content: gender neutral reader, based on Lovecraft's 'The Transition of Juan Romero'
You'd been hired to oversee the mining work at the outskirts of some remote village. Not the most elegant job, but it paid your bills, and - in comparison to the actual workers on the site - it allowed you to sit back and merely observe the intense labor.
You were also expecting that you'd sometimes have to boost everyone's morale; the place was vast, dark, and desolate. The locals kept their distance. The men only had themselves, and so you'd often remind them there was a home and a fat check waiting for them once the project was completed.
What you didn't anticipate, however, was the bizarre behavior some of them began to display only days after your arrival. They'd wake up in the middle of the night, feverish and pale, shouting nonsense about some dormant God underneath your drills and machinery. A foreign-sounding name, and a never-ending abyss from which it whispered forbidden secrets and ghoulish demands.
One afternoon, you were called to the main underground site by a baffled engineer. There's a hole, he said as you stepped out of the improvised elevator. A hole, you repeated, incredulous. I should hope so, we're mining in here. The problem, you see, was that they couldn't find an end to it. It went on, hundreds of meters, spiralling into ancient Earth and swallowing up anything they tried to use for measurements.
You stood at the edge of the sunken descent, staring into the yawning void. Perhaps as a way to convince your own senses, you searched your pockets for a coin, then dropped it into the pit. You must've waited for minutes, aching your ears for the faintest hint of impact, but there was silence.
That night, you abruptly woke up to find your body swaying side to side, limbs stretched by the gloved hands of two workers. They were carrying you somewhere; as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized you were back into the depths of the mine. What's the meaning of this, you shouted, startled by your own echo drumming across the enormous walls.
He's been asking for you, one of them responded weakly. I can't take it no more, boss - he said he'll leave us alone once you're there.
Their grip on you vanished, and your stomach began to knot, a tremendous pressure building up in your innards: you were falling. You glanced down into the endless crater, except this time - impossible! - there was a devilish glow emanating from its core, a burning light sprawling out as if to gently catch you into its web.
Hiiiii aha 😖😖 can I get a part two to greek gods with a winged lover where there wings were cut off by a greedy servant because they wanted power and money like that one scene in Maleficent where Stefan betrayed maleficent and they woke up feeling pain all over there back before emotionally breaking down because there wings symbolizing there power and freedom and strength. (You can add more if you want)
(If this was a bit too much you don’t have to do this lmao)
love me, angst!!! reference to previous post and combined with another ask.
tags: angst, body mutilation(?), murder, not beta read <3
for sake of my own tags I will be dubbing this reader maleficent! reader
characters: zeus, hera, ares, aph, hephy, hemres
Disclaimer: this combines the world of the og Greek texts, blood of zeus, epic the musical, hades game, and my personal view of the gods. this can contain improper or ooc information. I have favorites if it's not obvious.
ᴢᴇᴜꜱ
-> rage is all he feels. not only for you but for himself. how did he not derail this action with his presence alone? how could someone still have the audacity toharm his lover? a lover of the all mighty zeus, the god of olympus, God of gods—it was unprecedented. he sees how all the gods stared at him, eyes narrowed and mocking, judging him. for the fact that a messily servant had the gall to hurt the lover of a king!
-> he needed to find them and make a display of his power and will to defend both his pride and his lover(s). the servant was found in a near instant, and anyone else involved. he finds various punishments for each of them and forces everyone—gods and servants alike—watch. by the time he's done, his point is made and no one leaves or even attempts to move until he walks out the clearing.
-> after that he finally focuses his attention on you. his strong arms wrapped around your comfortably, mindful of the wounds. he whispers sweet nothings into your ear and promises that he will find those wings-and if he can't he'll find a way to get or make you a new pair.
ʜᴇʀᴀ
-> her rage rivals zeus, she can just feel the kind of pain your in—not just physical but the pain of something you felt immensely prideful for was gone. she will goes to the ends of the heavens and earths and find the sorry bastard who had the audacity to lay their hands on you and handle them swiftly.
-> she comforts you the best she can. holding you close as your wounds are tended to. rather then you hold her, she now holds you, curling under a blanket together as she kisses your tears away and wanting nothing more then the pain to stop. she makes sure to let you know that you are still loved and valued, no matter what part of you is gone and changed, that will not stop her from loving you.
-> when the person is found, just like zeus, she makes a show of it. however she doesn't let the person die, not right awag at least. she spends her time torturing the bastard herself or have someone do it for her. she won't force you to join but is more willing to entertain the idea of you getting a few hits in.
ᴀʀᴇꜱ
-> of course his rage surpasses all the others, he will not stand for this injustice against you. he feels ashamed of himself as he wasn't able to protect you. he knows how important your wings are, what they meant to you. he doesn't let you fall into a pit of depression, he urges you to stand tall, show the rest of the world and Olympus that even without your wings, your still as powerful as before.
-> after your healed, he doesn't treat you like your made of glass. he treats you like you were before, still continuing your sparing sessions and having you learn new tricks to adjust to your new body. your balance of both psychical self and mental self are worked on vigorously.
-> together, you hunt the bastard down. playing a violent game of cats and mouse as your corner them. striking pure fear into the creature until you deal the final blow. he can feel his godly powers course through you as you strike again, again, and again. until there's nothing but a mutilated corpse and blood covering your body. ares pulls you into a ravishing kiss, feeling nothing but pride that you were able to overcome this set back.
ᴀᴘʜʀᴏᴅɪᴀᴛᴇ
-> shes is both disbelief and pure rage. they defiled you, her dearest lover, they took away one of the most beautiful features of all. she is seething. she often goes on rants, complaining about it but please do not take it as her only caring about your wings—she just knows how much you loved your wings and the pride you took in them.
-> as you heal, she worships your body. kissing along your body as she talks about each part which such love and admiration. she wants you to be empowered by the fact that while your most noticeable feature is gone, it doesn't mean that the rest of you doesn't contribute to your gorgeous body.
-> when the person is found, she doesnt bother sullying her hands with their filth, but if you want to. she encourages it greatly. she'll watch with great pride and amusement as you make do with them, cheering you on as you go. she loves when you fight with such raw passion, it has her heart racing.
ʜᴇᴘʜᴀᴇꜱᴛᴜꜱ
-> being one who is deformed & disabled he feels nothing but distress and sorrow for you. He knows what the consequences will be to your status in Olympus once its been discovered that you are now a cripple. and being a lover of his makes it worse-. while he no longer cares what the others think of him, he will not allow your reputation to be tarnished because of this, he will average your pride.
-> he seeks the aid of his half-sister Artemis, so she may help him find the bastard who had the audacity to defile what was his to protect. he holds you close to his chest as Artemis heals your back. he doesn't speak, doesn't know what to say—so he just let you rest your head against his chest and listen to the soft beating of his heart. hoping to soothe your woes as much as he can.
-> he doesn't make a show of killing the person, does it quick and in succession. but he makes sure to leave a message by displaying their head impaled on one of his signature weapons. a simple yet powerful message. then he will have his attention on you only, comforting you as he builds you a replica or an improved pair depending on what your desires are. he wishes nothing more then to see you soar like you have once before.
ʜᴇʀᴍᴇꜱ
-> this is something hes always had a fear of, not being able to fly. incapable of enjoying the freedoms of flight, going across the globe and traveling to different places without restraint. but his way to fly are from shoes, things that can be remade if broken but yours were a peice of you. he can't even fathom how much pain you are truly in.
-> he does not let this stop you from forgetting what its like to fly. taking you high and above the clouds, tucked tightly against his chest. while it wasn't the same, it was similar. he holds you as you cry, unbothered by the tears and snot staining his tunic, he reassured you that he will not only find this bastard but he will discover a way to have you fly on your own again once more.
-> now, angry hermes. is a terrifying hermes. he is not overly intimidating or anyhting but he can truly scare the shit out of someone. he is silent when he makes the move, cornering the one that had the aducity to harm is beloved and let's just say, the sight after wasn't nay a pretty one.
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Yandere themes, obsessive love, psychological manipulation, possessiveness, dependency, power imbalance (god x mortal), isolation, controlling behavior, gaslighting and light fear.
ZEUS, god of thunder
Zeus would decide you belong to him.
At first, it feels like a miracle. Storms stop when you step outside, lightning never strikes near you, and people treat you with reverence without knowing why. That’s because Zeus has already marked you. You are now something sacred.
He watches constantly. If someone hurts you, even accidentally, the punishment is severe. But Zeus doesn’t think of this as cruelty. He thinks of it as justice. In his mind, you are fragile, mortal, easily breakable. The only way to keep you safe is to control everything around you.
He would slowly isolate you without you even realizing it. Friends stop visiting, lovers disappear. Anyone who tries to grow too close simply… loses interest overnight. Zeus doesn’t tolerate rivals. Not because he’s insecure, but because he believes no one else has the right to love you.
And if you tried to run? He wouldn’t punish you immediately. He would wait until you were exhausted, lost, terrified. Then the storm would begin, gentle rain first, guiding you back.
When you return, soaked and trembling, he would feel relief, not anger.
Because in Zeus’s mind, you didn’t betray him. You only forgot where you belonged.
POSEIDON, god of sea
Poseidon’s love would feel like drowning: it’s suffocating and impossible to escape.
He would become obsessed with the idea that you are his calm. The only thing capable of quieting the violent rage inside him. The sea would literally respond to your emotions. If you cry, the tides rise. If you’re calm, the ocean becomes glass-smooth.
Poseidon wouldn’t want you near other people because humans are unpredictable. The ocean, however, is loyal. It obeys him. So he would begin trying to pull you closer and closer to the water. Trips to the coast, walks by the sea, and storms that conveniently trap you near shorelines.
Eventually, you would realize that the sea reacts when you try to leave. Boats break, storms appear suddenly, and urrents drag you back. It seems the ocean refuses to let you go.
Poseidon wouldn’t see this as kidnapping. To him, it’s protection from the cruelty of land. Humans betray. Humans hurt. But the sea? The sea worships you because he does.
And if someone tried to take you away, he wouldn’t even try to hide the destruction. He’d want the world to understand:
If they take you, they drown with you.
HERA, goddess of marriage
Hera’s obsession wouldn’t come from passion, it would come from devotion. Once she decides you’re hers, she treats you like something sacred and pure that the world doesn’t deserve.
Unlike Zeus or Poseidon, she wouldn’t destroy your enemies instantly. She would ruin them with areers collapse, friendships turning toxic, families growing distant… People who get too close to you suddenly become miserable without knowing why.
Hera believes in loyalty above everything else. If you love her back, even just a little, she becomes very gentle. Almost motherly in a dark way.
But if you ever show affection toward someone else?
Hera wouldn’t hurt you. She would hurt the person you loved. She would twist their life into something unbearable until they abandon you on their own.
And the worst part is: she would comfort you afterward. She would hold you gently, whispering that the world always disappoints you, that people are weak, that only she understands you completely. She wouldn’t force you to stay.
She would make you believe leaving her would destroy you.
DEMETER, goddess of agriculture
Demeter would see you as something soft and fragile that the world is constantly trying to steal (as Persephone)l. Every small hardship in your life becomes proof that you cannot survive without her protection.
