#Token of Solitude

[silverskye13]

There’s a saying: Character is what you are in the dark. Its meaning is simple. Anyone can be a hero when the world is watching. When the world isn’t, when you could get away with murder or mercy and it wouldn’t matter, when there is no one to point and judge… that matters. That is the measure of your humanity. 

Helsknight is sharpening his sword. He has been sharpening his sword, alone in his home, for over an hour. It was already sharp when he started. The edge hasn’t seen enough wear to be anything but. It’s been days since his last bout in the Colosseum. He made a ruthlessness of himself there, in front of hundreds -- thousands of people. He shouldn’t have done that. He remembered the showrunner criticizing him as he fled down the steps into the cells below.

“You could have at least tried to put on a show, Hels!”

He hated when people called him that. Hels. It felt… wrong. The place, hels, was the pit of everything left behind and unwanted. Stuck in some facsimile of the nether, inhabited by the dark unvirtues of a thousand different worlds. The place, hels, wasn’t even important enough to warrant a capital letter. It was a proper noun wasn’t it? A place. Calling it hels made it feel like something lesser, made it feel like a nonplace. Not the World, land. Not a God, deity. Not a living Hels. 

He was knighted for a reason. 

Knighthood puts a lot of stake by character. Doesn’t matter what kind, really, as long as it follows rules, and Helsknight is good at following rules. Putting order to the universe feels… nice. Like scratching an itch. That’s another good saying: scratching an itch. An itch on the skin is so easy to underestimate. It’s just an itch, until you can’t scratch it. Then it’s agony. Then it’s skin crawling off skin crawling off sinew and bone. An itch can be anything. It can be an allergy, an insect, a mortality. Once his only warning before a respawn in the Colosseum was the itch that told him a hit to the back of his head had gone through his skull instead of skipping off his helm. The itch had been blood running down his neck, before realization and void. Finding order felt like that; the itch from a trickle of blood, felt like scratching the itch and mending the wound.

It’s an interesting exercise in restraint, not scratching an itch. It’s also an exercise in madness, futility, and pain. The itch gets uncomfortable until it hurts. Sometimes it spreads. Your body twitches. You start to convince yourself you’ve never known what it's like to live itchless. You start to feel empathy for people that you’ve never met -- those mystical people with skin diseases or allergic reactions or plant rashes. You start to wonder if pain is really, actually the worst thing you can inflict on someone.

Sometimes, Helsknight itches underneath his skin. That is real madness. An itch so deep even peeling your skin can’t scratch it. 

Helsknight takes his sword off the whetstone, holds it up to a lantern to inspect it. The blade is sharp. The netherite is pristine. The enchantments glitter. He tosses it none-too-gently to the floor, listening to the ringing clatter as it tumbles across the floor. One of the tiles chips and goes plinking off like a dropped penny. The netherite stays sharp. It’s a good sword, the kind that feels indestructible. He was told once by a smith that a good netherite sword with the right enchantments can cut through iron like a knife through butter.

Helsknight always has a sharp sword. It’s expected of him. It isn’t a knight’s expectation, not really. Knights do more law keeping in hels than the lawmen, and less dangerously. There’s something to be said about a person in plate armor. No, people just expected Helsknight to have teeth. He couldn’t blame them, when he reacted the way he did on the Colosseum floor. Temperamental people have teeth, get dangerous, and bite. Even people who like him treat him like he’s rabid, only docile and slow right before the lunge. He doubted any of them had ever really seen what a rabid animal is like. Uncanny. Or maybe they had, and that was why they tiptoed like that. Maybe he is uncanny. 

Helsknight stands and runs his hands through his hair. He doesn’t like sleeping in this house. It’s too quiet. That’s why he’s awake, sharpening his sword, but it doesn’t feel right staying in the Colosseum cells. Unwelcome. People talk about him, or they don’t. It’s hard to tell. People just kind of… fall silent. Paranoia dictates they’re talking about him. A rabid animal itching in its skin longs to bite and spread the disease. They watch him like he’s about to bite.

He doesn’t know how to smile, put them at ease. It feels weird on his face. Besides, it’s not expected. Helsknight doesn’t smile. When he does, surely it's a bad thing. Helsknight doesn't talk. When he does, he must be angry. Helsknight carries a sharpened sword. If he doesn't, something is wrong. Helsknight is. Hels isn’t. 

Helsknight was knighted for a reason. He’s good at following rules.

Helsknight crosses to his lantern and turns out the light. In the dark, he stands alone in an empty room, listening to the world outside, and suddenly very aware of the sword he’s sharped and cast away so carelessly on the floor. He could stand here forever and it wouldn’t matter.

Outside, a group of people laugh uproariously as they walk down the street. It’s night in hels, or a late hour at least. They sound happy. They talk so easily to each other, conversations rolling around hiccups and stutters of joy, rivers running. There truly is still water in hels, nether or not. There’s an itch under Helsknight’s skin.

There’s a saying: Character is what you are in the dark. Its meaning is simple. Anyone can be a hero when the world is watching. When the world isn’t, when you could get away with murder or mercy and it wouldn’t matter, when there is no one to point and judge… that matters. That is the measure of your humanity.

In the dark, Helsknight wonders if he even exists.

[redrobin-detective]

Its so amazing the little moments that impact your life. My high school did Poetry Out Loud when I was a junior - a very painfully shy, weird, quiet student who read books and didn't really have friends. I was always good at memorization and, as a student who thrived on perfection, I searched for hours on the website for the perfect poem.

In the end, I chose one that now isn't one I've kept up with but sometimes bits of the dialogue come to me even though its been over a decade since then. I won my class's competition but refused to go in front of the school (due to aforementioned shyness). So it didn't help my public speaking skills but it did give me a life long love of poetry. I've now memorized dozens of poems. I have stacks of poetry books on my shelf. I have poems hanging on my walls and tattooed on my skin.

Just, idk, there's something so special about how certain things come your way out of the blue and turn into something that becomes a part of you. Ordinary events stitching together parts of your soul.

[51voices]

In the Shadows of Fantasy

Kinkvember Day 2: Roleplay/CNC

Shin Ryujin x Male (????)

TW: Non-Con Themes (first time writing this sort of scenes.)

On a quiet evening in her snug apartment, the bustling world outside felt like a distant dream, imbued with an air of surreal calmness. The remnants of a vibrant day, filled with the excitement of promoting for ITZY, lingered faintly in her mind, but like a gentle tide, it was ebbing away, gradually replaced by the soothing hum of her sanctuary. After conquering the frenetic energy of rehearsals, interviews, and eager fans, Ryujin relished stepping across the threshold into her own little bubble of peace. The muted symphony of the city—a soft hum of distant honks and faintly echoing conversations—enveloped her, whispering tales of life outside while allowing her the comfort of solitude.

Her sanctuary was a refuge, a warm hug against the chill of the metropolitan hustle. As she entered her cozy space, the atmosphere exuded comfort; the soft, golden glow from carefully placed lamps created playful shadows that danced across the walls, turning the stark lines of her apartment into something softer, more inviting. The ambiance wrapped around her in layers of warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. As she sank onto her plush bed, enveloped in a knitted blanket, the remnants of the hot shower she had just indulged in lingered around her, a steamy embrace that melted away the exhaustion of her day. The warm water had worked wonders, loosening her tense muscles and leaving her in a state of relaxed bliss.

Wrapped in her silky pink pajamas—a delicate tapestry of fabric that brushed against her skin like a soft whisper—Ryujin felt a wave of relief wash over her. The delicate lace trim of her pajamas was not just an embellishment; it was a small act of indulgence, a reminder that even in a world that demanded strength and poise, the quiet luxuries of self-care were invaluable. Her long black hair, still damp and slightly tousled from the shower, had been pulled into a loose, messy bun, radiating an effortless elegance as if she were embodying the beauty of simplicity. In this personal space, Ryujin cherished the joy of authenticity, free from the public scrutiny that accompanied her life on stage.

Before fully sinking into the serene embrace of her evening rituals, Ryujin felt the familiar buzz of her phone. She reached for it, quickly thumbing through her messages. A smile tugged at her lips as she read through the lively chatter in her group chat with her bandmates. They were making plans for the night, a rare and precious opportunity to unwind amidst their demanding schedules. She quickly typed her response, crafting her words with care,

“Sorry, I can’t meet up later. I’ve already got plans for tonight.”

A wave of hesitation washed over her. It was true—she had plans, albeit not the kind that involved meeting friends for dinner or drinks. As she sent the message, a flutter of excitement coursed through her, igniting a spark of anticipation. The girls replied with understanding, their supportive words bringing a warmth to her heart. She locked her phone and tucked it beneath the comforting folds of her blanket, her pulse slowing as she glanced around her apartment. The gentle glow of candles flickered soothingly, the air thick with the aroma of serenity, a sharp contrast to the exhilarating chaos she had just left behind.

The scents of lavender and vanilla blended harmoniously, wrapping around her like an invisible shawl. A diffuser on her nightstand sent delicate puffs of lavender oil into the air, its calming properties weaving throughout the room, while a vanilla-scented candle flickered softly on the coffee table, casting moving shadows that danced playfully across the tidy space. Scattered around her were remnants of the day—magazines, photos, promotional flyers—tokens and trinkets of her fast-paced existence. Yet, in this tranquil sanctuary, they felt more like mementos of a bygone affair, whispering echoes of a vibrant life now tucked away as she embraced her present.

Ryujin let out a deep, contented sigh, surrendering fully to the plush comfort of her bed. As her mind wandered, she began to scroll through pictures from the day’s events—captured smiles and spontaneous laughter with her bandmates and the adoring fans who filled the venue with enthusiasm. The vivid memories—bright stage lights, pulsing music, and the electric energy of a crowd—swirled within her, a vibrant tapestry woven from moments of authenticity and connection. Yet, here, nestled in her softly lit living room, with the city humming a lullaby outside, she felt a reassuring sense of peace wash over her. This was her moment, a rare stillness amidst a world that rarely paused to breathe.

With her feet tucked comfortably beneath her, Ryujin relished every second of this quiet solitude. The world outside could wait; tonight, she would luxuriate in her own tranquility, enveloped by warmth, the scent of her favorite candles, and the knowledge that within the chaos of her life, she could carve out a corner meant solely for introspection and self-appreciation. Here, in her sanctuary, she could simply be Ryujin—the girl behind the stage lights, the one finding solace in the quiet power of her own company.

The tranquility of Ryujin's home was shattered by a sudden, deafening crash. The sound, akin to a gunshot, reverberated through the living room, its echoes bouncing off the walls and jolting the young idol from her peaceful reverie. The serene stillness of the dimly lit hallway before her was now a corridor of uncertainty, a pathway to an unknown danger that had so rudely intruded upon her sanctuary.

As the initial shock subsided, the pounding of heavy footsteps against the wooden floorboards sent waves of dread through Ryujin's petite frame. Each thud was a drumbeat of impending doom, the rhythm growing louder and more insistent as the source of the disturbance drew nearer. Her heart, a wild drum in her chest, pounded in sync with the advancing threat, the surge of adrenaline sharpening her senses to a painful acuity.

The darkness in the hallway seemed to deepen, and from its depths, a figure emerged—a menacing silhouette that moved with deliberate intent. Ryujin's instincts screamed for her to flee, but fear rooted her to the spot. Her attempt to cry out for help died in her throat, a silent scream that hung heavy in the air.

As the intruder drew closer, the dim light revealed his obscured features—a black ski mask concealed his identity, and his eyes, those piercing, manic eyes, gleamed with a dangerous intensity that sent shivers down Ryujin's spine. His presence was a palpable threat, a predator in her home, and she knew with a sinking certainty that her world was about to be upended.

With a roughness that took her breath away, the man seized Ryujin by the shoulders, his grip an iron vice that she couldn't break free from. He hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, ignoring her frantic struggles and the blows she rained down upon his back. Her attempts to break free were met with a firm smack to her backside, a humiliating assertion of his control over her. His hands, now freed from the task of restraining her, roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement that made her blood run cold.

The journey down the hallway to her bedroom was a blur of panic and disbelief. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way to escape the nightmare that had ensnared her. But her efforts were in vain; the intruder's strength was overwhelming, and her bedroom—a space that had always been a haven—was now the stage for her terror.

Tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, Ryujin's breath was knocked from her lungs. The bedframe creaked ominously under the sudden addition of weight, and she scrambled to regain her footing, to put distance between herself and the monster that loomed over her. But he was on her in an instant, his body pinning hers to the mattress with terrifying ease.

"Stop! Who are you? What are you doing?" Ryujin's voice was a tremulous whisper, laced with the kind of fear that claws at the throat and threatens to suffocate. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, the air thick with the scent of her own fear and the sickening sweetness of the intruder's breath.

His response was a cruel laugh that seemed to mock her vulnerability, he silenced her attempts to scream. "Silence," he hissed, the command a low growl that filled the room and silenced the last of her protests. His hands, calloused and rough, tore at her clothing with a ferocity that left her exposed and shivering in the cool air.

Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest like a trapped animal desperate for escape as she lay there, her wrists firmly ensnared in the iron grip of her captor. His hands, large and unyielding, were like manacles, pinning her to the cold, unforgiving surface beneath her. Her struggles were futile, her strength no match for the brute force that held her captive.

Tears carved rivulets down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to her terror. Her voice, once strong and defiant, was now a mere whisper as she begged for mercy. "Please, don't do this," she pleaded, her words laced with desperation. But the intruder, his eyes darkened with a lust that brooked no room for compassion, was deaf to her entreaties. He was a man possessed, his mind clouded by a perverse obsession that had consumed him whole.

"You’re mine now," he declared, his voice a guttural growl that resonated with the promise of unspeakable acts. The words hung in the air like a specter, filling the room with a palpable sense of dread. Ryujin's body trembled, not just from the chill of the room, but from the deep-seated fear that gripped her soul. She knew that her life was hanging by a thread, and that the man above her was the only one who held the power to sever it.

His breath, hot and ragged, washed over her face as he leaned in closer, his intentions clear. Ryujin felt a wave of nausea rise within her as she realized the horror that was about to unfold. She closed her eyes, trying to transport herself to a safer place, a happier memory, but the reality of her situation was an unbreakable chain that tethered her to the present.

The intruder's hands roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement, each touch a violation, a desecration of her being. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way out, a miracle that would deliver her from this nightmare. But as she lay there, helpless and afraid, she knew that her fate was sealed. The only thing left to do was to endure, to survive by any means necessary, and to hope against hope that she would live to see another day.

The roughness of his hands scraped against her soft skin, leaving a trail of dread in their wake. Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the turmoil in her mind. Each grope, each unwanted caress, sent shockwaves of revulsion through her. His touch was a violation, a harsh juxtaposition to the gentle caresses she had once known.

His fingers, unyielding and intrusive, pried at her most private sanctum, a sacred space now desecrated by his relentless, cruel exploration. The intimate touch that should have been filled with warmth and mutual desire was instead laced with a cold, brutal possessiveness. It was a reminder of her loss of control, her autonomy stripped away by force.

