#Token of Solitude

[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.

[faebled-stories]

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.)

6.2k words

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.

[whoreforsexymen]

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

[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

[verstappenf1lecccc]

if you go I go

Dr. Oscar Piastri had always been a man of few words, his life dominated by the cold precision of surgery and the quiet solitude that came with being the best in his field. Yet, when he met you, everything changed. You were the light to his dark, the calm in his storm. You filled the silence of his world with laughter, joy, and warmth. To Oscar, you were everything—the pulse that kept him going, the reason he woke up every morning. He loved you more than words could express.

The two of you had been married for two years, and it was your wedding anniversary. Oscar was known for being meticulous, but even he couldn’t keep up with the chaos of the day. As much as he wanted to surprise you, he had been so focused on work and the pressures of his surgical career that he’d forgotten to plan. You, being the loving and understanding wife, had taken it upon yourself to surprise him with a gift—a token of your love for him.

It was early in the afternoon when you decided to go out. You had picked out a sleek, beautiful wristwatch for him, something to mark the special occasion, and you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he opened it. He had always worn the same old, worn-out watch, and you knew he’d love the new one.

But fate had other plans. As you were driving home, a car ran a red light, crashing into your vehicle with a terrifying force. The impact was deafening. The world around you spun out of control as the car flipped, the screech of metal on metal and the shattering of glass echoed in your ears. You tried to scream, but the pain—sharp, sudden, and all-consuming—cut off your breath. Your head collided violently with the steering wheel, and the world went dark.

Oscar’s day was just beginning to take a turn when his phone rang. At first, he thought it was another case, a consultation, or an update. But when he saw the name of the hospital flash on the screen, a chill ran down his spine. The voice on the other end was calm, clinical—but Oscar could hear the faint tremor, the underlying urgency that spoke volumes. His heart sank when he heard your name. He didn’t need to hear the details; the panic that gripped him in that moment told him everything he needed to know.

Without hesitation, he rushed to the hospital. The drive was a blur, his heart pounding in his chest, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t even remember the route he took, but all that mattered was getting to you. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

When he arrived, the first thing he saw was the stretcher—the one carrying you, the love of his life. The sight of you, so pale, so still, sent a wave of panic crashing through him. He wasn’t sure if he could breathe, or if his legs would even hold him up. The world around him felt like it was collapsing. His perfect, peaceful world had been torn apart in a split second, and all he could do was watch as they wheeled you past him, unconscious and battered. The stretcher was stained with blood, and Oscar’s heart clenched, his thoughts spiraling into an abyss.

“Oscar, we need you in the OR,” a nurse called out, snapping him out of his trance.

Oscar nodded, but his eyes never left you. He followed the team as they rushed you into a trauma room. The fear in his chest was suffocating, but he forced himself to push it down. He couldn’t break down. Not here. Not now.

Once inside, the beeping of monitors filled the room, a steady rhythm that seemed to mock him with its mechanical nature. He was no longer the detached surgeon—the one who had learned to separate himself from his emotions. As he looked at you, barely recognizable from the blood and bruises, all the walls he’d carefully built around his heart began to crumble.

Your breathing was labored. A blood-soaked bandage was wrapped around your head, but it wasn’t enough to stop the bleeding. You had fractured ribs and internal injuries, but it was the internal hemorrhage that worried him the most. A small tear in one of your arteries had gone unnoticed earlier, and now it was slowly, quietly, tearing you apart from the inside.

Oscar could feel his hands trembling as he worked quickly to assess the damage, each moment more desperate than the last. His mind was a mess, but he had to keep it together. He had to save you.

But seeing you like this—the woman who had been his sunshine, his reason for waking up every day—made him feel more helpless than he’d ever been. His wife, his world, was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His professional mask was shattering, piece by piece, as his panic threatened to overwhelm him.

He was a doctor. He had saved countless lives. But you? You were different. You were his. The thought of losing you was unbearable.

And then, in the sterile chaos of the trauma room, when he couldn’t keep his emotions in check anymore, the words escaped him, a whispered confession that broke the silence.