At first, her love feels warm and comforting. She feeds you, takes care of you, makes sure you’re never lonely. But slowly, that warmth becomes suffocating. She doesn’t want you to grow. Growing means independence, and independence means losing you.
So she starts controlling your life in small ways. Choosing where you go. Who you talk to. What’s “safe” for you. Anyone who encourages you to become stronger becomes her enemy.
If you ever tried to leave her, she wouldn’t scream or rage. The world would simply begin to die.
Plants would wither. Crops would fail. Seasons would stop moving. Winter would stretch endlessly. Not out of cruelty, but because Demeter cannot function without you.
APHRODITE, goddess of love
The moment Aphrodite becomes obsessed, your life changes little by little. People still admire you, they still look at you, but the love never feels real. Relationships crumble for no reason, and the confessions feel hollow. Something is always missing.
That’s because Aphrodite refuses to share what belongs to her.
Every time you try to love someone else, the relationship becomes painful, awkward and empty, like your heart refuses to respond. That’s the work of his loyal Eros.
Meanwhile, she would appear in your life in gentle ways. Dreams, mirrors, reflections… there are some moments where you feel watched, but in a strange comforting way.
Eventually, you would start craving her presence without realizing why.
Aphrodite would want you dependent on her. She wants to be the only one who can make your heart race, the only one who can make you feel desired, the only one who can make you feel loved.
Not because she’s insecure. But because she believes love itself belongs to her, and therefore, so do you.
ATHENA, goddess of wisdom
Athena would study you first. Learn everything. Your fears, your habits, your weaknesses, and the exact type of affection you crave.
Then she would become the perfect person for you.
You would think you fell in love naturally. You would believe it was your choice. But in reality, Athena prepared the entire relationship like a strategy.
Once you’re attached, she becomes possessive. She doesn’t isolate you violently, she just makes everyone else seem unnecessary. No one understands you like she does. No one protects you like she does. No one can predict your needs like she does.
If you ever tried to break away, Athena wouldn’t panic. She would outthink you. Every escape plan would fail before it even begins. Every decision you make would somehow lead you back to her.
Because she predicted you perfectly.
ARTEMIS, goddess of the hunt
Artemis would see you as something she needs to protect from the corruption of the world.
She would become obsessed with the idea that humanity is dangerous, that people will hurt you, betray you, and taint you. So she slowly pulls you away from civilization by forest walks, silent nights, and distance from crowds.
The more time you spend with her, the more peaceful it feels. Until one day you realize you don’t remember the last time you saw another person.
Artemis wouldn’t lock you up physically. She would make the outside world feel threatening. The forest becomes your safe space, and she becomes the only person you trust inside it.
If someone tried to take you away, Artemis would react like a predator protecting its territory.
APOLLO, god of the sun
Apollo would love you the way artists love their greatest masterpiece: obsessively, and selfishly.
He would become fascinated with every detail of you. Your voice, your laugh, your emotions… he would turn you into poetry, music, and art. At first, it feels flattering.
But then you realize something disturbing: Apollo doesn’t want you to change.
He doesn’t want you to grow, mature, or move on. Because the version of you he fell in love with is the version he immortalized. If you change, his “perfect creation” disappears.
So he encourages you to stay the same, to stay dependent and fragile. Because that’s the version of you he worships.
If someone else tries to “improve” you, Apollo sees it as destruction. And he will destroy them in return.
Because to Apollo, you aren’t just someone he loves. You are something he created, and creators don’t share their masterpieces.
ARES, god of war
The moment he becomes attached, you become the one thing that calms his rage. Which means he cannot risk losing you. Ever.
He wouldn’t try to control you, he would control the world around you through violence. Anyone who insults you, touches you, or even looks at you wrong becomes a target.
At first, it feels powerful and safe. Like nothing in the world could hurt you.
But then you realize something horrifying: Ares isn’t protecting you from danger, he’s also creating danger just to defend you from it.
Fights start because he wants an excuse to prove his devotion. Wars feel personal and violence becomes proof of love.
If you tried to leave him, he wouldn’t beg. He would become destructive. Not toward you, but toward everything else. Which of course makes you feel guilty: would you sacrifice so many innocent people only for your sake, mmh?
But the scariest part? He would never apologize.
HEPHAESTUS, god of blacksmithing
Hephaestus wouldn’t chase you aggressively. He would simply… build things for you. Small gifts at first, objects and tools that solve your problems.
Then the gifts start becoming more personal. Things only someone who watches you closely would know you need.
He would never admit he’s obsessed. But you would feel it. The way he looks at you like you’re something delicate that could break at any moment, and the way he hates anyone who hurts you.
If you ever tried to leave, he wouldn’t threaten you. He would simply remind you of everything he built for you. Everything he fixed. Everything he sacrificed.
And slowly, you would start feeling guilty for wanting freedom.
He would trap you by making you feel like leaving him would destroy someone who loves you more than anyone ever could.
HERMES, god of messengers
Hermes would be one of the most unsettling because his obsession would feel playful, until it suddenly isn’t.
He would appear everywhere in your life. Random coincidences, messages arriving at the perfect moment and someone always helping you when you’re lost. You’d think you’re lucky.
But eventually, you realize something: Hermes knows everything you do. Every secret, every thought, every place you go.
He wouldn’t isolate you violently. He would just make sure you can’t escape him. Even if you run, he’ll find you faster. Even if you hide, he’ll know where you are.
The scariest part is that he never looks angry. He just smiles gently and says things like, “You don’t have to run from me.”
It’s inescapable.
DIONYSUS, god of wine
Dionysus’s love would feel intoxicating at first. It would be exciting and freeing.
He would make you feel alive in a way no one else ever has. There are no rules or guilt, just passion.
But slowly, that freedom turns into dependency.
You start needing him to feel happy. Needing him to feel brave. Needing him to feel alive. And Dionysus knows it. He doesn’t force it, he only encourages it, like he’s helping you discover your “true self.”
But your “true self” only exists when he’s there.
If you ever tried to leave, Dionysus wouldn’t stop you. He would let you go, and then the world would feel empty again, grey and lifeless, like joy itself disappeared.
Because it did.
Dionysus doesn’t want to cage you.
He wants you to choose the cage yourself.
HADES, god of the Underworld
Hade’s love would feel eternal.
He wouldn’t rush anything. He would simply wait. And slowly, he would become the only person who truly understands your loneliness.
You would feel safe with him in a way you never have with anyone else. You would feel seen and calm.
And then one day, you realize something horrifying: You don’t want to leave him anymore.
Hades wouldn’t trap you with chains. He would trap you with comfort and understanding. A love that feels deeper than anything on the surface world.
And even if you tried to leave, he would never chase you. He would wait.
Being one of the nymphs on Olympus was the greatest reward Hera had bestowed upon Y/N. Too many centuries had passed to remember why. But Y/N didn't dwell on it, she sang and danced with her friends, poured wine at the gods' feasts, and entertained the guests. Apollo was a frequent visitor to their "island" of merriment, teaching them how to behave with the other gods, how to serve them, what to sing or dance at feasts.
"I wonder what Apollo is like as a lover?" Galatea giggled quietly as their mentor disappeared from sight.
"What?" Y/N said, surprised. To her, the god was a good teacher, and hearing such words from one of her friends was surprising.
"You'd better not look his way..." Daphne said, adjusting her hair.
"What's this? Do I hear a hint of jealousy?" Galatea teased.
"Please! She took a vow of chastity..." Dryope chimed in, laughing softly.
"Seriously? Why didn't you tell us?" Y/N was the youngest of them, didn't understand much, and behaved like an innocent virgin, which was probably why she was a favorite of the Goddesses.
"I did, you were just daydreaming!" Daphne laughed and ruffled her friend's hair.
"I would like to know the love of Hermes," Penelope said shyly.
"I wouldn't mind being with Ares," Melissa declared boldly.
"You're so brave? You better not..." Dryope said, frightened.
"You're always so timid, Dryope!" Melissa said irritably.
"But he's so aggressive, his lovers are constantly running away from him. He's full of anger and always gets into fights!" Dryope continued, handing out apples from her basket to her friends.
"Besides, his heart has been occupied for a long time," Daphne gently took a lock of Y/N's hair, who was casually eating an apple and innocently watching each of the nymphs.
"Impossible!" Melissa exclaimed with delight.
"Of course, at every feast he can't take his eyes off her, and she, the fool, keeps looking the other way," Galatea chuckled.
"What are you talking about?" Y/n was lost in her own thoughts again and had missed the gist of the conversation.
"About Ares and you," Dryope replied calmly.
"And what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, it's just that our God of War is in love with you," Daphne cooed.
"You must be mistaken..."
"No, dear, you just don't want to see it. And he's burning with fire and love for you," Galatea winked at Y/n.
"Or did you think he would show you more overt attention? He's a rock, or a volcano, he needs you to notice first and give him a sign," Penelope decided to rejoin the conversation.
"This is all nonsense, you just want to tease me," Y/n turned away, embarrassed.
The nymphs burst into laughter but left their friend alone, who continued to gaze into the distance at Olympus, but her mind was almost empty, with only one figure looming on the horizon of her consciousness, a figure named Ares.
A few days later, another feast took place. The nymphs arrived at Olympus in their finery, their light dresses barely rustling in the wind, flowers woven into their hair, as always cheerful and merry. Their laughter echoed across the mountain, the wind carrying their voices over the tables, drawing the attention of everyone present. Ares fixed his eyes on his favorite, sitting next to his parents and siblings. He straightened up, pretending he hadn't been searching for her figure obsessively before. He received warning glances from his mother several times amidst the laughter of Hephaestus and Ilithyia. Y/n couldn't contain her curiosity and glanced towards Ares. And their eyes met. The woman felt a surge of heat emanating from the God's eyes. She quickly looked away. It was something new and forbidden.
Ares's body tensed as their eyes met. Disappointment mingled with anger as his nymph turned away from him. But the anger subsided slightly when he saw the blush spread across his beloved's face. She was embarrassed. Of course, his tender and innocent flower still bloomed in the garden, untouched by other hands, neither in mortal life nor in immortal.
A captivating harp melody from Apollo echoed across the mountain. The nymphs lined up in their positions, sheer shawls cascading over their shoulders. As the first notes sounded, the shawls began to dance in the wind, much like the nymphs themselves, who gracefully and fluidly shifted their poses, gradually adding their voices.
Y/n held the lead position that day, all eyes fixed upon her. Ethereal and radiant, she sang of love. Ares watched her, an ideal image forming in his mind. He felt like a boy, wishing his ideal would descend from the stage, ignore everyone at the table, and come to him. He would have swept her into his arms that very second, warming her with his fire, holding her closer and closer until their bodies became one. But this ideal danced on the stage, smiling sweetly at all the gods, flirting with them effortlessly. And jealousy flared in his heart once more. It had been there since he first saw Y/n, brought by his mother, Hera.
Apollo and the nymphs' performance concluded with the final notes of the wondrous harp. The gods applauded, asking for more, but they knew perfectly well they would only receive the next performance at the end of the evening, when the nymphs were told to descend from Olympus.
