Yamada Asaemon Fuchi

“Connections we make lead to genuine feelings. In the short, yet rich time we have spent together, we’ve cut deep to expose our hearts, extracted them, and shared ourselves.” semi-selective/ Suns 25+/ crossover-OC friendly

[fuxhi]

Yamada Asaemon Fuchi RP/ask blog Mun is 25+ Semi-selective crossover and OC friendly May contain 18+ themes Please read rules before interacting @shugxn is my side blog penned by suns (est. April 3, 2026)

[fallesto]

The unexpected touch of her small, gloved hand against his own felt like a jolt from a dying battery. In that fleeting moment, the grey haze of narcolepsy lifted, replaced by a surge of tactile awareness. HE BLINKED, HIS LONG EYELASHES BRUSHING AGAINST THE INNER CURVE OF HIS RESIN BUBBLE. He glanced down at the princess, then followed the direction she was leading him, away from the meticulously maintained stone path and toward the wild, untamed edges of the palace greenery.

The word quick reverberated in his mind, and suddenly, a dormant circuit in his brain sparked to life. He wasn't well-versed in diplomacy, nor did he care much for the political landscape of Kazan, but he understood the feeling of momentum. AS SHE PULLED HIM FORWARD, THE STAGNANT AIR AROUND HIM BEGAN TO SHIFT. He sensed a strange, primal rhythm pulsing in his chest, a memory of wind rushing past his scales and the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the earth.

RUNNING.

The realization struck him like a tidal wave. He was a being of immense size and unfortunate sleep patterns, yet beneath the layers of high-collared wool and gold-stitched silk, there lay a dormant, animalistic joy. HE RELISHED THE SENSATION OF THE WORLD BLURRING AT THE EDGES, the way the wind whistled against his respirator, and the sheer, exhilarating simplicity of speed. In that moment, he was not merely a Saint or a Noble; he felt like a stallion set free from its stable, a great, awkward creature rediscovering the thrill of the gallop.

As he didn't merely run; he exploded into action. The sluggishness that had enveloped him like a heavy cloak dissipated in an instant, replaced by a wild surge of energy that propelled his high-heeled boots into the soft earth. With a sweeping motion of his long arms, he scooped her up, not with the elegance of a nobleman, but with the awkward efficiency of a crane, and lifted her high above before firmly placing her on his broad, muscular back.

"Hoh!" He roared, the sound reverberating within his resin bubble like a trumpet echoing in a canyon.

THEN, HE TOOK OFF.

The world transformed into a vibrant blur of emerald green and brilliant gold. He morphed from a faltering noble into a living locomotive, his long neck swaying in a rhythmic, serpentine motion that matched his tremendous speed. He didn't run toward a specific goal; HE RAN SIMPLY FOR THE JOY OF MOVEMENT. He carved a wide, chaotic path around the palace grounds, his hooves pounding the ground with a steady thump-thump-thump that resembled a distant war drum. He was a whirlwind of dark fabric and fiery hair, spiraling around the meticulously trimmed hedges and sculpted fountains in a dizzying dance, faster and faster, until the wind howled against his respirator.

“So tall, so wonderful, oh, tall buildings! Short buildings! Oi, this place is amazing!”

[fuxhi]

Kagutsuchi had no clue what chaos the had just unleashed upon the palace grounds, though even if she had known it wouldn’t have changed her impulse pull of his hand for she was a being who thrived in the spaces between chaos and calm. A wild thing wrapped in the carefully crafted facade of a princess itching to take advantage of any little opportunity to free itself and before her was just that, an opportunity.

She had taken his hand, urging him to stray from the path of dull diplomacy and words bound by social graces that made of feel suffocated, pulling him towards the wild, unfettered joy of running free, of slipping away from the prying eyes of escorts and curious court nobles. Kagutsuchi wanted to show him the real Kazan, her Kazan, not the perfectly curated Kazan that her uncle had wished for him to see. Her Kazan was stolen sweets from the kitchens, running through the gardens, slipping away to corners of the palace where no one would see as she laughed and feasted upon her pillaged treats while flipping through a book that only held half of her attention.

Her laughter erupted like a volcano of warm honey, infused with the unfettered joy of a wild thing feeling wind through its hair after days of captivity. Slender arms wrapped around his neck, the amber curve of her cheek pressing into the gold silk of his mane as she took just a moment to breathe in his scent, memorizing the way it tasted on her tongue. To be swept off her feet and placed upon his broad back had been the last thing she would have expected from a man of his caliber, but she offered up no complaints, she was rather enjoying this change of pace.

“HOOH! So fast— and the view!”

Upon his back she had a better view of the world around her, she could see the heads of panicked guards as they weaved through the garden’s greenery in an attempt to catch up with the pair. She wouldn’t let them spoil the fun yet, it had only just started!

The world was a blur around her and in the chaos she could see him clearly, the soft coils of golden fur, the delicate curve of his whiskers as they broke through the sphere of resin like sprouts breaking through rain softened soil. Her laughter danced against his mane as she tightened her grasp around his shoulders, the heavy layers of her skirts fluttering behind them.

“Hohoh! I’m pleased to hear that!” She chirped cheerfully, “Hoooh!! Do you want to see something absolutely marvelous?”

[fallesto]

NOW, WHO WANTS TO BE A FOOTSTOOL?

The invasion of Kazan was not a calculated siege but rather a carnival of the bizarre. As Capella wandered through the main square, her delicate heels clicking against the slick with the remnants of a city guard captain, she paid no mind to the distant flames or the crumbling structures. Her focus was solely on the people around her. 

THE CITIZENS OF KAZAN WERE NOT MERE RESIDENTS; THEY WERE RAW MATERIALS, UNSHAPED CLAY AWAITING HER DIVINE INTERVENTION TO RENDER THEM 'USEFUL.' 

With a nonchalant flick of her wrist, she reached for a fleeing merchant, her fingers brushing against his shoulder. In a nauseating whirl of transformation, the man’s screams were abruptly silenced as his skeleton dissolved and his skin solidified into a glossy, obsidian-like finish, contorting him into a permanent, trembling crouch. He ceased to be a man; he became a living piece of furniture, a whimpering ottoman for her feet to rest upon.

“HAHAHAHAH!”

Trailing behind her were the Beloved Children, though they had long outgrown the title of children. They were the crowning achievements of her organic manipulation: towering hybrids of sinew and rusted metal, beings with an excess of eyes and a deficiency of skin, all moving in a synchronised, rhythmic stomp that reverberated through the city’s foundations. 

With each step of these monstrosities, the ground groaned, and wherever HER gaze lingered, the natural order of existence was rewritten. A group of young soldiers, attempting a desperate flank, suddenly found themselves bereft of limbs; one moment they charged with spears, and the next, their arms had transformed into oversized, useless tentacles of pale flesh, leaving them to flop helplessly in the dirt like stranded fish.

FOR THOSE WHO WERE TOO STUBBORN TO SUBMIT OR TOO UNSIGHTLY TO BE TURNED INTO FURNITURE, SHE RESERVED HER 'MERCY.' 