“I don’t want you to die,” Oscar muttered, his voice rough with emotion. His hands shook as he held the scalpel, his mind racing with terror. “I can’t lose you. You’re all that I have…”

There was no response from you, only the steady hum of the machines and the frantic activity around him. But Oscar couldn’t stop. He worked tirelessly, desperately, knowing every second was a battle for your life.

The next few hours were a blur, but in the depths of his mind, he couldn’t shake the haunting thought that he was about to lose everything.

Somehow, against all odds, you made it through. The surgery had stopped the bleeding, and though the road to recovery would be long and uncertain, you were alive. But for Oscar, the terror of nearly losing you didn’t go away so easily. The fear still clung to him, gnawing at him in the quiet moments, in the spaces between breaths.

Months had passed since that day, but the memories never fully left him. They lingered, haunting him in the dark corners of his mind. And on one particularly restless night, the memories came crashing down with full force.

Oscar awoke suddenly, drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. The nightmare had been so vivid, so real, that he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had lost you all over again. In the dream, you were gone, your blood spilling out in front of him, his hands unable to stop it. He had been too late, and in the horror of that realization, his world had turned to ash. No colors, no joy, just a hollow, aching void.

He sat up in bed, gasping for breath, his chest tight, his hands trembling. His pulse was erratic, and the cold sweat clung to him like a second skin. The nightmare felt like a cruel replay of his deepest fear, and it made him feel helpless, powerless, and empty in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since the day you were injured.

His heart was heavy, and despite his desperate attempts to calm himself, he couldn’t escape the feelings of loss and dread that had consumed him. He slowly slid out of bed, careful not to wake you, and stumbled down the hallway to the living room, where he collapsed onto the couch. His body shook as the sobs he’d been holding back for months finally broke free.

He was a doctor. He was supposed to be strong, unshakable. But right now, in the silence of his home, with the memory of that nightmare still fresh, Oscar felt completely shattered.

You awoke to the cold emptiness of your bed. The space beside you was vacant, and a chill swept through your chest as you noticed Oscar was gone. Panic stirred in your heart. You knew something wasn’t right. As you slipped out of bed, your bare feet padded softly across the floor, the house eerily quiet, save for the soft sniffling you could hear coming from the living room.

When you found him, the sight of him—slumped on the couch, his face buried in his hands—broke you. Oscar, the stoic, the composed, was in pieces, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before.

His body trembled as he cried, a raw, heartbreaking sound that shattered your heart. You knelt beside him, your hands gently touching his shoulders.

“Oscar…” you whispered, your voice filled with concern. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

He looked up at you, his eyes bloodshot, his face streaked with tears. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to feel it all—the fear, the grief, the terror of losing you again.

“I’m so scared,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I saw you… I saw you die, and I couldn’t do anything. I don’t know how to live in a world where I’ve lost you. I don’t know how to breathe without you.” His hands gripped your shirt as though he were afraid you would slip away again.

You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around him, holding him tightly against you.

“I’m here, Oscar,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m right here. And I’m never leaving you. You won’t lose me, I promise. We’ll face this together, always.”

Oscar let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing slightly in your arms. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured. “I was so scared… I thought I was going to lose you forever.”

“You don’t deserve this pain, Oscar,” you whispered, your fingers gently stroking his hair as he clung to you, the warmth of his body pressing against yours like a lifeline. “But you do deserve me, and I’m not going anywhere. You’ll never lose me. I promise.”

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you, his eyes raw and red from crying. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his professional armor was gone. There was no mask of calm detachment, no wall of control. There was only Oscar—the vulnerable, terrified man who had almost lost the love of his life and couldn’t bear the thought of living without you.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Oscar said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the only thing that makes sense in this chaotic world. Every day I wake up and I see you beside me, and it’s like the world is okay again. But when I lost you… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. Everything went dark. I couldn’t stop it… and I still can’t shake that fear.”

You gently cupped his face, guiding his eyes back to yours. His hands trembled against your skin as if he were afraid to let go of you, to face the world without you by his side.

“You don’t have to fight this fear alone,” you whispered, your voice filled with tenderness. “I’m here, Oscar. I’ll always be here. You can lean on me. We’re stronger together. We’ll always find a way through the dark, no matter how much it hurts.”