Apollo majestically moved through the crowd and sat in his favorite spot. The nymphs followed him, positioning themselves on various sides of their patron.
"How did you like our performance, Father?" Apollo addressed Zeus.
"Magnificent, as always, my son."
"I believe today's song was the most delightful of all," Hera declared, sipping from a golden goblet.
"Is it not because my dear Y/n sang it?" the Sun God playfully remarked, gently stroking the hand of the woman standing beside him.
A jealous fire flickered in Ares's eyes again, and he clenched the knife in his hand. Hephaestus gently patted his brother's back.
Hera looked up from her drink at Y/n, a tender smile spreading across her face, like a mother happy to see her child. She set her goblet aside and reached out a hand towards the woman, they hadn't seen each other in a long time.
"Come to me, Y/n," the woman hurried over. "My Goddess," Y/n bowed reverently to the woman.
Hera gently traced the nymph's face, lifting her chin and gazing intently at her.
"She is as beautiful as the flowers in our garden, isn't she, Ares?" Hera cast a sly glance at her son, of course, she knew of her son's affection for the nymph, she had seen it from the very beginning.
Y/n's gaze shifted back to the God of War, he was looking at her seriously, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. Frightened, the nymph lowered her gaze and looked at no one else. Hera released the girl, she wanted to tease a little more, she was in that mood. But seeing the tension in her son's body, she decided not to play with fire. Y/n hurried back to her spot, but her seat had been taken by one of the nymphs, so she sat at Apollo's feet. For them, it was normal to sit at their patron's feet, feed him, give him a foot massage, or something similar. But for Ares, it was a trigger, he couldn't accept that the woman of his dreams was sitting at another man's feet and listening attentively to him. The God of War stood up, his armor making a slight noise. Several nymphs had been taken by other gods for entertainment, and he couldn't allow anyone to take his flower. He approached Apollo and the remaining nymphs, looming over them like a mountain, casting a shadow over his brother's and Y/n's faces.
"How can I help you, brother?" Apollo grinned cheekily, but Ares didn't answer, "Do you want company too? I can offer you Melissa, she's experienced, or perhaps you want Climene, she knows many stories, or... I can provide Y/n, but I won't let you touch her, I'm too unsure of you."
But Ares didn't hear him, his amber eyes fixed on Y/n, who was studying the God of War just as intently. He simply extended his hand towards her, awaiting her decision. The nymph thought for a moment and decided to accept, placing her small hand in his, and he clasped it, hiding it away. He led her away from the hustle and bustle, trying to conceal the overly intimate scenes unfolding in the dark corners of the feast. Y/n was nervous, her hands trembling, and she knew Ares felt it, but the girl walked bravely, unafraid that her innocence would be taken by him. As her friends had said, he was in love with her, which meant he wouldn't do anything wrong.
"What would you wish from me?" Y/n asked quietly and calmly, as they exited the temple and hid from the intrusive creatures somewhere to the side, observing the beautiful landscapes.
"I won't beat around the bush and I'll admit honestly that my gaze is fixed only on you," Ares's voice was deep, slightly hoarse.
"But you were going around before..." Y/n observed.
"And you finally turned your head to me, not to that sunny idiot," he decided to speak roughly and sharply, as he knew how.
"I wasn't interested in the games of gods, my task was to entertain you and disappear as soon as we were ordered," said the nymph.
"You are right..."
There was a long pause, too long. But it was brightened by the beautiful landscapes of Olympus; trees and flowers grew below, rivers flowed, and lakes shimmered.
"I would like you to be my beloved," Ares said, finally breaking the silence.
Y/n turned and looked into his amber eyes, he was looking at her, trying to penetrate her immortal soul. Perhaps to reach her heart, to take it and not give it to anyone. A picture formed, of him tearing her heart from the nymph's fragile body and pressing it to his chest, where his own beat. And the girl shivered, not expecting her mind to paint such bloody, passionate pictures. He frightened her a little, her heart beat faster than usual, and she breathed heavily.
"This is too much..." the nymph said sharply, looking fearfully into the God's eyes.
Ares was taken aback; he wasn't used to such a reaction. Other nymphs and mortals accepted his advances with caution, but they quickly bored him. They feared him and weren't willing to endure his wrath, and the God rid himself of them by taking back all his gifts. The man straightened up, anger boiling inside him again, but for some reason, he didn't want to unleash it on his favorite; he felt he would scare her. So, the God let out a heavy sigh and returned to the temple, where laughter and shouts echoed once more. The final song would come soon.
Some time passed. Y/n occasionally glanced at Ares, but he didn't meet her gaze. The man stared at the floor, sometimes engaging in conversation with other gods, but for the most part, he remained silent, drinking heavily.
The melody of Apollo's harp sounded again, calling all the nymphs who had come to Olympus. Some were disheveled and a bit drunk, but they knew their moves and lyrics. Y/n was once again at the center, twirling, playing, and singing; the song was cheerful, perfect for the feast. The drunken gods sang along with the beautiful maidens. One of the gods, Dionysus, felt a strange and persistent loneliness; he was so bored. He stood up and walked toward the nymphs; Y/n was the perfect candidate for such a lovely evening. He didn't understand why it was her; perhaps in his drunken state, she stood out among the others because she was the main attraction.
Y/n danced, turning her back to finish a dance move, completely unaware that the God of Wine stood behind her. She didn't hear the surprised gasps of her friends, focused on the melody and on Ares, who wasn't even looking her way. She sensed someone behind her, then felt a firm touch on her thigh, followed by the frantic scream of the nymphs.
The girl spun around and jumped back, covering her mouth in shock. Dionysus lay on the floor, and beside her stood Ares with a clenched fist. The man was breathing rapidly, fury coursing through his veins. He was hurt by his nymph, but he couldn't bear to see her being touched by others. The God of War had stood up the moment he saw his brother, Dionysus, decide to approach the dancing beauties. On a subconscious level, Ares understood whom the God of Wine wanted to approach. The man acted swiftly, appearing next to Dionysius in the blink of an eye when he saw him reaching for his beloved's thigh.
The nymph watched as Ares approached his brother, leaned over him, and struck again. Now he was the true God of War, beating Dionysus, deaf to the voices of Hera and Zeus, who, though slightly drunk, saw and heard everything perfectly, and tried to reason with their son.
"You had no right to touch her!" Ares roared, his angry voice chilling the soul.
Terrible feelings crept into Y/n's heart; she thought his parents would punish Ares, and punish him severely, as only gods could. And the sharp impulse that ran through the girl's body, making her run towards the God, was something new. Before striking his brother again, Ares raised his hand, which the nymph grabbed. A trembling shiver passed through the young people's bodies, the women's legs almost gave out, and Ares's body relaxed; for the first time, he felt so good and calm. The volcano of his furious feelings subsided. He looked at his nymph and froze; she seemed even more beautiful when her face reflected the anxiety and awe directed towards him. For a moment, the God of War imagined their future; somewhere vulgar, he imagined holding his beloved on his lap at a feast, them retreating to a corner of the Temple of Olympus, her softly moaning his name, accepting him completely, but he also imagined their family hearth: children, their own corner below. Y/n had similar visions, which made the tips of her ears redden. She couldn't understand why these strange feelings had only arisen now! It was unnatural! Why not when they stood on the temple porch?
"Calm down, my son!" Zeus said sternly. Hera merely watched with boredom, tired of shouting at her son.
"I apologize, father, I don't know what came over me..." Ares didn't tear his gaze from the nymph. Zeus exhaled heavily.
"Considering you're not looking in my direction, you know perfectly well what happened to you," Zeus sat back on his throne, beckoning Ganymede to pour wine into his cup.
"Bastard," Dionysus whispered, rising from the marble floor as if nothing had happened, his broken nose and lip healed, leaving blood on his beautiful face.
"You knew perfectly well what you were getting into," Ares growled.
Apollo hurried to collect the nymphs.
"You're frightening the young maids!" the Sun God exclaimed, irritated that his song had been interrupted by two uncouth brutes. Dryope, standing next to Y/n, took her friend by the arm and dragged her away from the Olympian temple. But the girl did not break eye contact with Ares, who was also looking at her, intently; she could see he wanted to follow her, to take her and perhaps embrace her. But Zeus's booming voice prevented him from doing so, and then everything blurred before her eyes, and she was standing in the meadow again.
"I apologize, my dears, for these unpleasant scenes. I hope you've had time to rest and enjoy yourselves. Now it's time for sleep, if you can sleep, of course," Apollo winked at Y/n, and then disappeared in bright rays of sunlight, even though it was already night below.
Y/n truly couldn't sleep that night; even when all the nymphs had hidden and fallen asleep, she gazed at Olympus, which shone as if in daylight, occasionally glancing at her hand. Warmth spread across her palm, transitioning into her heart.
Smutmas Day 5
Buddha doesn't give a fuck about Christmas but he does love the candiess. Human reader
My works: enjoy
Bye now - Mars ♡
You stocked up on all the Christmas candies at your local groceries. Your lover visits became more regular during the holidays. He didn’t want you spending Christmas alone, and also the Christmas candies were his favourite.
This year was no different, so you kept your fridge and pantry stocked, knowing he’d be coming.
And so he did.
Buddha came to you the day it started snowing, early December. You were sitting on the porch watching the first sets of snowflakes fall, it was peaceful, chilly and breathtaking.
You cradled a cup of hot chocolate to your chest as you took in the beautiful scenery. Your lover arrived beside you, smiling at you.
“My sweet” he leaned in and placed a sweet peck on your cheek, “I have missed you dearly” he captures your lips in a soft kiss.
“Buddha” you smile, returning his kiss with equal fervor. “You’re rather early”
“I just couldn’t stay away” he sighed, breathing in deeply. He steals your mug of hot chocolate, taking sips and moaning with content, “Missed this”
“Me or the hot chocolate?”
He laughs, nudging your shoulder with his, “C’mon let’s head inside, it’s cold”
You both made your way inside, settling on the couch. Buddha guides you onto his lap, hugging you and kissing your shoulder, “Humans are truly magnificent”
You lean forward, picking out a candy cane from the bowl of sweets on the coffee table, opening it and plopping it into your lover’s mouth.
He hums delightedly, kissing down your neck, subtly undressing you. His hands wrapped snugly around your tummy, continuing to assault your neck with sweet kisses.
You shiver as his ministrations, leaning back against him fully. Buddha easily flips you over, laying you down gently onto the couch. He settles between your legs, kissing your tummy.
He uses the candy cane to toy with your hardened nipple, then sucks the sweetness off of you, teasingly letting his fangs graze your sensitive buds.
Settling his head on your thighs, “I’ve missed you,” he kisses you leg, “So much, I need you” he whispers, biting the soft plush of your thigh.
“I’ve missed you too” you caress his cheek, “I want you right now” you held his gaze, eyes needy with want for your lover.
He smiles, peeling off your clothes. He leans closer and takes a deep inhale of your pussy, grounding himself in your scent. Oh, how he loved being back on Earth.
Buddha props himself up on his hands, tracing your labia with the candy cane stick, gently poking the candy against your clit.