She didn't just kill; she erased the very concept of humanity from their forms. With a wide, sweeping gesture of her hand, she touched a cluster of refugees huddling in an alleyway. There was no explosion, only a wet, slurping sound. Within seconds, the people collapsed into themselves, their bones melting into a thick, translucent sludge that pooled on the pavement. They remained conscious, a collective puddle of sentient slime, undulating in a silent, suffocating agony that she found absolutely hilarious.

“Now, who’s a good little boy? And who’s a good little girl?” As she cooed, her voice dripping with a mock tenderness that felt like acid.

She was presently crouched in the royal bedchamber, her delicate fingers scratching behind the ears of two golden retrievers. To any casual onlooker, it appeared to be a scene of domestic happiness, yet the dogs were quaking with a rhythmic, uncontrollable shiver. Their eyes, profoundly human, wide with a fear that crossed the boundaries of species, were fixed on the woman who laughed above them. 

Just moments before, these two had been the King and Queen of Kazan, adorned in velvet and gold, striving to negotiate the survival of their people with a dignity that Capella found utterly insufferable. She had deemed their 'nobility' a tiresome nuisance, so she had simply rewritten their biology.

The King-dog emitted a pitiful, strangled whimper, attempting to articulate, but all that came out was a wet, slobbering bark. She burst into a fit of cackles, her yaeba gleaming as she playfully slapped the royal canine across the snout. "Oh, come on! You’re far better suited to this. You were always a lapdog to your ministers anyway; now you can truly embrace it!" She rose to her feet, stepping over a discarded crown that appeared as a cheap trinket beside the panting creatures. 

With a nonchalant kick, she sent the crown skidding across the floor, watching it twirl until it finally settled against the trembling paw of the Queen-dog.

“Where is that little stray?” She mused, her voice shifting from a screech to a purr as she paced the perimeter of the royal bedchamber. “A mother can’t possibly finish her day of housekeeping without her favorite little prince.”

THE THOUGHT OF PRINCE KAGUTSUCHI BROUGHT A GENUINE, IF PREDATORY, SPARK TO HER EYES. 

While the King and Queen had been simple enough to dismantle, the Prince had always possessed a certain... elasticity of spirit. He was a stubborn little thing, a remnant of a lineage that believed itself superior to the common rabble. She found that specific brand of pride delicious; it was like a fine wine that tasted better as it soured into despair. She didn't just want to break him; she wanted to redesign him into something that would be a fitting accessory to her wardrobe, perhaps a living cloak of iridescent scales, or a decorative footstool with a voice that could only scream in a perfect C-major.

“FIND ME THAT PRINCE!”

@fuxhi

[fuxhi]

How long had this nightmare been playing out?

Hours?

Days?

He was unsure, her had gone into hiding at the request of his mother, word had spread quickly, word of an intruder who marched through the capital with an army of impossible beasts, things one would see in their nightmares, and yet, they were real and none of their knights had even come close to slaying one of the beasts.

This was the downfall of Kazan.

He was the prince of this great nation, heir to the throne adorned in precious metals and the finest textiles that coin could buy, he had spent years training with the finest warriors of the land, and yet here he was, cowering away in the tunnels beneath the palace, sneaking out to an escape that spilled out onto the shore while the rest of his people and his parents were to stay and let this horrid fate befall them.

What kind of prince was he? To run and hide? How pitiful…how weak.

Suddenly, he stopped, the heels of his boots snapping against moist stone with a newfound resolve, the men who had been following behind him had nearly toppled over one another to stop just shy of trampling over the prince, the clamoring of armor echoing through the fire lit abyss of the tunnels that seemed to have to end. Amber light flickered over his tanned skin, sending shadows dancing over the angles of his face. His fists clenched tightly, the saber that adorned his hip felt heavier that usual, its hunger for blood manifesting in a physical sensation against his knuckles.

He couldn’t just run away, but he also knew that it would be foolish to run head first into battle against that which he did not understand.

Swiftly, he turned on his heel, the expanse of fine silken velvet and gold embroidery billowing behind him as he faced the two men who had been accompanying him on his escape.

“Go,” he commanded, “wait for me on the beach, if I do not return in the hour then depart with anyone you can fit on the vessel. I cannot leave without my parents…NOW!” The man’s voice was akin to the roar of a fierce beast, but he could not sit and argue with prideful men, there was no time for such things. He did not wait for them to move out of his path and he would instead push past them.

He ran, the frantic rhythm of heels hitting stone echoed through the pitch black expanse of the tunnel, back towards its entrance that spilled into the dungeons below the palace. He was terrified, gods he was terrified, but he focused that energy, that rush of adrenaline into running as fast as he could, his hand hovering over the hilt of his blade.

The little prince kept himself to the shadows, melting into doorways and sliding through the tight passages that was reserved for servants, to be seen was to die and he had made a promise to his mother, even if he had to go back on the part about leaving, he would cling to life for her.

Wails rung out through the winding corridors of what was once his safe haven, he could name each of the staff the sounds of agony had belonged to. Gertie who worked in the kitchens, she had always made the best sweet buns, then Jiro, an older man who would assist his father in changing throughout the day. The sounds made him shudder, though what had stuck with him the most was the wet sound of bones shifting, snapping and reforming as the people he had grown fond of were transformed into some grotesque thing, be it furniture that writhed in agony or beasts that could only wail at the prospect of lost humanity.

That was when he heard it.

FIND ME THAT PRINCE!

“Gods,” he murmured to himself as he clamored up a stairwell, he needed to get higher, to where he could listen and watch events unfold within the palace without being seen and he knew just the places, places he had explored as a curious boy who had managed to slip away from strict tutors. There were secret passages, rafters wide enough for at least three men to traverse, and rooms that none seemed to know about, things lost to centuries of rulers changing floor plans to meet their own needs.

[fallesto]

The water did not merely surround her; it felt as though it were conspiring with her, moulding itself to the contours of a body that still occasionally surprised her. Regalia let her head fall back against the cool marble rim of the tub, her long, moonlight-white hair billowing around her like a cloud of inkless smoke. In this suspended state, the boundary between her skin and the warmth of the bath dissolved, leaving her with the sensation of floating in a void where the only thing that existed was the rhythmic, drumming pulse of her own heart. She watched a single bubble drift lazily toward the surface, its fragile sphere reflecting the flickering candlelight of the room. 

AND FOR A MOMENT, SHE FOUND HERSELF ENVIOUS OF ITS SIMPLICITY.

She traced the line of her collarbone with a slender finger, the skin there so translucent it looked like polished alabaster. The water, heavy with scented oils that clung to her skin in a silken film, seemed to amplify the strange, lingering echo of her previous existence. It was a peculiar kind of luxury, this stillness, that she had once mistaken for the "SATISFACTION" of her divine status. Now, the satisfaction didn't come from the absence of interference or the silence of a terrified populace, but from the tactile reality of her own weight pressing against the marble. She sank deeper, letting the warmth envelop her chest, the buoyant pressure of the water providing a comforting squeeze that the loose, white linens of her daily attire never could.