Oscar’s lips parted, his gaze softening as he searched your face, looking for reassurance in the depths of your eyes. For a brief moment, the frantic anxiety that had consumed him faded, replaced by the quiet comfort of your presence. He took a shaky breath, his hands finding yours, holding them with an almost desperate intensity.

“I thought… I thought if I lost you, everything would shatter,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “But then I realized something. I don’t have to face this alone. We face it together. You’re not just my wife. You’re my strength, my heart, my reason to keep going. And I’ll never let that go. I’ll never let you go.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you leaned in, kissing him gently on the forehead. “And I’ll never let you go, Oscar. You’re my heart, too. Without you, I wouldn’t be whole. We’re a team, always. Together, we’re unbreakable.”

A moment of silence passed, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. But in that silence, there was a peace—an understanding that neither of you could imagine life without the other. The fear, the pain, and the scars of that near-loss would always be a part of you both. But it wasn’t the end. Not now. Not ever.

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment, his face buried in your neck as he finally allowed himself to rest, to let go of the suffocating anxiety that had gripped him so tightly for months. He felt the warmth of your arms around him, the steady beat of your heart, and for the first time in so long, he let himself breathe.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, but full of emotion. “I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but unwavering. “Always. And I’ll never give up on you. We’re in this together.”

For a long while, neither of you spoke, content to just hold each other, to let the quiet calm of the moment fill the empty spaces where fear and grief had once lived. Slowly, the tension began to leave Oscar’s body, his breathing evening out as he finally allowed himself to relax in your embrace.

The nightmares that had haunted him for months didn’t vanish overnight. But in your arms, he found something he had lost: hope. The kind of hope that only love could give. He knew the road ahead would still be hard, that the scars would never fully fade. But as long as you were by his side, he could face anything.

Oscar gently pulled away, his eyes searching yours with a softness that only you could bring out of him. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, fragile but real.

“I’m so glad you’re still here,” he murmured, his hands holding yours. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You smiled, your heart full of love. “You never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, Oscar. Not now, not ever.”

And as you both sat there, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace, you realized just how deep your love ran. It had been tested, scarred, and nearly shattered, but through it all, you had come out the other side stronger, more united than ever.

Because without each other, neither of you would have survived.

But with each other, you were unstoppable.

[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.

[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.

[koyagifs]

𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾

pairing: pirate!wooyoung x mermaid!reader au: pirate au genre: angst with happy ending word count: 6.984k synopsis: wooyoung searched far and wide for his lover, regardless of the consequences. warning(s): toxic family relationships, screaming match. please let me know if i miss anything else!! now excuse me while i go cry bc i actually really love this couple :(

part one

Yn swam swiftly, the cool water embracing her like an old friend as she made her way behind the ship. The familiar silhouette loomed in the distance, its massive hull cutting through the water like a silent sentinel. Her heart ached with every stroke, but she knew she needed this—this space, this distance, to breathe.

As she glided deeper into the shadow of the ship, she couldn't help but glance down, her hand brushing against the smooth surface of the shell that Wooyoung had given her. The one they had picked out together, so long ago, while laughing and talking about dreams they both thought would never end.

The shell had always been a symbol of something deeper between them—a quiet promise, a token of their bond. It was delicate yet strong, much like their friendship, and Yn had never been able to part with it, even as things between them started to shift. But now, holding it in her hand, she felt the weight of what she had just walked away from—the weight of the words she couldn’t say, the feelings she didn’t know how to handle.

She sank lower into the water, letting the pressure surround her, blocking out everything but the rhythm of her breathing and the gentle pull of the ocean currents. She needed to escape, to think clearly, but even in this solitude, all she could hear was Wooyoung’s voice, his plea, the raw emotion in his words.

Why did you have to say it, Wooyoung? she thought, her chest tightening at the memory. Why did you have to make me feel this way?

She clenched the shell tighter in her hand, but even the coolness of the ocean couldn’t calm the storm inside her. Her heart was torn in two, caught between her love for him and the fear of losing everything. It’s too dangerous, she thought, the words repeating like a mantra in her mind. It’s too dangerous for both of us.

And yet, even as she told herself that, part of her longed to turn back, to swim back to him and just hold him. To tell him everything, even if it meant risking it all. But she knew she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she figured out what to do with the mess of emotions he had stirred in her.