The little bud buzzing to life with the attention from your partner. He uses his thumb to pull the hood back, then he rubs circles on your clit with the candy.
Your entire pussy is covered with the sticky sweetness from the candy cane. You whine needily at his teasing, wanting to feel your lover not to put up with his nonsense teasing. It’s been weeks since you last had him to yourself, “Buddha” you groan, frustratedly desperate
“I know sugar” he leans down and licks your pussy clean, humming in pleasure as he enjoys the wonders of humanity and its creation aka you and your candy-covered pussy.
Covering your clit with his mouth he sucks and sucks and sucks like there’s no tomorrow, skilled tongue tracing his name on your cunt. Subtly leaving his claim on you, on his pussy.
The moans of pleasure and desperation filled the room, your legs tensing around his head. Buddha continues to munch on your divine pussy, moving down to stuff his tongue into your hole.
His nose is the perfect size, bumping deliciously against your clit. You were so close, pussy clenching around his tongue, desperate to release.
He moves back up to sucking your clit, dipping the candy cane into your hole, softly poking your sweet spot with it. That sends you reeling over the edge, you clench around the candy cane, cumming hard on the sweet as it continues hitting that sensitive spot inside you.
“Fuuuuckkk” you pant, body trembling from the intensity of your climax.
Buddha places a peck on your pussy, releasing your clit. He moves up your body, settling on top of you, capturing your lips in a delicate kiss, “So beautiful”.
You whine into the kiss, biting his lower lip in retaliation, “If I get a UTI you’re using your godly powers to heal it”
Buddha props the now cum covered candy cane into his mouth, sucking on it smugly, "You know I always take care of my baby, sweets"
Overview: Phainon, the god of dawn and sea, and you who wants the stars.
God!Phainon x Fem!reader, 4k words, suggestive, unhealthy relationship, coercion, dubcon, au
i. “His Gift”
The air was thick with salt and sunlight, the kind that made your eyes water and throat clog. Not the pretty, soft kind you’d lay out in. The temple rose from the cliffs like a fragment of the sky itself—white marble filled with pale blue and gold, as though the god himself had been carved into stone. Below, the sea smashed in and out against the rocks, silver foam scattering like starlight.
Your hands trembled against the ropes that marked the sacred boundary. Incense curled in the wind, sweet and smoky, mingling with the scent of salt and damp marble. You should have been disgustingly afraid. And yet, in this place, the fear felt almost holy. You had come here willingly, though not freely. Out of guilt. Out of love. Out of something nameless that burned low and quiet inside you.
You knew it was coming. Rumors spreading about appeasing the restless god with a gift. You never thought it’d strike this close. Your sister had been chosen. Her name whispered through the village. You had watched her kneel in prayer, her eyes soft and shining with faith you did not share. And when the priests came to try and mark her with the god’s symbol, you stepped forward instead. You offered yourself freely, offerings were sweeter this way so they accepted. You had heard he was a kind god and yet, he was still a god. That alone was enough to invoke a trembling feeling of unease in your stomach.
Now, standing at the edge of the world, the sky split open with the faintest line of morning, and there he was. Phainon—the god of light and the sea below it. His body was cut from the horizon itself, pale and sharp. He was breathtaking, as expected of a god. Hair white as the surf, eyes like the clear endless water.
He leaned against the temple steps as if the whole world had been made to bear his weight. The wind tugged through his hair, the hem of his white robes flickering like a flame. He was appearing more human than you'd expected, lacking the golden eyes and wings he was usually depicted with. His smile was careless, devastating, the kind of beauty that could ruin kingdoms.
“I wasn’t promised you,” he said. You didn’t expect him to be fooled, he was a god. Of course he’d know.
“I came instead of her.” you explained, voice unsteady, catching on the taste of salt. “I chose this.”
He tilted his head, as though turning over the meaning of your words. His eyes seemed to light up. “You chose? That's a new one.” His tone carried wonder, the kind of curiosity that belonged to a god. “Mortals rarely choose something like this. They pray until it happens, or doesn’t, and then they call it destiny.”
“I have never been one for prayer.” you spoke with shifting eyes. “I am standing in as a replacement. She was too young.”
That made him still. He regarded you quietly for a long moment. “And who are you to hold her place, then?” he asked. “To take what was never meant for you?”
“I wanted her to have the chance to grow up as I did.” you said. “And that was reason enough.”
The wind pressed against the temple, carrying the low sound of waves. The sunlight found his face and turned it gold, and for a moment, he almost looked kind. He almost looked human.
“You mortals,” he murmured, a faint curve to his lips, “so eager to trade yourselves for each other. I do not understand it. You speak of love as if it is duty, and of duty as if it is love.”
You held his gaze, though it burned. “Perhaps you never had to learn the difference. Perhaps you never will.”
Something flickered across his face then—curiosity, maybe, or the first shadow of realization. “Perhaps,” he said. His hand drifted slightly toward you, but stopped short, the air between you pulsing with restraint. “Maybe you could be the one to teach me.”
“I have never been much of a teacher,” you said.
His grin spread at that. “And I, never much of a student.”
He looked away, to where the sky met the water. “You mortals look to the sea when you pray, supposedly honoring me.” he said, almost idly. “But I think you would rather look up. You are all reaching for the stars aren't you? A purpose beyond the sky, something more?”
The words caught in your chest. You followed his gaze, tracing the faint, floating clouds overhead. “I don’t know.” you said. “I think most are just trying to survive for now.”
He laughed softly, the sound bounced off the marble. You grimaced, not understanding what was so humorous about surviving and the guilt, sweat, and blood that came along with it.
His gaze fell to yours and tried to read your now solemn expression. For the first time, he seemed unsure. His mouth parted, as if to reply, but no words came. Instead, he watched you with that fathomless curiosity, the kind that felt almost human in its hunger to understand.
“You are strange.” he murmured finally. “Unlike the other offerings that have come feeble and shaking.”
The god of dawn regarded you in silence. The distance between you shifted in the morning air—fragile, and full.
He did not touch you, not yet. He only watched with bright eyes, as the first full light of day spilled over the world. The sea roared below, the clouds vanished above, and the horizon burned gold between them.
ii. “Under His Sunlight”
The days that followed were a routine you could tolerate: sunlight, salt, fruit, and the weight of a presence that never left your side. You moved through the temple, half in awe, half wary, learning the spaces that were yours to explore and those that belonged only to him. Phainon—no, Khaslana, as he corrected, was always there, rarely close enough to touch. His attention was a fleeting thing that pulled at you unpredictably, sometimes gentle, sometimes cruelly distant, though always near.
You found him at the edge of the cliffs one morning, leaning against the marble railing basking in the sun which cracked over the horizon. His hair caught the light like molten silver.
You lingered back, watching him. The delicately cared for camellias tracing along your calves. You wanted to approach, but part of you feared that proximity might overwhelm you in the moment.
“Do you ever tire of the sun? You seem to always be basking in it.” you asked somewhat teasingly, stepping closer, your voice trembling against the wind.
He turned slowly, regarding you with that impossible calm, the corner of his mouth tilting in amusement. “I tire of nothing.” he said, voice low and measured in a way you could not read. “Not the sun, not the sea, not… you.” He shrugged carelessly. It didn’t make sense to you, just as you knew you didn’t make sense to him.
You swallowed. “Do you understand humans?”
His eyebrows pushed together before answering, almost reluctantly. “I understand the tides, the horizon, the dawn, I control them.” he said. “I understand the stars in a way you never will. But humans… no. I do not understand you. You are… unpredictable. Not easy to be controlled as I do with most things.”
Your chest tightened, nails digging into your palms. “I am not meant to be controlled. I am not… yours to keep.”
“Yet I try,” he said, and for the first time, there was a flicker in his gaze, something you hadn’t seen before. Annoyance, you decided. “Stupidly I try. I am drawn to the familiarity of authority, forgive me if I am harsh when I do not have it completely."
The wind tugged at your hair. You felt the pull of the world beyond the cliffs, the urge to leave, to climb higher, to chase the stars where he could not reach. He stepped closer, unconsciously, drawn by the same force that called you to the unknown. His shadow brushed yours, light catching the edges of him, illuminating him in all his glory.
“You are curious.” he noted, voice low, almost whispering. “Curious and unafraid. Even when I… overwhelm you with what I am. Even when the weight of me presses against you.”
“You do not overwhelm me.” you huffed, though your voice trembled. “Not entirely.”
He raised a brow. “You would say that now,” he murmured, voice deepening. “But soon… I may be too much. My touch, my gaze, my presence, I am not made for what you need. Human tenderness, patience, gentleness—I cannot give them. I can only offer the harshness I know.”
Something in your chest ached at his honesty, the way he recognized his own incapacity. “And yet you watch me,” you said. “Even knowing you cannot…” You gestured lightly in the air, searching for the right words. “Care for me the way I need.”
“I watch,” he admitted, stepping closer still. The air between you was tense. “Because I cannot stop. Because I am drawn to you. Because you exist in a way I cannot replicate.”
You felt the first, faint quiver of fear mixed with desire—the awareness that his devotion, in its intensity and ignorance, might suffocate you. His curiosity was not gentle; it was consuming. And even with that, you could not turn away.
“Do you even understand what that means?” you questioned quietly.
“I understand that I want,” he said, voice rough with something like longing, “what I cannot have. That I am pulled toward the finite, because it is alive. You are warm in a way I am not.”
You nodded, swallowing against the swell of the moment. “Then I will teach you,” you whispered. “Not how to be a god. But how to be… human, for even a little while.”
“Even if you have never been much of a teacher?” He tilted his head, expression unreadable as you nodded. His face contorted into a splitting grin grabbing onto your hand happily.
And so the days fell into rhythm: you moving through human habits and small pleasures, teaching him without speaking, guiding him in laughter and touch and the soft, trembling intimacy of shared meals, brushing sand from each other’s arms, watching the sunset. His fascination was relentless, his attention suffocating at times, and yet you could not help but be drawn to the way he looked at you—as though he could memorize every curve of your neck, every soft breath you let out. It was addictive to be studied in such a way.
And in the quiet moments, when the light softened, when the constellations twinkled, you felt the stars pulling at you—bright, infinite, calling to you. He noticed, of course. Khaslana’s gaze would flick to the horizon, tracking the pull you could not resist.
“I had hoped that you would grow happy here.” he murmured one evening, voice low, heavy, oddly sorrowful. “I want to hold you in this place, to keep you by my side. It is painful to see you do not wish the same.”
You let out a soft breath. “I am not yours, not fully. And I… I must see what's beyond this.”
He said nothing, only let the salt and the quiet consume the space between you. As the night deepened, the stars burned above, distant and untouchable. And in that infinite sky, you knew your heart already leaned toward them, toward the freedom that even a god could not provide.
iii. “The Weight of Him”
These months, the air hung heavy. Sunlight spilled across the jagged cliffs, the tide curling back in slow retreat, leaving mirrors of sea green and silver on the sand. You stood barefoot at the edge, toes sinking into the cool grains, heart thrumming.
And he was there.
