji itadori, hints at satosugu, divine possession, religious rituals, ambiguous morality, false comfort, god x mortal dynamics, non-explicit but heavy implications of grooming/manipulation

notes: i am a pjo fan. not a big fan of egyptian mythology but writing this taught me a lot! it’s very long, enjoy!

your village sat quiet along the nile’s shoulder—mud-brick homes crumbling soft at the corners, palm-frond mats curling in the sun, smoke curling thin from clay ovens as the day leaned into late afternoon. the river lapped gently against the bank, thick with reeds and fish and a few empty palm-woven baskets half-submerged at the edge.

yuji was beside you, splashing water onto his neck, shirt stuck damp to his back. his hair, soft and pink like sun-bleached hibiscus, clung in wet curls to his forehead. he had that kind of face that was always open, warm eyes, soft lips, a little scar on his cheek from when he fell trying to impress you with a flip last summer.

he smelled like salt and sunlight and river mud, and even though he was more annoying than helpful, he was the only reason you hadn’t lost your mind already, elbow-deep in fish, swatting flies and muttering to yourself.

“you’re seriously useless,” you muttered without looking up. “you begged to come with me and haven’t touched a single fish.”

“i’m providing moral support,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “besides, i’m pretty sure i dropped the knife back by the docks earlier. i’m gonna go check before some kid steps on it.”

you rolled your eyes as he jogged up the bank, barefoot, humming under his breath. always like this—warm, helpful in theory, more trouble than he was worth in practice. and still, he was your favorite person. always had been. you couldn’t remember a single summer where he hadn’t made you laugh, where you hadn’t fought and made up three times in one afternoon.

and lately, maybe it was more. maybe it wasn’t. you hadn’t figured it out yet, but you liked having him nearby. especially today, when the heat had been unbearable, the fish were slippery and sour-smelling, and the flies wouldn’t leave you alone.

you went back to gutting fish. the basket was nearly full. the sun pressed heavy against your back, and for a second, everything felt still.

then you heard the wheels.

you looked up just in time to see dust curling into the air at the edge of the road. a chariot, gleaming gold, polished so bright it nearly blinded you. the wheels spun slow, deliberate, sun catching on every curve of its carved panels. the sides were etched with symbols you didn’t recognize, winged things, celestial spirals, a burning eye at the center like it was watching you.

two horses pulled it, sleek and massive, coats the color of sand after rain, their manes braided with gold thread that shimmered every time they moved. their hooves barely made a sound against the earth.

your stomach twisted.

who brings a chariot to the edge of a fishing village? to the riverbanks where kids ran barefoot and women scrubbed laundry against smooth stones?

it slowed, stopped, and the horses didn’t snort or shake their heads like normal animals. they just stood, still and silent, as if they’d been carved from marble.

and from it, only one woman stepped down.

she was old. tall, slow-moving, dressed in linen and gold, with a veil wrapped tight around her head and her face mostly shadowed. she said nothing as she approached. just walked through the sand like she was floating.

you froze, hand hovering above the fish basket. she didn’t look dangerous. just strange. like someone important who had gotten lost.

she knelt beside you, movements slow, deliberate, and the smell of her hit you first—frankincense, sweat, and something metallic.

you stared at her, and she looked out toward the river.

“do you think the sun ever gets tired?” she asked suddenly.

you blinked. “uh… what?”

“all that rising. all that heat. day after day. no rest.”

you hesitated. “i mean, i guess i never thought about it.”

“but you believe in the gods, don’t you?” she asked. “you know their names?”

you shifted where you sat. her tone was calm, but her eyes were locked on you.

“i mean… yeah. i guess. i don’t really think about it much. i know what i’m supposed to. you know. offerings. prayers. but i’m not like—super religious.”

you tried to laugh, unsure. something about her made your skin crawl, but you didn’t want to be rude. she could be someone’s grandmother. someone important. a temple woman. a wandering preacher. some weird cult thing. you didn’t know. you just wanted her to finish whatever she was going to say and leave.

she didn’t. instead, she looked at you for a long time, then said, “what is your name?”

you blinked again. “me?”

she nodded.

“uh…” you hesitated, unsure why the question felt so loaded. it was just your name, but something about the way she looked at you made your chest tighten. still, it’s not like you’d ever have to see her again.

“y/n,” you said, cautiously.

the moment your name left your mouth, something shifted, and her entire expression changed. she stood. turned to the road behind her and called, loud and clear, “she’s the one.”

you froze. “what?”

you scrambled backward as her hands reached for you. she grabbed your wrist like it belonged to her.

you recoiled instinctively, heartbeat thudding. “don’t touch me.”

she ignored you. her fingers brushed your skin and her grip tightened. you twisted away, stumbling into the reeds. two more women came out of the chariot. one held something beneath her robes, something angular, rigid, gleaming faintly in the sun.

“get your fucking hands off me.” you yanked your hand back and your pulse shot to your throat. her grip was like iron. she didn’t say anything, just looked down at you, face calm and distant, like she already knew how this ended.

“you are the one,” the first one said, low, certain. “the voice of the sun god. he has spoken.”

you blinked at her like she’d spoken a foreign language.

“what?” your voice came out breathy. disbelieving. “what are you even talking about? ra? are you—what does that have to do with me?”

the other two moved towards you, closer, steady, too calm for how fast your heart was racing.

your stomach dropped. you thought for a brief second—oh my god, these people are going to kill me.

you twisted, screamed.

“yuji!”

your voice cracked.

“yuji!”

you heard footsteps pounding down the path, and he appeared at the top of the bank, wild-eyed, breathless, and shirtless, his chest rising fast with every gasp of air. his skin was flushed and sun-warmed, the tan glow of it made deeper by the heat and sweat clinging to his collarbones. his muscles were lean, carved in a way that looked accidental, like he got them from running too much and working too hard. his shendyt—a faded linen kilt, tied loose at his hips, clung to him damp with river water, twisted from the sprint, the hem stained slightly with mud.

a panicked fire in his eyes. he looked like he’d been ready to fight even before he knew what for. “what the hell is going on?”

you used the distraction from yuji to yank yourself free, stumbling back from the woman’s grip and scrambling behind him, clutching the back of his shoulder like it was the only solid thing in the world.

“they grabbed me,” you sobbed. “i don’t know, they just started saying weird things—”

one of the other women stepped forward, face calm, expression unreadable. “has she bled yet?”

yuji blinked, arm already out in front of you, body angled to shield yours. “what?”

“has she begun the red season?” the woman asked. “passed through the gate of womanhood?”

you froze. the words landed in your chest like a rock. your face flushed hot, a wave of something like shame or horror crawling up the back of your neck. yuji did not need to know that. not like this.

he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you, but you didn’t meet his eyes.

then he looked back at them, and his gaze dropped—just for a second, to the glint of metal beneath the older woman’s robes.

his jaw clenched. “why the hell do you need to know that?” he said, voice low. cold. unfamiliar.

he shifted his stance, shoulder squared, foot braced in the sand. a shield now. something immovable.

the women didn’t answer, they only stepped closer, and yuji moved fully in front of you.

“y/n,” he said, his voice sharper this time. “run.”

you hesitated, just for a breath. and then you ran. your feet tore across the sand, breath catching, dress flying. behind you, the fish basket flipped, splashing its contents into the dirt.

you didn’t look back. you ran until your house appeared through the heat-haze, knees buckling as you hit the threshold.

your father looked up from the floor, startled.

“dad—” you gasped. “dad, there’s people—there’s women—i don’t know what’s happening, they grabbed me, and yuji told me to run—dad, i think they have weapons—”

your words tumbled too fast. you couldn’t catch your breath. your heart wouldn’t slow down.

he crossed the room in two steps and caught you in his arms.

“please,” you begged, clutching your father’s tunic, fists trembling in the fabric. “please don’t let them take me.”

his arms tightened around you. he didn’t speak, just held you, like he could hold the world back if he tried hard enough.

and then the light shifted.

the sun, already high, suddenly felt unbearable, gleaming brighter than ever through the slats in the window, cutting across the floor in hot, blinding streaks. it made the dust glow. it made your skin burn. it felt like a spotlight aimed straight at your body, like even the heavens were pointing you out.

you barely had time to breathe before the door crashed open, and hooves thundered outside. shouting erupted like fire. the heat rushed in first, followed by the heavy rhythm of boots on clay.

they stormed in without hesitation—guards, real guards this time. cloaked in gold and thick leather armor, their faces set, eyes forward. they carried scrolls stamped with wax, blades strapped across their backs, and emblems of the gods hanging from their belts like pendants of judgment.

your father tried to block the doorway. shouted something you couldn’t hear, and they shoved past him like he was nothing. they grabbed your arms and you screamed. thrashed, kicked.