As Yn approached the familiar, shimmering reef that marked the edge of her underwater home, the sense of comfort she usually felt was replaced with a growing dread. The vibrant coral, the swaying seaweed, and the soft hum of the ocean currents seemed to mock her unease. She knew what awaited her within the grand, shell-encrusted structure that she had called home for so long: the voices of her mother and father, heavy with disappointment and concern.

Her movements slowed as she approached the entrance, her fingers brushing against the intricate carvings along the coral doorway. She hesitated, her chest tightening as the imagined weight of their words pressed down on her. But the soft glow of the bioluminescent crystals inside told her she couldn’t avoid this forever.

As Yn swam deeper into the grand expanse of her underwater home, the familiar sight of guards stationed along the corridor came into view. They stood at attention, their tails shimmering faintly in the glow of bioluminescent coral lining the walls. Each one lowered their head respectfully as she passed, their deference a constant reminder of the expectations placed on her.

But instead of comfort or pride, Yn felt the weight of dread pressing harder against her chest with every stroke she took. The closer she got to the central chamber, the heavier her limbs felt, as though the water itself resisted her movements.

She could already hear the faint murmur of voices—her mother and father, undoubtedly waiting for her. Their tones were muffled but unmistakably stern, the cadence of concern woven tightly with disappointment. They would have known she was near the surface again. They always knew.

The ornate archway of the main hall came into view, encrusted with shimmering shells and pearls that gleamed like a beacon of tradition and authority. Yn hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing the edge of the cool stone frame. She closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before swimming inside.

As she crossed the threshold, the full weight of their presence struck her. Her mother, regal and poised, turned first, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. Her father, standing beside her, exuded quiet authority, his arms crossed over his chest. Both pairs of eyes locked onto her, heavy with unspoken questions and accusations.

"Yn," her mother said, her voice sharp but steady. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"

Yn clenched her fists, holding her head high despite the dread pooling in her stomach. "I’m here, aren’t I?" she replied, her voice more defiant than she intended, though it trembled with the effort.

Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’ve been near the surface again. Near him, haven’t you?"

Yn didn’t answer right away. She stood tall, her posture defiant, but her gaze stayed fixed on a point just beyond them, refusing to meet their piercing stares. The weight of the shell in her hand was grounding, a reminder of the fleeting freedom she felt whenever she was with Wooyoung.

"Yn," her mother’s voice cut through the tension, softer than her father’s but no less filled with urgency. "Please, look at us. This isn’t a game. Do you know how dangerous this is? For all of us?"

Yn’s lips trembled, but she still didn’t answer. Her silence hung heavy in the water, the tension in the room thick enough to feel. Her father let out an annoyed groan, his patience clearly fraying. "Yn," he said, his voice sharp and cutting. "This is not the time for games. Answer me."

Her mother, more measured but equally concerned, sighed deeply, swimming closer to her. "Yn, sweetheart," she said softly, her tone a mix of worry and frustration. "We’re not trying to fight with you. We just need to understand—"

But before her mother could get any closer, Yn instinctively swam back, putting more distance between them. Her movements were quick and defensive, her eyes darting between them like a cornered creature. She gripped the shell tighter, as if it were the only thing tethering her to her emotions.

"You are to be wed to Prince Taeyong," her father declared, his voice echoing with finality throughout the chamber.

Yn froze, her mind spinning as his words settled like a stone in her chest. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her mother turned her head away, unable to bear the heartache etched so clearly in her daughter’s trembling voice. Guilt flickered across her face, but she remained silent, unwilling or unable to challenge her husband’s decision.

Her father’s tone remained cold and unyielding. "And you are to stay away from that boy," he added, his words cutting through the water like a blade. "A guard will be assigned to you at all times until the wedding. Do you understand me?"

Yn’s breath hitched as her father’s command struck her like a tidal wave. Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as anger and despair clashed within her. "You can’t do this," she said, her voice shaking but defiant.

Her father’s eyes narrowed, his expression hard as stone. "I can, and I will, if it means keeping you in line. This is not up for discussion, Yn. Your reckless behavior ends now."