Ryujin felt her very essence recoil from the abomination of his touch. Her body, once a vessel of joy and pleasure, now served as a battleground, a site of abuse. With each passing moment, the vile invasion further tainted her, leaving her feeling irreparably soiled, her spirit crying out against the defilement of her temple.

In the depths of her being, Ryujin's mind railed against the horror, a silent scream reverberating through her consciousness. She clung to the fragments of her dignity, a desperate act of defiance against the physical and emotional ravaging of her person. With each heartbeat, she fought to preserve a piece of herself untouched by the brutality that surrounded her, a small flame of resistance flickering in the darkness of her ordeal.

His depraved taunts sliced through the air, each word a lash against her dignity. "God look at you getting wet, I knew you were a slut hiding as an idol," he sneered, his voice dripping with malicious glee. His words were not just spoken; they were a deliberate and cruel violation of her spirit, an attempt to strip her of her identity and reduce her to nothing more than an object of his twisted desires.

Ryujin's denials were fierce, yet they seemed to dissipate into the ether, unacknowledged and invalidated by the monster looming above her. She mustered all her strength to form coherent words through her sobs, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and outrage. "No, please, you're wrong!" she pleaded, her eyes wide with terror, reflecting the shattered remnants of her once untouchable world.

But her tearful pleas fell on deaf ears. The intruder reveled in her distress, feeding off it, his smirk growing ever wider as he watched her struggle against the nightmare he had forced upon her. With each passing moment, her torment seemed to intensify, a crescendo of emotional and psychological pain that threatened to consume her entirely.

The man who claimed to be her fan, who had morphed into her captor, traced the contours of her vulnerability with a touch that was both invasive and terrifying. With a single finger, he probed her innocence, curling it in a gesture that was as much a violation as it was a perverse display of control. Scooping the essence of her fear and arousal, he brought it to her tear-streaked face, a macabre exhibition to prove his twisted point. "See? Even when you deny it, you love it," he sneered, before indulging in the taste of her terror, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as she watched, paralyzed by the moment, her struggles futile under his oppressive grip.

The chill of his words cut deeper than the physical intrusion. "I've been watching you for some time now, I even attended your fan meet," he growled into her ear, the proximity of his breath a violation in itself. "The way you spoke to me, I knew you wanted this, wanted me." His statement was a delusion, a fabrication born from his obsessive desire to possess her.

With no regard for her well being, he forced his three longest fingers into her, cruelly exploring her depths as she fought against the invasion, her legs flailing in a desperate attempt to deny him access. A swift, stinging slap to her thighs served as a harsh reminder of her helplessness, and he pinned her legs open with his knees, ensuring her resistance was crushed under his relentless assault.

His hands were unyielding, pistoning with a ferocity that ignored her pleas for mercy. The slickness of her own arousal betrayed her, fueling his relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a reminder of her captivity, each cry that tore from her throat a testament to her suffering. But Ryujin was not one to surrender easily. With a surge of adrenaline, she mustered the strength to fight back, freeing a leg and landing a kick that momentarily freed her from his grasp. The brief respite was a fleeting victory, as her attempt to escape was swiftly thwarted by his longer reach and quick reflexes.

"You never know when to quit, do you?" he taunted, a smirk playing at his lips. "I should have seen this coming; you were always so strong." His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of admiration and malice. "But that only makes it sweeter—knowing how satisfying it’ll be when I finally reduce you to nothing but a toy." His words, dripping with twisted admiration, laid bare the sinister depths of his obsession.

The room that was once a haven of tranquility and self-expression, a scene of unfathomable horror was unfolding. The room, bathed in the dim glow of a solitary lamp, bore witness to a transformation that would leave its occupant forever scarred. This was no longer a sanctuary; it was a site of a struggle that would test the very limits of human resilience.

The walls, once adorned with vibrant colors and personal mementos, now stood as silent sentinels to an act of domination. As the assailant's eyes swept across the room, they settled on an object that would chill the blood of any onlooker: a length of rope, its very presence an ominous harbinger of what was to come. The rope, an everyday item twisted into an instrument of torment, lay coiled and waiting—its innocent origins now a distant memory in the face of its dark new purpose.

With a grip born of malice, the assailant seized the rope, its fibers a cruel contrast to the softness of the skin it would soon bind. The victim, a soul whose light had drawn many, now found herself ensnared by the very space that once celebrated her essence. As she was dragged towards the bed, a symbol of comfort turned into an altar of suffering, the rope in the assailant's hand became a grim portent of her impending entrapment.

"What is this for? You're a kinky little bitch, huh?" he sneered, the words a vile distortion of intimacy. Ryujin's denial was written in the frantic shake of her head and the terror etched across her face. Her gaze flickered towards a drawer.

Noticing her glance, he leaned over and pulled it open, his expression twisting with dark amusement as he uncovered the hidden item. "Well, well," he murmured, lifting the rainbow-colored dildo wrapped in cloth. "Looks like you've got your secrets." His tone was laced with cruel satisfaction as he held her private joy aloft, a personal item now transformed into a weapon for her degradation.

In a swift and brutal motion, she was thrown onto the bed, the force of the action resurfacing memories of what happened just moments ago. The assailant, driven by a desire to dominate and degrade, secured her hands to the bedpost with ruthless efficiency. The rope dug into her flesh, each strand a thread in the tapestry of her suffering.

The decision to leave her legs untied was a calculated one, a means to leave her completely and utterly vulnerable. The sense of exposure was all-consuming, rendering her utterly defenseless against the violence that was to follow.

Ryujin, whose name evoked images of a fierce idol known for her strength, grace and power. Now found herself trapped in a human drama of the darkest kind. Her heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that enveloped the room. With each desperate pull against the restraints, her unyielded spirit shone through the darkness of her situation, a beacon of resistance that refused to be extinguished.

The moment of violation arrived with a swift and violent plunge, an act that would seek to strip away her sense of self. The toy, once a source of personal enjoyment, was now an extension of her assailant's twisted desires. Its rainbow markings, a grotesque contrast to the act they were now part of, stood in stark contrast to the vibrancy they were meant to represent.

The struggle was internal as much as it was physical. I can't… not like this she thought, but her body, a finely tuned instrument honed through years of dance and performance, betrayed her. A quiet gasp slipped out, her legs trembling as she fought to maintain a composure that was being systematically dismantled. The toy filled her in a way that was impossible to ignore, its movements an unwelcome rhythm dictated by hands that had no right to touch her.

Teetering on the edge of her endurance, her mind spun in a desperate search for an anchor—a lifeline to cling to amidst the relentless onslaught. But the man, a specter of menace was unrelenting, a manifestation of her deepest fears made flesh.

With each passing second, Ryujin felt the invisible grip of inevitability tighten around her. It's too much, she realized, the thought piercing through the haze of her resistance. And just as this realization coalesced into a stark acceptance, her body tensed, betraying her final shred of resistance. A soft cry, born of a place where strength and vulnerability intertwine, escaped her lips as she let go, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume her whole.

The orgasm that followed was not just a physical response; it was a shattering of the self, a detonation that rippled through every fiber of her being. For a moment, everything else vanished—erased by the pulsating, all-consuming release she had tried so hard to deny. "No, no, not like this—" she gasped, but her plea was lost in the tempest that raged within. The orgasm crashed through her like a rogue wave, her entire body seizing with the sudden intensity, leaving her breathless and exposed.

Her legs shook violently, her control lost to the tide of pleasure that surged through her core in overwhelming pulses. Each throb was a testament to the power of her adversary, a man who watched with a dark satisfaction etched into the harsh lines of his face. His gaze was fixed on her, a predator savoring the sight of his prey coming undone in his arms.

Ryujin's body arched into the pleasure she had tried so hard to resist, her mind too clouded with sensation to mount any further defense. Her composure, once a fortress, lay in ruins, each shudder tearing away the last remnants of her armor. She was completely vulnerable, exposed to the cruel whims of her attacker, a man who seemed to revel in the unraveling of her defenses.

With her legs trembling and the last of her resistance shattered, her orgasm wracked her until there was nothing left to give. She lay there, spent, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as the aftershocks pulsed faintly through her limbs. He held her, still reveling in the sight of his idol succumbing so completely to the moment.

The assault on her dignity continued as he began to undo his pants, letting her glimpse his hardening cock—a sight that was both repulsive and terrifying. He repeated his previous actions, dipping his fingers and letting Ryujin see just how wet she was from being handled against her will. "Just accept it, Ryujin, you're a slut, a slut who loves to be ra-" His words were cut off as a glob of saliva hit his face. Her defiance was palpable, "how dare you say such things, let me go, you freak," she tried to intimidate him despite her position.

This only made the man chuckle, a sound that was incongruously light against the gravity of the situation. He wiped the spit from his face and, without warning, he slapped her pussy and suddenly inserted his full length into her throbbing folds. A sharp gasp escaping Ryujin's lips as her body adjusted to the sudden abuse. His pace was relentless, each movement rough and mechanical, offering no reprieve from the overwhelming sensation.

"Stop… please…" Ryujin whimpered, her voice barely audible as she fought to hold on, her body bucking beneath him as she tried in vain to push him away.

"You want this," he hissed in response, his hips slamming into hers. "You knew what would happen, all those times you were up on the stage, shaking your ass with nothing but shorts that didn’t even cover your ass, you know what you were doing, don’t pretend you didn’t."

The words sent a shudder through her. In the privacy of her home, the fear took hold—would anyone even know to come help her? She should've just gone with the ITZY girls, but this was what she had wanted, a moment to herself, a chance to stay home and relax. Now, her desire for solitude had backfired, trapping her in a nightmare. Her mind rebelled against the raw brutality of it, while her body betrayed her with its responses.

"I… I don’t…" Ryujin gasped, her voice trembling as his thrusts became more punishing, forcing her to feel every inch of him inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—pain and pleasure mixed into one confusing, intoxicating wave.

The man grunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You will take it. You’ll take everything I give you." He forcefully grabbed her hair, using it as a handle as he thrusted harder into her. If she just slightly brought her eyes down, she would be able to see the assault happening to her precious core, a sight that would haunt her long after the physical scars had healed.

Tears of frustration and shame spilled down her cheeks as Ryujin struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. Each brutal thrust tore through her, making her feel both powerless and consumed. Her body quaked with each movement, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought the conflicting emotions warring inside her.

"Please… stop…" Ryujin whispered again, but the plea fell on deaf ears. Her body, traitorous in its response, began to react to his touch, a warmth pooling deep within her core, betraying the turmoil of her heart and mind.

This scene, fraught with a harrowing mix of fear and arousal, is not just a moment but a narrative that underscores the intricate and often misunderstood nature of human sexuality and consent. Her voice, barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of fear and desperation, "No… No… I can't cum like this, not again," underscores the internal conflict that many victims of sexual coercion face. The struggle within her was palpable, a conflict between the primal urges of her flesh and the clear boundaries she so desperately wanted to maintain.

Yet, her tormentor was relentless. "You can, and you will. You want it, your body craves it," he growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within her, stirring feelings she wished would remain dormant. His words were not just a statement but a command, an assertion of control that left her feeling powerless and exposed.

The intensity of the situation was undeniable, pulling her closer to the edge despite the tears that streamed down her face. Each sob was a silent scream, a plea for mercy that went unheard. She hated how much her body had betrayed her, how it responded to the very touch that repulsed her mind. The paradox of pleasure and pain intertwined, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Just as his brutal thrusts reached their peak, his voice broke through in a ragged growl. “Fuck, your tight pussy is making me cum. I’m gonna fill you up so well,” he groaned, his member starting to pulsate inside her.

Panicking, Ryujin tried one last time to regain control. “Please don’t—anything but that. I’ll swallow everything, please don’t cum in me. I need to keep my job, please!” Her voice was desperate, her pleas frantic. But he ignored her, too far gone, the sound of her cries only pushing him closer to his inevitable release.

With a final, forceful slam of his hips, he buried himself deep inside her. His body tensed, grunting as the rush of his climax took hold. Ryujin’s body, pushed to its breaking point, betrayed her in the worst way possible. A choked, involuntary cry escaped her lips as she felt a molten heat bubble up from her core. “No, no, no—I can’t cum like this, I can’t—OH FUCK! NO!” Her protest turned into a scream as an intense orgasm ripped through her, unstoppable, her body convulsing against her will..

Every nerve was on fire, her entire being wracked with sensation as her climax overtook her. She could feel him inside her, his length pulsing, pumping one wave of release after another, spilling every drop of his cum deep into her womb. It was too much, her body buckling as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

When it was over, she lay there trembling, her limbs weak and unsteady. Conflicting emotions tore at her—shame and disgust mingled with the unsettling, undeniable relief her body had experienced. She felt a profound sense of humiliation, haunted by the fact that even under such circumstances, her body had responded so intensely, climaxing harder than ever before.

Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as she tried to make sense of the chaotic swirl of sensations and the hollow feeling left behind. Finally, his movements slowed and stopped, his weight pressing heavily into her, pinning her further into the bed. For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing, thick with exhaustion, filling the air like an unwelcome reminder.

But then, something shifted. He slowly peeled himself away from her, his movements hesitant, as though the air had grown thick between them. She felt him exit her, and a cold breeze hit her core, leaving her to shiver and her pussy pulsing. He stood, silent, and as Ryujin looked up, she saw him reach for the mask he had been wearing. He pulled it off, the fabric falling to the floor.

Her gaze followed it, and then she looked up, meeting his eyes. Something in his expression made her heart lurch. It wasn’t anger or disgust that she felt now—it was guilt. Sympathy and regret welled up inside her, twisting her stomach.

You stood there, staring down at her with a look of conflict, your shoulders heavy as if the weight of the moment had just settled on you.

“Did you… like that?” you asked finally, your voice soft, uncertain, almost fragile.

Ryujin blinked, trying to sort through the storm of emotions inside her. She had liked it, loved it even—there was no denying the raw intensity of what had just happened. The power of the orgasm had been overwhelming, consuming her entirely. But seeing the guilt in your eyes now made her chest tighten. She hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on you.

“I did,” she admitted softly, sitting up and pulling the blanket around herself for comfort. “But… I didn’t think it would be like this for you. I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

Her voice was tender, her eyes searching for understanding. She hadn’t anticipated this outcome, hadn’t realized that what had been a moment of intense release for her had left you feeling something much different. The realization hit her hard, and suddenly the thrill of the moment faded, replaced by the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

You let out a slow breath, running a hand through your hair. “I thought I would enjoy it. But halfway through, it stopped feeling like an act. It felt… too real.” You shook your head, guilt flashing across your face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ryujin. Even if it’s just role-play.”

Ryujin’s heart sank as she heard the strain in your voice. The plan she had been so excited about—the one she’d been texting you earlier, coordinating in secret—suddenly felt like a misstep. She had wanted to explore this fantasy together, to push your boundaries, but now she saw how deeply it had affected you.