“KAGUTSUCHI! You absolute, LUMBERING VACUUM OF INTELLECT! Where are you?”

The shout echoed through the vaulted ceilings of the bathing chamber, vibrating against the gold-leafed mosaics. Regalia didn’t move from her soak; she simply tilted her chin up, her golden eyes flashing with a familiar, haughty irritation. She didn’t need to see him to know he was stumbling toward her, likely tripping over his own feet or forgetting which corridor he was in. He was her five-hundredth husband, a number she tracked with a mixture of pride and profound boredom.

AND HE WAS, WITHOUT EXCEPTION, THE MOST INFURIATINGLY DIM-WITTED OF THE LOT. 

To call him an idiot was a generosity; he was a void where a functioning mind should have been, a human-shaped accident of nature who existed solely to provide the domestic subservience she demanded.

"Get in here this instant! Your existence is a testament to the failure of evolution, yet you still manage to be slow!" 

Regalia’s voice didn't just carry; it sliced through the humid air of the bathhouse, demanding immediate submission. She didn't care that the water was beginning to cool or that the oils were filming over on the surface; the sheer audacity of a three-minute delay was a violation of her rights as the center of the universe. 

"Tend to me! Now! Or do you intend to spend the rest of your miserable, vacant life contemplating the wall?"

@fuxhi

[fuxhi]

He had been caught up tending to a conflict between two of her other husband’s, number four-hundred thirty eight and four-hundred eighty three, it seemed the two seemed to always be in conflict over who was the better husband, so much so that it had begun to affect their usefulness. For now he had simply scolded them and assigned them both jobs on opposite ends of the grand sanctuary their goddess of a wife had provided them, he would deal with them properly once their wife was away on business. He didn’t want to sully the halls with blood, he did not wish for his wife to see such gruesome things within her own home.

It wasn’t until he heard his name echoing through the great halls that he remembered just what he was doing, his dark coal black gaze trailed down to the tray that rested in his hands, atop of the gilded platter sat an array of cold fruits he had meticulously sliced and arranged like flowers— not the prettiest work even, but he had put effort into it. “Hoh fuck!” The man chirped as he went running back into the bathing chambers where he had left her, and while it was true that he had tripped over the irritatingly long expanse of his hair, he had caught himself just before him and the colorful display of fruits could hit the ground.

“I am here, my wife!”

Kagutsuchi was quick to place himself by the bath’s edge, an apologetic smile painting his lips as he sat the tray to the side, the metal singing softly against marble. “My apologies, my darling, I seem to have gotten distracted again,” the tone of his apology was sincere, the way he addressed her warm with an adoration that had surpassed the other men who had been lucky enough to call themselves her husbands.

His right hand plucked a cherry from the platter before he held the small, pitted fruit towards his wife’s lips, a grin plastering itself on his face. “But I prepared the highest quality fruits I could find in the kitchens. I found that cold fruit compliments a warm bath very well.”

He surely planned to get back at those two idiots for delaying him, he had already gotten in enough trouble lately, it seemed his fiery spirit had earned him more than a few slaps on the wrist, sometimes it made him wonder why Regalia kept him around— not that he was complaining, but surely she could find a more useful man to entertain her.

“You say such cruel things,” he gave her a playful little pout, his bottom lip poking out pitifully before he chuckled, “yet you keep me around. A sign of affection or am I just that handsome?”

[animeaestheticart]

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

SHE FELT AS IF HER MIND HAD BEEN REPLACED BY A SWARM OF FRANTIC, GOLDEN BEES. This was not how the script was written; she was the director, the star, and the sole audience of her own perfection. Her thoughts were a chaotic whirl of denial, screaming that this was a spatial anomaly, a glitch in the fabric of her reality. SHE WAS A SIN ARCHBISHOP! She was the most satisfying existence in the world! She was not, absolutely not, curling her toes into the damp stone or arching her back into the warmth of a stranger's touch. The sensation was a violent intrusion of pleasure that felt like a physical assault on her pride. She wanted to be outraged, to command the air to freeze and shatter the warrior’s arrogance, but her voice had been reduced to a series of fragmented, rhythmic gasps that sounded suspiciously like invitations.

“You will die for this!”

THEN THE WORLD TILTED, the horizon of the sanctuary blurring into a smear of obsidian and gold as Regalia was lowered. She felt the transition from the air to the damp stone, a cold, jarring contrast that should have sparked a fresh wave of indignation. Instead, it felt like an anchor, grounding her in a reality where her autonomy was being dismantled with surgical precision. Kagutsuchi’s free arm was a pillar of unexpected strength, supporting her featherlight frame with an effortless grace that made her feel fragile, ALMOST PORCELAIN. The warrior eased them both down, the wet stone sucking the heat from their skin, yet the core of her body remained an inferno.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

As they settled, Kagutsuchi shifted, a slow and deliberate realignment of space. She felt the soft, rhythmic thrum of the warrior's belly against her own spine, a living, breathing wall of warmth that boxed her in. THEN CAME THE SHIFT THAT TRULY SHATTERED HER COMPOSURE. With a steady, unrelenting pressure, Kagutsuchi’s knees pried the milky expanse of her thighs wide. It was a spatial conquest, a forced opening that left her exposed and vulnerable, her most intimate secrets laid bare to the humid air and the wide, terrified eyes of the men who called themselves her husbands.

“Stop her you tits!”

She felt the air hit her opened core, a sudden, cooling breeze that served only to highlight the scorching heat where Kagutsuchi’s fingers remained anchored. For a woman who had spent centuries curating a sanctuary of absolute control, THE SENSATION OF BEING DISPLAYED WAS A PSYCHIC SHOCK MORE POTENT THAN ANY SPELL. She was no longer the monolithic goddess gazing down from a pedestal; she had been reduced to a focal point of raw, trembling vulnerability. Her legs, white and shimmering like polished marble, were splayed wide, framing the flushed, wet center of her existence for the hundreds of silent spectators. It was a public execution of her dignity, conducted with the slow, rhythmic precision of a lover’s touch.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

The air in the sanctuary seemed to vibrate, thick with the scent of ozone and salt, as Kagutsuchi’s lips brushed against the slope of her shoulder. It was a featherlight contact, yet to her, it felt like a brand of SEARING OWNERSHIP. Then came the shift, the warrior’s hand, which had been a teasing presence, suddenly claimed the space with a decisive, bruising pressure. The tips of Kagutsuchi’s middle fingers dove deep into the velvet heat, sinking into the yielding walls of her core with a precision that felt less like a touch and more like an excavation. Simultaneously, a calloused thumb began to circle the swollen bud of her nerves, a rhythmic, relentless friction that sent a jagged bolt of electricity shooting up her spine.

“Ugh, ah, st .. stop!”

[fuxhi]

This was absolutely divine.