Tears welled in Yn’s eyes, her vision blurring as her chest tightened. "I’m not some prisoner you can lock away!" she cried, her voice cracking with the force of her emotions. "This isn’t fair!"

"Fair?" her father scoffed, his voice filled with frustration. "Life isn’t fair, Yn. Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, and this is yours. You’ll learn to accept it."

Her mother flinched at his harsh words, but still, she said nothing, her silence cutting deeper than any reprimand.

Yn shook her head, her tears falling freely now, the ache in her heart almost unbearable. She took a step back, the familiar corridors of her home suddenly feeling like the walls of a cage. Unable to bear the emotional wave that course through her body, she swam away.

She took a step back, the familiar corridors of her home suddenly feeling like the walls of a cage, each shimmering pearl and ornate shell a cruel reminder of the life she couldn’t escape. The weight of her father’s decree pressed down on her chest, suffocating and unrelenting.

Unable to bear the emotional wave coursing through her body, Yn turned and swam away, her movements fueled by desperation and heartbreak. The tears she had fought to hold back now spilled freely, dissolving into the water around her as she darted through the labyrinth of her palace.

Her mother called after her, her voice trembling with guilt and worry. "Yn, wait!"

But Yn didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The overwhelming sense of betrayal and confinement drove her forward, her tail slicing through the water with speed she didn’t know she possessed. She barely registered the concerned glances of guards and attendants as she passed, her only focus being escape—anywhere but here.

The glow of the palace faded behind her as she swam into the open expanse of the ocean, the familiar safety of home replaced by the vast, cold depths. The silence out here was deafening, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she could breathe, unbound by the crushing expectations and suffocating rules of her family.

Wooyoung perched in the crow’s nest, the salty breeze whipping through his hair as he scanned the endless expanse of ocean below. His heart was a mix of hope and dread, pounding in his chest as he clutched the spyglass tighter in his hand. The rhythmic creak of the ship beneath him was the only sound besides the distant crash of waves and the occasional call of a gull.

He had been up there for hours, his eyes flickering over the water’s surface in search of any sign of Yn. Every ripple, every shift in the current, made his heart leap, only to fall again when it turned out to be nothing.

"Come on," he murmured under his breath, his voice carried away by the wind. "Where are you, Yn?"

Wooyoung’s heart ached as he gripped the edge of the crow’s nest, his gaze fixed on the endless waves. The guilt that gnawed at him since his confession hadn’t eased—it had only grown. He hadn’t meant to put you in this position, torn between your world and his. But he couldn’t take the words back, nor could he deny the feelings he had kept bottled up for so long.

He sighed, running a hand through his wind-tousled hair. "I’m sorry," he whispered to the ocean, as if you could hear him.

He knew how much your parents hated humans—how they feared them, mistrusted them, and saw them as nothing but trouble. And yet, every time you defied their rules to visit him, it felt like a fleeting miracle. Wooyoung cherished every laugh you shared, every story you told, and every moment you spent together, even if they came with the risk of discovery.

But now, he couldn’t help but feel like he had pushed too far. The memory of your tear-filled eyes haunted him. He had wanted to protect you, to offer you a place where you could be free to be yourself. Instead, he had only made things harder for you.

He gripped the spyglass tightly, scanning the horizon again. The guilt weighed heavy in his chest, but it was no match for the fear of losing you. He had to see you, to know you were safe.

"Please," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "Just let me see you again."

" hyung! "

Wooyoung’s head snapped down at the sound of Jongho’s voice. He saw him standing on the deck, waving up at him with his usual calm but firm expression. Beside Jongho stood Hongjoong, arms crossed and gaze piercing as it fixed on Wooyoung.

Wooyoung felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to stay in the crow’s nest, out of reach and away from Hongjoong’s scrutinizing stare. But he knew better than to ignore his captain.

With a heavy sigh, he began his descent, climbing down the rigging with a practiced ease that didn’t match the tension in his body. As his boots hit the deck, Jongho stepped back to let Hongjoong take center stage, his presence as commanding as ever.

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong said, his tone measured but firm. "Care to explain why you’ve been up there all day, staring at the horizon like a lost puppy?"

Wooyoung hesitated, glancing at Jongho, who simply raised an eyebrow as if to say, You’re on your own with this one.