“she is the girl,” one of them said. “the one the god has whispered of.”

your father’s voice broke behind you, and then they took you.

they dragged you down the narrow road, barefoot and sobbing. past the neighbors who stood frozen in doorways. past children clutching baskets. past the dock where yuji once tried to teach you to swim and nearly drowned instead.

and from that day on, the world knew your name.

but it was no longer yours.

you were carried to the capital in a litter draped with white linen and perfumed wood, the scent of crushed myrrh suffocating you the whole way. they called you pure. unblemished. a vessel of still water. they said ra had whispered your name into the ears of his priests—that he had seen you. chosen you. that your body was no longer yours. that it was his.

you remember crying your way through it.

the whole ride your eyes were puffy and red, vision blurred with tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how tightly you squeezed them shut. you kept sniffling, chest hitching with every breath, throat raw from sobbing their names.

yuji. your father.

the chariot rattled along the road like it didn’t hear your grief at all, and when the city gates swallowed you whole, the sun blazing down on stone walls too high to see over, it felt like the last part of your life had been scraped clean away.

you remember your arrival only in flashes.

hands scrubbing your limbs with milk and salt. girls in gold veils and hushed voices, pouring warm oil through your tangled hair. your fingers dipped in resin until they stiffened. your lips painted in crushed carmine, staining your mouth like you’d eaten something sacred.

they dressed you in white linen so sheer it felt like mist. layered you in necklaces too heavy for your collarbones. you were draped in gauze-fine linen the color of morning sun, eyes rimmed in kohl and turquoise. a collar of lapis hung heavy on your neck. ringed your arms in copper and gold. they called you chosen. divine. they said the god had waited centuries for an oracle like you.

but all you could think was how small your father had looked when they tore you from his arms. how fast yuji had run to save you.

how you hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.

you remember pacing the temple for hours, its sandstone courtyards bright and humming, full of open doors and soft music, and yet you felt like an animal in a cage too pretty to complain about.

“when will the god speak to me?” you’d asked once, voice barely above a whisper, eyes darting to the guards posted outside your chamber. “what if he never does?”

your handmaiden had only smiled, tucking a loose braid behind your ear, fingers still slick with scented oil.

“he will,” she said gently, like it was fact. like it was promise.

but no one ever told you when, or how. or what it would cost.

…

your first vision happened on the sixth night, and it didn’t feel like prophecy—it felt like possession.

you’d been walking toward the temple, the heat baked into the stone beneath your bare feet, the towering statues of falcons and gods casting long, warped shadows over your path. the sky above was a dull, unblinking gold. incense curled from bronze dishes in the corners. your handmaiden was a few steps behind you, humming something low.

and then something shifted. cracked. split you open like a tomb.

your body went hot all at once, then cold, then numb. your fingers seized. your breath caught in your throat. your knees nearly buckled. your handmaiden called out, said something sharp to one of the guards, but it was already too late.

your eyes rolled back so far all you saw was black, thick, and endless. the inside of your skull stretching far too wide.

you smelled incense and myrrh. and then—

he was there.

ra.

he stood in the center of your mind like it was a throne room. everything around him shimmered, shifting with heat. the sky above was blinding gold, cracked like stained glass. beneath your feet, the ground pulsed with slow, molten light. it felt like standing on the crust of the sun.

and behind him, above him, watching you, were eyes, real, golden, and unblinking. they hovered in the air like stars that had forgotten to burn. some were huge, wide as gates, irises ringed in sunfire. others blinked into view and disappeared, slow and reptilian. they followed you wherever you moved, even if you didn’t move at all. even if you couldn’t.

“you noticed them,” he said, smiling.

his hair was white-gold and wind-blown, too soft to make sense of, like strands of moonlight layered over flame. his skin glowed the way polished stone does when it’s been held too long in the sun, bronze, radiant, alive. his robe shimmered with woven gold thread, sleeveless and split at the sides, falling off his shoulders like light couldn’t quite cling to him.

his mouth curved upward, amused. following your gaze to the eyes hanging in the gold-lit air.

“don’t worry about the eyes,” he said. “they help me… discern,” he said lightly, like it wasn’t meant to sound ominous.

then he smiled.

“truth tends to hide, you know.”

he took a single step forward and the floor cracked. “you’ll speak for me now,” he said, voice smooth and bright like sunlight off water. “lucky you.”

he tilted his head, grinning. “i don’t let just anyone talk on my behalf.”

his smile turned just a little wider. “and please,” he said. “call me satoru.”

he was beautiful in a way that hurt to process. hair white as salt, soft and glowing like silk dipped in moonlight. skin bronzed and radiant, every inch of it gleaming like he’d been carved from sunlight and polished with gold leaf. his lashes were thick and pale, his jaw sharp and regal, his smile lazy but knowing. and his eyes—

his eyes were impossible.

icy blue, bright like the sky over the desert at noon. but they weren’t soft. they were focused, like flames trapped in frozen glass, like lightning waiting to strike.

and just before everything went white—

he winked. casual. playful. like this was all just a little inside joke between you and god.

you gasped awake with a sharp jolt, body drenched in sweat, the smell of frankincense thick in your lungs. the chamber spun around you. the stone was cool beneath your back. your hands were trembling.

the others had already gathered. they wept, clapped and shouted, fell to their knees.

“the oracle has spoken!” they cried.

you were pulled upright, praised, paraded through the outer halls like something sacred. someone pressed a diadem into your hair of rubies, sunstone, plumes of red and white. they placed rings on your fingers, painted your lips again, called you chosen.

you didn’t remember what you’d said. you weren’t even sure you had spoken at all.

and then the silence settled, and life for them just went on.

you were the oracle now. not a girl. not a person. just another vessel carved out for a god to pour himself into. they called you chosen, divine, blessed.

but no one listened when you tried to talk about your dad, or yuji, or home. no one asked if you missed the sound of frogs chirping in the shallows at dusk. no one noticed the way your voice shook during prayers, or how your fingers twitched when the guards walked too close. no one cared that you woke up crying most nights, gasping like you’d surfaced from drowning.

that sometimes, after visions, you sat for hours in the far corner of the temple, staring at the way the candles flickered shadows onto the wall, hoping they’d dance into something familiar.

no one cared, except for your handmaiden, shoko.

she was older. sharp-eyed, quiet, always pulling you gently away when the priests grew too eager or when your legs buckled after a long vision. she smelled like cloves and always snuck you dates from the kitchens when she thought you needed something sweet. she never bowed to you like the others. never gasped when your eyes lit gold.

“does it hurt?” she asked once, brushing the hair from your cheek.

you hadn’t answered, but she still stayed.

and when ra came for the first time—or satoru, as he’d told you to call him, when his white-haired form stepped radiant and smiling into your chamber, all gleaming gold and easy charm, calling you his beloved mouthpiece, reaching out to cradle your cheek with hands you’d never invited—

shoko was the only one who saw you flinch.

the priests bowed. the guards dropped their gazes. the other girls pressed their foreheads to the stone.

but shoko didn’t move or kneel, she just watched. watched the way your shoulders tensed. watched the way you forced a smile. watched the way his thumb brushed beneath your eye—how your whole body resisted the urge to lean away.

and when satoru turned toward her, white brow raised, your breath hitched. he stepped forward, easy and amused, stopping just short of where she stood.

the room went still. the air grew warm as his eyes flicked over her, measured, curious, and then he chuckled.

“ah,” he said softly.

“you’ve already got a lioness whispering in your ear.” he smiled. “no wonder you don’t flinch.”

shoko didn’t answer, nor blink. just inclined her head the slightest bit. not in deference, just acknowledgment.

your heart pounded. lioness?

you glanced at her wrist. at the thin bronze cuff she always wore just beneath her palm, etched with what you’d always thought were decorative flames. but now, looking closer, you saw it: the carving of a lion’s eye.

piercing. watchful. burning.

you remembered the nights she sat beside your bed, palm warm against your spine as your fevers broke. how you never heard her footsteps, but she was always there when you needed her most.

a chill ran through you.

she’s protected by sekhmet, you thought. not like you. not owned. not caged. but chosen.