She wasn’t completely unaware of what this woman was capable of or who she was, she had heard the whispers of rumors and had followed them, maybe that was why she drew so much satisfaction out of having such a lovely creature coming undone under her touch, of hearing the ways the sin archbishop of greed cursed her with her sharp little tongue while simultaneously melting in her touch and soaking her fingers in her sweet nectar. The danger of it all rewarded her with her own twisted, thrilling pleasure, one that transcended the bounds of physical pleasure, one that she chased like a high, pushing the extremes with each hit she got.

“Promise?”

Kagutsuchi made easy work of putting the smaller woman on display, it was especially easy when her little princess did little to fight back, other than bombard her with more threats and sharp remarks. “You like this more than you let on,” she hummed, a low velvety chuckle rumbling in her chest, “just feel how wet you are for me.” With those words the warriors free hand blanketed the smaller, slender hand of the other woman, guiding her fingers down until they met where busy fingers were curled between slick, silken folds. It was as if this woman wanted her to witness her own downfall, wanted to know that she knew she was coming undone, as if she got off to the thought of Regalia knowing that she was coming undone.

She had little worries of her husbands actually accomplishing anything, the fools looked as if they had never seen a nude woman before, that or they were utterly taken aback by the fact that someone had managed to do such things to the wife that they simultaneously adored and feared. Even if they did, she was sure that she could take a least a few of them, though she would already see that some of them already seemed to enjoy the view quite more than they let on.

The humiliation was far from over.

Lips continued their conquest of soft flesh, nudging snowy silk aside as hot kisses pressed behind the shell of the older woman’s ear, pearlescent teeth occasionally nipping the soft angle of her jaw or the lobe of her ear, mindful of the cobalt earring that stood out against pale flesh. The assault of her throat only halted as ear hand slipped from where it caressed Regalia’s delicate fingers, her calloused palm instead traced its was up and over the gentle rolling slopes of pale flesh until fingers settled gently around the silky skin of the other woman’s throat. “Look at them, you husbands, I want them to see the look on your face when I make you come.” Her demand was firm, yet it came as a whisper so soft that it could only be heard between the two of them.

The pace she had set was a steady, unhurried thing, Kagutsuchi was in no rush, she had found that being overeager made things much less enjoyable, an even pace was key, the methodical curling of fingers, the slow, deliberate stroking of nerves, a means of slowly building upon the pleasure in waves until it spilled over.

“But that’s not what you want, now is it?”

The question was one she didn’t wait for an answer on, instead she leaned forward, curious to see just what kind of face a brat like her would make as she was so sweetly violated before her spouses.

“Kagutsuchi,” she stated firmly, “my name, I want you to scream it so that every one of them can hear.”

[fallesto]

The gold leaf on the ceiling was peeling, shedding flakes of gilded ruin that landed in his hair like frozen ash. He stared at the ceiling, then at the woman, then back at the ceiling, feeling the sudden, violent urge to scream until his lungs burst.

HE WAS A DRAGON

HE WAS THE BLOOD OF OLD VALYRIA

HE WAS THE RIGHTFUL HEIR TO A CONTINENT

Yet here he was, standing in a room that smelled of sandalwood and desperation, being offered a political lifeline by a girl who found his desperation amusing. He hated the way the light caught the mischievous glint in her eyes; he hated that she could afford to be playful while he was drowning in the shadow of a sister who had outgrown him. Most of all, he hated the visceral, choking realization of how far he had fucking fallen. HE HAD GONE FROM A PRINCE IN EXILE, a tragic figure of destiny, to a man begging for a sanctuary, negotiating his existence with a woman who treated his royal lineage as a quaint curiosity.

He stiffened, his chest heaving as he tried to summon the mask of the sovereign. He didn't want to be a husband; he wanted to be a god. He wanted to walk into a room and have the air vanish from the lungs of every person present. Instead, HE FELT SMALL, A BRITTLE PIECE OF CHARCOAL WAITING FOR A SPARK TO TURN HIM TO DUST. Yet, the thought of the alternative, the cold, calculating gaze of Daenerys, the way she looked at him not as a brother but as a nuisance to be managed, sent a shiver of genuine terror down his spine.

“A husband.”

He repeated, the word tasting like copper and defeat. He searched the room for something, anything, to offer in exchange. He looked toward the ornate chests and the silk hangings, but they weren't his; they were the spoils of a city he hadn't conquered and a sister who had. He looked inward, searching for a reserve of power, a hidden talent, or a strategic secret, but he found only a void filled with loud, echoing demands. HE HAD SPENT HIS LIFE BELIEVING THE NAME TARGARYEN WAS A CURRENCY THAT NEVER DEPRECIATED, a gold coin that could buy any loyalty. But in this room, under the steady, dark gaze of Kagutsuchi, the coin was counterfeit. The world had changed; the dragons were no longer legends to be invoked, but living things that burned those who miscalculated their worth.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS MISERABLE, EXILED LIFE, HE REALIZED HE WASN'T THE MERCHANT IN THIS TRANSACTION. HE WAS THE PRODUCT.

The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocing, as the weight of his own insignificance pressed against his ribs. For years, he had navigated the world by pretending the floor was made of gold and the air was his by divine right, but the illusion had finally fractured. He looked at Kagutsuchi and saw not a woman, but a FORTRESS. SHE WAS THE GATEKEEPER TO THE VERY THINGS HE HAD HALLUCINATED HIMSELF INTO POSSESSING: THE WEALTH TO FUND A CAMPAIGN, THE SHIPS TO CROSS THE NARROW SEA, AND THE STEEL TO CARVE HIS NAME INTO THE HISTORY BOOKS. Without her, he was merely a pale ghost haunting the halls of a sister who viewed him as a footnote in her own legend. To refuse her now would be to choose the gutter over the throne, and though his pride screamed in protest, the survival instinct, small and shivering as it was, finally spoke louder.

“That would mean, you would become queen of the seven kingdoms, do you understand what you are asking for!”

[fuxhi]

Slowly, she slid from the edge of her perch upon the edge of his bed, her bare feet planting firmly upon the smooth, cool stone that adorned the floor, her gaze did not avert from him, not once, not even when he turned his gaze from her. Steady hands absentmindedly smoothed out the wrinkles that had formed in the deep shades of ruby that adorned her body.

She knew he would not like her proposition, but she also knew that he had little choice at the moment.

Kagutsuchi stepped towards him, the hem of her dress kissing at her ankles as she seemed to glide across the floor, she bore the posture of a lady, moving swift and elegantly, yet she donned the grin of something pulled from the wilds, a beast amused by the writhing of its prey in the dirt. She quite liked the way he silently seethed, the way his shoulders stiffened, the way she knew that he kept composed for she was the last remaining lifeline he had. He needed her. She needed to be needed. A fair trade in her eyes.

It wasn’t the title she was after with him, to be queen would be quite tiresome, no, what she was after transcended such plain desires, what she was after was devotion and what displayed more devotion than that between husband and wife? Plus, she knew her family would oppose such an alliance unless there was something significant to gain and what was more significant than royal affiliation? This was her offer to him, she could offer no other substitute, she knew he was in no place to barter, he had nothing more to his name than borrowed treasures and a great name and only one could be shared.

“My husband,” she stated firmly.