"I, uh..." Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Hongjoong’s sharp gaze. "Just... keeping watch. You never know when trouble might show up, right?"

Hongjoong wasn’t buying it. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Trouble? Or someone?"

Wooyoung’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth to respond, but Hongjoong cut him off.

"You’ve been distracted, Wooyoung," Hongjoong said, his voice low but not unkind. "Ever since we left port, your head’s been somewhere else. And I don’t have to guess where."

Wooyoung kicked his feet against the deck, avoiding eye contact with Hongjoong as he heard Jongho’s footsteps fade away. The quiet left a heavy tension in the air, thick with the weight of unspoken words and the truth Wooyoung wasn’t sure he could face.

Hongjoong stopped a few paces behind him, his gaze sharp but silent for a long moment. Wooyoung could feel his captain’s presence without needing to look up. There was no anger in Hongjoong’s silence, just a deep concern that Wooyoung couldn’t ignore.

Finally, Hongjoong spoke, his voice quieter than before but no less serious. "You’re not the only one who cares about her, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung stiffened, his heart clenching. He didn’t want to hear it—not now. "I know," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I can’t help how I feel."

Hongjoong’s sigh was barely audible, but Wooyoung felt the weight of it. "I’m not telling you to stop caring about her," he said, his voice softening. "I’m telling you to think about what comes next. About what happens when you take this too far."

Wooyoung’s chest tightened, a hiss of annoyance leaving his lips as Hongjoong walked away. The quiet between them was suffocating, and Wooyoung could feel his temper rising. He wasn’t angry at Hongjoong—no, it was the situation. The weight of everything. The uncertainty. The pressure that had been building for so long.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "What does he know?" Wooyoung muttered under his breath, his gaze following Hongjoong’s retreating figure. It wasn’t like the captain was wrong, but Wooyoung couldn’t shake the feeling that Hongjoong just didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what it felt like to care for someone so deeply, to feel that pull in your heart every time you thought about them.

"Hey, Youngie," a familiar voice called out, pulling Wooyoung from his spiraling thoughts. He snapped his head toward the sound, his heart still racing from the intensity of the conversation with Hongjoong.

Luna stood there, her smile warm but knowing, her eyes soft with understanding.

Wooyoung didn’t immediately respond, instead running a hand through his hair in frustration. Luna’s presence, as comforting as it was, only reminded him of how tangled everything felt.

"You know Captain means well," Luna added, her tone light but laced with the kind of wisdom that made Wooyoung sigh deeply.

"I know," he muttered, glancing away. "It’s just... I don’t think he gets it, Luna." His voice was rough, the frustration of the conversation with Hongjoong still simmering beneath the surface.

Luna’s smile faded slightly, her expression softening into something more serious. She took a step closer, her presence grounding him in a way that only a friend who knew him well could.

"Wooyoung," she said quietly, her voice gentle but firm. " captain would be the only one to understand.

Wooyoung turned to look at her, confusion flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a little sharper than he intended.

Luna gave him a soft, knowing smile. "I mean that Hongjoong isn't just some captain with a rigid sense of duty. He's been through things you can't even imagine—things that might make him understand what you're going through more than you realize."

Wooyoung frowned, processing her words. "I know he’s been through a lot, but—"

A sudden thud broke his thoughts, interrupting the flow of his words. Wooyoung’s head snapped toward the sound, heart racing as he quickly turned toward the railing. Luna, sensing his shift in attention, followed his gaze as both of them hurried to the side of the ship.

There, just below, emerging from the ocean, was Yn. Wooyoung's breath caught in his throat as he saw her, her wet hair clinging to her face, her eyes wide and searching. The sight of her made his heart race, but before he could take a step closer, he heard Hongjoong’s voice cut through the tension.

“Drop the net!” Hongjoong shouted, his tone commanding as he rushed to the railing. He glanced at Wooyoung, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and authority, and gave a sharp nod.

Yn swam toward the net, her heart pounding in her chest as the crew pulled it upward. She gripped onto the rope tightly, her tail swishing freely behind her as she was hauled up toward the ship. The coolness of the ocean clung to her, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the ship’s deck she was about to reach.

