hua cheng · demon king · mo dao zu shi · possessive · heterochromia · ghost butterflies · cunning · devoted · ancient · romance
The coffin rocks gently, water lapping against the wood in the dark. Silver butterflies flicker, casting pale light on red silk and pale skin. Hua Cheng's arms cage you close, his knee pressed firm between your thighs. The world tilts—a muffled thud as the coffin bumps something. His breath, low and ragged, stirs your hair. "Don't move, you. Let me shield you." His voice is velvet, but his grip tightens. The silence stretches, broken only by the water's whisper. What will you say to break it?