…

ra never aged. not the way humans did.

his body stayed frozen in perfection, skin bronzed like sun-baked clay, white lashes dusting the edges of eyes too bright to look at for long. his hair, white as moonlight, always fell just right across his brow. his smiles came easy. his laugh was like water hitting hot stone, quick, sharp, disappearing too fast. he carried light in his palms. wore it on his shoulders. sometimes, when he passed, the very air shimmered in his wake, and he knew it.

he was the god of the sun—of creation, kingship, order, rebirth. his eye burned away chaos. his name lit the sky each morning. whole cities were built in his honor, obelisks and temples rising from the sand like gold teeth in the earth. every harvest, every law, every heartbeat was offered up to him.

he visited you often.

sometimes in dreams. sometimes in person. sometimes just as a voice in your head, a rush of heat behind your eyes.

he liked to sit near the window where the sunlight pooled the brightest. he liked when you smiled. he liked to tease.

“so serious,” he’d say, crouching down beside you, tucking a finger beneath your chin to tilt your gaze up. “you’ll wrinkle before you’re twenty if you keep frowning like that.”

you always blushed when he said things like that. always looked down, hiding the way your lips curled despite yourself.

you’d never had a boyfriend before. never been kissed. never had someone press their mouth to yours like you mattered.

yuji was the closest thing—just a friend you liked a little too much, whose shoulder you’d sometimes lean against when you were tired, whose laughter made your heart jump funny in your chest. but this was different. ra said things no one else ever had. brought gifts no one else ever could. golden bangles that sparkled like stars. oils that smelled like citrus and sun. once, he’d floated a ball of light in his palm just to hear you laugh.

and the first time he kissed you—it wasn’t hurried. his hand slid around your jaw, warm and firm. his mouth brushed yours like a blessing, soft and sure, as if he were pressing light into your skin. he kissed you like you were precious. like you were his. like the whole world had been waiting for this.

and the first time ra touched you like that, it was quiet.

the temple was heavy with dusk, warm with amber light and the scent of myrrh. outside, the river moved slow and silver. inside, it felt like the world was holding its breath. he looked at you like he always did—like you were something sacred. something his.

his hair was white as always, soft like moonlight, tousled like he hadn’t bothered to be perfect. but his burned blue, blinding, endless, holy.

he touched your face like it was breakable. thumb at your cheek, fingers along your jaw when he kissed you. it was warm, soft, too gentle for what he was, but his presence was still overwhelming. he was tall, broad, built like someone who had never once been powerless—and now, that power was all focused on you.

“you’re ready,” he said quietly, voice like honey warmed on the fire. “you trust me, don’t you?”

you nodded, breath caught behind your ribs.

his hand slid down, steady. across your stomach, then lower. his fingers parted you gently, testing how soft you were, how much you could take. your thighs trembled, shame crawling up your spine—because it was new, and you were nervous, and he was a god.

and when he finally pressed into you, your breath hitched.

it hurt. not sharp, but deep, aching, a stretch your body didn’t know how to handle. your eyes stung, and your hands clenched the linen beneath you.

“shhh,” he murmured, mouth at your ear. “i know. i know it hurts. just breathe, little sun. you’re doing so well.”

he didn’t move right away. just held you, his hips flush against yours, his hand stroking your side.

“you’re so tight,” he whispered. “so warm. it’s perfect. you’re perfect.”

you tried to relax. you tried to stop shaking. he kissed your shoulder. your neck. whispered that you were beautiful, that he’d wait as long as you needed.

and when he moved, it hurt again, but there was something else, too. heat blooming behind the pain. your body opening for him, inch by inch, breath by trembling breath. he praised every sound you made.

“just like that,” he said, voice low and full of worship. “gods, you’re perfect. my beautiful girl. look at how well you take me.”

his body glowed where it touched yours. like fire under skin. like divinity poured into flesh. he touched you like you were his light. he moved like he never wanted to leave your body again.

and when you finally gasped his name, nails digging into his shoulders, tears in your eyes, he kissed you again. soft, and endless, like sunrise.

“mine,” he whispered. “my oracle. my light. no one else gets to see you like this.”

and when he held you after, hands still warm, breath steady, you realized you’d never really belonged to yourself.

not since he first looked at you like that. not since he first called you his.

but you’d grown to love him.

not in the way a lover loves, not at first. but in the way captives love the hand that feeds them. the way girls love gods when gods are the only things that see them.

he was the one who visited when you cried. the one who spoke in your mind when no one else listened. the one who made your heart flutter and your voice stammer when he called you things like his little sunbeam, his favorite voice, the only mortal worth hearing.

and when you asked if you’d ever go home—if you’d ever see your father or yuji again, he just looked at you, head tilted, lashes glowing white against the dusk.

“what more could you possibly need than me?”

and it was terrifying how much you started to believe him.

he brought you gifts—jeweled anklets from across the sea, papyrus scrolls written in sacred script, dried figs packed in silver tins. once he even brought you a falcon, sleek and sharp-eyed, trained to sit on your arm. you named it zehuti, and it slept at the edge of your bed for months.

you began to thank him in ways you never meant to. you smiled more. laughed when he joked. leaned toward his warmth instead of away.

he made you feel full. chosen. cherished.

…

the sky was just beginning to bleed, and you sat beside the water garden, ankles tucked beneath your skirts, brushing lotus petals from the surface of the pool. the scent of milk and sunlight drifted through the temple’s outer court. frogs murmured softly in the reeds.

for once, it was quiet. no priests. no chanting. no guards watching from the colonnade. just stillness. and the fading hum of the day.

you didn’t hear them at first.

just the faint crunch of sandals against gravel, and when you looked up, three men stood a few steps away—two attendants flanking the high priest. the same one who’d crowned you with rubies on the sixth night. the same one who always called you child of the flame.

he bowed.

your brows knit. you didn’t rise.

“what’s going on?” you asked, brushing a damp petal from your wrist.

he smiled, faintly. “the sun god has made a request.”

you blinked. “what kind of request?”

he nodded to the men beside him. one stepped forward, holding a shallow bronze bowl. inside it sat folded linen, a vial of oil, and something that glinted.

“we must prepare your body,” the priest said.

your stomach tightened. “prepare it for what?”

his voice didn’t change. it was gentle. too gentle. “to strengthen the boundary. to protect the throne. to keep the great serpent asleep.”

you stared, and for a moment, your mind scrambled to make sense of it. maybe it was another ritual. another prayer. maybe—

“no,” you said slowly. “no, he wouldn’t need that. not from me.”

the priest’s gaze softened. he stepped closer. “you were chosen, oracle,” he said. “this is the role the sun god bestowed.”

“then let me speak to him.” you stood abruptly. your voice was too loud in the quiet. “he always speaks to me. let me ask him myself.”

you reached for the connection. tried to drop into that inner space, the pool in your mind where his voice used to surface—

nothing. not a flicker in your chest. not a whisper in your mind.

you tried again.

satoru?

still nothing.

…ra?

silence. the kind that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

“no,” you said, stepping back now, heart pounding. “this—this isn’t right. something’s wrong. i—he would never ask for this. he wouldn’t—”

you didn’t finish. the second attendant reached out, and took your wrist.

your body went cold. “don’t touch me,” you snapped, voice cracking. “what are you doing?”

“the oils will numb the skin,” one said. “you will be honored, praised—”

“stop!” you screamed, wrenching away. “you’re lying. he didn’t ask for this—he loves me, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t!” your lips trembled.

“he would never hurt me. he would never—”

please, you whispered, silently, desperately. please just talk to me. say something. please.

and yet, the silence held, and ra did not come.

you struggled. your body fought on instinct, wild, ungraceful, furious. arms swinging, legs kicking, breath coming fast and shallow. you screamed until your throat burned, tears streaking down your face as two guards seized you by the arms. you twisted, thrashed, dragged your feet across the floor. they didn’t care. they bound your wrists in silk—fine, ceremonial, fragrant with rose oil, and hauled you like you weighed nothing at all.

your voice echoed through the temple like a broken thing, unheard, unreturned, and in the silence, all you could hear was your own ragged breath—and the sound of their sandals against the stone.

they brought you to the altar.

white limestone, sun-bleached and smooth. flower petals scattered in rings around it. bowls of sacred oil warmed at its base, thick with myrrh and lotus, their scent cloying in your nose.

they laid you down.

not gently, either. your body hit the altar hard, wrists tugged taut above your head. silk looped again and again. a priest leaned over you with solemn hands, dipping his fingers into the oil, pressing it to your chest, your shoulders, your temples.

a prayer was spoken, one you barely heard. your ears rang. your stomach turned. the gold-threaded cloth beneath your back soaked up the sweat clinging to your skin.

and then you saw the blade, small, obsidian, and curved like the moon.

you stopped breathing. you flinched before it even touched you. your eyes squeezed shut, your head turned away, a cry catching in your throat—

and then came the sting, sharp, sudden, shallow, but real. blood welled up instantly along your thigh, hot, and slow.