As she stood before him, her hands would find their place upon his shoulders, her charcoal gaze flickering over his features for a moment as she brushed a stray hair from his shoulder, her hands smoothing over his chest for just a moment. She wondered if he would accept such a thing, if his pride would allow him to even mull over the thought of anchoring himself to another, she wasn’t even sure if he held any crumb of affection for her as a friend or anything more or if she were simply a nuisance that he had tolerated. Slender fingers lingered against the firmness of his chest with a feather like touch that was reminiscent of an artist feeling out a canvas before marking it with the first stroke of a brush.

“Those who follow me will not do so blindly, they need to have cause to put their lives on the line, a marriage could give them that cause.”

He was asking for a lot so it was only fair that she did the same in turn, he was asking for loyalty, for the riches of her family, the resources her own people had access to, steel, ships, funds— surely he didn’t expect her to hand it all over for nothing but his word, especially when he didn’t expect her not sit upon the throne.

“Do you understand what you are asking for?” She mirrored the question as her gaze met his, that mischievous glint had morphed into something that was much more solemn. “If you ask for my life then you will have to take all of it, not just the parts that you see fit to take. I am a woman who demands all or nothing.”

[fallesto]

He watched her retreat, the rhythmic sway of her stride a testament to the unwavering devotion that anchored her to his will. A slow, genuine smile curved his lips, not the predatory mask he wore for the court, but something softer, almost affectionate. HE ADORED HER, in the way a sculptor adores the clay that doesn't resist the thumb, or a master prizes a hound that bites exactly who it is told to bite. Her presence was a rare solace in a world populated by sycophants and obstacles; she was the only mirror in the Seven Kingdoms that reflected him not as a prince, BUT AS A GOD IN GESTATION. He found a peculiar, warm satisfaction in her obsession, a quiet joy in the knowledge that she would happily walk into a furnace if he merely suggested the heat was pleasant.

The salt air lingered on his skin, a crystalline residue that felt like a promise of the brine and blood to come. He did not linger to watch the shoreline fade; HE TURNED HIS BACK ON THE SEA, his cloak snapping behind him like a whip. Every step he took away from the coast was a rhythmic reclamation of the earth, his boots striking the volcanic rock of Dragonstone with a heavy, deliberate cadence. He did not walk back to the castle so much as he marched toward it, HIS MIND ALREADY WEAVING THE TAPESTRY OF THE COMING DAYS. He could almost feel the shift in the wind, the way the island itself seemed to lean in, eavesdropping on the secret ambition that pulsed beneath his ribs.

The excitement was not a flutter of the heart or a giddy anticipation; it was a visceral, jagged hunger. It was the sensation of a blade sliding into a sheath, a sudden alignment of purpose and power that made his vision sharpen until the world was rendered in high, AGONIZING DETAIL. He saw the veins in the leaves of the stunted shrubs, the microscopic fractures in the obsidian walls, and the trembling uncertainty of the guards as he passed. He felt a sudden, manic urge to laugh, A SOUND THAT WOULD HAVE SHATTERED THE OPPRESSIVE SILENCE OF THE CORRIDORS, for he knew that the wheels were turning. The ritual, the archives, the blood, it was no longer a theoretical pursuit. It was a countdown.

BUT THE COUNTDOWN EVENTUALLY STALLED. THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED KAGUTSUCHI’S DEPARTURE WAS NOT THE EXPECTANT HUSH OF A STORM GATHERING STRENGTH, BUT A STAGNANT, SUFFOCENING VOID.

One month became three, then six, and the violet fire in his veins began to curdle into a cold, jagged resentment. HE SPENT HIS AFTERNOONS PACING THE OBSIDIAN CORRIDORS OF Dragonstone, his boots clicking a frantic, uneven rhythm that sounded less like a march and more like a ticking clock with a broken gear. He had expected a triumph, a sudden, violent arrival of his blade, drenched in the ink of forbidden scrolls and the blood of the fools she had been ordered to cull. Instead, there was only the wind, mocking him with the same rhythmic crashing of the waves he had once mistaken for the heartbeat of power.

“Where has she gone …”

[fuxhi]

She pushed on with her head held high and a lightness in her chest, she had felt confident in herself, confident that this journey would unfurl like spilled silk. It had to, she had already disappointed him once, she could not accept failure for a second time, she could not bear for him to look at her with that look of dissatisfaction, she would sooner bury a dagger in her chest than fall short of his expectations. She adored him, he was a great artist and she was but a tool he wielded to bring his masterpiece to fruition, a coin in his hand to spend how he saw fit. She did it not for some higher purpose, not because she wished to gain something from his ascension, but because was willing to do whatever it took to satiate him. She did it all for him and him alone.

Little did she know this journey would take quite the turn, while the whispers she followed did appear to guide her to some fraction of truth, it had also led her into the hands of those who poached truth-seekers and bled them dry of valuables and resources in exchange for the ancient knowledge hidden within dilapidated archives of fallen scholars. There was always a price to pay in order to gain something else and it seemed it was time for her to make truth of the vows she had made to him. To do whatever it took to help achieve his goals.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned into a month, and a month stretched into half of a year with not so much as a peep from Kagutsuchi or the men who had accompanied her. Many believed them dead, which was true for the most part, though such a thing had no confirmation other than the empty chambers of the souls that had left.

It wasn’t until the frantic, squalling voice of a young boy echoed through the halls, his voice tainted with a desperation that had soured into something rather hopeless as he seemed to squabble with the guards. A sound that had sliced through the silence like a blade through delicate flesh, a jarring, messy thing it was. The metallic clamoring of armor, the dull thump of adolescent feet thrashing against the silhouettes of men much too large to be shaken by such a tiny little creature.

“I’ve told you already! Lady Kagutsuchi Aito insisted that I deliver these directly to the prince, no other hand will touch them! Hey— let me go, idiots!”

[fallesto]

HE STOOD FROZEN, his body stiffening in a state of shock. He had stepped into this room anticipating a chaotic scene of horror, a frantic search for a remedy, or perhaps a series of tearful apologies for the calamity that had struck his divine essence. He approached her not from a place of affection, but as one would seek a tool, hoping she would be the spark for his revival. Instead, she responded with a sound akin to a chirp, treating his existential turmoil as if it were a charming new accessory. To be seen not as a fallen idol, but as something ADORABLE, was a psychological blow he was wholly unprepared for.

He flinched away from her touch as if her finger had been a searing iron, even though the sensation of her thumb against his plush fur sent a treacherous, electric thrill coursing down his spine. "You think this is cute?" He spat, the words dripping with disdain.

"You dare to use such a trivial term, so utterly lacking in majesty, to describe my condition? I am the Sin Archbishop of Greed! I am the zenith of existence, and you regard this... this biological aberration as a mere curiosity!"

He stepped back, his cloak swirling dramatically around his ankles, but the movement was thwarted by the sudden, instinctive twitch of his ears, which flopped forward in a way that was infuriatingly endearing.

“UGGGGGGGGGGH!”