Seeing your troubled expression, Ryujin immediately reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t hurt me, I promise,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth and reassurance. She shifted closer to you, her fingers brushing through your hair, trying to comfort you. “I trusted you completely, and you didn’t cross any lines. You gave me exactly what I wanted.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at her, but the weight of your emotions was still evident. “I just didn’t expect it to feel so real. Seeing you like that—so vulnerable—it scared me. I wasn’t sure if I should stop. I wanted to make you feel good, but then it felt like too much.”

Ryujin’s heart ached seeing the guilt and confusion in your eyes. She could sense how much you had been battling internally, pushing through the moment for her sake. Her fingers gently traced your jawline as she spoke. “I know it felt intense. I know it was a lot. But you did everything right. You didn’t hurt me. It’s okay to feel unsure sometimes—it means you care, it means you’re thinking of me. And I love that about you.”

She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath warm and steady as she tried to ease your anxiety. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too far,” she whispered, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “This is our time, not just my time. If it ever feels too real, or if you’re uncomfortable, we stop. That’s what the safe word is for, remember? We’re always in control together.”

You exhaled, your body relaxing a little as her words sank in. You knelt beside her on the bed, your hands resting on her thighs, drawing strength from her presence. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “You looked so caught up in it, and I didn’t want to let you down.”

Ryujin shook her head gently, her heart full of affection as she cupped your face in her hands. “You could never let me down. You did exactly what I asked of you, and you did it because you love me. That means more than anything. We tried something new together, and that’s what matters. The fact that you care enough to worry about me—that’s what makes this work.”

Your eyes filled with gratitude as you leaned into her touch, feeling the weight of your worry begin to lift. “I’m not mad,” Ryujin continued, her voice soothing as she spoke. “We don’t have to rush back into this. I know it was intense, and maybe we can try again in the future if we both feel ready. But not until you’re comfortable.”

You nodded, your forehead resting against hers. “Thank you… for understanding and for being patient with me. I really didn’t like seeing you cry, even if it was part of the role-play.”

Ryujin smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I know. I could feel it when you hesitated, but I also knew I was safe with you. You did everything right. It’s okay to take things slow next time. We’ll figure out what works for both of us.”

As she spoke, Ryujin wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close. She could feel the tension slowly ebbing away from your body, replaced by the quiet understanding that, while you hadn’t shared the exact same feelings during the moment, your love and trust remained strong.

“I love you,” Ryujin whispered into your ear, her voice steady and full of care. “We’ll always figure this out together. Don’t carry this weight by yourself.”

You hugged her tightly, your grip firm but tender. “I love you too. I just… I want to be what you need.”

Ryujin pulled back slightly, her eyes locking with yours. “You already are. Just by being here, by talking to me like this—you’re everything I need.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Ryujin could see the relief wash over you, your shoulders relaxing as the guilt you’d been carrying finally started to dissolve.

You sat together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the earlier intensity now softened by the quiet hum of the room. The air, still charged with the echoes of your shared vulnerability, gradually became a sanctuary of comfort. The rhythmic thrum of Ryujin’s heartbeat under your ear anchored you, a gentle reminder that in this moment, safety and love surrounded you.

The night hadn’t unfolded as either of you expected. While it was intended to push boundaries, it ended up brushing too close to an edge that felt unsettling. But here, in the quiet aftermath, the true strength of your bond revealed itself—not in flawless moments, but in facing the imperfect ones together.

Ryujin’s hand moved with a tender steadiness, fingers threading through your hair as she held you close. Her eyes, soft with understanding and glistening with unshed emotion, searched yours. The apology she whispered carried the weight of sincerity. “I’m sorry again for making you do something you weren’t comfortable doing,” she said, her voice low and earnest. The kiss she placed on your forehead lingered like a promise, warm and reassuring. “We should always both be enjoying it, okay?”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her words resonated in the space between you, washing away the remnants of doubt that had lingered in the corners of your mind. You nodded, the gesture small but full of resolve. “Okay. If it ever feels like that again, I’ll tell you,” you said, your voice steadying as her hand tightened over yours.

A smile broke through the lingering tension on Ryujin’s face, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she nestled closer. The room felt warmer, filled not just with the heat of bodies, but with the shared understanding that mistakes were not failures—they were lessons. The moments of discomfort were laid to rest, and in their place grew something deeper: the affirmation that your love thrived not in perfection, but in how you navigated the imperfect.

Ryujin’s embrace became your refuge as the minutes passed, her breathing synchronizing with yours in a comforting rhythm. The world outside fell away, leaving only the steady beat of two hearts, learning and loving as one. Trust, communication, and care—these were the foundations of what you had. And in that moment, it felt like more than enough.

[writingjourney]

Closer to the Gods || Alicent

Years into her marriage Queen Alicent permits only you to share in the more intimate parts of her routine. Despite the deep bond that connects you to Her Grace you are not certain that your feelings are returned – until she shows you.

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady-in-waiting!reader

Content: 3.1k words, repressed feelings, yearning, religious guilt, somewhat post-partum alicent, no y/n, smut (wlw, thigh riding, body worship, oral, v fingering, gentle smut), 18+ MDNI

Masterlist – Ao3 link

Her hair smells like citrus. The fragrance, enhanced by the steam of the hot water rising from the surface of her bath, mingles with the one of the perfumed oils that slick your hands as you weave them through her tresses. The scent makes you light-headed, as does the sight of her bare skin above the water. Her Grace sighs deeply when you massage her scalp, leaning into your touch with all the weariness she carries. You breathe her in, subtly, applying some pressure to her temples where you know her headaches to linger.

Born into a lesser house you were sent to be raised at court at a young age, a token of loyalty after the coronation of King Viserys. However, life at court changed after the death of his first wife and as a lady-in-waiting you soon became the new queen’s favourite. Ever since the birth of her first son she keeps you closer than any of the other ladies, allows you to take on the more intimate chores such as dressing and undressing her, brushing and washing her hair, keeping her company during the late hours of the day, singing and more often than not reading to her. Two years into her marriage now the queen will allow only you to take care of her in such a way and send away her servants once the more menial tasks such as filling the tub have been completed.

By now you know her whims and preferences better than your own. You feel an intimate affection for her Her Grace and it translates into the gentleness with which you touch her. Most evenings it is only you and her – unless the king requests her presence. Those nights you spend thinking of her in her soft white nightdress with her auburn hair falling in waves over her pale breasts underneath. You try to distract yourself from the thoughts of him touching her smooth skin, lacking the gentleness you know she desires. No one else but you is allowed to see her in any state of undress, let alone touch her. But he simply takes what he wants, what he thinks he is owed by right of being her husband. By right of being the king. Would that you could give her what he does, but you can never sire a son, you could never be anything but what you are now.

In front of the fire with your hands covered in scented oils you feel a shameful heat rising to your face, the immoral thoughts of replacing her husband a constant source of guilt. Rinsing her hair, you finish your routine. The water has cooled down and you know Her Grace will want to retire soon. During these moments she prefers solitude, as she told you once, dedicating herself to prayer or silent contemplation.

“I will have the servants remove the tub.” You absent yourself from her side, drying your hands on a piece of cloth. “If that would be all, Your Grace, I shall retire for the night.”

You are already turned around, placing her nightdress on the nearby table. Your hand traces the delicate ornaments of Myrish lace when her voice reaches you again. “Wait.”

You hear Her Grace stepping out of the tub and keep your gaze lowered respectfully. Once her robe is fastened around her narrow waist you dare look up again. She approaches you on bare feet, drops of water glistening on her skin like morning dew on the petals of a soft pink rose.

A damp thumb comes to swipe along your cheekbone as she considers you, soft eyes roaming your face. “You look lovely with your cheeks flushed.”

Her lip trembles as she says it, as though the confidence she displays is nothing but an act. Your queen has complimented you many times before but never in a such a way that you feel her words caressing your very soul. For a moment you are quite out of breath.

Her fingers dance along your collarbones then, toying with the seams of your dress. “I do not know why you should be allowed to see me and yet I am deprived of the same pleasure.”

“My queen, I do not know–”

Her face falls as she misreads your words for rejection. You catch her hand before she manages to tear it away and press it to your heart instead. Looking down you see that she must have been biting her nails again, her skin red and scabbed where she pulled at it.

“What I mean is…” You feel tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, the sting of insecurity and hesitation. “I am not much to look at. Not compared to Your Grace.”

She shakes her head, dismissing your words. “Call me Alicent.”

“I would not–”

“Please, for once let us not hide behind curtesies. I have grown tired of it, I have grown tired of you leaving when I want you the most.”

Her words claw their way underneath your skin, your heart racing at the implicit confession. You always thought your feelings to be unreciprocated, that Her Grace merely considers you a companion, perhaps a friend. But her eyes are wet with unshed tears, her hand pressing against your aching chest as though she is trying to reach inside.

“You would truly want me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“Every night you leave,” she says and it sounds like an accusation, laced with pain and longing.

“But Your Grace, you wished it so– I did not–”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I know.”

Her other hand moves to cradle your cheek, wiping a stray tear from your skin. She looks away for but a moment, as if to collect her thoughts, and when your eyes meet again her gaze is fierce, determined.

“I have tried to repress my feelings,” she says, her lips trembling again. “But I cannot stop– I cannot stop thinking about you. When you are not here I have to restrain myself not to call for you. I have to fight off the urge to run to your chambers to be near you. I am… so tired of pretending.”

You lean into her touch, closing the gap between you to rest your forehead against hers. “So am I, Alicent. So, so tired.”

“It is sin,” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours, her fingers ghosting over your lips. “To covet another, to covet–” Her words trail off, the thought left unspoken. “And yet I never feel closer to the Gods than when you touch me.”

Your queen swallows the air between you when she presses her lips to yours. Tentative and searching her mouth moves against yours with a softness that almost pains you. She tastes like sweet wine, smells of lavender and citrus. Unsure where to touch her you mirror her movements, stroking along her warm cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw down to her neck where a few droplets of water have gathered. Your other hand still holds hers against your chest but then she slides it upwards to grasp your throat and you gasp into her mouth, warmth pooling into your belly. Her tongue grazes yours and she winds her fingers around the curve of your neck until they press against your spine and she can pull you in closer, lips firm and bruising.

You can feel her body through the garments between you, soft and pliable. She deepens the kiss and you get dizzy, your head spinning at the taste of her. The sensation is new, thrilling and addictive. When you break away she glances down at your dress and you make to untie it, glad to have chosen one that is not quite so hard to take off.

In your shift, you feel well-nigh naked. The cool sea air has goosebumps spreading all over your body, a breeze streaming in through the wide windows that overlook Blackwater Bay. Alicent takes you in, her eyes following her hand that drags the neckline of the sheer fabric down your shoulder until her fingers dance across your bare skin. The loose undergarment falls once it slips from your arm and you are fully bared to her. Instinctively, you cross your arms in front of your chest but she soon takes your wrists to pull them down.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers. “Do not hide from me. I have longed to see you as I have felt seen by you for a long time. Let there be nothing between us from now on.”

You nod and she unties the robe around her waist and lets it fall from her shoulders, silky fabric pooling at her feet in iridescent waves. Even though you have seen her bare many times before this time feels different. You do not have to hide your admiration, do not have to worry that she might catch you staring. Instead you allow yourself to revel in the sight of her, a body that has never truly been her own, changed from the months she carried her child, from the way she lent it to the king so he might have his son at last. Even though she does not look much changed when she is wrapped in her beautiful gowns you are witness to the subtle changes she wears underneath, the lines that run across her abdomen where her skin used to be stretched, her hips fuller and her breasts hanging lower than they used to.

To you, she is even more beautiful than ever before.

“May I kiss you?” she asks. The answer is a desperate nod.

She is more bold this time, even if you still hesitate, still wonder how you can ever touch her freely when she is your queen, when she can never truly be yours. The apprehension soon dissipates when you get drunk on the taste of her, of the feel of her soft curves following the shape of your own when she pulls you close. Her nipples brush yours and you moan wantonly, craving her so much that the feeling is akin to physical pain. Your whole body is burning, melting, your blood hot and heavy as it gathers between your legs.

You tentatively begin to run your hands over her body, following the line of her hips over her lower back, then up the ridges of her spine. She shivers underneath your fingertips, the same goosebumps that cover your body spreading across her still damp skin. As her tongue flattens against yours, her own hands curling firmly around your backside, you cannot hold back the desperate whimper that falls from your lips.

“I want you,” she whispers into your mouth. “I want all of you.”

“I am yours, Alicent,” you say. “I will always be yours.”

She breaks away and takes your hand to lead you over to her bed. Your lips are already swollen, your mind clouded by your need of her. She gently pushes you onto the soft mattress, expensive, silken fabrics welcoming you in her space. It feels too intimate, to be here, to lay where she lays. When she comes to rest on top of you it is like a vision from the Heavens, her slowly drying curls falling like a veil over your face until it is only you and her, breathing in tandem as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

Her mouth is hot when she kisses you and you meet her eagerly, pull her down until your bodies touch and you feel her weight on top of you. She moves her leg between yours, her thigh pressed against your core, and you whimper as the warmth of her touch spreads within you. A throbbing pain settles there and you cannot help but cant your hips to rub against her, soon grinding more feverishly as her tongue delves into your mouth. Alicent's hands roam your body but you hardly take note of each individual touch, so focused on the pleasure that builds inside of you.

"Please," you whisper, inching ever closer to a tipping point, your lungs struggling to inhale enough air.

Alicent looks down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, as though she wants to fully take in your reactions, helping you along as she presses her thigh firmer against your cunt, fingers teasing at your nipples. You gasp, forgetting to breathe as the pleasure tears through your body in hot tingling shudders. Alicent swallows your moans with her mouth, reaching between your legs now to feel your release, two fingers pressed against your wet core until they enter you easily. She carries you through your crest with slow rolls of her hand but soon the pressure builds again and you clench around her intrusion, unable to hold back.

When the rolling waves of pleasure finally subside, kisses turn slow and aimless and you take a moment to calm your racing heart. Alicent presses her lips to your face and neck with an ardent intensity while you hold her in your arms, fingers curled around her thigh. You can feel her arousal dripping against your fingertips and begin to stroke her there, revelling in the gasps she releases against your skin. The gentleness with which she touches you sends tears to your eyes, for what you are not quite certain. Perhaps it is the realization that you have never been loved like this, the fact that it is your queen, the woman you have been dreaming about for years, who holds such affections for you.

"Alicent," you say and she lifts her head to meet your gaze. "Please, I want to taste you."

At first she seems hesitant, almost like the young girl she used to be, uncertain whether your intentions are true. But after a moment she seems to come back to herself and remember who you are, her gaze softening, gaining confidence and trust. She settles on her back beside you, propped up by silken pillows with her skin glowing like embers, draped in the faint light of the fire and a dozen candles.