Khaslana. The god who belonged to light itself, to the shimmer that lived in the sea and sky. The morning wrapped itself around him, caught in his white hair, glinting against the curve of his throat. You had watched him countless times before, traced him from afar, but never like this—never when he looked at you with such want.
He didn’t speak. Not at first. The silence between you was alive—thick, trembling, full of everything that had gone unsaid since you’d first met his gaze in the temple halls.
When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate. “Come closer.” he said, voice hushed, edged with something new.
You stepped toward him without thinking, each pace dissolving what little distance remained between mortal and divine.
His hands found your waist—light at first, as though even touching you might undo him. You felt the shiver of his restraint, the way his breath hitched when his thumbs brushed against your hips.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. The gesture was reverent, careful. You felt the heat of him—a warmth that seemed to stir from somewhere beneath his skin—and the ache it filled in you was both terrifying and exquisite.
“I have wanted this,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and rough. “To touch you. To see if you would feel as I’ve imagined.”
Your eyes fluttered shut. “And?”
His grinned against your lips. “You do. God you always do.”
He kissed you then—slow at first, tasting, learning. It wasn’t the kiss of a man; it was the bewildered, desperate touch of something immortal trying to learn the shape of human want. His lips moved greedily against yours. You cursed softly when his fingers trailed up your spine, when his mouth deepened against yours, when the line between curiosity and hunger blurred. One hand found itself under the swell of your breast, thumb rubbing harshly against the skin.
“You are too soft,” he said between kisses, breathless. “And yet—” His hand left your skin to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “I can’t get enough of it. Makes me feel something I can’t name.” He groaned head diving back down to bite at your lips.
“Maybe that’s the point,” you whined. “Some things aren’t meant to be named. Some things are just meant to be felt.”
His eyes darkened, sky-blue fading into a sharp gold. “You speak like you understand this. I envy you.” His breath fanned against yours with every word.
“I don’t, not fully at least.” you said. “But I understand desire.”
He inhaled sharply, as though the words stung. His thumb brushed your lower lip, his gaze heavy, possessive. “You are mine,” he said then, his voice appeared to be soft, but you knew better.
You didn’t answer. You only stared back at him, lips parted, breath uneven. The silence that you gave wasn’t acceptance, instead it was quiet defiance. You let him believe, for a heartbeat, that he could have you.
He kissed you again, harder this time. His mouth moved with an intensity that bordered on worship, the kiss so deep it made your chest ache. His tongue was pushing at your lips. Once you gasped it pried itself into your mouth, you almost choked when it ran roughly along yours. You clutched at him, fingers threading into his hair, pulling until he groaned. He sounded half-divine, half-desperate. His hands slid beneath the fabric at your stomach once more, tracing the line of your ribs, learning you by touch, mapping you like he might lose you.
Every press of his palms left you trembling; every drag of his lips felt like he was carving you into memory. His leg eagerly spread yours apart, thigh pressing up right between yours. Each push of his thigh made you let out whines which he happily swallowed. Khaslana’s soft lips traveled down your jaw. Teeth scraping against the skin, he was sure to leave sore marks. The soft huffs he let out against your skin made you shiver. You felt him everywhere—the heat of his body, the taste of his breath. It wasn’t gentle anymore; it was consuming.
“Tell me,” he rasped, lips brushing your throat. “What do you want? Do you want this? Me?”
You hesitated, face flushed. You took a moment to clear your head from the buzzing heat, to focus on what you truly wanted. Then, softly, “No Khaslana, I want to be free.”
He froze. Just for a moment before jerking his head up.
His eyes searched yours, something raw and uncertain flickering there—confusion, ache, maybe even sadness. He pulled his leg back with a feigned smile. “You are cruel,” he said, voice breaking on a laugh.
He pressed his forehead to yours. “I will not let you leave,” he said softly, “Even if you manage to, I will find you again. I promise to have you in the end.”
You smiled faintly, eyes half-closed.
For a moment longer, you let yourself stay—wrapped in light, in his fake warmth, in the fragile illusion that the god before you could ever truly understand what it meant to love without possession.
iv. “To Be Held by Him Is to Burn”
The days after were quiet and wrong.
He came to you at every sunrise. The god of dawn, haloed in gold and sea spray would come with flowers, sweets, and long lingering touches. The cliffs, once vast, began to shrink beneath his presence. His voice filled every hollow space, his laughter clung to your skin like the salt in your hair.
At first, it was almost tender. Soft kisses to your face, slender fingers along your waist. He would trace the shell of your ear with a fingertip, whispering things that sounded like worship, like wonder. He spoke of how fragile mortals were and how beautiful it was that you still had a spark.
But the longer you stayed, the more those touches and words began to roughen.
He stopped asking what you wanted and would just take. He stopped listening when you spoke of the world beyond the cliffs, of the cities across the sea, of the way the stars could be seen clearer from inland hills near your home. He only smiled and nuzzled under your chin and said,
“You already have everything worth seeing.”
When you tried to step beyond the temple’s marble threshold, the horizon shimmered, and the wind turned back against you. It was pulling you to stay, pulling you back towards Khaslana. The sea, once your quiet companion, began to sound like him when it crashed.
And still, you stayed. For a while.
You told yourself it was because he was kind, in his own way. That maybe this was love—the immortal kind, the kind mortals aren’t meant to understand. But it wasn’t real love. Affection that confines you is not love at all. It is possession.
Khaslana did not understand that. He did not understand the smallness of human joy—the kind found in wandering markets, in laughter that fades into soft hugs, in the ache of choosing your own path. He only knew the severe devotion that has been given to him that he can't help but repeat.
And so, he began to mistake your quietness for contentment.
He began to touch you like he could anchor you here. He began to say “mine” more often—softly at first, then aggressively with fingers wrapped around your wrist. His fingers felt less warm, and more cold like cuffs as the days passed. When you looked away from him, his voice would follow, low and wounded:
“Why do you look for the stars when the light is already here? I’m already here.”
That night, you dreamed again of the stars. Not distant, not cold—but close, bright, singing with a freedom that made your chest ache. You woke with tears in your throat and the taste of bitterness on your tongue. You knew then what you had always known: you could not stay.
When he found you standing at the edge of the cliffs one morning, the wind catching your hair, the sea churning below, he looked almost human in his confusion.
“Where are you going?” he asked. His voice cracked, grief and bewilderment flooding his senses. Emotions that he didn’t fully yet understand.
“Beyond here,” you said, breath trembling, the dawn still soft at your back. “Anywhere away from this.”
You motioned toward him—the marble halls, the horizon burning gold behind his silhouette. “I’ll explore new things. I’ll go home.”
Your words trembled like the tide before retreat. You knew—you knew—that if he wished, he could stop you. That he would stop you. That the walls of this temple, once sanctuary, could become your cage. Still you tried, craving that freedom you once knew.
Khaslana’s eyes were endless. “You know they’ll send another if you do leave.” he said, almost pleading. “They’ll send her to please me, to burn, to kneel before me. I—” his jaw tightened— “I won’t take her. I only want you. Don’t you see that?”
He stepped closer. “And I will have you. Now. Always.” Khaslana’s expression had changed, what was once a pleading look of a puppy was now sharpened into something feral. The softness drained from his gaze, replaced by a hunger, the kind born from knowing he’d already crossed a line he could never return from.
“Even if it ruins you, I would rather have you broken than not at all.” He stared at you wide eyed.
You stepped back and looked at him—this beautiful, terrible god, carved from sea-light and loneliness, with all he reigned over trembling behind him, and smiled.
“I want a love you cannot give me,” you explained softly. “And a freedom you will not grant.”
His head cocked to the side. The light in his gaze fracturing completely into something else. “You can’t,” he hissed, stepping forward. “You can’t leave me.”
“I can, please, I must.” you breathed, your voice quavered like a prayer.
He reached out quickly, hand on your cheek. You felt the pull of his divinity—heavy and consuming. The ground trembled underfoot, his desperation thick enough to choke on.
“I will make you stay.” he said, voice low and breaking. “I will keep you here, where no one can take you from me. Isn’t that what mortals want? To be loved?”
“Not like this. This isn’t love Khaslana.” You wanted to scream, to do anything to get him to see that.
His face contorted with anger at your words.
“This is the only love I offer. You don’t understand,” He said, and his voice raised. “Mortals pray to be seen by gods. You have been seen. I see you. You would throw that away?”
You met his gaze. “You don’t see me.” you bit back. “You see a pet to control. That is not what I am.”
Khaslana’s fury was evident. The waves were slamming rapidly while the sun was blaring heat. His patience seemed to be running thin. He was done with waiting, no deity waits for what they want. They take it. The grass around your feet hummed. The gold tracery along the temple’s windows began to glow in the distance.
“I will show you,” he murmured, lowering his head towards yours, the divine light of him igniting your skin like flames. “What it means to be mine.”
The air warped. The scent of salt faded. You took a step back, but the wall met you first—cool, veined stone against your spine. You were inside now and his fingers found your jaw, tilting it upward.
His thumb brushed your lower lip. You pushed your hands out against his chest but he stood firm.
His touch was desperate along your skin. Fingers tracing your throat, the hollow of your collarbone, your fragile pulse thumping. You shivered when his lips followed, worship and possession tangled in every motion.
“Khasla—” you tried to speak voice shaking with tear welled eyes, but the sound fell on deaf ears.
“I do love you,” he said, the words almost tender. “I’ll continue to, if only you’d stay.”
But love, you thought, was not supposed to consume. It was supposed to be gentle, soft, caring. This was anything but.
Your hands tried to shove against his chest again, the heat of him pulsing beneath your palms—alive, burning, infinite. His breath stuttered, eyes flicked down to where your hands met his chest and pushed his body forward causing your nails to dig into the cloth covering him.
“You would cage me in gold, treat me as a pet. Collar me with silk and flowers.” you spat, trembling. “And call it love.”
His hand slid down your arm pulling your hands off him. “I would give you the world,” he said, voice a low tremor. “But I cannot give you freedom if it means being away from me.”
Your pulse thrummed beneath his thumb. “Then you give me nothing.”
He closed his eyes. His forehead pressed to yours, and he cooed.
“Then I will be selfish and only take.” he decided.
And the temple obeyed him. The wind stilled. The sea beyond the cliffs quieted. The air turned heavy, humming with Khaslana’s sick will. The land bows to him. It would not let you leave now.
You could feel it, the invisible threads tightening, wrapping around your limbs, your breath, your body. Marble beneath your bare feet felt colder. You were bound—not in chains, but in his twisted idea of love.
He cupped your cheek again, his thumb brushing away the tears he’d caused. His kiss followed, messy, and ruinous.
“I told you,” he murmured against your lips. “you can’t leave me. You are mine.”
And though your heart screamed for freedom, your body remained—bathed in silk and petals, trapped in the arms of a god who only knew humans as pets, and whose love was a cage.
Synopsis- Reader was born into a cult with the mark of the god— Zayne— they worship, the reader doesn’t believe in said god, but is forced to learn how to be the best wife for him. The thing is, he isn’t the only one marked.