The ears did not merely shift; they responded with a vivid, traitorous independence. At the mere memory of her touch, they flickered, a rapid, rhythmic dance that felt less like a muscle response and more like a frantic heartbeat echoing in his skull. They were excessively long, cascading with a heavy, velvety elegance that mocked his rigid demeanor, AND THEY WERE INFURIATINGLY SOFT, POSSESSING A TACTILE GENTLENESS THAT FELT LIKE A VIOLATION OF HIS INNER STRONGHOLD. Most maddening of all, they felt alive, imbued with a sensory awareness that made the air in the room feel oppressively thick, the light too glaring, and the sound of Kagutsuchi’s stifled laughter far too piercing.

"Do not mock me with your laughter, you insolent creature!"

He bellowed, though the impact was slightly lessened by the way his ears suddenly swiveled in unison toward the sound of his own voice. HE SPUN ON HIS HEEL WITH A FIERCE ELEGANCE, planning to storm out of the room and leave her to her fantasies, but as he turned, an unexpected, frantic pressure surged at the base of his spine. It was a peculiar, concentrated warmth, a soft burst that felt entirely out of place against the sharp, tailored lines of his white trousers.

“Hm!”

With a sharp gasp of indignation, he reached back, his fingers diving beneath the heavy hem of his coat. There, nestled against the small of his back, was a sphere of concentrated absurdity: a puffy, white, impossibly fluffy bunny tail. It was a cloud of cotton-soft fur that starkly contrasted with the cold, obsidian precision of the room. As his fingers brushed against it, the tail gave a sudden, involuntary twitch, a rhythmic, JOYFUL BOUNCE THAT SEEMED TO PULSE WITH A LIFE OF ITS OWN. It was not merely an appendage; it was a fluffy exclamation point to his humiliation.

“WHAT!”

He stared at the sphere of fluff between his fingers, his mind spinning as he tried to find a logical explanation for this bizarre turn of events. He searched the annals of his own perceived divinity, seeking a precedent where a supreme being ascended by transforming into an adorable lagomorph, but the silence of the cosmos was deafening. A sudden, searing indignation toward the heavens washed over him; the very stars seemed to align in a mocking constellation of long ears and twitching noses. TO BE A MASTER OF GREED WAS TO POSSESS EVERYTHING, yet here he was, possessed by the biological whims of a creature that spent its days munching on clover. He envisioned the gods leaning over the edges of their celestial balconies, clutching their sides in a cosmic fit of laughter at the sight of the Great Regulus, reduced to a soft, white curiosity.

“WHAT THE FUCK, CUT IT OFF!”

[fuxhi]

Her amusement seemed never ending as she poured her gentle affections upon him, her fingers gliding over the silky expanse of his bunny ears as if she were simply stroking the head of a beloved pet. She had no use for tearful apologies, she didn’t see this unfortunate addition to her person as a drawback, she saw it as an added charm, though it didn’t help that her sense of danger was somewhat skewed. Even as her husband flinched away from her touch, she only drew closer, the infuriating little grin never once leaving her face. She was enjoying this, not only the sight of him with his precious new additions, but the way he seemed utterly infuriated by the fact that they were there in the first place.

“Cute? Oh no, you are utterly adorable, so lovely,” she murmured next to one of his ears just to watch it twitch and swivel towards her voice, a simple little motion that made her snicker, not even doing so much as flinching at his sharp tone.

She momentarily nuzzled her cheek against his, the pale creamy curve of his skin flush with the sun-kissed tan of her own flesh, only a flicker of the borderline obsessive affection she wished to shove his way. “It’s still a part of you, isn’t it?” She hummed as he stepped back from her, her curious gaze following him. “I vowed to adore every bit of you, even the parts that may seem unsightly.”

Kagutsuchi didn’t attempt to close the distance between them once he stepped away, instead she took a moment to look at him once more— he was cute like this, huffy and puffy like an angry little bunny, a sight that would have been just a fraction more amusing if he had stamped his little foot, that thought alone only caused her to bite her lip in order to stifle further laughter. Sometimes she did wonder how others took him so seriously when he stomped around like a spoiled child, ranting on about his rights and his titles, if it hadn’t been for his strength and inhuman abilities she would have tested his limits much more than she already did— she got a rise out of it.

The dark haired woman intended to follow along behind her husband as he went to make his swift exit from her chambers, her hands quickly pulled the velvet of her nightgown tight around her figure as she tied it tightly around her waist. “Insolent creature?” She huffed playfully, “Is that any way to address your precious little wife?” Her lighthearted scolding ceased when she noticed him freeze for the smallest fraction of a second, her charcoal eyes following the desperate pursuit of his hand chasing after something she couldn’t yet see.

“Husband?”

The curve of her brow arched inquisitively as she bore witness to his antics, though once his coat was brushed aside and her own gaze was met with the plush, pristine ball of fluff her jaw practically dropped to the floor, her eyes round as saucers. She wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden, bizarre shift in his physical form, but she would offer no complaints about this unforeseen twist of fate, instead she would let out a small squeal, like a young girl who had just seen a kitten for the first time.

“HOOOH! LOOK AT THAT!”

Her hands were on him in an instant, one held his hip steady while the other busied itself with wedging between his hand and the ball of velvety fluff. She couldn’t help herself, she just HAD to touch it, especially when the little appendage wriggled so eagerly— it was practically begging to be touched and she had two perfectly good hands. “Hoh, it’s so soft,” she cooed at him, her fingers burying into the plush ball of her, her thumb testing the seamless blend of tail to spine. It was as if he had been born with the thing, though she was sure that was untrue, she had seen him undressed before and back then he had no tail.

Before he had the chance to protest, her hands were ushering him towards her bed, though not for some nefarious reason, she only wished to lay him down to she could better inspect his new appendages…and maybe sneak in some affection. “Come, let me take a look.”

[fallesto]

THE WORLD AROUND HIM WAS A SWIRLING MIX OF DARK SKIES AND RED EARTH, yet the feeling enveloping him was strikingly clear, a lifeline amidst the chaos. He experienced a sudden, vertiginous pull as gravity yanked him downwards, his substantial form crashing into a softness that felt miraculous. Her delicate arms encircled his neck, a warm embrace that drew him into her gravitational pull, while her legs instinctively ensnared his waist with a strength reminiscent of the powerful limbs they once had as creatures. He could feel the sharp, anchoring pressure of her heels pressing into the small of his back, holding him close as if she feared he might vanish back into the fog of the battlefield.

“Woah!”

THE SENSATION WAS OVERWHELMING. For a decade, his existence had been shaped by the roughness of straw, the rigidity of leather, and the unyielding grit of the ground. Now, as he pressed against her, he discovered a softness that felt almost divine. The plush weight of her breasts against the solid surface of his chest created a contrast so profound it caught his breath. It was a tactile epiphany, the warm velvet of skin against skin, the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of her breath echoing his own. He let out a groan, a sound that emerged deep from his throat, a blend of a human sigh and a stallion’s soft nicker, as he yielded to the powerful presence of her.

“This, all of this feels odd, but good?”