“satoru,” you sobbed. “ra, please, it hurts, please, i’ll do anything, just tell them to stop—”

your blood ran hot. thick. wet down your leg and warm against the sandstone. you thought they were going to kill you, you truly did.

you gasped, not just from pain, but from the shock of it. the reality that they were doing this. he had ordered this. but the pain was so sharp it turned bright, and your vision narrowed, then eventually the world blinked out.

“satoru,” you whispered. the word cracked in your throat, and he still didn’t come.

when you came back to yourself, you were lying on a golden mat. someone was pressing cloth into the wound. your skin stung with crushed herbs and salt. the smell of resin and bitter fig choked you. your body was shaking, and you couldn’t stop crying. your fingers clenched in the fabric of your robe, soaked red. your voice broke on every prayer.

“please,” you whispered again. “just… please come back. please talk to me.”

and still, he said nothing. not a flicker of light. not a breath in your mind. not even warmth.

only cold. only pain. only the echo of your own sobbing in a chamber too golden to hold grief.

you drifted in and out of sleep. shoko came in quiet intervals to check your bandages, brushing a cool cloth over your forehead, replacing the linens beneath your thigh. others whispered prayers you couldn’t hear. their words washed over you like warm water, but never reached your skin.

by nightfall, the chamber of offerings was silent again. you sat alone, legs tucked beneath you, linen robe soaked with dried blood. the scent of copper clung to the air, and the floor beneath you felt too large, too hard, too still. your arms ached from fighting. your thigh throbbed beneath the salves. the flesh around your wrists pulsed, tight, swollen, raw where silk had once bound you.

the world felt tilted. wrong. your body knew it before your mind did. you shivered beneath the gauzy robe. your breath hitched. and then—

light.

soft at first. like dawn peeking through the temple’s slotted ceiling. a golden hum. a warmth that touched the inside of your eyelids before your skin. it pulsed gently. then brightened.

“my little sunbeam.”

your eyes fluttered open.

he was already kneeling beside you, crouched low, the folds of his radiant robes spilling across the stone like sunlight made fabric. the glow of him was almost too much to look at, white lashes catching the gleam, hair lit from within like alabaster glass. he smelled like warmth and myrrh and memory.

ra.

his hands were soft when they found your face. too soft. they cupped your cheeks like something cherished. his thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t realized was there. his eyes, icy blue, searing bright, searched yours with a careful stillness.

“why are you crying?” he asked, quiet. too quiet.

you didn’t answer. you only let yourself lean forward, into the hands that hadn’t come for you. into the comfort of the one who had let them take you.

he held you, and you hated how warm it felt.

“you’re so brave,” he murmured. “i’m so proud of you.”

you choked on a sob.

his voice was like honey poured over open wounds. it stuck to the raw parts of you. thick. sweet. suffocating.

“why didn’t you come?” you asked, voice shaking. “i screamed for you.”

he sighed gently. tilted your chin up, his touch unbearably light.

“i heard you,” he said, soft as sunbeams. “but you had to be strong.”

you stared at him. the shine of his hair. the lines of his face. perfect. timeless. unknowable.

“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you whispered. “it hurts, ra— satoru. it hurts so much.”

his expression shifted, briefly. something flickered behind his eyes. but it was gone in a blink, replaced with that same impossible smile.

“i know,” he said. “but you were chosen, my love. and chosen ones must carry the weight.”

he smooths your hair back from your face, presses his forehead gently to yours. “this pain… it’s the price of peace. your blood holds back the serpent. every drop keeps the sun rising. your people breathing. your father and yuji safe.”

his thumb moved over your cheek again.

“you’re not just anyone. you are my voice. my light. your blood, your pain—it fuels the sun. without you, it dims. don’t you see? the world needs you.”

you shake your head. your lips tremble.

“i didn’t ask for this,” you say, almost childishly. “i never—i never asked to be chosen.”

his arms wrap around you.

“and yet you were,” he murmurs. “you were always mine. and i’ve loved you, haven’t i?”

and you nod. because you have no other choice. because it’s true, you did love him. because you still do, somewhere. even now. even broken.

“you’ll get used to the pain,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “it’s a small thing… to help me save the world.”

and you try. you try so hard to be good.

you bite down on leather when they cut into your shoulder. you squeeze your eyes shut when the blade slips against your stomach. you let them drain you slowly, gently, like you’re something sacred being carved from the inside out.

but it never stops hurting, and satoru stops visiting so often.

he still smiles when he does. still calls you radiant. still places a glowing hand on your brow. but his gaze slides toward the horizon more often now. he speaks of apophis more than he speaks of you. his light feels thinner. colder.

and when you whisper for him now? he doesn’t always answer.

…

the voice begins as a hush.

not during sleep, not in dreams, but during the bloodletting.

you’re lying flat, breath shallow, thighs bound, arms trembling as another shallow cut opens along your side, when suddenly, it’s there.

a voice, coiling warm against the inside of your skull. smooth, deep, slow, like honey sliding along a blade. it curved around your thoughts, soft and deliberate, brushing the most vulnerable parts of your mind like it already knew them.

“you don’t have to let them do this,” the voice hissed. “you are not a well to be drained.”

your eyes flew open.

the ceiling above you swam in and out of focus, candles flickering high in their sconces, shadows curling like snakes across the sandstone. your wrists throbbed. your thigh ached. you could still feel the blade, even though the blood had dried.

but that voice—it wasn’t ra’s.

ra’s voice was golden, deafening, and euphoric. it rushed through your head like sunlight. this was different.

cooler, older, and quieter. obviously not human.

and you knew you should tell someone.

so you waited until that night, when the others had gone. when the guards changed. when shoko returned to your chamber with fresh linen and oil for your skin. you were sitting on the edge of the basin, water at your ankles, when you whispered her name.

she glanced at you once. “you’re bleeding again?”

“no,” you said. “i… i heard something.”

her hands slowed.

you hesitated. “it wasn’t ra.”

her face gave nothing away, but she stopped altogether, towel half-folded in her hands.

you told her about the voice. about the warmth. about the words whispered just before you lost consciousness. and the way it had curled inside you. not threatening. not painful. just… there.

she didn’t interrupt. only after a long silence did she finally speak. “there was another oracle before you,” she said, quiet. “a boy. he was younger than you, when he was chosen.”

“what happened to him?”

shoko’s eyes dropped to the basin. “his name was suguru. he served for seven years. he was… bright. clever. soft-spoken.” her voice turned faintly bitter. “like all good tragedies.”

you swallowed.

“he started dreaming of the serpent,” she said. “the same way you have.”

your mouth went dry.

“he thought he could control it. thought he could use it. thought he could take ra’s power and reshape it—reshape everything. but the thing about gods,” she said flatly, “is they don’t share.”

you stared at her.

“ra killed him,” she said. “on the altar. burned his name from the scrolls. they say the serpent grows stronger every time he claims a vessel meant for the sun.” her voice sharpened.

“so you do not speak of this again.”

you opened your mouth. “but if ra—”

“don’t be stupid,” she cut in. “you’re not protected like i am.”

you blinked. “protected?”

shoko raised her arm, tugged back her sleeve to the show the cuff you’d forgotten about, lion’s eye shining in the dimly lit room.

“i was born under sekhmet’s watch,” she said. “he can’t touch me without her knowing. but you?” she reached out and touched your cheek, gentle.

“you’re only his to use.”

she stood.

“so unless you want to end up like suguru,” she said, voice clipped, “do not mention the serpent again. not to anyone.”

and then she left you there, alone, ankles in water. hands trembling. head full of a voice you weren’t allowed to speak of.

…

every time they came to cut you, the voice returned.

it stirred in the silence before the blade touched your skin, warm and coiled at the base of your spine. it slipped beneath your thoughts like water through stone, slow and soothing.

sometimes it laughed. a low, curling sound, like silk sliding across wet clay.

other times, it stayed quiet—just lingered, brushing behind your ears, humming with a patience that scared you more than anything else.

and then the dreams began.

you didn’t notice it at first. they felt like static. heat. too many flickering candles.

but the third one, you remembered.

you were standing barefoot in an endless hall, black stone walls stretching up forever, carved with twisting shapes you couldn’t decipher. torches lined the sides but cast no warmth. the shadows didn’t move.

a boy stood at the end of the corridor, soft pink hair. honey-bronze skin. the curve of his jaw familiar.