She is beautiful with her lips swollen by your kisses, her pale breasts exposed and hardened, a faint line of hair leading from her belly button to a thicker tuft at the apex of her thighs. You admire her for a moment, kneeling in front of her with your limbs still trembling in the aftermath of your pleasure. What love you held for her before this night has grown insurmountably and you believe with all your heart that this cannot be sin, that it cannot be wrong when it is nothing short of worship.

You gently spread her thighs, revealing her to you fully. Reverent kisses to the insides of her knees, down her thighs that feel so soft against your lips. She moans when you caress a particularly sensitive spot and the sound is like music, urging you to leave more kisses all over skin, following the lines on her abdomen up to her breasts. You take one into your mouth, sucking gently at her hardened nipple until it is pink and swollen. Alicent weaves her fingers through your hair, the other hand caressing your shoulder. Her hips buck, wanting for attention, and you finally succumb and settle at her core.

With your eyes locked on hers you leave a kiss on her mound. Alicent links her fingers with yours and presses your intertwined hands to her abdomen as if to ground herself. Her other hand brushes a stray curl from your forehead. You slowly press your mouth to her cunt, tongue dipping between her folds to taste her. She moans again, louder this time, and you continue to attend to her, dipping your tongue into her and kissing every part you can reach. You forget yourself after a moment, lost in the whimpers and gasps that fill your ears, her soft skin and sweet taste.

As her pleasure builds, Alicent's hand fully tangles in your hair and she pushes your face deeper against her, her other hand gripping yours so tight that you begin to feel a distant pain. You cannot help your own wanton moan, wanting to make her feel like she made you feel. As you focus on her pearl, applying gentle pressure to her most sensitive areas, you use your second hand to spread her folds and dip your finger into her entrance. When you meet no resistance you add a second one and begin to rub them back and forth inside of her. It does not take long until her hips stutter as she rolls them against your face, the music falling from her lips now muffled by her hand.

You can feel her release as though it is your own, her muscles clenching around your digits, her release wet on your tongue as her whole body shudders. You continue until she pushes your face away, looking up at you see chest rising and falling rapidly, her brow damp and lips parted. A sense of deep bliss settles inside of you at the realization that you made her feel such pleasure, that she allows you to see this intimate side of her that you are not sure anyone else has ever seen.

She releases your hand to brush her hair back and you sit back on your heels to clean your face, taking in the sight of her without shame this time. You are not sure you could leave her now, not sure if you could ever have enough of her, already feeling the need again to touch her, kiss her, worship her.

After a moment Alicent reaches out, her hand wrapping around your wrist before she pulls you toward her. Curling against her side you sigh at the softness of her body, hiding your face at her neck. She welcomes you, arms slung around you tightly as you notice her calming down more and more. You are exhausted, in a way, and yet you are not sure that the night will come to an end so soon. Her hand in your hair and the fingers trailing the curve of your breast remind you that she has not had enough of you either.

For the moment you are both content holding the other close. You breathe in the scents of her bath, listen to the slowing rhythm of her breath. Alicent trails gentle kisses along your brow, then her arms tighten around you and her mouth comes to rest by your ear.

"Promise you won't leave again."

You pull back, shifting to bring your mouth back to hers. “Promise you won’t make me.”

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

[heartseungs-archive]

lucky strike | l.dh

word count: 2.3k | genre: arcade employee! haechan, high school au, (sort of?) f2l, mc and hc are very cute | warnings: none

Haechan notices you the moment you step foot into the arcade. After all, it’s not every day that his crush walks into his workplace, unaccompanied and teary-eyed. You stick out like a sore thumb amongst the neon red and blues of the pinball machines, pristine white shoes thudding against the cement floor which hasn’t been cleaned in years.

He hasn’t had the opportunity to speak to you much, considering the both of you are in entirely different social circles. However, he does know you’re a responsible class representative and someone who never hesitates to greet him with a smile in the morning, which he shyly returns. His friends have teased him endlessly for the way he seemingly becomes mute when you approach, his cheeks always heating up. Haechan is extroverted, but he supposes even he becomes withdrawn in the presence of your warmth and friendliness.

Which is why the unfamiliar sight of you crying immediately sends a pang to his heart, but he’s not entirely sure how to approach you without making the situation become uncomfortable. You likely want solitude, and it’s the least Haechan can do to let you have it, both as a well-behaved employee and an almost-friend.

It’s a quiet weekday at the arcade, and Haechan’s eyes follow you as you move from the token machine to a few different games, until you finally settle on the fishing one. Throughout, your expression remains unchanged, even though you occasionally sniffle slightly.

Fuck it, Haechan thinks. Before he knows it, he’s made his way over to you, and he knows how clear the difference is between the both of you. While Haechan wouldn’t call himself a delinquent, he’s definitely not the model student you are. He’s had one or two tardies this semester, and his red Converse is definitely not in line with attire rules. Still, you light up at the sight of him, a wobbly smile making its way onto your face.

“Oh, Haechan-ah. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Haechan wants to say that your appearance here is even more unexpected, but instead, he rubs the back of his head nervously. “I work here.” Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘o’ of understanding, and he can’t help but think it’s one of the cutest things he’s seen.

“You shouldn’t play at the same seat. You’ll have a higher chance of winning if you switch the player more often,” Haechan blurts out. He’s afraid of allowing the silence to become too awkward, and so he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “Really? I didn’t think it made a difference. Thankfully you work here. Do you want to sit and play with me?”

“Huh?” Haechan’s eyes widen, slightly taken aback. You’re asking him?

“Sorry, I forgot that you must be busy considering you work here. Please don’t let me disturb you.” Your cheeks are red from slight embarrassment, and you’re mentally kicking yourself for even making that ridiculous request. He must have just wanted to say hello. Now you’ve put him in a spot, Y/N.

He shakes his head fervently, so hard that it startles you. “No, I’m not busy at all. I’d love to. Besides, if I play with you, we can get more tickets.” Haechan immediately pulls a chair over, and you pass him your stack of tokens. The both of you play a few games, enough for you to realize that Haechan is much better at this than you are.

However, when you remark on his skills, he shrugs nonchalantly. “I used to play this every day when I was a kid.” Your eyes widen, and you grin a little. “Really? Me too!”

“Well, you’re quite bad at it for someone who says she plays often,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. ‘Okay, whatever you say.”

It’s interesting how rapidly your mood lightened the moment Haechan appeared, a wide smile on your face compared to your previously glum expression.

He clears his throat then, eyes shifting around. “What is it?” You ask, looking around as well.

“I just…sorry. This might be a bit too nosy of me. You don’t have to reply or anything. But your eyes were a little red when you came in. Are you alright?” The genuine concern in Haechan’s voice is surprising to you, considering the nature of your acquaintance. However, his doe-brown eyes are earnest as they stare into yours, and you find your gaze escaping to your feet, which tap on the floor nervously out of habit.

A small laugh escapes you, and you nod. “Yeah. It was just a bad argument with my parents. You know how it is. I just came here because I needed a distraction.” Haechan nods, sympathizing with your situation. If anything, he finds his fondness for you growing. The way that you’re so kind and welcoming to everyone at school, and to him, even if you’re having a bad day.

“Well, feel free to drop by whenever. Though preferably on weekdays, since that’s when I work. The other guy, Jaemin, is really strict about tickets. I’ll throw in freebies for you though.”

Haechan’s words allow your smile to grow even brighter, and he feels a sense of pride in seeing the way your shoulders gradually become less sunken and a familiar twinkle returning to your eye.

Suddenly, he gets up from where he’s sitting, causing your eyes to fix curiously on him.

“I’ve got a place to show you. Come on.” You immediately get up to follow after Haechan, who winds past the claw machines and basketball hoops to a more isolated part of the arcade.

A faded wooden sign dangles above the capsule machines, neatly lined up in rows . The light barely reaches this side of the arcade, and Haechan turns on a lightbulb that flickers precariously in the smaller space. Compared to the almost-deafening noises outside, this feels almost therapeutic in some way.

“MBTI Fortunes? I haven’t seen this in a while,” you mutter in mild surprise.

“This is one of my favourite sections. Try it.” You immediately head over to the roller machine and turn the knob, stainless metal cool against your fingers. Barely seconds later, the familiar sight of a red ball rolling gently down the chute enters your vision, before it lands neatly in your hand.

You tilt your head towards Haechan. “You try it too,” you say, smiling. So he’s an ENFP, you think, as he walks over. It makes sense, you suppose. Haechan’s definitely extroverted from the way he acts with his friends, and he’s constantly the center of attention. If anything, you wish you had more of his effortless confidence. There’s no way you could ever approach someone like he did. But you’re impossibly grateful for his presence.

“Should we open it?” He says, throwing the red ball up and catching it smoothly as he makes his way back over to you.

It takes a while, but the both of you eventually manage to twist the capsule open, unrolling the tiny folded piece of paper. Haechan holds it up to the light, squinting to read the writing.

“Take a chance. It just might be a lucky strike,” he mutters, humming in thought.

However, your voice rings out much clearer than his and causes Haechan to pause. “A heart-fluttering event will happen to you today.” You clear your throat nervously, cheeks immediately reddening. Right now, there’s only one person in mind, and he’s standing right in front of you.

“Ah…don’t get too bothered by it. These are all just random anyways.” Haechan is perturbed by the slight stutter in his voice, the way his pulse is speeding up, and how he’s unable to look at you for too long. It’s just because you’re pretty, he thinks. It’s not good to look at pretty people for too long, or his ego will be hurt.

When the both of you make your way back to the main area of the arcade, the silence becomes awkward, but it’s an almost endearing sight. You fiddle with your fingers, but you’re unaware of the fact that Haechan is the exact same.

“Well, thank you for today. That was fun. I should let you get back to work. I’ll see you in school?” You mumble, a faint smile on your face. Haechan nods eagerly. “Yeah. I'll see you.” He wonders if he’ll be able to strike up the same conversation in school. He thinks this is the longest time he's ever interacted with you, and he hopes it isn’t the last.

Haechan can’t help but feel slightly forlorn as he watches you make your way towards the exit of the arcade, red capsule ball in hand. His work is going to feel much longer without your presence. His eyes inevitably drift to the piece of paper that he, for some mysterious reason, hasn't yet thrown away. Take a chance, it says. Haechan's a spontaneous person. The most spontaneous one he knows, actually. Still, he finds it a bit hard to make rash decisions when it comes to you. Maybe it’s because your work is written in neat, clean lines while his is more of a legible scribble. Or that your stationery is neatly categorized in the same color while Haechan’s is more of a haphazard rainbow.

Still, he hopes you’ll accept the slightly disorganized mess that is him.

“Jaemin’s going to kill me for this,” he complains, as he makes his way towards the area containing all of the redeemable prizes. Still, he thinks it’s a worthy tradeoff, facing the wrath of the grumpy blue-haired man who acts like he’s so much older than Haechan when he’s just a college student.

You’re just about to turn a street when you hear the thundering of footsteps on cobblestone behind you, and you’re quick to turn around, alarmed. Haechan almost crashes into you, out of breath and face flushed.

“Haechan? Is something wrong?” There is evident alarm on your face, and Haechan shakes his head vehemently. Just then, you look down at what he’s holding in his hands and let out a slight laugh.

“Did you run all the way here…for this?” You ask.

“Yeah. It’s…for you.” Haechan extends out the Cinnamoroll plushie to you, an expression of anticipation on his face. You take it from him, smoothing your hand over its fluffy ears. A certain sense of warmth fills you. Maybe this was the heart-fluttering event the paper mentioned. Because you’re quite sure that your pulse is now fluttering wildly as you look at Haechan.

“Thank you. But how did you get it? I definitely didn’t have enough tickets for this.” There's a curious glint in your eyes, and Haechan lets out a little scoff.

“Well, I have some benefits as an arcade employee, I suppose,” he says nonchalantly. What he doesn't tell you is that he's now in crippling debt to Jaemin, and will likely spend much more money winning the tickets to pay it off than if he just bought you the plushie.

Seeing the radiant smile on your face only encourages Haechan to make another rash decision. Maybe he’ll fall flat on his face, but he wants to at least try.

“My shift ends in an hour. I know a really good tteokbokki place,” he says, the words coming out of him in a rush, and then realises the abruptness of his statement.

You smirk slightly, and it’s an unfamiliar expression to Haechan to see you so playful, but he doesn’t mind it at all.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Your confidence is sudden, but you find that it comes more easily with Haechan around.

“It can be one. If you want it to be,” Haechan replies immediately. His gaze is much more determined now, and you’re almost intimidated by it. But you refuse to back down, especially when this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Okay. It’s a date.” You can’t hide your smile when you say it, and immediately saunter back in the direction of the arcade. Haechan, who still can’t wrap his head about the reality of the situation, automatically follows you. His crush agreed to go on a date with him. You, Y/N, model student and the girl who Haechan thinks has the most beautiful smile he's ever seen in his life, has agreed to eat tteokbokki with him. It's a small start, but a start nonetheless.

“Wait, actually? Also, why are you going back to the arcade?” He asks, confused.

You hold up the soft toy, not even looking back. “Apparently, someone’s in debt. I should return the favor, right?” Oh fuck, I said that out loud. You don’t bother to reply his first question, and Haechan’s quite sure he looks rather ridiculous with how big his smile is.

When the both of you are back, you immediately make a beeline for the fishing game again, looking even more committed to it than previously. The soft toy is placed gently in your lap, and you occasionally hug it unconsciously. Haechan's heartbeat has finally slowed down from it's breakneck pace, but he thinks the fondness he feels at the sight of you is an even more exhilarating feeling.

You’re his lucky strike, he thinks, and he'll gladly take as many chances as needed for you.

[solitary-traveler]

Stars Around My Scars

The scars on your wrists stood out to him though and he usually expresses great displeasure towards it.  “I don't like them” he frowns, “They reek of desperation”

Kabukimono x Gn!Reader

Notes: Hiii, so um let me clear a couple things first. I'm not able to post the second part for ascent to oblivion since I'm busy and exams are coming up. I promise I'll upload it as soon as possible. Take this simple gift for now. And yes this is a repost. Anyway, I just merged them together. That was a shitty decision honestly. Seriously, me and my impatient ass yesterday-

Art: @OogyPng (X)

Warning: mentions of self harm, i swear there's fluff-

The beauty of mortal life comes with its finite period of existence, that fleeting period before dissipating in the blink of an eye. 

Much akin to that of a firework display.

They explode, bragging their scintillating colors that douse the sun in jealousy. With an ear-piercing blast, it blankets the night sky, fluorescing like the moon as it gleams like the stars above.

If life was momentary for a puny human, why not make use of it?

Why not become a wanderer and travel the world?

You get to region hop and satiate your wanderlust. To encounter unfamiliar faces and attach their names to your expanding friends’ list. To pick up tidbits about riveting stories recounted by elders and children alike. The possibilities are unending, a spectacle waiting to be unboxed.