Fueled by ten years of instinctual devotion, he didn’t pursue her lips with the finesse of a refined lover. Instead, he pressed into her neck with the primal, genuine hunger of the beast he once was. He nestled against the curve of her throat, his nose gliding over her damp, SALT-KISSED SKIN, tracing the delicate line where her jaw met the throbbing warmth of her jugular. HE KISSED HER THERE, WILD, PASSIONATE PRESSES OF HIS LIPS AGAINST HER MOIST SKIN, breathing in the aroma of rain and femininity. It was a declaration, a grounding ritual of scent and touch, as if he were striving to imprint the very essence of her being to ensure she wouldn’t dissolve back into a wisp of shimmering smoke.

“This ..”

Visions of a thousand pursuits danced through his mind, a specter of an instinct that refused to fade. For a decade, he had been the coveted prize of the paddock, a stallion of such raw, formidable strength that he had become the sun around which the local mares revolved. He recalled the rhythmic pounding of their hooves behind him, the playful nips at his flanks, AND THE PERSISTENT, velvety breath of females who had spent seasons attempting to entice him into the tall grass. HE HAD UNDERSTOOD THE DANCE, the subtle flick of an ear, the calculated retreat, the way he would lead them in wide, sweeping arcs until they were breathless and he was merely entertained. He had played THE ROLE OF THE ELUSIVE MONARCH, allowing them to dream of him, letting them chase the shadow of a man who had forgotten how to truly be one.

NOW, THE DYNAMICS HAD TRANSFORMED WITH A BREATHTAKING, TUMULTUOUS SWIFTNESS. The stallion's fierce confidence lingered, yet it was now tempered by the delicate sensitivity of human skin. As he embraced her, he understood that the courtship among the herd had merely been a shallow mimicry of this connection. THOSE MARES HAD PURSUED HIS STRENGTH AND STATURE, BUT THIS WOMAN, this being who had shared his silence and the muck of life, was pursuing his very soul. The yearning he experienced was NOT THE MINDLESS URGE OF A BEAST IN SEARCH OF A MATE; it was the intensely focused longing of a man who had been deprived of touch for ten long years.

The rhythmic caress of his lips against her skin became a frantic exploration, tracing the warmth of her neck and jaw with a desperation that bordered on ravenous. EACH BREATH HE TOOK WAS SATURATED WITH HER SCENT, A INTOXICATING BLEND OF RAIN, MUSK, AND THE RESIDUAL SALT OF THE BATTLEFIELD. He could feel the resonance of her laughter against his chest, a sound that echoed through his ribs like a temple bell, anchoring him in the reality of his own body. Yet, as he adjusted his weight, STRIVING TO GROUND HIMSELF MORE FIRMLY AGAINST HER SOFT CURVES, a sudden, jarring sensation flickered through his nervous system.

“Hoh …”

It was an unusual pressure, a persistent, insistent rigidity that had emerged beneath the surface of his skin. In the realm of the stallion, this was a familiar, driving force, a blunt instrument of instinct that demanded recognition. BUT HERE, TRANSLATED THROUGH THE SENSITIVE STRUCTURE OF A HUMAN GROIN, THE SENSATION WAS ELECTRIC AND CONCENTRATED. He felt it, a hard, pulsing heat pressing insistently against the soft, yielding silk of her inner thigh.

“HOH?”

[fuxhi]

Letting him go seemed like a task so simple, yet impossible, she could not stand to part, not when her body and soul both yearned for the closeness of another, not when she was being bombarded with a plethora of new sensations that made her breath catch in her through between puffs of laughter. There had been times as a mare when she had another press against her side durning particularly grueling winters, but this was different, this was an unfettered closeness, one not dulled by coarse hairs and thick skin, this was something that transcended equine bonds.

for Fal’s eyes only! (Pfft 18+ content ahead)

“So warm,” she murmured as her hands glided along smooth muscle, the warmth of his flesh melting into her palms as she kneaded and pawed at his back, her nails occasionally dragging across his skin, it wasn’t a practiced seduction, it was simply her testing newfound appendages against the only thing she dared to grasp at.

Him.

Everything about this moment felt so foreign, but so…right, as if this had been a moment weaved within the very fabric of the cosmos long before they had even drew their first breaths. Was this what people spoke of when they spoke of soul mates? This feeling that two souls were destined to find one another no matter what the unforgiving hands of fate threw at them. Nothing could take even an ounce of value from this moment, not even the cold, moist grit of blood soaked earth against her spine, it only served as motivation for her to press herself flush with his body, as if she could simply will their bodies to meld into one flesh.

“This body,” she puffed out as her fingers clumsily traced his shoulder blades, “…is much more…sensitive.”

Her head tilted back further, a subtle movement, one that came as second nature, a mare’s acceptance of her chosen stallion’s affections. Fingers found their way to the back of Michikatsu’s neck, the soft, plush pads of the digits tracing the curve of his spine as if she were reading lines of an ancient text that she could only half understand. The sound that parted her lips was unlike any sound she had made before, it was a delicate little sound, one that was reminiscent of a mouse’s squeak, a noise she had been unable to bite back once the velvety heat of his lips made declarations of love against her pulse. Such a simple thing, yet she felt as if lightning had flashed down her spine and settled between her thighs with a pulsing, unbearable heat that had her thighs attempting to press together in search of friction only to be halted by the solid weight of his hips between her legs.

The instincts of woman and beast had become blurred around the edges, her mind, accustomed to herd life played tug of war with the mind of the woman she truly was, the mare begged to be mated, while the woman yearned to be held and kissed, she yearned for the sweet whispers of a destined lover. None had ever made her feel such a way, not the prying muzzles of inquiring stallions who had tried to woo her with shows of speed and power and carefully placed nudges, not the boy who would recite his poetry amongst the tired ears of her stable mates. If she could not have him, if she could not have her Michikatsu, then she would want no other for she was truly and wholly in love with him.

Everything he would offer to her, she would take and offer in kind, be it her heart, her body, her eyes, even her very soul was his if he only asked for it. Kagutsuchi didn’t want to simply be the mare that he sowed his seed within, she wanted to be his wife, she needed to be the one who would stand by his side for the rest of their lives and beyond, she would not even allow the gods to stand between their union. He would be her husband, she would not allow anything less, nor did she want for anything more.

With each press of his lips against the delicate skin that adorned her throat, her breaths became more erratic, the ghosts of gasps whispering past her lips like the prayers of the damned for he damned her with each touch. She swore that he had used some sort of black magic for she found herself utterly bewitched by him, by the touch of his lips and the heat of his breath. A shiver ran down her spine as his lips met a particularly tender patch of skin, her body instinctively pressing up into his as a pitiful little whine spilled past her lips, her brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“M—more,” she demanded, her voice was but a hoarse whisper In the eerie silence of the now stilled battlefield.

The heat that pooled between her thighs was an insatiable thing, it demanded attention, so much so that she could feel it practically overriding the sense of decency that had once been instilled in her by her mother and aunts. She shifted her weight against the stiff, pulsing heat against her thigh in a desperate attempt to find relief in the friction of two bodies together, an attempted that was rewarded as she dug her heels into his back, dragging the length of him against the heat of her sex with a slow, hungry roll of her hips.