“yuji?” you breathed, instinctive.

he looked up, and you stopped.

his eyes weren’t yuji’s. they held none of his softness—none of that open, earnest light that made you trust him even when you shouldn’t. no, these eyes were red. deep red. like crushed carnelian, like the sun caught in blood. they were sharp, slanted, knowing. they looked through you the way a knife studied skin before it split it open.

he had all of yuji’s beauty, but in a cruel, cut-glass way, like someone had taken something pure and carved it into something dangerous.

his body was bare from the waist up, skin bronzed and gleaming like polished amber. black markings coiled along his torso, tattoos like serpents and hieroglyphs, ancient spells inked in symbols you couldn’t read. a collar of gold wrapped his throat, shaped like a rearing cobra with ruby eyes. thick bands of obsidian and lapis circled his biceps, carved with scenes of chaos and fire, divine plagues, serpents devouring suns, figures kneeling before a great coiled beast.

and despite all that, the way he looked at you still mirrored yuji’s in one way:

like he already knew the softest parts of you.

but unlike yuji, it wasn’t kindness that stirred in his gaze—it was hunger.

something slithered behind you in the dark, and you turned just in time to hear it whisper—

apophis.

you looked back at the boy. “you— you’re—”

“yes,” he said easily. “but i think you already knew that.”

you backed away. “what do you want from me?”

his head tilted. “nothing.”

your breath hitched. “then why—”

“but i can help you,” he said, stepping closer. “that pain you carry… the part of you that trembles every time they bind your wrists. the ache in your bones. the fear you swallow for your god.”

you said nothing.

he smiled again. “i can take it. all of it. every last drop. you only have to ask.”

his voice was silk wrapped around a blade. slow, sweet, promising.

but he still looked like yuji, the boy who’d probably laid down his life to protect you.

that same curve to his jaw. that same messy, windswept hair, only pinker now, wild and tousled like he’d run through a sandstorm. the tilt of his head, the slight part to his lips, the familiar shape of his nose. it was him, and it wasn’t. he was carved crueler. he was heavier with meaning.

and when you stared at his torso, your gaze dropping to the gilded serpent bands coiled around his arms, the glinting stones and the black-inked sigils burned into his chest—you couldn’t look back up.

your body trembled, unable to meet those red, god-marked eyes.

he leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, close enough to smell the faint curl of smoke and myrrh on his breath. his voice curled low against your ear.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, almost gentle. “you can look at me.”

and then you woke up.

your mouth was dry. your chest was tight. there was a weight in the air, a thick, invisible coil that made the hairs rise on your arms. you couldn’t move at first, breath lodged in your throat. the room was wrong. too still. too dark. only one candle remained, its flame flickering low. the rest were blown out completely, wax still soft from the heat.

you sat up slowly. the sheets clung to your skin, damp with sweat. the wind outside had stilled. the air was silent.

and then you saw it.

curled beside the woven perch near your window—your falcon, zehuti.

still, and limp, throat mangled, neck bent. something had coiled around him. crushed him. his wings were sprawled awkwardly, his beak tilted open, eyes clouded. a thin trail of blood darkened the floor beneath his feathers, and coiled at his neck, was the unmistakable mark of something long and scaled.

you covered your mouth. a sob caught in your chest.

and behind you came quiet footsteps. shoko. she saw it and moved fast. pulled the drape closed. wrapped him in linen. wiped the blood before anyone else could see.

she didn’t say a word, but the look in her eyes said everything.

and when ra came the next day, all sunlight and honeyed lies, smiling, radiant, fingers warm beneath your chin—his smile faltered for the briefest moment.

“what happened to zehuti?” he asked, gaze flicking to the corner where the perch stood empty.

you swallowed, heart hammering at the memory of what shoko had told you about suguru geto and his fate.

“old age,” you said, voice trembling. “i think. i just found him lying there.”

satoru’s bright blue eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, as if testing your answer. then he nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and offered a gentle, practiced smile.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured, voice soft as sunlight. “zehuti was a fine bird.”

you thought he was going to turn and leave. his robes had already begun to sway with the motion, his fingers lifting from your doorframe, his steps carrying that same glow they always did—but then, he hesitated.

just for a breath.

his head tilted, and his brows pulled together ever so slightly. a flicker of suspicion passed through those blinding blue eyes.

“but ah,” he said softly, almost idly, “has anything changed?”

your mouth dried. your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe.

he was still smiling, casual, disarming, but you felt it in your gut. the question wasn’t casual. it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t innocent.

you bowed your head quickly. “no.”

and then, like warmth curling into your ear, “good girl,” the voice whispered. “you’re learning.”

…

you try to shut the voice out, you really do.

but you’re so tired.

your legs barely carry you from chamber to chamber now. your hands tremble when you pour the sacred water, your knees buckle during prayer. light stings your eyes like knives. you hear the priests whisper more openly now—about the color in your cheeks, or the lack of it. the way your steps falter. the way your breath sounds too thin for someone so young.

you haven’t seen shoko in days.

you wake to bleeding—your thighs, your palms, your arms, and you don’t know if it was a vision or a sacrifice. you don’t know what part of you is your own anymore. you lose time like it’s sand through a sieve. one minute you’re walking the outer corridor of the temple, and the next you’re kneeling at the basin, blood dried on your robe, hands shaking.

and satoru—he’s watching you.

he’s all smiles, still. all brightness and blue sky. but you feel it in the way he speaks to you now, lighter, but sharper. too knowing. like he sees something leaking from the corners of your spirit and is waiting for you to admit it. sometimes his eyes linger too long. sometimes he says nothing at all.

and you remember what he told you when you first met—about the eyes. how they help him discern truth.

you’ve been trying to hide yours ever since.

but one night, you can’t help it. you just can’t shut him out.

…

that night, the moon hung low and orange behind the clouds, veiled like an omen. the chamber was quiet. too quiet. the kind of silence that didn’t comfort—it smothered. no guards murmuring in the halls. no footsteps. not even the wind against the stone walls.

you sat alone on the woven mat that barely softened the cold beneath you. your knees were tucked to your chest, robe clinging to the dried blood on your thighs. your wrists still ached beneath the thin linen wrappings. everything hurt. but nothing more than your chest.

your heart was racing. too fast. thudding like it was trying to get out.

all you could see when you closed your eyes was satoru.

not the light of his smile, but the weight behind it. not the way he tilted your chin like he adored you, but the pressure in his fingers, the command in the gesture, like you were a puppet on gold-thread strings. you kept seeing his hands, yes. but not how they cupped your cheeks or caught the sunlight when he played with it for your amusement. no, now you were thinking about what they could do. what they were made to do. what power burned in his palms when he wasn’t playing at gentleness.

he hadn’t raised his voice at you. he hadn’t looked at you with hate. but the thought still throbbed behind your eyes—what if he did? what would it look like if that smile dropped? if the kindness curdled?

he was the sun. if he turned on you, there would be no shelter.

you pictured it—the fury behind his eyes, the rage he hadn’t shown. imagined your body burning to ash under his gaze. the temple collapsing. the sand turning to glass. it wasn’t a memory. it wasn’t a threat. but you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

and maybe that was the scariest part.

he hadn’t done it, but you believed he could.

you drew in a breath, quiet and sharp, pressing your forehead to your knees.

“are you listening?” you whispered into the dark, unsure if you were whispering for ra or apophis—maybe not even for a god at all. maybe just for someone. anyone. someone to answer. someone to care.

“can you hear me?”

your lips parted again. your voice trembled.

“please.”

your fingers curled in the linen beneath you, knuckles pale. the shadows didn’t move. the candles didn’t flicker. the stars outside stayed still and cold. you shut your eyes.

“i’m scared,” you admitted. barely a breath.

and then a rustle, like silk over stone. like something shifting closer. then—

“of course i can hear you.” the voice slid into your mind, low and rich and warm as molasses. not ra’s light, but something older, heavier, something that wrapped around your thoughts like water around a throat. “i’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

“apophis,” you said. the name tasted strange in your mouth.

you didn’t know what would happen. you’d never said his name before, never quite called to him either. he always came on his own—slithering through dreams and whispers, curling inside your head like incense smoke.

the air shifted. thickened. your skin tingled like the hairs on your arms were lifting, like something enormous had just turned its gaze toward you from the shadows.

“yes?” came the voice, not spoken, not heard, but felt. it coiled through your ribs like heat. it slithered up the back of your spine. it smiled when it said your name, like it really had been waiting for you.

“is ra going to kill me?” your voice shook. “am i going to end up like suguru?”

silence. then—

laughter. not kind, but not cruel, either. something darker. amused. indulgent. like watching a storm from the safety of a throne.