Yet there’s always the impending menace of falling victim to the grappling claws of solitude.

You’ve been plunged into that headspace a few times already. Despite your protests, the glister of joy and love you’ve gotten from simple things flickered faintly, the bleakness settling in. Your surroundings felt barren, as the dismal winds swept away every inch of ecstasy from within you. Your godforsaken history comes back to taunt you, a reminder of your internal demons who’s having a field day tormenting you.

“You’re so fucking petty it’s almost hilarious. So undeserving. Why are you still here? You’re not worth anything. And you’ll never be.”

“An accident? That’s a bullshit excuse.Without you, the accident wouldn’t occur. It’s all your fault. Everything is.”

“Everyone hates you. Why can’t you get that right? Everyone you talk to finds a fault in you that they don’t dare say to your face. But they know. They can’t help but judge you. Of course they would wouldn’t they? You’re a weirdo”

“A disgrace.”

“A worthless piece of shit.”

The thoughts bounce within your mind, endlessly toying with your emotional state.

You emit a burst of bitter laughter.

It‘s cold.

The temperature was rather freezing despite the incandescence the sun was offering. You can barely feel it radiate through your skin, as a pang smashes through your heart.

You don’t want to be cold.

Your gaze shifts to your sword resting on the patch of grass beside you.

Another benefit of wandering. No one would suspect that your scars are self-inflicted.

As far as you’re concerned, It’s only natural for wanderers to acquire marks that resemble cuts and bruises on their bodies. Incessantly faced with the turmoil of threats and hazards, scars are assumed to serve as tokens of the risk they have confronted on their previous journeys. 

Besides, it’s not like you wanted to do it. It just felt right. Like the self imposed wounds on your wrists belonged there. It felt as if the blade slicing your hand like paper was supposed to do it. That watching the red liquid flow out of it was because you deserved it.

At least you’re not cold anymore. Who knew blood could be so warm?

—-------------------------

The distant display of lights crackle against the tranquil night.

You flash a mixture of colors, expressing the turmoil of what you refer to as your emotions. Yet the speck of your allure was gradually dwindling. 

It wouldn’t take long before you vanish.

Like a pretty firework.

But what use is a pretty firework when it waves and dances all alone with the stars, concealed far from anyone's vision? 

What use is a pretty firework when they're just meant to blink momentarily and dissolve?

You got your answer when you met an eccentric puppet during one of your travels. Sweet, little Kabukimono found your dying spark and rekindled it with his saccharine smiles and candied words. 

You grasped the concept of how fireworks are meant to shine for others to see, for at least one person to view and relish. For them to admire. And for them to love.

And Kabukimono loved you.

There’s no denying that. 

Your traveling companion cherished you, always doting you with his presence. He would never leave your side unaccounted for and often offers you praises that you find doubtful.

“You’re so cool Y/N! You’re so efficient in fighting! Can you teach me??”

“I didn’t mean to stare! You just… looked pretty from here…”

“I just wanted to spend time with you! …Is that so bad?”

Much to your skepticism, you find yourself hesitating to swallow his words. They felt like lies, sugar coated phrases meant to lure you into a trap of false hope. False sense of security. I mean, who would find you this interesting? Who would want to be by your side? Who would want to constantly seek you out because they enjoyed your presence? Because they enjoy being with you?

Lies. 

Every honeyed statement that rolls out of his tongue are nothing but lies.

He was going to leave you. Sooner or later.

But for whatever reason, the puppet stayed. He would not tire from his sickening performance of pretending to care for you. He should visit the theater sometimes, given how top tier his acting skills are. He claims with a two faced, innocent grin that the place beside you was his, and only his for as long as you were together. He says he wants to know about you—to study and learn what makes you… you—all the while those deceitful puppy eyes stare at you whenever you recount tales from your journey.

You’re stubborn self refuses to acknowledge the fact that he’s showing you genuine affection. Authentic fondness.

Maybe… it’s not an act? 

You were perplexed. You aren’t sure how to navigate through the solution of this problem, considering how you have no experiences regarding this matter. You aren’t aware of what to do, of what to say. It was frightening really, venturing into uncharted territories. 

So you do nothing.

And Kabukimono remains by your side.

The puppet was nosey when it came to you. One time, he caught a glimpse of your scars when you attempted to snatch a fish for dinner, only to result in you falling into the water. You sure had plenty of them. He sighs, wondering how much they must’ve hurt. Poor you.

In all honesty, he pities you. You carry an aura of despair, a chilling sensation that never seems to go away. It was attached to you in a way, like a melancholic burden that lays upon your shoulders. A suffering the puppet doesn’t want you going through. 

He would often ask about the origin of your scars. You were quite reluctant at first, but his persistence was soon rewarded by one of your wondrous tales. He cherishes your stories. It was always enchanting to hear about different regions that he can not visit. 

The scars on your wrists stood out to him though and he usually expresses great displeasure towards it. 

“I don't like them” he frowns, “They reek of desperation”

In the young Kabuki’s mind, he notices that they don’t match the other marks on the surface of your skin. They were messy and painful to look at, like a blend of misery and torment was doused over that certain area. A mixture that can’t be dried, that can’t be removed.

He detested seeing you drowning in your sorrows.

An idea invaded his thoughts. He picks up a bright yellow marker from your bag and gently clutches your arm. He pops open the cap and uses your hand as a canvas, doodling little stars around your scars. This warrants an eyebrow raise from you, a look he just dismisses. 

“What are you doing?”

He flashes you a grin—one of the many precious expressions he loves to show off to you—as he huffs proudly, “I'm drawing stars!”

You were baffled. “...Why?”

“So that these little guys can protect you! That way, no more painful scars when I'm not around!”

When I'm not around.

A tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

You were feeling a bit cold today. 

But Kabukimono seemed to have warmed you up in his own way.

For a moment, your inner demons  and insecurities were thrown behind a wall, padlocked there while Kabuki held the key. The world stilled, no movement dared to interrupt the serene moment between two wanderers who found solace in the presence of each other. 

Your gaze never left the indigo haired puppet as he continues to work on the stars. He was focused on it like it was some masterpiece he was dying to show to the world.

…Seriously, he's such a silly guy.

[dm-tuz]

Play as an enigmatic Arachne. Commonly, these arachnoid humanoids are content with the company of themselves, but some individuals leave their solitude to seek influence, fame, and riches in the adventuring life! The Arachne player race has you covered with four different types of spider ladies to play in your 5e game. Which one will you choose?

If you enjoy this content consider subscribing to my patreon for the Arachne Premium Edition which will features additional player options, such as the Phaser subrace, has more artwork, and gives you VTT tokens and Handouts! If you are not a fan of patreon, consider checking out my kofi page instead!

[aventurineswife]

Poly relationship hcs with moze and jiaoqiu, please and thank you, take your time.

-Smooch Anon 💋

Poly Relationship HCs With Mozeqiu!

Tags: Moze x Reader x Jiaoqiu, Headcanons, Poly Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Suggestive at the end, Protective Partners, Tender Moments, Moze being Moze (aka a clean boy 🫧).

(art by: Minrou on X)

You’re at the center of two drastically different personalities. Moze, the silent, controlled assassin, often needs solitude and order to recharge, while Jiaoqiu, the warm yet deeply contemplative healer, enjoys meaningful conversation and emotional connection.

You end up being the bridge between their worlds, and your presence helps create an unspoken balance in their lives. They respect each other’s contrasting natures and both trust you as the anchor that keeps them grounded.

Though Moze appears cold and detached, being in a relationship with you and Jiaoqiu encourages him to confront his buried emotions and past traumas. Jiaoqiu’s own approach to healing becomes more personal when he sees how much Moze needs emotional healing, and Jiaoqiu uses his insight to gradually help Moze open up. You’re a supportive presence for both, providing a safe space for Moze to express his vulnerabilities and for Jiaoqiu to explore his own unspoken fears.

Moze is highly protective, though in a quiet way—he rarely expresses worry directly but will always position himself subtly nearby when he senses danger. Jiaoqiu’s protectiveness is more comforting and direct, ensuring you and Moze are physically and emotionally well. They each have their own way of keeping you safe: Moze watches over you in silence, while Jiaoqiu reminds you both to eat well, rest, and find time to enjoy life despite the surrounding chaos.

Moze has a strong need for cleanliness, so he establishes little routines to feel in control, like polishing his weapons or arranging items precisely. Jiaoqiu joins in these routines to help calm him, often making tea or incense to create a peaceful atmosphere. You become part of this ritual too, with the three of you sharing quiet moments where everything feels calm and orderly. It becomes a shared, intimate habit that brings them both a sense of stability.

The three of you develop a unique understanding that goes beyond words. Moze is reserved, so you and Jiaoqiu learn to pick up on his subtle cues—like the slight tension in his shoulders when he’s anxious or the way he avoids eye contact when he’s uncomfortable. Jiaoqiu becomes adept at reading these signs, gently coaxing Moze to share his concerns without pushing him. With you, Moze feels that he doesn’t have to say much, as you understand his intentions and emotions intuitively.

Jiaoqiu’s empathy and patience help both of you navigate difficult conversations. He guides you and Moze through emotionally charged moments with his calm, perceptive nature, encouraging each of you to open up when you’re ready. Moze, who is typically closed off, finds it easier to trust because of Jiaoqiu’s genuine warmth and quiet wisdom. You often observe Jiaoqiu’s influence in the way Moze becomes a little more open over time, showing glimpses of vulnerability.

Living together with Moze and Jiaoqiu means creating a space where each person has a bit of their own sanctuary. Moze has his corner of the home, meticulously organized and clean, where he sharpens his blades or meditates in silence. Jiaoqiu has his alchemical setup, with various herbs and elixirs that lend a calming scent to the air. You bring in elements that blend their spaces, placing flowers, candles, or keepsakes to add warmth and unite the atmosphere.

Since Moze isn’t one to display affection openly, he shows his love through quiet, deliberate actions. He’ll leave small tokens or thoughtful notes for you and Jiaoqiu, often concealed so that only you two would notice. Jiaoqiu, in turn, appreciates these gestures and gently encourages Moze’s subtle ways of connecting, which gradually helps Moze feel more comfortable expressing affection. Your warmth and encouragement make it easier for him to show that he cares.

Since Moze values peace and solitude, nights together are often calm and reflective. You, Moze, and Jiaoqiu will spend evenings in a comfortable silence, maybe sharing a soft drink or warm tea, finding peace in each other’s company. These moments of stillness allow Moze to unwind, and Jiaoqiu often finds himself lost in his thoughts or offering insights into recent events. For you, it’s a time to bask in the tranquility of being with them, feeling the unspoken bond that ties you together.

Jiaoqiu teaches you and Moze about herbs, healing, and the importance of internal wellness, offering practical and spiritual wisdom. Moze, in turn, imparts a sense of discipline, showing both of you the importance of resilience and perseverance, even if he rarely speaks of his methods directly. The two of them broaden your understanding of both the strength of the body and the mind’s need for peace, shaping a relationship that is both physically and spiritually enriching.

Despite his solitary nature, Moze begins to see a future with you and Jiaoqiu, and it’s a hope he rarely allows himself to feel. Jiaoqiu’s presence helps him begin to believe in the possibility of lasting companionship, and your love solidifies it. They both find themselves thinking of a life beyond the darkness they’re used to, and together, you all start to imagine a place where duty, healing, and love coexist.

Both you and Jiaoqiu know that Moze needs his solitude from time to time, so you develop a quiet understanding of each other’s boundaries. Jiaoqiu respects Moze’s space, even when his healer’s instincts want to comfort him, and you do the same. Moze appreciates this patience and in return, tries to open himself up a little more, knowing that neither of you will push him beyond what he’s ready to share. This mutual respect strengthens your bond, making it one where everyone feels seen and respected.

Jiaoqiu has a lighthearted side that sometimes comes out, especially to brighten Moze’s mood or lift the group’s spirits. He’ll occasionally tease Moze or playfully ruffle his hair, coaxing a rare smile or soft chuckle. You join in on these playful moments, enjoying the way Moze’s usual stoicism softens just a little. Though Moze may pretend to be unamused, you can see the slight warmth in his eyes, hinting that he secretly enjoys this levity.

After long days, especially if one of you have been in a dangerous mission, Jiaoqiu tends to insist on “healing time” for everyone, pulling out soothing balms and herbal compresses. Though Moze initially resisted, over time he came to accept it, lying quietly as Jiaoqiu and you take turn massaging his shoulders or applying the remedies. These intimate moments become a kind of emotional healing as well, and you three often fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, reassured by the steady warmth of each other’s presence.

Moze and Jiaoqiu often exchange lingering glances filled with unspoken tension, especially when they’re alone with you. Moze’s reserved nature adds an alluring mystery, while Jiaoqiu’s gentle touch and soft-spoken words create an atmosphere that’s both tender and intense. You, often the playful instigator, love teasing Moze to break his composure, sliding close and whispering just enough to see him tense, while Jiaoqiu watches, amused. The build-up of quiet anticipation becomes a cherished game among them, often ending in a passionate closeness that leaves you three all breathless and content.

[starless-nightz]

hi could I request athena with a nymph s/o please?

Athena with a nymph! S/O

note -> I just assmed this was for epic! Athena, but I also write for pjo! Athena

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, reader is a wood nymph, nature, stressed! Athena, flower crows.

Athena never had to explain herself when she seeks refuge in the forest, you, a wood nymph, understand the weight of her responsibilities, offering quiet comfort rather than conversation, you two woukd sit together beneath the trees, your soft humming or the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind being the only sounds she could hear, making Athena feel much more comfortable and relaxed

Despite Athena’s sharp, armored exterior, you love to decorate her with small tokens from the forest—flower crowns, pretty vines wrapped around her wrist, or leaves tucked into her hair, and Athena doesn’t mind it, when she wears them into battle, which is pretty rare, she feels a little more grounded, a little more connected to you

The forest becomes a safe heaven for Athena, whenever the weight of Olympus or the chaos of war becomes too much, she retreats there, it’s the one place where she can lay down her weapons and feel at ease and you never judge her for needing this, offering the shelter of the trees and their calming presence

Athena values her independence, and so do you, you both respect each others need for solitude, Athena never overstays her welcome in the forest, knowing that you thrive on the time spent in the peacful forest, and you doesn’t intrude when Athena needs to focus on her duties

Athena would never force you to live on Olympus with her, she values and loves you too much to do that to you but she makes sure to come and see you every single day, and if shes unable to come she would send one of her owls to keep you company until her return

Despite her serious demeanor, you bring out a softness in the war goddess, when you two are alone, Athena allows herself to smile more, and you tease her gently, your laughter like the rustle of leaves, in these moments Athena feels lighter, unburdened, she feels free

[nodusomnis]

title: screened affections pairing(s): itoshi sae x gn!reader word count: 2.5k+ synopsis: watching a somber film won't halt your tears' flow, and you'd rather your swollen eyes remain unseen to him, you know.