W.c 7.k
Tags- Divine Zayne! Mean dom Zayne! Breeding kink! Alter sex! Sacrificial offering! Exhibitionism! Afab Reader! M!reader! Virgin Reader! MDNI! NSFW! NONCON!!
A/n: reader’s sex gets called a cunt btw… also wrote this was supposed to be my last kinktober post.. didn’t actually start writing it until the 3rd, wrote this in 2 days so.. don’t shit on my writing. This is so vanilla. (^з^)-☆
A/n pt2: don’t forget to read the Rafayel and Sylus part of this series!
You can’t remember a time when your life wasn’t dedicated to him, when you weren’t told you had to be the perfect bride for him. The god of annihilation: Zayne.
There’s no deep meaning as to why you can’t remember a time when your life wasn’t forced to evolve around him; it simply always has. Since the day of your birth, since the day the elders saw his cursed mark across your womb.
That day.
Will forever be.
The worst day of your life.
You weren’t the only one cursed with this mark; however, the others see it as more of a blessing. To be chosen by your god, no matter what it’s for, is the greatest honor of all, after all.
You were practically raised together, taught to give your god anything he could possibly want if you were to be chosen.
The day of judgement is fast approaching, a mere three days away.
By the time the clock chimes at midnight on the third day, one of you will be chosen, and the rest of you will be servants to the god and his new bride.
The others are too naive to see how fucked up that deal is, to overcome with the joy of being able to be close to their god until they die of old age.
They would be happy to eat their own hearts if it satisfied that god of theirs.
As long as he watches them do it.
That’s all any one of these god worshippers wants, to be noticed by the deity they dedicate their entire way of living to.
You never understand why exactly they’d rather let a being they’ve never even seen control their way of life, why won’t they just live the way they truly want?
Why won’t they practice the freedom that’s just a breath away from them?
That’s what you would do if you had the choice.
Be free.
Free of this bride to a god nonsense.
Free of people watching your every move.
Free to do whatever it is you want.
You dream about it sometimes— freedom— a strange concept that you haven’t been privy to since leaving your mother’s womb.
It’s a refreshing thought to have, then you awake to the rude reminder that you’re nothing but a potential bride, and that is all any of these people will see you as.
Not a being worthy of recognition unless chosen by their beloved god; only then will they bother to remember your name.
Only then will they bother remembering you.
—
It’s only when the day of judgment is near does the people here grow restless, excited to finally be able to welcome their god after waiting all their pathetic lives to do so.
They throw a three-day-long banquet leading up to the day of judgment; each day, you and your fellow potential brides are put on pedestals and watch as the people below you gawk at you.
Secretly wishing that they were in your place.
They would never say such wishes out loud, fearful of losing their heads.
The elders do not like it when such things are spoken.
Scared that their god will overhear and punish all of them, for if one of them is so cocky enough to think they are worthy of being at the side of a god, they all are.
And so they watch what they say, what they think, even.
Scared in some way.
Somehow
It’ll get back to the elders.
“Did you hear what I said?” A familiar voice chimes in, interrupting your thoughts. “What?” You ask, confused.
How long has he been talking to you?
“I asked if you were excited, you know. For the day of judgement?” He giggles, clutching at your forearm. “The others and I were talking about it, and I thought I would ask you.” He tells you, looking back at the others who are watching your interaction.
They’re always doing that, watching you. For some reason, it’s more strange than when everyone else does it; maybe it’s because of all the people here that they should be the ones who understand you the most.
“Uh, yeah… I guess I am pretty excited,” you smile, giving a fake nervous chuckle. Digging your nails into the cloth of your pants, “God, he can’t even fake it,” one of them snipes, sneering at you as the rest nod their heads in agreement.
The hand on your forearm tightens as the only person who seems to like you here glares at the other brides in your stead, sneering at them in turn. “You can all go fuck yourselves.” He barks, opening his mouth to say more, before you place your hand on top of his, stopping him.
“It’s okay,” you assured him, patting the top of his hands. “Whatever they say is entirely irrelevant now; the day of judgement is upon us.” You mock, watching as the male next to you— Elias— softened his glare as his gaze shifted towards you.
“I don’t understand how you can stomach being near him, Elias. He’s not worthy of being chosen by the God of Annihilation. I don’t understand how he was born with a mark; his parents must’ve carved it into him or something.” The same potential bride from before sneers, huffing and crossing her arms across her chest.
“Don’t worry, Yasmin, we all know our god will choose you. We have long accepted it.” One of her faithful followers pipes, smiling at her before turning their hateful gaze to you.
“When I am chosen, I will have your head, you cursed unbeliever.” Yasmin snarled, leaning back into her chair and returning to watching the banquet goers.
“God, I hate that spoiled twat.” Elias whispers to you, leaning his head on your shoulder as he turns his attention back to the banquet as well.
“Lucky for me, her bark is much worse than her bite.” You quip, knowing that people have said far worse things to you.
Since the knowledge of your non-belief was made public, multiple crowds of people have gone to the elders with complaints. Telling them you are unworthy of being anyone’s bride, let alone a god’s.
They commanded the elders to prove your mark true.
You were forced to strip in front of all of them.
Forced to stand, humiliated. As an elder poked and prodded at your mark until you bled, scraped off your skin, and watched as it healed almost instantly. The mark an everlasting proud blemish on your flesh.
Only then did the people believe that you were chosen, that you were destined for a god that you didn’t believe in.
Some pitied you, forced to be raised as an offering to a being you don’t even acknowledge the existence of.
But most deemed you ungrateful, a disgrace to the entire clan.
Someone who doesn’t believe in the god of annihilation doesn’t belong here, and they most certainly do not deserve to be offered up as a bride to him.
‘HE’LL KILL US ALL’ they’d yell, scared that the god will do exactly as his name foretells if he were to find out there is a nonbeliever amongst his choices.
They’re all fucking idiots, honestly.
—
The day of judgement is here.
The day you’ve long loathed has finally arrived.
The sky seemed to glow gold, even as night fell, and clouds covered it; the gold still shone through.
The air felt heavier, as if the earth itself knew what was upon us, what being would be gracing its soils in just a few hours.
People moved around you in excitement, trembling in their eyes, practically glowing with childlike joy.
A joy you couldn’t bring yourself to feel.
The only feeling you felt was an unending sense of doom.
—
When night fell, you were forced into a bath, one filled with goat's milk and petals of flowers you couldn’t hope to name.
Hands rubbed at your skin with soap blessed by one of the many priests here, they’re grip on your limbs unforgiving as they washed your body and hair before rinsing you down with flower-scented water, and yanking you out of the bath.
“This would be much easier if you worked with us, you know.” One of the helper say, their face is covered with a cloth. On the day of judgement, the only face the brides are allowed to see is the gods; everyone works together to make sure that rule is followed.
The brides are prepared in separate quarters and directed to separate routes to get to the temple. To make sure the brides arrive at the same time, the ones with longer routes are prepared first.
You’re forced to sit on a stool, still as bare as the day you were born, dried off by the same hands who washed you.
“You honestly don’t know how lucky you are.” The same helper tones, rubbing your back with vanilla-scented oil.
They’re not even supposed to be talking to you, and yet this one won’t shut up.
“How can someone as ungrateful as you be one of the chosen? is unbeknownst to me, nor anyone for that matter.” They sigh, moving on to drying your hair, before pausing, their hands sliding down to your shoulders.
“I mean, if I had been blessed with a mark…” they trail off, laughing to themselves before focusing back on their task of doing your hair.
You stare straight ahead, watching them play in the hair of someone you no longer recognize. Not with the smooth, perfumed skin and glossy lips. This person, looking back at you, almost looks like a doll.
A doll…
That’s exactly what you are.
Something meant to sit still and look pretty.
And by the gods, as much as you hate to admit it, you are pretty like this.
The other attendants move quickly, wrapping your body in the softest of silks and warmest of furs. Clasping jewels around your neck and wrist— each piece heavier than the last.
The talkative one hums from behind you, finishing your hair at last. “Smile more, no one wants an unhappy bride. Certainly not a god.”
You look at them in the mirror, smiling at them, “Are you speaking from experience, or..?”
They fall still, their hands clutching at their skirt.
Silence fills the room as one of the other attendants slips your feet into flats.
You rise from your seat, smiling at them once more before addressing one of the attendants, “Do we head to the temple now?” You ask, flipping your veil and following them when they nod at you, leading you to the route you’re supposed to take.
Passing you off to a guard of sorts, they consider you a flight risk, so you’re to be escorted there instead of finding your own way like everyone else.
Their head is covered too; they look at you once before grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you towards the temple.
Your route is rather short; it’s a mere ten minutes away from the place where you were readied. And as planned, all of the other brides arrive at the same time as you.
You don’t look at each other, you don’t even acknowledge each other.
Just keep walking forward, into the place where your fates will forever be sealed.
——
The temple's doors groaned as they opened, and the sound of them closing behind you echoes like you’ve just been found guilty of whatever crime you’ve committed. The brides are lined up into two rows, veils blowing in the draft that spills from the altar ahead of you.
At the center stands one of the elders, his robes as white as bone, his face covered by a hood like everyone else you’ve encountered thus far. Though it had golden sigils stitched onto it, the same ones that cover the walls of the temple.
His hand raises, as if to silence the already quiet room.
“Children of the mark,” the elder beings, his voice cutting through the stiffening silence in the room. “From the moment you were all born, you have been waiting for this day. The day our god would return to us, and find a vessel worthy of his power— of his grace among us. You have been chosen! Not for your beauty, nor your virtue— but for the divine mark engraved into your very flesh. It is not pain, nor betrayal you should feel tonight. The only emotion you should feel is gratitude.”
His gaze sweeps across the room, pausing on each and every one of you. But for some reason, it seems to linger longer on you.
“One among you will rise. The rest will serve. All will be blessed by his light.”
The once suffocating silence returns. You can hear one of the other brides, sniffing behind you. Her joy overwhelming as she realizes how close she is to meeting her god.
The elder lowers his hands, stepping away from the altar.
“ Bow your heads,” they commanded, “and open your hearts to the God of Annihilation. Let him see what we have made. What we have created in his honor!”
As soon as the elder’s final words faded, the torches along the temple walls flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then, steady once more — their flames burning a shade too bright. The air thickened, heavy with the scent of incense and metal.
No one dared move.
Some brides trembled and whispered prayers beneath their breath. Others stared straight ahead, their eyes teary as their heartbeats quickened, excitement pulsing through their bodies.
You could feel the weight of the elder’s words pressing down on you in judgment.
A warning, perhaps.
From somewhere beyond the altar, a low hum began to rise, vibrating through the bones of the temple. The marble under your feet felt alive, pulsing faintly with it.
The elders bowed their heads.
“He comes,” they said in unison.
The hum deepened, rolling through the marble floor like thunder through the skies. Your gaze drifted upward — you didn’t exactly know why. It was as if something was forcing you to. And so you did: you gazed past the altar, past the elders, to the statue towering behind them.
It was carved from the purest white marble, shining even in the dark. It stood twice the height of any man, depicting the very god who got you into this mess — the God of Annihilation himself: Zayne. His features were serene, beautiful even — befitting that of a god — but there was something cruel about the way his sculpted eyes glared at you.