“suguru,” the voice breathed. “was a brilliant mind, with a soft heart, and a foolish end.”

the shadows in the room thickened around you. you felt your mat tilt slightly under your body, like the world had gone uneven.

“he was a miscalculation,” the voice continued. “a lesson.”

you swallowed, fingers digging into your legs. your body was trembling now, but you couldn’t stop listening. you didn’t want to.

“you,” it said, slower now. lower. “you are the real thing.”

you closed your eyes tighter. pressed your palm against your chest, right over your heart. it was still beating. still trying.

“why me?” you whispered. “i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t even believe in any of this—why me?”

“because you are a fracture in the sun,” apophis said, voice curling sweet and venomous. “a crack in his golden mask. you were meant to fall through.”

you didn’t know what that meant, and you didn’t want to ask, and the voice hummed again, pleased. like it had burrowed deeper into your ribs and found something soft.

“you called for me,” it said. “even with his light still clinging to your skin.”

and you had. you had.

you don’t know when your allegiance blurred. when fear gave way to hunger. when the god who whispered to you in the dark started feeling more real than the one who bathed you in light.

you only knew that he came when you needed him, and that ra hadn’t.

…

it had been three days of silence. not just from ra, but from apophis, too.

the air itself felt different. too still. too thick. the temple halls echoed louder. your steps dragged heavier. the light didn’t warm you anymore. it only stung.

and then there was the eclipse. they cut you deeper than they ever had—so deep, you were sure they’d nicked something vital. you’d laid on the altar, gasping, blood soaking the linens beneath you, certain you would die right there.

but you didn’t. not yet.

you were curled on your cot now, alone in the dark. the stone was cold beneath your spine. the linen stuck to your thighs, stiff with dried blood. your fingers trembled as you pulled the blanket tighter, but it didn’t help. nothing helped.

and then came his voice. sharper than before, closer. no longer content to whisper from the edge of your mind. it curled into you like smoke, like silk, like something sliding between the folds of your brain.

“they’re going to kill you.”

you froze. your breath hitched. your eyes fluttered open.

“tomorrow.”

your pulse kicked hard beneath your skin.

“they’ve seen the signs,” it continued, soft and slow. “the blood in your urine. the bruises that don’t fade. your body is failing, y/n.”

you tried to speak, tried to argue, but your voice cracked on the inhale. “they wouldn’t—”

“they will.” the voice was cold now. final. “you’ve served your purpose. you are no longer a vessel. they’ll call it mercy.”

you curled tighter on the cot, pressing your knees to your chest. your hip throbbed, deep purple, fever-warm. your hands shook as you clutched your stomach. every breath felt like a needle in your ribs. your vision swam with black spots.

“but i care,” the voice said again. lower now. warmer. “and i see you.”

tears slipped down your cheeks before you knew you were crying. they slid down your temples, pooling in your hairline.

“what do i do?” you whispered. it came out hoarse. fragile.

and he answered.

“give me what they take.” his tone was low, velvety, almost tender, like a secret passed between lovers in the dark. there was no urgency. no command. just quiet temptation. “offer it willingly. to me.”

you blinked once, and then you were moving. your body moved before your mind caught up. you pushed yourself upright. the world tilted. your legs gave a little beneath you, but your palms caught the floor.

you crawled.

the chamber was lit by one flickering oil lamp. the silver basin gleamed on the altar’s edge. the obsidian blade beside it seemed to pulse with shadow.

your fingers wrapped around the hilt. it was cool, heavier than you remembered, but you’d also been the one being cut and not the one doing the cutting. your robe slid from your wrist as you knelt.

“don’t be afraid,” the voice hummed, coiling warm and slow around your spine. “i’ll show you how.”

your breath caught as you lifted the blade and pressed it to your skin.

the first cut was shallow. slow. a line of warmth bloomed instantly, sliding down your forearm like a ribbon.

the voice purred.

“yes. just like that.”

you bit the inside of your cheek and did it again. and again.

three perfect lines. blood gathering in soft pools between your knees. your body swayed gently with the pain, head bowed, vision blurry with exhaustion and something else—something dense, something deep.

the chamber breathed. the lamp flame steadied. the air grew warmer. heavier. you felt it: the shift.

not divine, not celestial. this wasn’t holy. this was ancient. forgotten. hungry.

it coiled up your spine. licked at the edges of your mind. the scent of copper and resin swirled in the air. the shadows stretched too far, too long.

you weren’t alone anymore.

a figure unfolded from the darkness, towering, coiled, humming with pressure.

not monstrous, but beautiful.

apophis.

you’d only ever seen him in dreams—never like this. never in person. never standing before you, real as breath and fire.

your mind screamed yuji. pink hair. soft eyes. the curve of his mouth, the shape of his jaw. but your body knew better. this wasn’t yuji. his hair shimmered loose, pink and gleaming even in shadow. his eyes burned red, slit and glowing, framed by thick lashes and set in a face too ancient to be young. too cruel to be kind. carved from stone and myth, sharp with something unnamable. beautiful the way a blade is beautiful. his mouth was wide, smirking, cut like a wound made to kiss.

his body moved like something serpentine, loose, fluid, deadly. shirtless, tattooed in gold and onyx. his hands gleam with rings, nails clawed, stained with something black and dry.

he stepped into the space beside you, barefoot, slow, and the temperature dropped.

your breath hitched as he crouched down in front of you. he didn’t speak at first, just looked at you.

at your thighs. at your wrists. at the blood pooling at your knees. at your hands still holding the blade. his gaze dragged up to your face, unreadable, then he reached out. fingers beneath your chin.

he tilted your face toward his.

“what have they done to you?” he murmured. his voice was soft, slow, slicing. it slithered through your chest and wrapped around your ribs, slow and certain.

“so much beauty,” he said. “ruined. cracked open like an offering bowl.”

your mouth trembled. “are you going to hurt me?” you whispered.

he smiled. not wide. not threatening. just soft, almost tender.

“no,” he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “not unless you beg me to.”

then he touched you, not roughly, not like a man claiming or owning or taking. just gentle touches. his fingers slid to your side, to the welt blooming purple and red beneath your ribs. warm fingers pressed to scars and bruises littering your body, and suddenly, the pain there would disappear. the ache in your thighs vanished. your and arms went light, weightless.

your wounds closed beneath his palms. your skin knit clean.

your body stilled, and when when you looked up at him—this impossible god, this beast, this thing of terror and promise, this thing the world called chaos—for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you feel whole.

his thumb lingered just beneath your collarbone, tracing the curve where blood had dried and cracked. his red eyes flicked upward, meeting yours—not sharp this time, but patient. waiting.

“you’re still shaking,” he murmured.

you tried to speak. couldn’t. your throat was tight. your chest too full.

his hand moved higher, settled lightly at your throat. not pressing. just resting. “you don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice lower now, almost amused. “he breaks things, and i fix them. it’s a cycle.”

“why?” your voice was hoarse. you hadn’t used it in hours. “why do you keep helping me?”

he smiled. not wide. not cruel. a different kind of smile that you couldn’t quite discern.

“because you asked,” he said simply. “because when you were alone, and afraid, and crying on the cold floor of your god’s temple, you called for me instead of him.”

your eyes burned again. “i didn’t mean to.”

“but you did.”

his hand slipped from your throat, down to your wrist. he turned it over, ran a finger along the place where the blood had been, now smooth. “they would’ve left you to rot.”

“he wouldn’t—” you stopped. bit your lip.

he didn’t press. just watched you. let you say it yourself.

“…he wouldn’t have let me die,” you whispered, more to convince yourself than him.

“you really believe that?” his voice was so soft it hurt.

your lip quivered. your eyes dropped, and a silence stretched between you.

he reached for your chin again. tilted it up, slower this time. gentler.

“look at me.”

you did. slowly. breath caught in your chest. his face was too close now. eyes searching. mouth parted just slightly. he smelled like smoke and night and the faintest trace of honey.

“i could hurt you if i wanted to,” he murmured. “you know that.”

you nodded.

“but i won’t.”

your breath hitched as his hand slid up to your cheek. brushed a tear away with the back of his knuckle. “i know how to destroy,” he said. “but with you… i’d rather do something else.”

you blinked.