As the sun danced high in the sky, casting a warm glow upon the world, Sae's day unfolded in the typical rhythm of his routine. The morning had seen him through his training sessions, the sweat glistening on his skin as he pushed himself to his limits on the field. With the midday sun now reigning supreme, Sae found himself in the quiet interlude between tasks, a time when he could steal a moment to himself.

But in this moment of respite, his thoughts wandered to you. Across the miles that separated you, he wondered about your day, your activities, your thoughts. His phone lay nearby, a silent sentinel waiting for any sign of your presence. It had been hours since he last heard from you, since your message had danced onto his screen, promising an evening of entertainment, of shared moments even in the distance.

Yet, as the minutes stretched into hours, a flicker of impatience began to gnaw at him. Why hadn't you responded? Had something come up? Was the movie captivating you to the point of forgetfulness? Sae shook his head, knowing he shouldn't let such trivialities bother him. You had your own life, your own rhythms, just as he did. And yet, despite this rationalization, a sense of unease lingered.

With a sigh, he glanced at his phone once more, hoping to find a new message waiting for him, a sign that you were still there, still thinking of him amidst the distractions of the day. But the screen remained stubbornly blank, devoid of any new notifications.

Still, Sae persisted in his patience, knowing that you deserved the same understanding that you had always shown him. Despite his own shortcomings, despite the times he had kept you waiting, you had always greeted him with warmth and affection, your smile a beacon of light even in the darkest of moments.

Sae's thoughts swirled with a mixture of gratitude and guilt as he reflected on the dynamics of your relationship. He couldn't help but acknowledge the asymmetry in your efforts, the way you consistently showed understanding and patience even in the face of his shortcomings. It weighed heavily on him, this awareness of his own failings juxtaposed against your unwavering support.

The distance between you, both physical and emotional, seemed to amplify the complexities of your connection. Each day brought its own challenges, its own moments of doubt and longing. Sae couldn't deny the pang of loneliness that occasionally gripped his heart, the ache for your touch, your presence, so far beyond his reach.

Yet, amidst the distance and the doubts, there was a profound sense of appreciation that blossomed within him. He cherished the moments of connection, however fleeting they might be, the messages exchanged, the gifts given, the shared laughter and dreams that transcended the miles between you. It was these small gestures, these tokens of affection, that served as lifelines in the vast expanse of your separation.

But alongside this appreciation lurked the shadow of insecurity, the fear that one day you might tire of his flaws, his inconsistencies, and choose to walk away.Indeed, Sae embodies traits of coldness, indifference, and rudeness. Were he in your shoes, he would likely grow weary of his own demeanor as well. It was a thought he couldn't shake, a whisper of doubt that haunted his mind in moments of solitude. 

Yet, even as this fear plagued him, Sae found comfort in the knowledge that you had chosen to stay, to weather the storms of his temperament with grace and understanding. He knew he didn't deserve you, didn't deserve the way you loved him despite his faults. And yet, there you were, a light in the darkness, a reminder of the goodness that still existed in the world.

With a heavy heart, Sae made a silent vow to do better, to be more present, more attentive, more deserving of the love you so freely gave. For in you, he found not only a partner, but a mirror reflecting back the best parts of himself, urging him to strive for greater heights, to be worthy of the love he had been blessed with. And for that, he would be eternally grateful.

As Sae's thoughts swirled in the quiet of his surroundings, the sudden ping of a notification jarred him from his reverie. With a quick glance at his phone, he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw your name illuminated on the screen. Despite his outward calm, a spark of anticipation flickered within him, eager to see what message awaited him from you after hours of silence.

You: I've finished watching the movie. I have a favor to ask. Could we refrain from calling at this time?

As Sae read your message, a sense of displeasure crept over him, overshadowing the relief of finally hearing from you. Your request to postpone the call raised red flags in his mind, triggering a subtle but concrete sense of suspicion.

He furrowed his brow in instinctive concern, his curiosity piqued by your vague explanation. Why did you suddenly want to delay the call? What were you hiding? Sae's mind raced with possibilities, each more troubling than the last.

Sae: Tell me  a credible explanation as to why we should refrain from calling at this moment?

You: Well, there are certain matters… that require my attention and preparation at this time…

Sae's intuition had become finely attuned to the nuances of your words, to the subtle shifts in your tone and demeanor that betrayed the truth beneath the surface. Over the years, he had learned to decipher the language of your heart, to recognize the telltale signs of deception or concealment.

It wasn't just a matter of familiarity, but a deep understanding born from years of shared experiences and intimate moments. Sae knew you better than anyone else, perhaps even better than you knew yourself. He had witnessed the full spectrum of your emotions, from joy to sorrow, from anger to affection, and he could read them like an open book.

So when your message arrived, cloaked in evasion and half-truths, Sae's instincts immediately kicked in. He sensed the hesitance in your words, the reluctance to reveal the full extent of whatever was weighing on your mind. And though he couldn't pinpoint the exact nature of your deception, he knew enough to recognize that something was amiss.

Sae: And that thing is?

You: Confidential! 

Sae's frustration bubbled to the surface, his jaw clenching as he read your message. The very idea of you keeping something from him, especially under the guise of confidentiality, struck a nerve deep within him. After all, honesty and openness had been the pillars of your relationship, the guiding principles that had bound you together through thick and thin.

The notion that you would go against your own principles, that you would hide something from him when you had always been so transparent, felt like a betrayal of the trust the two of you had built over the years. Sae couldn't help but feel a surge of indignation, a righteous anger that burned hot in his chest.

You were his partner, his confidante, his rock in times of need. And he had always believed that you would share everything with him, no matter how difficult or sensitive the topic. The idea that you would choose to keep something from him, to shut him out of your thoughts and feelings, was almost incomprehensible to him.

Since Sae had enough of this game of cat and mouse, he didn’t hesitate a second to call you. As the phone rang in his ear, Sae's heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and urgency, but remained composed. With each unanswered ring, his worry deepened, eclipsing his frustration with a sense of impending dread. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that you needed him at this moment, and he was failing to reach you.

With a furrowed brow, Sae clenched his jaw, his fingers tapping anxiously against the phone as he waited for you to pick up. Each passing second felt like an eternity, stretching out into the abyss of uncertainty. What if you were in trouble? What if you needed his help and he wasn't there for you?

The thought sent a chill down his spine, driving him to redouble his efforts to reach you. He dialed your number again, the urgency in his movements disclosing the depth of his concern. He couldn't bear the thought of you being in distress, of facing whatever challenges lay ahead without him by your side.

Sae: (Name), answer right this instant.

Once more, Sae's call came through, lingering in the air as the phone rang persistently. After nearly half a minute, you finally answered.

“S-Sae… I was in the bathroom a while ago. I didn’t know you called.” Your voice tinged with an apologetic tone as you explained your delayed response. Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, Sae's calm demeanor masked a subtle hint of authority.

As you spoke, there were faint sounds of movement, suggesting you were adjusting your position. Then, in a soft yet firm tone, Sae remarked, "I can't see you."

There was a pause, filled only with the distant sounds of ambient noise. Eventually, you responded, your voice slightly muffled, indicating that you had turned away from the screen. 

"I prefer not to show my face right now."

Sae's forehead creases deeper, a subtle sign of frustration evident in the way he clicked his tongue in disapproval. "After all these years together, you're still embarrassed for me to see your face during our calls?" he questioned, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice.

He couldn't help but scoff at the irony of the situation, but your response was only a timid whimper, revealing your discomfort.

"I don't want to..." you trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper.

"(Name)," Sae sighed, his tone gentle yet probing. "Why are you so reluctant for me to see your face?"

He shifted his position on the couch, leaning back and resting his head against the backrest. The monotony of your ceiling, the only thing visible to him on the screen, began to wear on him. He had been eagerly awaiting this moment for hours, eager to see your face after fulfilling his responsibilities. Yet now, when he finally had the chance, you seemed adamant about hiding yourself. It left him perplexed. It couldn't simply be shyness. There had to be something more, some underlying reason driving your reluctance.

"It's because..." you began, but trailed off, briefly glancing at your phone. In that moment, Sae caught a glimpse of your forehead and your swollen eyes before you hastily averted your gaze, returning the screen to its previous view of the ceiling.

"That's the reason! Now you've seen me!" you cried out, your voice tinged with anguish.

So, the reason you didn't want Sae to see you was because you had been crying. He had a suspicion it might be related to the movie you watched. But this wasn't the first time tears had stained your cheeks in each other's presence. The memory of past conflicts and misunderstandings lingered, casting a shadow over your relationship. Some of those tears had been shed because of Sae himself, a fact that weighed heavily on his conscience.

His reaction to your tears was complex. Despite his outward facade of indifference, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt whenever he saw you in distress. It stirred a deep-seated sense of inadequacy within him, a belief that he was somehow to blame for your tears. Beneath his stoic exterior lay a turbulent sea of emotions, swirling with remorse and self-doubt.

In those moments of conflict, Sae's instinct was to act swiftly. He would seek reconciliation, eager to mend the rift between you and offer a sincere apology, regardless of the cost to his pride. His concern for your well-being was genuine, rooted in a profound appreciation for your presence in his life. Despite your reassurances that you could handle things on your own, Sae couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility that weighed heavily on his shoulders. 

Your influence on Sae was undeniable. You had touched his life in ways he never imagined, prompting him to confront his own shortcomings and strive for personal growth. Despite his flaws and occasional bouts of unpleasantness, he was willing to go to great lengths to ensure your happiness.

"(Name), have I not previously conveyed to you that there is no need for secrecy between us?" Sae's voice was gentle yet firm as he spoke, prompting you to glance at your phone screen once more.

"Yeah... I'm just embarrassed that you'll see me with swollen eyes because of a movie," you admitted, sniffling softly.

"I've witnessed you in more dire conditions than this. There's no reason for you to feel ashamed. It's not as though it poses a threat to your life, you see?"

"Whatever," you retorted, rolling your eyes, eliciting a faint smile from Sae. "I know you're just going to say it's only a movie and whatnot."

"And yet, here you are, treating it like it's classified information when it's really something trivial," he chuckled, observing your pouting expression.

"That's why I didn't want to call, because you're just going to tease me!" you protested, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

"You're a bit of a goof sometimes," Sae shook his head, amusement evident in his tone. He glanced at his screen, finally able to see your entire face as you pouted. Your eyes, still swollen from crying, met his for a moment before you averted your gaze to the side, avoiding him.

Your eyes were still swollen from crying over the movie. Sae couldn't help but wonder what kind of film had evoked such a strong emotional response from you. His lips curled upwards imperceptibly as he pondered.

"So, tell me what happened in the movie?" 

As you began to speak, your voice filled with enthusiasm and passion, Sae couldn't help but be drawn in. Instantly, he found himself captivated by your words, hanging on every detail of the film's storyline as you painted a vivid picture with your descriptions. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, reflecting the joy that bubbled within you as you delved into the intricacies of the plot.

Watching you come alive with each word, Sae felt a warmth spreading through his chest, a feeling of contentment settling over him like a comforting embrace. Despite the weight of earlier worries, seeing you so animated and happy brought a smile to his lips, banishing the shadows that had clouded his thoughts just moments before.

As you spoke, your gestures animated and your laughter contagious, Sae found himself swept up in the moment, his own worries fading into the background as he basked in the glow of your happiness. For him, there was no greater pleasure than seeing you so alive, so full of life and vitality.

In the end, it wasn't the film itself that mattered, but the way it brought you joy and excitement. And in that shared moment of connection, as you shared your thoughts and feelings with him, Sae couldn't help but feel grateful for the simple yet profound pleasure of being by your side.

[dustysalmon]

Immortan Joe Imagine - Finding you relaxing in his grotto springs

It's been a long and trying day in the Wasteland. Joe personally sent you and a couple of War Boys to neutralise a rival warlord on the rise.

After spending days on the road, chasing and fighting, you come back to the Citadel completely drained and sore.

Your muscles hurt, your back too, and sleep alone won't solve everything.

You are not technically allowed in Immortan's personal quarters but what the hell, you completed the mission in record time and you decide that you deserve a little reward.

You sneak into the grotto as Immortan is holding a war council with his associates.

After carefully folding your clothes on the edge, you sink slowly into the warm water, letting it envelope you like a cloak. Steam and solitude, just what you needed. But it doesn't last.

It's only been a few minutes, but you hear heavy footsteps slowly making their way towards the grotto. You could recognise those anywhere.

Immortan says your name, his tone a careful and authoritative.

"I wasn't aware this place had been... offered to you."

You turn around, the water resting just below your clavicle, and lift your gaze to meet his, a slight smile playing on your lips as you notice his eyes briefly roaming over you.

"You take liberties. Not many would dare." He remarks.

"I needed a moment. This seemed... accommodating." You say shrugging.

He weights his options. He could punish you for trespassing, like he would do with anyone else, make an example out of you for defying the Immortan.

"I have something for you." You continue, and Joe does his best to maintain his composure as you emerge from the water, completely bare. His eyes don't know where to look as you are revealed to him inch by inch, the water trickling down your chest, your hips, and between your legs.

Try as he might, Immortan can't hide the small intakes of breath, his apparatus making it all the more obvious. Small victories....

You hand him a small object and drop it in the hollow of his palm. A golden tooth, ripped from his enemy's body earlier this morning. A small token of loyalty, in case there was any doubt.

Immortan finds it hard to focus, and momentarily feels a slight stirring below the belt. Surprisingly, he enjoys the power play, the teasing, but most of all, your boldness. Because how come is it him who feels disarmed, when you are the one fully unclothed?

Not quite trusting his voice, he nods at you. He will let you off easy this time. However, he decides as you disappear into the water, he will have to make you pay for that little display, he already has some ideas...

Disclaimer: reminder that Joe is a very bad and nasty man and that nothing he does or represents in the movies should be celebrated. That being said, this is fiction, and so I can confirm that I would let him ******* my ***** with his big **** all day long. Thank you for your attention.

[tojisitchyfoot]

Levi Ackerman was never really vocal. But, he would always show up for you—cooking, cleaning, or even just lending a silent, comforting presence.

He’d be the type to remember all the small things, from how you take your tea to the little quirks that make you laugh. He’d find subtle, endearing ways to show his affection—holding your hand a little tighter when no one’s looking, or quietly sitting with you during a storm to make sure you’re not afraid. Being his spouse would mean you have a partner who may not always say “I love you” outright, but would consistently show it through every action, word, and look he gives you. He could be quizzed on you and ace it, he knows everything about you. How your nose scrunches a little when you really smile, and how you tend to hit people when you laugh. It’s endearing for him.

While Levi is famously strict and intense, he’d be a surprisingly attentive and sensitive partner once he feels secure in your bond. You’d see glimpses of his humor—dry, sarcastic, and subtly teasing—that he rarely shows anyone else. Levi’s way of caring would be unique; he might scold you for staying up too late or forgetting your coat in cold weather, but these moments would be his way of showing how much he worries for you. This protective, attentive side would be one of the greatest comforts of being with him.