As San and Yeosang tugged the rope, Yn's muscles burned, but she didn’t let go. She wasn’t sure if it was the fear of being trapped again or the need to be close to Wooyoung that kept her holding on, but something deep inside her drove her forward. She could feel the weight of the crew's eyes on her, and though their intentions were to help, she couldn't shake the feeling of being caught once more between two worlds.

Wooyoung stood by the rope, his heart hammering in his chest as Yn got closer, her tail glistening in the moonlight as she swam toward him. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, as if every second that passed was drawing him closer to something both beautiful and uncertain.

As the net was pulled higher, Wooyoung stepped forward, eyes locked on Yn. There was so much between them—so much they hadn’t said, so many fears and doubts—but none of that mattered now. All he could focus on was her, and the desperate need to be by her side, to hold her, to help her in whatever way he could.

The footsteps of the crewmates faded into the distance, leaving Wooyoung and Yn in a silence that felt heavier than any storm. The ship rocked gently beneath them, but for a moment, the world felt like it had stopped spinning entirely.

Yn's breath hitched as her emotions broke free. The tears that had been simmering beneath the surface finally flowed freely, her body trembling as she clung to Wooyoung. She buried her face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace envelop her, even as her heart threatened to shatter.

Wooyoung's heart ached for her, and his grip tightened around her, as if he could hold her together when the world seemed intent on pulling her apart. His hand gently stroked her hair, murmuring words of admire.

She sobbed quietly into his chest, her voice muffled as she clung to him. "I’m so scared, Wooyoung. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what to say anymore."

Wooyoung's heart clenched at her words, his own throat tight with unshed tears. He could feel her shaking, the depth of her fear sinking into him. He wanted to promise her that everything would be okay, but he knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy.

" what happen? i haven't seen you cry this hard since san accidentally ate fish in front of you." Wooyoung asked.

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat as he gently helped Yn sit on the base of the ship, the weight of her words sinking in. His brow furrowed in concern, but when she let out a small laugh, he couldn’t help but smile, relieved to see even a hint of lightness in her eyes.

"Don't remind me," she muttered, her voice cracking slightly as she wiped away the remnants of her tears. "You know how much I hated sannie for that."

Wooyoung chuckled softly, relieved to see her trying to smile. "I won't," he promised, his tone soft. He moved to sit beside her, their shoulders touching, the warmth of his presence steadying her.

Then, Yn’s voice grew quieter, filled with the depth of everything she had been carrying. "My parents, Woo… I love you so, so much," she said, her words trembling as she glanced up at him, her eyes still shining with tears. "When you confessed to me, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to say yes, but… everything with my family, the ocean... it’s just so much. And I’ve always been stuck between two worlds."

Wooyoung’s heart seemed to stop at her words. The air around them felt heavy, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He pulled back slightly, just enough to see Yn’s face, her eyes still red from crying, but now filled with something that was both painful and determined.

“I’m betrothed to another, Woo…” she whispered again, her voice barely audible, as if saying the words out loud made them real in a way she hadn’t been ready for. Her gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of her confession settling in the space between them.

His mind raced, trying to process what she was saying. The world suddenly felt far too small for the two of them, caught in this unbearable tension. "What?" Wooyoung breathed out, his voice cracking slightly. "Yn, no, you can’t... you can’t be—"

“I didn’t want this, Woo,” she interrupted quickly, her voice sharp with frustration, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as him. "But my parents… they’ve already arranged it. It’s been decided, and I don’t have a choice. I… I can’t just run away from it."

Wooyoung’s heart shattered seeing Yn in so much pain. He hadn’t realized until now how deeply the weight of everything had been affecting her. The tears falling from her eyes mirrored his own, and for a moment, they just sat there—two souls bound by love but torn apart by circumstances beyond their control.

Yn picked at her scales absentmindedly, her fingers trembling as they traced the delicate lines of iridescent blue and green that decorated her skin. Her gaze was far away, lost in thoughts she couldn’t voice. Wooyoung’s chest tightened at the sight of her distress.

He shuffled slightly away, giving her space, though he didn’t want to. His own emotions were a whirlwind, and he needed to process everything, but it broke him to see her so lost.