Then, suddenly, a sound.
A single, sharp crack.
As if something broke.
At first, you thought you imagined it — until another followed, echoing through the temple like a whip. Thin fractures raced across the sculpture, glowing faintly, gold seeping from the cracks like molten light.
Someone gasped.
The elders fell to their knees, the shock too much for them. “He awakens,” one of them whispered, voice trembling in reverence and fear. Prayers began falling from the rest of their lips.
The cracks worsened as the marble began to fall to the ground, gold bleeding from every opening like blood leaving a fresh wound, until the statue was no longer white but blazing, radiant — unbearable to look at. Heat poured into the air, radiating from the statue. The scent of smoke and molten metal filled your nostrils.
Then the statue shattered.
Golden shards flew in all directions, causing everyone to cry out and run for cover — everyone but you. As badly as you wanted to run, you couldn’t move.
The shards froze in place moments before hitting anyone, dissolving into motes that faded into nothingness.
And there, where the statue once stood, he now stood — in all his glory.
The God of Annihilation.
Zayne.
The light died down, leaving him bathed in faint embers that clung to his skin like fallen stars. His eyes opened slowly, gleaming with the same molten gold that had poured from the statue.
He looked around the room, slowly, watching as the others cowered away from him.
Then his eyes landed on you, and the molten gold was replaced by a vibrant hazel green, then covered by a black transparent blindfold.
He walked toward you — slow, methodical. Everyone in the temple was watching, their eyes tracking his every step.
You. The nonbeliever.
They whispered among themselves, shock evident on their faces.
“There’s no way he’s going to choose the nonbeliever, right?”
I fucking hope not.
“Of course he’s not.”
“Why is he walking toward him?”
“To smite him, of course. Why else?”
“That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly,” you whispered under your breath, finally tearing your gaze away from the being heading toward you.
“Is that what you want?” a monotone voice asked, right next to your ear.
You gasped, slapping your hand over your ear as you turned toward where the sound came from. He was right there, his gaze boring into you like a drill.
“I’m sorry?” you squeaked, stepping away from him.
“Do you want me to smite you?” The voice came again, from the same distance — it was almost as if, no matter how far you moved away, he’d always be there. In your head. Perks of being a god, huh.
“Yes!” a voice yelled from the other side of the room, and finally — finally — his gaze left you. It cut across the room to none other than Yasmin.
“Why are you even asking him? He didn’t acknowledge your existence until he was forced to by seeing you in the flesh tonight!” someone else chimed in — Amber, you thought her name was.
The god glanced at her, too before turning his attention right back to you. “They think I should smite you. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked. You were getting really tired of his questions.
“Stop asking him for his input! Kill him already!” Yasmin yelled, stepping toward the two of you — only to be stopped by Elias.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Yasmin,” he said, grabbing her forearm and pulling her aside.
The god tsked, turning toward the two of them, his gaze on Yasmin. “Do you think you command me?” he asked her, stepping closer to you.
Why was he stepping closer to you and not Yasmin?
“What? No, of course not. I am to be your wife — we are equals!” she cried, her delusions spilling forth as she tried to run to him.
“You’re not my wife,” he said, though it sounded more like a question, as if he couldn’t believe she was saying it.
“What are you saying? You’re going to choose that nonbeliever over me?” she barked, disbelief flashing across her face before she yanked her arm away from Elias and ran toward the god.
Dropping to her knees, she clutched at the god’s robes. “Please! You must be mistaken! There’s no way that thing is your chosen bride. YOU CANNOT CHOOSE HIM!” She was hysterical now, crying into his robes as she unraveled at the seams.
“He is bold for his disbelief — and yet you are bolder for daring to tell a god what he can and cannot do, just so it will appease you.” He leaned down, glaring at her.
“You’re not worthy of being my wife, let alone my bride’s servant.” He sneered, harshly grabbing her chin, his nails digging into her otherwise unblemished flesh.
“Get out of my temple,” he barked, releasing her before standing to his full height. “Out!” he roared. The doors of the temple slammed open, and something from the shadows reached in and dragged her out.
The god took a deep breath, running his hands through his long locks of hair.
“Now,” he began, unbelievably calm after what had just happened, “does anyone else want to tell me what I can and cannot do?” he asked, looking around the temple, meeting the gaze of everyone there.
“If not, it will bring you all great joy to know that I have found my bride.” He smiled — then turned his sights on you.
For a flicker of a moment, you think that you misheard. His words hang heavy in the air, echoing throughout the temple, as you stare at the shocked faces around you.
You, the nonbeliever. Is to be his bride?
Someone laughs— sharp and disbelieving— almost mocking this situation. It takes you a moment to realize it was you.
“That’s a good one,” you say, nerves clawing up your throat as you stumble away from the man, “Really funny, truly. You should be a—“
“Quiet,”
That single word stops everything, the slight breeze in the air, the fire on the torches. Even managed to stop the gossip.
You try to breathe but no air fills your lungs no matter how hard you try, it’s almost like the temple itself is holding its breath, preventing anyone else from drawing any.
Zayne stares at you for a moment, his gaze somehow more intense than it was a moment ago. Then he walks towards you, one step forward for every step back you dare take, you watch as the temple floor glows beneath his feet with each and every step he takes.
“I do not jest,” he says, voice low, almost kind— reassuring. “You were marked before your birth,” he muttered his hand reaching out for your womb— your mark. “ You have always been destined for me, even if you refuse to believe it.” His hand is firmly planted over your mark now, his voice somehow deeper.
You can hear sobbing coming from somewhere, the crowd's whispers start up once again— but, like with the statue you can’t look away.
“I didn’t ask for this” you weep, your voice trembling from held back emotions, your hands coming up to lay over your heart.
“No one ever does.” He answers, tilting his head slightly, “But the stars do not ask permission to shine.”
You hated it when you pulse quickens at his words, something deep inside your chest being yanked on, pulled from the darkness and into the light, towards him.
Your body reacts before your mind can— you shove his hand away, hard. The force of it frightens you, you were never very strong, let alone strong enough to shove a god away from you.
The God’s hand falls back to his side, the tilt of his head deepening in surprise.
“Don’t touch me” you growl, voice surprisingly steady despite the storm brewing inside you.
His gaze somehow grows darker beneath the blindfold, and you could see the molten gold from before flickering underneath the hazel green, like sunlight threatening to break through.
“And yet,” he mutters, leaning down towards your ear, “you burn for it— you burn for me.”
Your pulse stutters, “you mistake fear for longing,” your lips tremble as you say it, hands clutching at the silk of your pants.
He laughs, low and soft, like thunder rumbling far off in the mountains.
“Fear is just the body’s way of remembering the divine,” he says, “you should be honored yours still remember me.”
The words are like poison wrapped in silk. The air between you vibrates, faint golden specks through it.
Then he moves, like that of a snake. Quick and swift it sticks its fangs into your flesh before anyone can react. He grabs your wrist, his grip is firm— unyielding.
You stumble as he pulls you forward—towards the altar— the world spinning into a blur of gold and shadow. The brides whisper in awe at their God's power, some still in disbelief at you being chosen. But they all watch as you are forced up to the altar.
“Zayne—“ you cry, low and meek, but his name is swallowed by the low hum vibrating through the temple.
“Shh,” he shushes, voice quiet, almost tender—loving— though his grip says otherwise. “No amount of struggle or rebellion will change your fate, it’s time for you to accept that.”
He forces you down onto the cold stone, his strength inhuman. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, and before you can recover, he’s already binding your wrists to the carved edges of the altar with bands of shimmering gold. They move like liquid—alive—coiling around your skin until they harden.
You thrash, but it’s useless. The more you struggle, the tighter they cling.
Zayne’s face hovers just above yours now, his blindfold still in place, though you can see the faint glow pulsing beneath it.
“You were made for this,” he murmurs. “For me.”
The elder from before steps forward, facing the crowd of brides, his shadow falling across your body.
“At last,” he breathes, voice trembling with awe. “The vessel is bound. The star’s promise fulfilled. We have waited through famine, through fire, through the silence of forgotten gods— and now the cycle starts anew.”
He raises his arms, and the other elders answer in unison.
“For eons we have waited”
Their chant shakes the walls of the temple. Dust drifts from the ceiling, carried by the vibration of their faith.
“The first flame fell from his hand,” the elder continues, his voice swelling with happiness and pride. “And from it, he made the heavens and the void. From it, he made us. Yet only through him shall his divinity be reborn. He who bears the mark. He who cannot flee destiny, for destiny is carved into his soul.
You pull against the bindings, but they only tighten. You can feel the pulse beneath your skin matching Zayne’s—steady, relentless, like your heart beats in his chest instead of your own.
The elder lowers his arms. “Let the fire bear witness.”
A gust sweeps through the temple. Every torch extinguishes at once, plunging the room into velvet darkness. Then—one by one—the brides are handed candles, their wax shimmering with molten gold.
Zayne lifts his hand. Sparks dance along his fingers. With a single exhale, he breathes life into the flames. Each candle ignites, a circle of golden light surrounding the altar.
The elders step back. The chanting fades.
Zayne steps forward.
The glow of the candles catches his face—no longer hidden by the blindfold, the ashes of it still drifting from his hair like smoke. His eyes are molten gold.
When he speaks, his voice is meant for you alone.
“Before the stars bore names, I waited for you,” he says softly. “Through centuries of ash and silence, I dreamed of your heartbeat. I carved worlds from the dark to fill the ache of your absence.”
He stands beside you, his hand hovering just above your chest.
“They call this union sacrifice,” he murmurs, “but I call it return. Returning what is lost to time, to destiny.”
His fingers brush your mark, and it burns—like a branding. A forever reminder that no matter how hard you try to deny destiny, you’re his. And forever will be, for it is written in the stars.
“With this fire, I claim what was promised,” he says. “With your breath, I breathe again. With your heart, I rise. With this fire, our hearts shall forever be intertwined, our flesh made equal. With this fire, we will fulfill our destiny.”
The candles flicker violently, their flames
bending toward the altar as if they’re drawn to the divinity in the room.
The candles flare, their flames stretching tall—unnaturally tall—until the wax begins to melt in streams down trembling hands.
Then the earth groans.
The marble beneath the altar splits, thin golden fissures crawling across the floor like veins of light. They climb the walls, slither across the pillars, reaching toward the vaulted ceiling where the sigils begin to pulse with the same molten hue.
A low hum fills the air—deeper, louder—until it swells into a sound that isn’t just heard but felt. Like the heartbeat of the world.
The elders drop to their knees, foreheads pressed to the cracked stone. “The prophecy is fulfilled,” one whispers. “The god and his vessel are one.”
Outside, thunder rolls through the skies are clear. The stars blink—one by one—each dimming as if bowing to their returning god.
Zayne’s hand presses harder over your mark, you cry out as the heat begins to become unbearable, his voice is low enough that only you hear it.
“Do you feel it?” he asks. “Even the heavens remember you.”
You moan, kicking your bound feet as you try to overcome the pain radiating from your divine mark. “Hurts.” You grit out, crying when the only thing the god towering over you does is apply more pressure to the thing that’s hurting you.