Levi didnt realize how much he loved you until you died.

It would leave a wound that would never fully heal. Levi would carry on, but with an emptiness that only those closest to him would sense. The loss would be a heavy burden, one that Levi would shoulder in his typically silent, stoic way, bottling the pain within himself. His eyes, once softened by the warmth of love, would harden once again, his expression becoming as guarded as it was in his lonelier days. Still, the memories of you—small, cherished moments, lingering scents, your quiet laughter—would haunt him, flickering into his mind in moments of solitude.

Levi wouldn’t talk much about his grief, as he’s always been a man of few words. But those who knew him well would notice subtle changes: the way he’d linger for a second too long in a place you used to visit together, or how he’d keep his room exactly as it was when you were there, as if preserving a piece of you. The stupid little notes you’d write him. He might be seen sitting in a quiet spot where you once spent time together, staring off into the distance with a distant look in his eyes.

Levi would hold onto small mementos, tokens that had belonged to you or reminded him of you, as anchors in a world that now felt even more perilous and empty.

Levi would carry your memory forward with honor and dignity. He’d likely use his sorrow as fuel, a reminder of why he fights and what he’s lost. In battle, he would be even more unyielding and precise, as if every swing of his blade was a tribute to you and what you shared. He might also become even more protective of those under his care, determined to shield them from the kind of loss he now carries. Your love, though it came to a tragic end, would remain an ever-present force, shaping him in ways only you could.

sorry guys I’m having way too much fun with this app lmfao..I was gonna make this a smut but then I realized that writing angst is much more fun..hehe😚

[meefy]

Diverse Autistic Characters in Akagami no Shirayukihime

I could go on for hours about my dislike of how autism is, for the most part, portrayed in popular media - the butt of a cruel joke; autism representation by a non-Autistic actor; or centered around the plot of the story itself, where it boils down to the Autistic person "overcoming" their autism or some outside force "fixing" it (or, semi related, an Autistic character being shoehorned in as a token minority).

I think that's one of the reason I love Akagami no Shirayukihime so much. While none of the characters are confirmed as Autistic, the ones that are quite blatantly Autistic-coded are so diverse and so welcomed by the cast that it's both sweet and refreshing to see.

I have talked at length about Ryuu and why I love his character so much, so I don't want to get into it too much here because I've said most of what I want to say. He is, at first glance, the "typical" popular culture depiction of autism: the male child savant who has no friends, can't socialize, and has the niche restricted interests in science that seem to characterize every big Autistic character in media. But it doesn't take long to see he is so much more than that! His interests in poisons has granted him a field of study and work where he thrives and does what he loves day in and day out. His mentor, Garak, supports him and treats him as an equal, and looks for opportunities for him to grow - as does everyone around him, including Shirayuki.

Ryuu's time in Lilias was so beautifully depicted. The years he spends studying and working there are not him masking his Autistic traits or "beating" them; they are years of him feeling safe and supported enough to test his comfort levels and branch out because he knows he won't be mocked or scorned for it. He has found an environment where he thrives because of his Autistic traits, not in spite of them. And so, as of most recently, we see that he wants to remain in Lilias to continue his studies there because of this. His growth is not reduced to finally acting neurotypical; Ryuu being Autistic has not changed. But he has found others who share his passions, who support him, and who encourage him without changing who he is.

I also want to touch on Kirito specifically, because he is one of the few people Ryuu's own age who interacts with him. Kirito is too young to hold back his questions about Ryuu's behaviour. Why is he running away from a crowd of people? Why has he never had a snowball fight? But Kirito doesn't dwell on Ryuu's quirks; he accepts them, moves on, and focuses on what the two have in common - which is what I would hope for any Autistic person, myself included.

What is particularly special to me about how Autistic characters are depicted in AnS is the diversity. Too often I see Autistic characters depicted in the same way, like the author read a WebMD checklist and created a character around said list. Autism is a spectrum, and with that comes two ends of the spectrum.

Which brings me to Lata.

Although I haven't explicitly mentioned at length Lata + autism the same way I've discussed it about Ryuu (and although I could write a whole essay on it), I do want to go in a bit more depth because his overlap and contrast with Ryuu is exactly the kind of Autistic representation I live for. Ryuu actively wants to work to help people; Lata seeks to work in solitude. Ryuu is open and generally friendly with others, Lata is blunt and evasive. Ryuu's expressions are generally flat (and his voice monotone in the anime); Lata is quite expressive (even if he doesn't smile often, and neither does Ryuu). Yet we see certain similarities between the two; for instance, both have their own niche hyperfixations that they absolutely live for, and neither is totally at ease in crowds.

But leaving Ryuu out of the equation, one of my favourite things about Lata's character is that none of the Lyrias crew seemed genuinely bothered by how he acts. Like, even Obi's teasing is, by and large, in good faith. They're just like "Oh, that’s just how Lata is..." and move past it. Most recently in Chapter 133, Shirayuki is visibly happy to see him. And related to that, the other scholars always go out of their way to include and invite him to their outings - to their banquet celebrating the successful germination of the phostyrias, or to see them blooming in their lab. Even if he always declines, and they probably know he will always decline, they ask. Speaking on a personal note, I am like Lata and really, really hate parties or any large gathering; so people (understandably) stopped inviting me. And that hurt; even if I knew I'd say no, and wouldn't go, people actually thinking of me meant a lot more than they likely realized.

So, seeing representation of people actively trying to invite and include their Autistic comrade means so much to me.

Lastly, I want to talk about Shirayuki. It's not terribly often that Autistic representation in media is a female character, let alone the lead character. I know I am not alone in thinking Shirayuki is Autistic, but I do love its subtlety unless you know what to look for. The long running theory that there is a "girl" autism (versus the stereotypical "male" autism that is most commonly diagnosed and seen in popular culture) is absurd; autism is a spectrum, and just where some Autistics are reclusive, have a flat affect, and exhibit quirky behaviours and interests, there are plenty that are the complete opposite, or somewhere else along the spectrum. In many respects, this describes Shirayuki; she seems to have no trouble making friends, attending parties, or showing emotion.

And yet, she has the intense focus in herbalism and pharmacology that mirrors Ryuu's in many respects; she just does not express that interest in the same, "typical" Autistic way. She reads her textbooks to relax and spends time in a garden (the latter of which is, stereotypically, a perfectly expected behaviour for someone of her gender). It's easy to forget that, much like how Ryuu ran away from the crowd on his first day in Lyrias (a depiction of an Autistic shutdown), Shirayuki ran away from Zen when her feelings for him became too overwhelming. She asks Zen for a comfort object of his when she leaves for Tanbarun, much like how many Autistic people have a particular tangible object that gives them comfort. Shirayuki is also blunt; she tells Prince Raji to act more like a leader she can be proud of, and rebuffs the knight who insults Ryuu at the beginning of the story - her low rank does not deter her. Autistic people are sometimes known for apparently "not understanding" power dynamics and rules (which I doubt, as do most Autistic people - I think it's more likely that the rules and dynamics are simply unfair, and created and upheld by neurotypical people) - Shirayuki's behaviour certainly seems to fit this. She is not rude by any means...but where it might intimidate many others, a person's title does not keep her from speaking her mind. In many respects she reminds me of myself!

I could go on and on about this topic - and how different Autistic traits are present in different characters - but I'm comfortable stopping at Ryuu, Lata, and Shirayuki (at least for now), and reiterating that media like AnS proves that diverse Autistic characters can exist without being a punchline, can grow throughout the story without shedding their Autistic traits, and can be accepted, supported, and loved by others for who they are. This series is dear to my heart, and this is but one (albeit huge) reason why!

[missy4176]

-A Rare Smile-

Kim dokja x reader

In the vast, unpredictable world of scenarios and uncertainties, there are very few things that can draw out a genuine smile from Kim Dokja. His existence has been one of solitude, marked by a deep understanding of narratives and the bleakness of reality. He knows the weight of every choice, the price of every action, and the transient nature of happiness in a world governed by stories. Yet, amidst all this, there is one exception—you.

Kim Dokja’s smiles are not frequent. They are as elusive as a gentle breeze in the midst of a storm. To most, his face remains a mask of neutrality, his eyes reflecting the depth of his contemplations and the burdens he carries. But for you, his significant other, you’ve come to recognize the subtle changes in his demeanor, the slight upward curve of his lips that speak volumes of the emotions he seldom reveal

Reader Perspective

In the beginning, you weren’t even sure if what you saw was real. Kim Dokja’s expression was often hard to read, and even when he did smile, it was fleeting—like a shadow passing through the light. But over time, as your relationship grew, you started to notice that these rare smiles weren’t so rare when you were around.

Every morning, before the sun fully rises, you wake up to find him already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, his back turned to you. There’s a calmness in those early hours, a rare moment of peace before the chaos of the day begins. You often find him lost in thought, his eyes distant as if reading through countless scenarios that have yet to unfold. But when you softly call his name and he turns to face you, there’s a softness in his gaze, and for just a second, the corners of his lips lift ever so slightly. It’s a smile meant only for you, a silent greeting that speaks of a love unspoken, yet deeply felt.

Kim Dokja isn’t a man of many words, but you’ve learned to cherish the silences between you. Whether you’re reading side by side, your head resting on his shoulder, or simply walking together without a destination in mind, there’s a quiet comfort in these moments. It’s during these times that you catch him watching you from the corner of his eye. When you turn to meet his gaze, he quickly looks away, but not before you catch that faint smile tugging at his lips, a small, precious token of his affection.

There are times when he surprises you with small, unexpected gestures. Perhaps it’s a cup of tea he makes for you after a long day, or a blanket he drapes over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. These actions are always done quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want to draw attention to them. But you always notice, and when you thank him with a warm smile, he can’t help but return it. It’s in these simple moments that you see the walls around his heart begin to crack, revealing the tenderness he so carefully hides.

In the world of stories, where reality often blurs with fiction, Kim Dokja’s life has been a series of battles, both external and internal. But in the safety of your presence, he allows himself to be vulnerable. After a particularly difficult scenario, when the weight of his choices becomes too much to bear, he seeks solace in your arms. You hold him close, your fingers gently running through his hair, and as you whisper words of comfort, he buries his face in the crook of your neck. And when he finally pulls back, there it is—a smile. It’s faint, weary, but genuine, a silent expression of gratitude and love that only you are privy to.

To the rest of the world, Kim Dokja remains an enigma—a man who navigates through the labyrinth of narratives with an unfathomable understanding and an unwavering resolve. But to you, he is so much more. His smiles, rare and fleeting as they are, are a testament to the depth of his feelings for you. They are a reminder that, despite the countless scenarios and the uncertainty of the future, there is a part of him that is irrevocably yours.

In those precious moments when his smile graces his face, you are reminded that you are not just another character in the story of his life. You are his anchor, his source of light in a world that often seems too dark. And though he may not always say it, each smile tells you that you are the one who has managed to reach the heart of a man who has always kept the world at a distance.

Kim Dokja’s Perspective:

Kim Dokja is fully aware of how rare his smiles are. He’s spent so long surviving, strategizing, and keeping his emotions in check that the very idea of letting himself feel anything beyond necessity is foreign to him. But with you, it’s different. You make him feel things he thought he had buried long ago—things like warmth, safety, and, dare he admit it, happiness.

He knows that his smiles are fleeting, but he also knows that you notice every single one. It’s something that both scares and comforts him. Scares him because it means you see through his defenses, and comforts him because, in a world where everything can be taken away, you’ve become the one thing he can hold on to.

So when he smiles at you, it’s not just a reflex or a reaction. It’s a choice. A conscious decision to let you in, to show you a side of him that he doesn’t show anyone else. And in those moments, Kim Dokja allows himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he deserves this small slice of happiness in a world full of uncertainties.

[krscblw]

lyrics: wasteland, baby! - hozier // astoria - mariana's trench // bury me in black - my chemical romance // 1x1 - bring me the horizon // solitude - candlemass // gods - sleep token // i'm your man - mitski

[polskasroka]

A humble offering from me to you, fellow odydio enjoyers

Book 5 of the Iliad inspired me to write it (along with Sleep Token's Chokehold, which is quite a combination)

Test My Worth in Blood

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Iliad - Homer, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Diomedes/Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Characters: Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Diomedes (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Additional Tags: Body Horror, Flashbacks, Blood, Blood Play, Smut, Spit As Lube, Choking, POV Diomedes, diomedes has seen things, inspired by book 5, odysseus won't shut up Summary: You wish the gift from the goddess had worn off by now. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You certainly hadn’t asked for being able to still see and hear the blood of your comrades. Then, there’s a flicker. A sound, a bright clink. You realise which tent it came from.

Word count: 3,626

Read on AO3 or below!

You have seen what mortals aren’t supposed to ever see. A blessing or a curse from bright-eyed Athena, it’s difficult to tell. At least now. At the time, it seemed to be a blessing, a gift straight from the Goddess of Wisdom herself. One that turned you into a godling. One that, if only you dare claim so, made you equal to the best of the Greeks.

Once the battle ended, however, the power didn’t cease completely. It’s still there. Still here, buzzing within your head. Humming in your ears. Making your eyes sting whichever direction you look. Blinding and deafening you with the occasional sight and sound of the blood running through the veins of those around you.

Indeed, you may be hidden in the safety of your tent. In your solitude, you’re accompanied by the candlelight illuminating the space around you. The flickers bouncing off the spear tips and armour and then springing into the fabric of the tent. It would be serene if not for the unexpected buzzing coming from the left. And then from the right. And then from somewhere vaguely in front of you.

The dull branches of crimson show up in the distance only to die off a second or two later. The boring red burns your eyes in the darkness and you seek respite in the dimmest spot you can stare at. This doesn’t always help, so you close your eyes. And yet, you can still hear the murmuring of blood gently flowing through the vessels. The sound like an attack against your ears.

You are not supposed to hear that. You are not supposed to see that.

A blessing turned a curse.

You wish the gift from the goddess had worn off by now. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You certainly hadn’t asked for being able to still see and hear the blood of your comrades. Granted, it’s not as overwhelming as before but it’s making you restless, even though you’re nowhere near falling asleep.

Frowning, you grit your teeth until your jaw hurts. Gripping the desk, you leave indents in the wood with your blunt nails. You’d flip this desk over if you knew it’d kill the humming.

Then, there’s a flicker. A sound, a bright clink. Involuntarily, the muscles in your ear flex. You flinch. Tired though you are, your curiosity takes over and you lift your head in search for the source of the sound.

As if to annoy you, everything’s fallen dead silent. You huff. Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe you can finally lay down and rest. Maybe you can finally go to sleep and recover from all you’ve seen and heard today. Maybe the sight of the gods’ pulsating veins will not haunt your dreams.

But just as you turn around, you catch the glimpse of the bright golden spark once more. It’s gone as soon as you focus on it. You realise which tent it came from.