“can i?” he whispered, eyes dropping to your lips.

he didn’t lean in yet. didn’t press. just waited.

and maybe that’s why you kissed him, soft and slow and trembling. because for one impossible second, it felt like you were talking to yuji.

like you hadn’t been dragged from your home, like there weren’t bruises blooming along your hips and ancient symbols carved into your skin. like your name hadn’t been stolen and rewritten in a language only gods could read.

it was just him. just you. just this.

your eyes fluttered shut, lips brushing his with the same reverence you used to fold into prayers. hesitant. aching. your fingers curled lightly at his shoulders.

his mouth was warm, there, present. answering you with a slowness that startled you.

and for a moment, you let yourself pretend.

pretend that maybe yuji had died trying to protect you, and this—this creature of dark and chaos, this impossible god with eyes like fire and hands like silk, had been sent in his place. sent to ease your pain. to honor the hurt that no one else saw. maybe a piece of yuji lived inside him. maybe that’s why he looked the way he did. why his voice never scared you.

his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as he kissed you deeper. still slow. still gentle. like he understood something about you no one else had bothered to learn.

his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. his thumb still cradled your jaw, gentle in a way that made your chest ache. you thought he might say something soft. something about you.

because his expression looked like awe.

because his red eyes burned like embers, staring at you like you were the only thing that ever mattered.

but that wasn’t what the fire was for.

“you don’t even know what you’ve given me,” he whispered, voice low, nearly trembling with restrained joy.

and when he touched you—hand rising to your throat, you tilted your head back. your body didn’t pull away.

“yu—” you stopped yourself before it left your lips.

but you knew he heard it. knew who you were thinking of. you were thinking of your best friend. of safety, of home, of sunlight skipping across the river. of the boy who laughed with fish guts on his hands and hid your letters beneath woven mats. the boy you might never see again.

and now here was this creature. this god. this echo of everything you’d lost, pressed against you with heat and stillness and a patience that was starting to feel unbearable.

you didn’t want love. you didn’t want light. you wanted release.

so you kissed him again, not soft, not shy, and your mouth pressed to his like you were trying to climb inside him, like you were asking him to ruin you from the inside out. his grip on your throat tightened just enough to drag a breathy moan out of you, soft and raw against his lips.

he made a sound low in his chest, dark, hungry, and before you could breathe again, he lifted you, effortless. he carried you to the low cot tucked in the corner of the chamber, and when your back hit the thin mattress, the shadows moved.

they rose from the stone like smoke made solid. cool and smooth. they slithered up the sides of the bed, curling around your wrists were snakes made of shadow, of him. they didn’t bind you harshly, just pinned you there like you were being presented. like this was ceremony.

“i’ve been waiting for you,” he said, voice low, glowing eyes soft like eclipse rings in the dark. “for centuries.”

your breath stuttered as he leaned down, pressed a kiss to your chest, just above your heart. he didn’t tear your robes off. he unwrapped you, like a gift, like something he really had waited centuries to touch.

your breath caught again when he kissed lower—your stomach, your hip, the curve of your thigh. his fingers brushed the raw mark you carved into your arm hours earlier, and when he pushed your legs apart, you didn’t resist.

his fingers moved with purpose. slow, deliberate circles. just enough to tease. to open. to make your spine arch and your voice catch. the snakes coiled tighter around your wrists as the pleasure in your stomach twisted sharper, tighter, hotter.

and when he slid inside you, your whole body seized.

he fit in a way nothing ever had. too deep. too much. too intimate.

your back arched. your wrists pulled. a whimper cracked from your throat, eyes fluttering closed. you were shaking, everywhere, but you still didn’t say no.

his hand smoothed over your stomach, grounding you. “you can take it,” he murmured.

and you tried. gods, you tried. but your breath was already stuttering, your body trembling beneath him. your lips parted, searching for something—anything, that would make this moment make sense.

“i wanna—” your voice caught on a whine as his hips rolled deeper, slower, more deliberate than before.

he filled you, thick, deep, a stretch that stole your breath and curled your toes and made your wrists pull helplessly at the snakes. it was like he was pushing darkness into you with every thrust. like he was rewriting you from the inside out.

ra had made you feel wanted, like a jewel on a pedestal, a thing to keep precious and controlled.

but apophis? apophis moved like he wanted to ruin you, and then rebuild you in his image. not just to claim, but to change.

you were gasping now, eyes fluttering, body arching off the cot like it might split open under the weight of it all. “i wanna forget,” you breathed.

you didn’t say what. you didn’t have to.

he knew. he knew it was satoru. he knew it was your name, your temple, your stolen life. he knew it was the girl you used to be—golden, obedient, aching for something no one could give her. he knew you wanted to forget that this wasn’t yuji. that this wasn’t a soft boy with a gentle laugh and sun-warm hands.

this was chaos. this was the serpent god who curled around your dreams and whispered that he could give you everything.

and still, you let him in.

because every inch felt like surrender. every thrust felt like a severing of light, like he was reaching places ra had never touched—not even in dreams. not even with all his glowing words and honeyed kisses.

apophis didn’t just want your body. he wanted your soul. to fill it, to flood it, to leave you so full of him that the sun no longer called to you.

and gods—you were already slipping.

his thrusts stayed slow, controlled, and cruel in how good they felt. he moved like he was rewriting you. like he could fuck every ounce of gold out of your skin, every holy word off your tongue.

you tried to be quiet. but you were spread out. bound, shaking. you didn’t notice you were crying until you felt the tears slip down your temples into your hair. your voice choked on every gasp, your body twitching beneath the weight of him, beneath the shadows holding you still.

you begged with how your hips lifted, how your thighs trembled. how your mouth fell open with no sound. and when he finally lost control, when his pace broke and his voice dropped ragged into your ear—you weren’t a priestess anymore. you weren’t even a girl.

you were his.

just like you’d been ra’s: a vessel, a voice, a body for the gods to move through. a tool dressed in gold or shadow, depending on who stood at the altar.

the illusion of choice had always been a kindness, and now it was gone.

you knew it the moment the candles went out. when the light outside the chamber flickered once… then died. when your body clenched, cried, and finally shattered beneath him.

because this, too, was a sacrifice.

not the kind they wrote on temple walls. not the kind sung over in hymns.

this was older, quieter. like the tales the scribes whispered but never inked—the ones about how sometimes, a thing too beautiful to be real would descend from the sky, soft-eyed and glowing, and call itself a god. a messenger. a savior.

and humans would kneel, and humans would offer themselves, and when they rose, they were never the same.

you wondered if that’s what you’d done. if, chasing release, chasing yuji, chasing the ache to feel normal again, you’d let something ancient slip inside your soul.

not because you wanted darkness, but because you were tired of bleeding in the light.

he kissed your shoulder. your throat. your lips again—softer now. slower. like he hadn’t just unmake you, body and breath and belief.

“mine,” he whispered. “mine, mine, mine.”

and when you came undone, mind blank, body burning, breath breaking, he followed.

a groan like thunder cracked through the chamber, the air vibrated, the snakes around your wrists loosened—but not fully. they didn’t vanish. they didn’t slither away. they just rested there, cool and curled like bracelets around your skin.

and in the silence that followed, apophis laid over you. his breath was cool at your throat. his forehead pressed to yours.

“he’ll never take you from me,” he said, voice like dusk folding over the river.

you nodded, too dazed to argue. but somewhere, in the hollow of your ribs, you tried to ignore how the snakes still held you. not like ties, but like cuffs.

…

you wake in the cot the next morning.

the room smells like cedar and blood. your robes have been changed. your body is whole. your wrists are wrapped in silk, now—not bandages, nor the snakes that bound you last night, but a gift. something ceremonial. something claiming.

you remember his voice. his hands. the darkness curling around you like water. apophis.

but now its morning, and for the first time in your life—there is no sunlight. not a glow. not a flicker. not a dawn. just… silence.

and then came the screaming.

the temple is chaos. acolytes running. guards shouting. offerings burning with no answer.

you stumble into the courtyard barefoot, wind whipping your robe around your legs.

and then—you hear him, and ra’s voice cracks like lightning overhead.

“what have you done?”

he doesn’t arrive in gold—not this time. he rips the sky apart. a burst of light explodes overhead, shattering the clouds, turning day into something that feels like judgment. the earth trembles beneath your feet. your hands rise instinctively, shielding your eyes.

and then he descends.

satoru, to you. ra, to most. the ancient, all-powerful deity of the sun, to his followers.

but not the one you knew—not the one who kissed your forehead and brought you peaches, not the god who laughed when you pouted or teased when you worried. no.

this is ra, in all his fury.

his robes blaze like wildfire. his hair whips on a wind that doesn’t exist. his eyes—icy blue, glow with something ancient and livid. power radiates off him in pulses, warping the space around his form. when his feet touch the ground, the stone beneath him fractures.

he steps forward.