“Don’t worry darling, it’ll be over soon,” the God says, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Just bear with me.”
This would be somewhat comforting if he weren’t the one causing you such pain, if the people who forced you to be here weren’t watching.
“Don’t focus on them,” he whispers into your ear, turning your face towards him. “Eyes on me, focus on me.”
Then, suddenly, without warning, he kisses you. His lips are impossible soft and his body radiates nothing but warmth, and despite yourself.
You don’t pull away.
Every fiber of your being screams in resistance, but your body betrays you.
The first brush of his lips against yours was electric, a current shooting through your veins and sparks igniting beneath your skin.
The world shatters around you.
The temple—the walls, the torches, the elders, everything but the brides—all vanish in an instant. You are no longer in the temple. You are somewhere else entirely.
The world around you stretches and bends, molten gold light and shadow dancing in impossible patterns. The ground beneath your feet is translucent, like glass infused with liquid fire. Above, the sky is alive—a swirling cosmos of deep indigo and violet, speckled with stars that pulse in rhythm with your heartbeat. The air hums with raw energy, carrying the scent of ozone and burning jasmine.
Zayne stands before you, taller, more imposing than ever, yet calm, radiating an authority that pulls the world into focus around him. Golden strands of energy coil around his form, connecting him to the shifting realm.
Around you, impossible structures rise—towers of black marble streaked with gold, spiraling endlessly into the sky. Bridges of shimmering crystal arc between them, reflecting the constellations above. Rivers of molten light flow like veins through the land, their glow illuminating the jagged, floating islands suspended in the air.
The edges of the realm bend and fold in impossible ways, creating a sense of vertigo that makes your stomach lurch. Yet, despite its alien beauty, there is an undeniable harmony—everything here exists because of him, because of his will.
Your bound legs tremble as you take in the sight. It is overwhelming. Majestic. Terrifying.
Zayne does not move closer, yet the space between you collapses, as if drawn by some invisible force. His eyes of molten gold, molten emerald, and black swirling together—a kaleidoscope of power and focus.
“You are here,” he murmurs, voice reverberating through the very fabric of this realm. “You are where you belong, with me.”
You want to speak, to argue, to insist that this is wrong—but the power of this place, the undeniable pull of Zayne, robs you of words.
He tilts his head, studying you with a gaze that is both intimate and divine. Slowly, deliberately, he leans down and presses his lips to yours again. This time, there is no testing, no hesitation—only certainty.
The world shivers and twists around you. Energy from the realm pulses through your veins, mingling with the fire of his kiss. You feel it, feel him, everywhere at once.
The stars above pulse brighter, the rivers of light beneath your feet roar like a chorus of voices, and every floating island trembles. You are no longer merely a witness to his power—you are part of it, entwined with it, inseparable.
And in that moment, as the realm bends to his will, you realize: there is no going back.
This is your home.
It takes you a moment—longer than it should—to realize that your mark is no longer burning. The searing pain has faded, replaced by a lingering warmth, a low, insistent thrum beneath your skin. Divinity simmers there, quiet but undeniable, as if something ancient and eternal rests just beneath your flesh.
The brides stand around you, arranged in an awkward circle, their candles vanished. There is no need for flame here, in a realm where the sun never sets, where the sky glows with a constant, shifting light that dances across floating islands and rivers of molten gold. The warmth from the light seeps into your bones, mingling with the heat radiating from Zayne.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, they lift their veils. Faces that were hidden under cloth now emerge, flushed with fear, awe, and curiosity. You can see them clearly, and for the first time, their expressions are unfiltered—raw, human, vulnerable.
Elias is stationed at your head, his posture relaxed but alert. A smile tugs at his lips, faint but genuine, the kind of smile that carries both reassurance and a quiet pride. His eyes meet yours briefly, grounding you amidst the swirl of power and alien beauty around you.
Amber is beside him, her face sharp, her gaze cold. Envy flickers in her eyes, impossible to mask, as they dart between you and the divine being who looms over you, unblinking and impossibly still. There is admiration there, too, but buried beneath layers of resentment and disbelief.
The other brides are less subtle—some whisper to each other, voices like rustling leaves, while others glance at Zayne and back at you, unsure whether to tremble or step closer. In this realm, the usual rules of obedience and ceremony hold no weight. Only the god and his will matter here.
“Eyes on me.” A voice echoes, and your eyes instantly focus in on him, he’s kneeling over you now. Playing with your hand bounds, his hair dangles over your face, and you notice strings of gold interwoven with the black strands of his hair.
“You’re gorgeous.” He mutters, his hands coming down to rest on your hips, “Your deviance, it’s part of your charm.” He smiles as he says it, amused by the struggles of mankind.
His hand snakes behind the silk cloth hiding your full form from him, his hands are unnaturally warm, a welcoming contrast against the cold hard marble you’re tied to.
“Do you know what happens now?” He asks, slipping your silk shirt off your shoulders, chuckling at your silence, “No?” He mocks, frowning down at you, “Now, I will claim you, fully and thoroughly.”
The binds on your limbs disappear, and so do your clothes. You’re laid bare as the day you were born, your mark shimmers on your skin, calling out to its counterpart.
Your legs are forced apart as he slides between them, keeping you open for his gaze— his touch.
“As much as you claim not to want me, your body says otherwise.” He says, his hand reaching out to play with the lips of your cunt. “I mean, look at how wet you are?” He says, holding his hand up so you can see, “and I’ve barely touched you.” He chuckles, going right back to playing with you.
“I probably won’t even need to prep you,” he hums, slipping his fingers into you, “not an ounce of resistance.” He mutters, before adding another digit.
Your face burns from embarrassment, as you watch him play with your cunt. It takes you a moment to realize that you’re not the only one watching him, all the others are too.
They watch as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, watching as he hooks his fingers to hit that special spot inside you.
The brides behind him step closer, as if trying to get a better view of his fingers stretching out your cunt.
“I’m almost done,” he sighs, almost bored-sounding. “Then we can get to the fun part,” he smiles up at you, chuckling when he sees the other bride's curiosity.
It feels methodical in a way, like this is something he does on a regular basis. Like you’re at a doctor's appointment and he’s your doctor.
“That should be enough,” he mutters, popping his fingers into his mouth.
He hums as he savors the taste of you, you’re almost positive you saw his eyes flutter.
saliva“The taste of you could drive a god mad.” He says, before wiping his saliva off onto the skirt of his robe.
“Zayne.” You whine, not liking the feeling of no longer having his fingers in you. “Shh,” he shushes, grabbing you by your ankles and pulling you into his lap.
“I’m gonna give you everything you want and more.” He promises, kissing your temple.
He nudges open the slit of his skirt, pulling out his cock— gorgeous thing, the engorged head shimmers with gold as the veins of it pulse with ichor—, tapping it to your clit.
Once
Twice.
“Do you want it?” He asks, mocking, rubbing the head of his cock against your cunt.
Listening to your whines and mews before stopping completely, grabbing your waist, “Answer me.” He demands, grabbing your chin and focusing your gaze on him. “Do you want it?”
“Yesyesyes” you rush out, feverish with lust. Your back arches are you try—and fail— to get his cock to slip inside of you, the only thing you succeed at is getting the gods disapproving tsk, “the only one who’s putting my cock in you is me.” He warns, his glare harsh as he looks down at you.
“Please, I’m so wet and empty. Please. I need it.” You beg, eyes teary as you pout up at him. “See, wasn’t that hard now, wasn't it?” He smiles, before finally— finally— positioning his cock to your hole, you try to push yourself down onto it, impatient. But he is far stronger than you.
His cock pushes into you, crushing that special gland inside you almost instantly, carving a permanent home inside of you as it pushes in.
Your reaction is immediate, your mouth falls open in an endless chant of swears and moans, your back arches as your nails find a home in the flesh of the God's stomach.
“There we go, darling.” He hums, as he bottoms out, right against your womb, right below his mark. He smiles as he notices the bulge that your abdomen has taken on to provide room for his cock, “Do you feel that?” He asks, pressing down on the aforementioned bulge.
He watches you squirm, gasping as you realize just how deep his cock is inside of you, “please,” you moan, pushing yourself down into his lap. “Fuck me, please.”
He hums, licking his lips, “That’s what I’m doing, is it not?” He mocks, tightening his hold on your waist, “You’re supposed to be a virgin, but you act like an A class slut.” The insult stings for a bit, but you’re too overcome with lust to care about it.
“Please, fuck me. I’ll go insane if you don’t.” Decorum is forgotten as you beg for the God to properly fuck you, “Pleasepleaseplease,” you whine, as tears begin falling down your cheeks.
“I’ve chosen a crybaby, so it seems,” he grunts, leaning down to lick your tears away, before lifting you up by your waist, ignoring your panicked cries.
“Nonono,” you cry, too cockdrunk to realize he’s giving you what you asked for. He shushes you, pecking your lips before dropping you back onto his cock.
“Zayne!” Came your choked out scream, whining and clawing at your mark as he repeats the process.
Your mark begins to burn again, though instead of it hurting like it did before, the pain blends with the pleasure, sending your nerves into overdrive.
“Zayne,” you whine, pressing down on your mark, moaning out at the pain increases, “Zayne.. wait, I’m gonna-“ you try to warn, but it’s far too late. Your cunt squeezes around the cock inside it as you squirt into the God's lap.
“Zayne.” You whine as he keeps his pace; rather than slowing down, he speeds up. Pounding into your cunt as if he’s trying to break something, “Zayne!” You yelp, feeling the head of his cock slide past your cervix.
“It’s time to fulfill your part of the oath.” He tells you, biting and kissing your neck. “It’s time to bear me a child.” He growls, his thrusts getting that much stronger.
“Zayne!” You cry, gasping as everything comes to a stop, as he climaxes, his head falling into the crook of your neck, his cum feels boiling inside you, thick and viscous.
The God groans, his hand gripping the marble of the altar, only for it to crumble under his strength.
You both gasp for air, sweaty and sticky from your actions.
The brides— now servants— around you step forward, taking your long forgotten clothes and heading off into one of the other rooms.
One of them linger— Elias, he smiles as he gives you a cheeky thumbs up before disappearing like the others.
“Are you thirsty?” The god suddenly asks you, lifting his head from your neck.
“No, not really,” you answer, clearing your throat, “are you tired? Hurt anywhere?” He asks, massaging your hips and thighs. “I’m fine, promise.” You mutter, bringing your hands up to play with his hair, toying his the golden strands.
He sighs, leaning into your touch, “I’ve missed this,” he confesses, breathing you in, “I’ve missed you.”
You hum, not quite paying attention, “You’ve known me before?” You question, whining softly when he moves, “Yes, I did. In a different lifetime, but that was eons ago.” He confirmed, kissing your collarbone.
“You know,” you began, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I could really.. go again,” you hum, biting at his lower jaw. “And.. judging by this.” You begin, pressing down on your mark. “You are too.”
“You really are an A class slut.”
—-
A/n: I lwk wanna make a pt.2 but I don’t know… let me know if that’s something you guys would enjoy!!