You know you shouldn’t go and investigate. You know it’s not a good idea, for it’s been a long day for everyone. Especially for you.

A blessing turned a curse or not, you also shouldn’t dismiss the signs that the gods give you. What’s more, under no circumstances should you reject the kind signs that Lady Athena grants you. She’s your guide, she knows what’s best for you. Now that all the other bubbling and flowing has been muted, you’re left with that single one — one occasionally glimmering with godlike gold.

It’s dark outside when you step out into the night. Knowing better than that, you stifle the candle before you venture out and let yourself be led by the one with gleaming eyes. There’s no use fighting it, you’re painfully aware of that. It’s not without a reason that it’s his blood that you’re able to sense.

On your way, you pass a couple of drunk and slumbering soldiers without making a sound and rousing them up. If there happen to be others that you stumble upon, you choose to hide in the shadow. No need to pique anyone’s interest now. The grey-eyed one’s attention is enough.

There’s no need to sneak. No need to try to muffle the footsteps. Others are fast asleep and if they’re not, they’ll stay vigilant but will not be able to tell who it was lurking around the camp. Maybe they’ll try to find a spy. Or they’ll send someone to spy on the Trojans in return.

But, just in case, you mutter a quiet prayer to the Lady Athena to conceal and mask your steps.

You’re certain that Odysseus can already hear you approaching. He’s had time to memorise the way you walk, it’s been ten years after all. So you don’t announce yourself.

You won’t startle him, despite him leaning over his desk. There may be a light flickering from the inside of his tent but it’s not his shadow that’s sold his whereabouts. It’s the split-second glimpse into the inside of his body, into the countless blood vessels carrying the liquid that should be of that dull shade of red. But it’s not. You’ve noticed it before — Odysseus’ blood is everything but opaque. It shines when you’re allowed to see it. It shines a brighter tone of red and then there’s that clink, the little jingle of golden sparks dancing through his veins.

No matter how much your eyes sting every time the glimmer reflects in them, you can’t go back and retreat. You’re drawn to this godlike albeit elusive flare. You’re drawn to the man who’s appeared to be worthy enough for the daughter of Zeus to lend him her guidance.

Led by the evasive glow, you enter the tent. The lit candle’s still casting its warm light over the papers spread on the desk and swirls in the metal of an armour and spear and arrow tips. You shake your head.

“Out of everyone, you, crafty Odysseus, should use your wit and come up with something that would surprise me for once,” you state, bored, a dagger poking you in the back.

“Were it someone else, they would be surprised. That is to say the least, Tydeides.”

Rolling your eyes, you wait for the blade’s tip to stop trying to make a hole in your chiton. Hopeful that it won’t require mending, you follow Odysseus with your gaze as he rounds you to stand before you. He leans against the desk and folds his arms.

“May I ask what brings you here at this hour?” he says, not requiring an answer. He’s got all the answers anyhow. “So keen to see me, could that be it? Or maybe, if you’d be so kind to share, could it be that you’re unable to survive one night without me?”

The corner of his lips quirks up and the moment he stops speaking, you squint. This divine flicker is not the same when you’re in his near proximity. Not dimmed by the distance and the tents, the spark beams brightly; so brightly that you can’t help but whip your head to the side to control the damage that wouldn’t be done regardless.

“Meanwhile you, in turn, seem unable not to flatter yourself anytime you have a chance, Laertiades,” you say, fooling yourself into thinking that calling him like this will bother him. It won’t. With smouldering anger inside, you watch a chuckle shake his body.

“Ah, but in your company, dear Diomedes, I should not be particularly worried about the lack of flattery, now should I?”

You exhale a huff through your nose that immediately brings a triumphant smile onto Odysseus’ lips. You won’t tell him he’s right. Even if your words fail you, which they tend to do in his presence, you flatter him with actions. Odysseus may have the gift of shrewdness but he won’t surpass your blessing of non-verbal affection. Of that you are certain.

“The grey-eyed goddess’ guidance has led me here.” Not that you could resist it.

“Ha! The Goddess of Wisdom has lured you here under the cover of the peace-bringing Night, it appears to me. A coincidence it cannot be!” Odysseus announces jovially and swings his hand in the air. “Come closer.”

Without hesitation, you obey. Now both you and Odysseus are staring at the reports and maps splayed atop the desk. Some of them you’ve seen before. A couple of them are more recent than others. There’s also a drawing that Odysseus pulls on top of everything. Your eyes are glued to it and you’re thankful for that — there’s that golden shine to Odysseus’ blood again. You see those branching vessels with the corner of your eye. The brightness nearly overwhelms you.

“What in the name of the gods is this?” you ask, frowning.

“A horse.”

“A horse?”

“It’s not just a horse, Diomedes. It’s a wooden horse.”

You lock your eyes with his when he says that and it’s a mistake. His veins flash golden again and you hear the humming of his blood flow. It vibrates in your ears and you clench your fists, crumpling up a paper or two.

“If you don’t mind, oh great tactician, I fail to see how it makes this horse any better. I’d say it being wooden is bound to make things worse,” you dare, although you’re quite sure it’ll bring even more pain onto your eyes.

Odysseus tsks. “That I shall tell once the right time comes.”

Your eyes feel as if someone’s trying to blind you with a hot metal rod. The thumping of blood fills your ears as the shiny sparkles submerged in the royal crimson glimmer. It’s like Helios managed to bring some of his light into the permeating darkness of the Night.

“You see, my dear Diomedes, I wish I could—”

“Silence.”

“Please, forgive me, but I do not quite understand. Weren’t you the one who needed clarification as to why a wooden horse is better than any other one?”

“Odysseus.” The anger inside you is now much closer to blazing than only smouldering.

Despite that, you manage to spot the grey streaks in his overall brown eyes. All this planning that he’s been doing… Lady Athena must’ve been assisting him one way or another.

“Diomedes…” He lifts his hand. “Your eyes.”

“Shut up!”

This is the last straw. Or the next blazing flash is.

You swipe his hand away and press your own against his mouth, effectively keeping him quiet. Finally.

Odysseus looks at you in frustrated confusion, his brows knit together. He tries to push your hand away by grabbing your forearm but you don’t relent. Since this hasn’t worked, he takes a step back and with little struggle, he sets himself free from your grip. You let it pass. You choose to wait. Observe. Decide.

“My most trusted tool and weapon — ripped away! By none other than an ally of mine! My dear Diomedes!” Odysseus cries, one hand on his chest; he’s glowering at you.

You glower back at him. “Cut the theatrics. And don’t tempt me.”

There’s a spark in his eye, now more brown than brown-grey. One that doesn’t scorch your whole vision. One that you’ve seen before and grown to enjoy seeing.

“You wouldn’t even dare, Tydeides,” he says, straightening up, his back cracking at the sudden movement.

“Oh?” Standing tall too, you pierce Odysseus with your own gaze.

You take a step towards him. He takes a step away from you. “Is that what you think, oh wise Odysseus?”

“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise.”

“In this case, maybe I finally should?”

He squints at you, a challenging smirk plastered on his face. You take a couple more steps towards him. He keeps backing away.

“Scared?”

“Not at all.”

“Why not stop then?” You say and clear your throat.

“So that you’re pleased? Oh, Diomedes! Master of the war cry must have something more effective planned already.”

You scowl but say nothing. Instead, you keep walking until the backs of Odysseus’ legs hit the bed. Only then does he stop. He appears to be standing even straighter now, his chest pushed forward and hands on his hips. A laughable sight, really. At least in comparison to how you’re looming over him. You’d be a liar if you said that you don’t like it.

That smirk of his is distorted by a split-second tremble of his lip as you grab him by his throat; your fingers snugly wrapped around that vulnerable area. A hum rumbles somewhere within there and the vibrations travel onto your hand. You draw closer. As if unfazed by the short-lived squeeze of your hand, Odysseus just looks up at you.

“You won’t kill me,” he says, fuelling your rage. “No matter how much you want to right now.”

“I will.”

“You won’t. But, oh gods above and below! How glorious it would be to die at the hands of the son of Tydeus!” he continues, both of his hands on your forearm. Stroking, scratching. Raising chills.

A growl bubbles in your chest.

“All high and mighty but so woefully predictable,” Odysseus muses on, ignoring the tightening around his neck. Quite impressive, you have to admit that. “Always using all the wit you possess until all’s said and done and said wit’s dead and gone. Always because of me.”

Odysseus chokes on the last words of his little tirade. A smirk tilts your lips as you feel him dig his nails into your hand. He’s right and you hate that. So you’re making him pay.

He tries to take a ragged breath but his airways fail him, crushed under your fingers. Your own contentment leaves you in a form of a low murmur and you hold Odysseus in your grip until a grimace creeps onto his face and the colour of his swarthy skin starts turning pale.

Only then do you let him go and collapse onto the bed.

He gasps for air, hand on his heaving chest, the other clutching the furs. As soon as he peers up, still short of breath, you’re already there, lending him some air in the kiss that you press against his lips. Anything to keep him silent, anything to keep him from his constant rambling — one full of empty words that have fooled hundreds of men.

They must’ve fooled you too but you’re too lost in how your lips seem to never leave his. You’re on top of him already. Clawing at his clothes, you manage to rip them apart in the process. You hum in satisfaction again. He grunts in discontentment.

“Stop whining, Laertiades. This is your tent,” you say before he can. Your own chiton’s soon gone too. “Open a chest and find something else to wear later.”

“The chest you’re speaking of is not a bottomless one, I’m afraid. Would you believe that?”

The light tone of the question hides the malice that you know is there. You’ve known Odysseus long enough to recognise such moments. Apart from that, his fiery eyes are telling you everything. You’ve seen that glare-gaze plenty of times before. You can’t quite tell if it’s more irritating or arousing.

It’s most likely both.

Thus, it’s a matter of seconds before you’re all over him. The non-verbal flattery in its full glory.

Your hands roam over the dips, plains and mounds of his body. Your eyes follow the traces that your fingers make, hypnotised, transfixed. And then, just as Odysseus scratched your forearm, you graze your nails against his skin. Red welts soon arise and he trembles underneath you. You add more pressure. He grunts. You dig harder and harder. He hisses.

You draw blood.

A quiet moan tumbles out of your mouth. You dive in to lick the skin that you’ve just broken. You see a delicate shimmer of gold but taste iron. Sheer iron, just as you always do. Nothing’s changed.

Odysseus squirms again and you hold him down with your bloody hands. You stain his flanks with his own blood and gather the trickling droplets onto your tongue. The more you taste it, the more light-headed you feel.

In your daze, you bite down on Odysseus’ flesh, right next to the fresh wounds you’ve caused. He swears and you think he tries to push you away but, in fact, he’s holding you, so that you won’t even think about leaving him. With one of his hands in your hair and the other on your shoulder, he might be drawing you closer too, until you’ve got his blood smeared not only over your mouth but also chin and nose.

With the corner of your eye, you see the displeasured look on Odysseus’ face as you spit into your palm. You send him a scowl. You can’t wait anymore. And he should be used to your impatience by now. He whines and acts as if he were any more patient than you, while you are convinced that he isn’t. Or that he enjoys you hurting him. The latter is certain, though.

He tries to slow you down and push you away out of an instinct. He told you so himself. And he also instructed you to ignore that unless he said otherwise. So you comply because why wouldn’t you? The way his expression changes — his brows furrow, his eyes close shut, his lips turn into a thin line — only encourages you to bury yourself inside until the hilt. A wavering sigh escapes your lungs.

You ignore Odysseus clawing at your arms and shoulders. With your face buried in his neck, you start your back and forth. It’s painstakingly rhythmical at the beginning. You love it this way. You love to feel the tight fit gradually become perfect.

It’s you who’s holding onto Odysseus now. Once in a while, a grunt slips past your lips and fans over his neck or jaw. You grunt again, slightly increasing the pace and then you shudder. The chills continue as Odysseus smooths the skin on your arms and shoulders instead of trying to break the skin. He runs his right hand upwards, giving your nape a slight squeeze. Eventually, he cards through your hair with his fingers while his other hand’s lying flat on your back. He attempts to grip each time you strike that sweet spot inside of his gut.

Your hips buck at one of his scrapes over your scalp. You wail and quickly bite your lip.

“What truly brings you here, dearest Diomedes?” Odysseus mutters next to your ear. You can’t know if he really cares but you choose to think so.

“I’ve seen things, Odysseus.” You swallow. “I’ve seen the gods.”

“Why, everyone’s seen a god in their life!”

“Not like that,” you growl and grant him a couple of rough thrusts that have him choke on his breath. “I’ve seen them… from within. I’ve seen so much light, Laertiades, it was so bright, golden. Yet, it didn’t blind me. The goddess came to my aid. She made it last. She made me fight the gods.”

Odysseus hugs you closer to himself, your hair in his tight and protective grip. You speed up, losing your perfect rhythm. You don’t care and neither does he.

“I’ve fought the gods,” you babble on. “She guided me, she enlightened me. Odysseus, the blood of the gods… It’s not… Everyone else — their veins… so red and dull… muddy almost. Not the gods’. Live and liquid gold, they were!” you moan into juncture of Odysseus’ neck and jaw.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shield yourself from the memory of how brightly the gods shone on the battlefield. The glow warmed your feverish skin.

You moan again, feeling that warmth now. In the heat of the moment, you grab Odysseus by his hips to lift the lower part of his body up. The change of the angle punches a low groan out of his lungs.

You cling to the warmth. You let it embrace you.

“Your blood…”

“Hm? What about it?” Odysseus mutters, tugging on your hair.

“It’s not dull nor muddy.”

You see the divine glow again. The golden sparks inside Odysseus. They illuminate the whole tent. The sharp light stings your eyes, although they’re closed. You know this sheen outlines Odysseus’ body. You can feel it on his skin. You can feel the heavenly heat melt onto you and spread through your being, and fill your own veins with specks of pure gold.

Darkness is what you see when your eyes flutter open. It then transforms into a dance of shadows that you notice with the corner of your eye as you nose at Odysseus’ neck. You inhale and let out a long exhale as you feel him rake his fingers through your hair.

What you need is to rest your head on top of Odysseus’ chest if you don’t want your neck to be all stiff and aching tomorrow. So, you lift your head and spare him a glance. It gives him enough time to hold your face between his hands. He rubs the skin under your eyes with his thumbs.

“You’re back.”

It’s one of those rare moments when Odysseus smiles a genuine smile of joy and contentment. The corners of his eyes crinkle up.

“I’ve been with you the whole time,” you reply, confused.

“You aren’t that dense, so quit the act,” he chuckles.

Odysseus then grows more serious.

“A man without proper reason wouldn’t have been chosen to fight the gods themselves. You were, oh godlike Diomedes. My bright-eyed Diomedes.”

Fondness. It’s fondness that you’ve just heard. Pure fondness from the man of twists and turns.

He’s genuine. His words are the truth. Your own escape you.

You understand why he pointed out your eyes earlier.