“Please Michikatsu…I need you.”

[cursedblush]

a girl & her guard dog - chapter 36

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[inkpressedpetals]

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[cursedblush]

futarijime romantic - chapter two

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[diaalmih]

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[animeaestheticart]

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[cursedblush]

i have a crush at work - chapter 28

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

BE MY GOOD GIRL

WHAT

THE

FUCK

His mind was a frantic storm of contradictions, a cacophony of indignation clashing against a sudden, traitorous hunger. She wanted this tanned bitch to let go, she DEMANDED it with every fiber of her divine being. For centuries, Regalia had been the apex of existence, a creature whose mere presence commanded the atmosphere to bend and the strongest of men to kneel. SHE WAS USED TO THE WORLD REACTING TO HER LIKE A MIRROR, reflecting back the image of a goddess who was untouchable, untouchable and absolute. Yet here was Kagutsuchi, treating her not as a sovereign, but as a plaything. Why was she not afraid? Why did the woman’s heart beat with such steady, infuriating confidence against Regalia's own racing pulse?

IT WAS A SPATIAL HERESY; KAGUTSUCHI HAD OCCUPIED HER PERSONAL DOMAIN NOT BY FORCE, BUT BY A SHEER, STUBBORN REFUSAL TO BE INTIMIDATED.

“Unhand me you big oath!”

Her golden eyes flickered toward the horizon of her sanctuary, scanning the hundreds of sculpted men who remained suspended in a state of paralyzed devotion. They were statues of flesh and oil, their breaths held in a collective, TERRIFIED SUSPENSION. In all the centuries of her curated greed, she had never brought another woman into this inner sanctum; the presence of a female peer was an unprecedented anomaly, a glitch in the divine order she had constructed. HER HUSBANDS DID NOT MOVE BECAUSE THEY DID NOT KNOW THE PROTOCOL FOR A RIVAL; they feared that a single misplaced gesture, a splash of water or a misplaced glance, would invite the lethal precision of the Sin Archbishop’s wrath. They watched, wide-eyed and trembling, as their goddess was held fast by a woman who looked at the divine hierarchy and decided it was merely a suggestion.

“ARRRRRRRRGH!”

The internal roar of her pride was suddenly drowned out by a physical sensation that bypassed her intellect entirely. One moment, she was preparing a scathing decree of execution, and the next, the world narrowed down to THE PRECISE POINT WHERE KAGUTSUCHI’S HAND BREACHED THE SANCTUARY OF HER thighs. The sensation was an electric shock of contrast: the rough, weathered callouses of a warrior’s finger colliding with the hypersensitive, velvet heat of a body that had been pampered into an extreme fragility. As that middle finger delved deep into the folds of her sex, dragging with a slow, agonizing precision against her bundle of nerves, Regalia’s breath hitched into a jagged, broken sound.

UGH! AHHH! WHAT IS THIS TANNED BITCH DOING?!

As she opened her mouth to unleash a torrent of vitriol, to scream a command that would rend the very stone of her sanctuary asunder, but the words were murdered by a sudden, VIOLENT SURGE OF PLEASURE. The sound that escaped her was not a decree, but a broken, airy moan that vibrated through her throat, sounding far more like a plea than a protest. It was an invasive, overwhelming sweetness, a physical tide that swept away her dignity and left her gasping. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AN ETERNITY, the Sin Archbishop found herself speechless, her voice drowned out by the sheer, visceral quality of the sensation.

“St .. stop, husbands, get her!”

The world blurred into a haze of gold and steam. As Kagutsuchi’s finger maintained that rhythmic, agonizingly precise pressure, she felt the structural integrity of her resolve simply collapse. Her knees, once as rigid as the pillars of her temple, buckled beneath her. THERE WAS NO GRACE IN THE FALL, ONLY A DESPERATE, INSTINCTIVE SURRENDER. She felt herself sinking, her body becoming heavy and fluid, as if the bones of her legs had turned to warm wax. In a frantic, subconscious attempt to trap that exquisite friction, she squeezed her thighs together, PRESSING HERSELF TIGHTER AGAINST THE WARRIOR’S HAND, her breath hitching into a series of small, pathetic whimpers that betrayed every single thing she had tried to hide.

[fuxhi]

Her mouth said one thing.

Yet…her body contradicted every venomous word she breathed to life.

She was enjoying herself much more than she ought to be, but she just couldn’t help herself, not when the smaller woman fit against her body oh so perfectly, the slick curves and angles of their bodies fitting together as if they had been puzzle pieces crafted by the gods themselves. It was hard to tell if the tanned woman was incredibly stupid or brave, though it was likely both seeing as the stubborn thing refused to step down when commanded to by a sin archbishop of all people. Truth be told Kagutsuchi yearned to flirt with danger, it was part of the appeal, like sinking her teeth into a forbidden fruit without yet knowing what punishment awaited her.

The dark haired woman only let out a low, breathy chuckle against the curve of Regalia’s cheek, the warmth of her breath blooming across pale skin as the sharp angle of a nose nuzzled against the soft angle of a jawbone. “Look at them,” she practically purred like a feline satisfied with its hunt, “standing still as if they wish to watch you come undone for another woman…I suppose men will be men.” As she spoke her prying fingers continued in their conquest of the goddesses’s body, delving into the silken heat of her body, her own breath catching in her throat for a fleeting moment. The soft sounds she had managed to pull past the other woman’s bratty little lip was utterly delightful, instilling a flash of hunger in the warrior that could only be satiated by the sound of those sweet lips calling out her name with the prized dolls Regalia called her husband’s bearing witness.

The drag of her fingers was purposefully, torturously slow, she wished to savor this moment for a few seconds longer, to witness the white-haired woman’s resolve melt upon her fingers like cotton candy being subjected to water. Her free arm served to support the featherlight weight of the other woman as she slowly knelt, easing them both down upon the damp stone, her hand only ceasing its probing of her sex to adjust their position, guiding the smaller woman’s spine against the soft curve of her own belly, the darker woman’s knees prying the milky expanse of her better’s legs apart, putting the woman on display for her husbands.

“Good girl,” she cooed, “You’re doing so well for me.”

With the older woman spread and on display, she would snake her hand back between soft thighs, her fingers taking the opportunity to further explore the beckoning heat, the pads of her middle and ring finger’s parting her folds as if she were a florist readying a particularly lovely specimen. Lips whispered against the soft curve of her shoulder as the foolish little warrior added more pressure behind her touch, the very tips of her middle fingers sinking into the smaller of the pair, her thumb idly stroking the bud of nerves. “You talk big for one who’s practically drooling on my fingers,” she teased, allowing a low, sultry chuckle to spill past her lips, once again ignoring the protests thrown at her.

“What do you suppose your dear husbands think?” She hummed half heartedly, casting half lidded gaze towards the hoard of trophy husbands, a mischievous little grin plastered on her lips as if she were a child who had been given a treat while the others were left with nothing but longing for a taste of something sweet.