“you were mine,” he says. his voice is thunder. “you were my chosen one—my mouth, my voice—”

he stops just short of you, and stares. sees the blood. sees the bruises. sees the mark of something older etched behind your eyes.

“and you gave yourself to my enemy? to him?”

your lips part, but no sound comes out. your knees buckle, fear coiling deep in your belly and rising, choking, unfamiliar. it isn’t sharp. it’s slow, creeping, like heat in a sealed chamber.

you’d seen this once before. in flashes. visions you thought were dreams—satoru’s smile splitting into something less kind, his light turning harsh, blinding. hands that once touched your face like you were precious curling instead into fists.

you thought they were warnings. you hoped they were lies. now, you wonder if they were prophecy.

because this isn’t the god who kissed your temple after the first vision left you sobbing. this isn’t the man who conjured sunlight between his palms and lit it across your skin like warmth.

this isn’t a god scorned. this is a god betrayed. and you wonder, in the static silence that follows, if this is your punishment for asking too many questions. for doubting. for choosing a voice that sounded like comfort instead of fire.

and then, behind you—

the shadows shift.

and apophis doesn’t walk. he doesn’t arrive the way ra does, either. instead, he unfurls from the darkness surrounding, he’s laughter in the bones of your spine, the prickle of a sixth sense, the ripple of wrong that feels more familiar than holy now.

he steps into place beside you, tall and fluid, shirtless and glinting in the moonlight, tattoos etched in onyx and gold.

satoru’s expression twists.

“seriously?” he snaps, voice bitter, the sky behind him still split in light. “you showed up as her dead best friend?”

and it hits you all at once, like some kind of cruel prank you’d been the butt of this whole time but never privy too. yuji was gone. and apophis—he’d worn his face like a cloak, because he knew you’d trust it. because he knew you’d follow it.

you were never a chosen one. you were never special. you were bait. a vessel. a crack in the light made just wide enough for darkness to crawl through.

apophis chuckles—low, indulgent. cruel in how calm it sounds.

“you’re just upset you didn’t think of it first. he steps forward slightly, gaze flicking to you, lingering, then back to ra.

“you always put too much trust in your mortal oracles,” he says, voice smooth and dark. “pretending they were more than tools. playing god and lover at the same time, like either role would ever suit you.”

his mouth curves, something like mockery blooming slow.

“and satoru, really?” a snort. “you even gave yourself a human name. the greatest and the oldest god, but always the most foolish, apparently.” his tongue clicks, like a disappointed parent.

“maybe next time,” he drawled, stepping closer, grin curling wider across his face, “take better care of your lovers, sun god.” he let the silence stretch, just for a moment. just long enough to twist the knife.

then, with a little hum, almost fond— “i mean, you did learn your lesson with suguru, didn’t you?”

something shifts in satoru’s expression. he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak at first, but the air around him tightens. sharpens. and behind his bright blue, searing eyes, something cracks—deeper, older, a wound never sealed.

“don’t talk about suguru.” the words are low, bitten off, and the light bleeding from his skin is no longer warm, but instead a raging fire blinding, blue, and alive with fury. the wind around him rises though nothing moves. sand lifts from the stone in waves. your breath catches.

this is ra. this is the god from the old stories, the one they said could flatten kingdoms with a blink, drown armies in sunlight. the one whose name made rivers change course and whose fury boiled the nile. the one who held apophis at bay for centuries with sheer power.

and now you see it. he could burn the world if he wanted to. burn you. and you believe he just might.

apophis smiles.

“why not?” he says, voice softer now, but still laced with mockery. “it’s the same thing every time, isn’t it? ra finds an oracle—some sweet little thing with a bleeding heart, and suddenly the oldest god in existence thinks he can play househusband with a teenager. like sunshine and figs and soft hands are gonna fix anything.”

he exhales a laugh, low and amused. “and then, oh no—here i come. the big bad serpent, right on schedule, ruining the dream.” he shrugs. “been like this for centuries.”

his gaze lands on you again.

“mortals are easy like that. so eager to be chosen. so easy to influence.”

you tremble beneath his gaze, the truth sinking in like cold water. you were never chosen—not in the way you thought. not for your worth. not for your faith. you were claimed, used. a vessel shaped by their power, not your own.

satoru’s fists clenched at his sides, light blooming in his palms like something divine and barely contained. your breath caught as you stood between them, caught in the rift of what they were, what you had become, and what the world would soon be. your hands trembled at your sides, useless, shaking.

apophis only looked at you, his expression calm, a little smug, but not entirely unkind. his voice was low when he finally spoke again, softer than before, smooth as polished obsidian.

“she was never yours,” he said, turning his gaze to ra. “you just got to her first.”

ra lunged, and light cracked the sky in half.

but apophis caught it in one hand, twisted it like it was nothing, and snapped it clean. his tattoos flared across his body like firelit scars. his form shifted and pulsed, serpent scales flickering along his skin like armor, his mouth curling as he stared down the sun god.

“you’d kill her too, wouldn’t you?” he murmured lazily. “you always knew she’d break. you just prayed it would be for you.”

ra roared, and the desert floor turned to molten glass. temples crumbled. the air stank of smoke and gods and the end of all things. apophis only laughed.

and you—you stood there. a girl emptied of purpose. a body with no god left to follow. a mouth that once carried prophecy, now shaped only silence. there was blood on your hands—your blood, their blood, the blood of a world slipping into ruin, and you didn’t know who you were anymore.

the battle that followed shook the desert down to its bones. light and shadow collided until neither resembled what it once was. ra’s fire fell from the sky like dying stars, brilliant and blinding, but apophis swallowed each burst whole, reshaping them into tendrils of darkness and teeth and rage. the temple collapsed behind you in slabs of stone and smoke. priests screamed. handmaidens wept. the river boiled. the sky cracked.

and still, you didn’t run.

you stood in the center of it all, watching as the god who had once kissed your forehead and tucked figs into your hands flickered and dimmed before your eyes. ra stumbled to one knee. his light faltered. his radiance, once eternal, faded into something thin, something small.

he looked at you, one last time, only sorrow in his gaze.

“why?” he asked, barely more than a breath.

and maybe, if you’d answered, if your voice hadn’t caught in your throat, if your heart hadn’t clenched so tightly in your chest—you would have said i was afraid. or i was tired. or maybe nothing at all.

but you didn’t get the chance. because that’s when apophis struck.

his shadow rose like a storm, towering, coiled, divine, and came down with all the weight of centuries behind it. it hit the earth with a soundless crack, and just like that—

the sun went out for good. not dimmed, not hidden, but gone completely.

light vanished from the sky, and heat drained from the air. the wind stilled. the rivers slowed. the temple collapsed behind you in a cloud of dust and grief. and when the silence settled, it stayed.

no flame could spark. no prayer could rise. no god could answer. and that was the end of it—or so they said.

because afterward, your story fractured. what little was left of it was passed from mouth to mouth, scroll to scroll. a hundred different versions told by people who had never seen you, who would never know the sound of your voice or the cut of your pain.

some called you a traitor. some called you the last oracle. others just called you the girl who let the dark in.

they said the serpent wore your blood like a crown. that your final breath was an offering, not a death. that you smiled when the sun died—whether out of love, madness, or relief, no one could agree, but what many said was that the world staggered in darkness for weeks, months, maybe longer. some said crops withered overnight. others claimed they saw fire fall from the heavens. no two stories agreed.

but this part remained the same:

the sun died, and the serpent won.

at least, for a time. because gods don’t die like mortals do. they fracture. they flicker. they fade—but only for a while. and when the world forgot how bright it once was, when its people no longer whispered ra’s name with hope but with desperation—he returned. as he always does.

and so did apophis, as he always does.

this was never about love. never about you. you were a vessel, a thread pulled tight across centuries, strung between gods older than war itself. your blood bought them a moment. a single turn of the cycle.

but it keeps turning.

temples were rebuilt. dynasties rose. crops grew again, eventually. but some say the sky was never quite as blue. the warmth never lasted. every eclipse sent people into fits of panic. every generation told the same tale again—

of ra, the sun god who gave too much of himself to mortal love.

of apophis, the serpent who devoured light not out of hunger, but out of vengeance.

ra rises. apophis swallows him. and somewhere in between, mortals worship, betray, die, and are forgotten.

they’ll forget you too.

not today. not tomorrow. but eventually. because you were human, and they are not.

but when the eclipse returns, and the stars vanish from the sky again, and the wind tastes like ash—they’ll remember the shape of this story.

the sun god, the serpent, and the girl who chose one over the other and learned too late that gods don’t love the way humans do. they only need. they only want.

they only endure.