"I don’t know what to do, Woo," she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost drowned by the sound of the ocean. She continued to pick at her scales, a nervous habit she’d developed whenever she was overwhelmed. "I love you so much, but my life... it’s like it’s already been decided for me. I don’t know how to change that."

Wooyoung swallowed hard, his heart aching at how powerless he felt in this moment. He had never felt so helpless before. But he had to remind her, even if he wasn’t sure how to fix everything yet.

Yn wiped her eyes quickly, startled by Hongjoong’s sudden appearance. Her heart skipped a beat, a mix of confusion and uncertainty swirling inside her. Wooyoung instinctively pulled her closer, his protective instincts kicking in, though he didn't release her.

Hongjoong’s smile remained soft, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes. “I may be able to help with that,” he said again, his voice calm but firm, as if he had an idea that could change everything for them.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, glancing at Yn before looking back at Hongjoong, the skepticism clear in his expression. “Help with what, hyung?”

Hongjoong’s gaze flickered to Yn, and then back to Wooyoung. “I know you both are in a difficult situation, but I’ve been paying attention. I think I might have a way to give you both more time—to find a solution that isn’t as... permanent as the one your parents have set for you, Yn.”

Yn’s brow furrowed as she sniffled again, still unsure. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice tentative, though her eyes were filled with a flicker of hope.

“I know it’s not much, and I’m not promising that this will be easy,” Hongjoong began, stepping closer to them both. “But... I think there’s a way we can buy you some time—time for you to figure things out without immediately being forced into that betrothal. Time for you to make your own choice.”

Yn clung tightly to the hammerhead shark, her fingers brushing against its rough, slick skin as it glided effortlessly through the water. The creature, a loyal companion and protector, seemed to sense her distress, its large head tilting slightly as it swam beneath her, providing her with the stability and comfort she needed in that moment.

The cold, deep waters of the ocean felt almost like a sanctuary compared to the heavy, suffocating pressure she had just left behind. The hammerhead shark, an imposing figure with its wide, angular head, was a reminder of the strength and resilience she still had within her, even when everything felt so out of control.

Yn’s heart raced as the shadows of the ocean grew longer, the dimming waters swallowing the light of the surface above. The hammerhead shark swam steadily beside her, its large head cutting through the water, but Yn felt an unsettling pull, a sense of dread that seemed to come from the very depths of the sea itself. It was as if the darkness beneath her was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Her tail flicked nervously, pushing her forward, but the ocean felt heavier now, as if each movement required more energy. She glanced over her shoulder at the ship trailing in the distance, the sound of creaking wood and faint voices carried by the wind. The weight of her decision hung in the air, the impossible choice between her love for Wooyoung and the demands of her family.

But now, there was something else lurking, a feeling that there was more at play than just her own fears. The shark beside her, once a comforting presence, now seemed more like a sentinel—silent, focused, as if it too sensed the danger.

Yn felt a shiver crawl up her spine, a sudden coldness settling in her chest as the shadows beneath the ocean deepened. The light from above was almost gone, swallowed by the growing night and the vastness of the sea. The shark moved more urgently now, its tail swishing faster as if it had sensed a shift in the water.

The closer they came to the ship, the heavier the air became. Yn’s pulse quickened, and she instinctively swam closer to the shark for protection. What was it? What had changed in the ocean’s current?

Suddenly, a dark shape flickered in the depths below—a ripple in the water that sent a jolt of panic through Yn’s chest. Her breath hitched, and her instincts screamed at her to swim faster, to get away. The hammerhead shark surged forward, pushing her onward, but it too seemed wary, its movements more frantic now.

“W-what’s down there?” Yn whispered to herself, her voice trembling in the water. She felt the pull of something dark, something ancient, something far beyond her comprehension. The ocean was vast, and it had its secrets. And right now, it felt like one of those secrets was waking up.

A low, rumbling growl echoed from the depths, vibrating through the water and shaking Yn to her core. She froze, her eyes wide with fear. The shark beside her turned, its body tensing as it swam in a tight circle, its instinct to protect her clear. But Yn’s gaze was fixed on the shadow moving beneath them, rising up from the depths like a predator. The water around them rippled as something enormous stirred in the dark.

Before she could process what was happening, the surface of the water above her began to ripple violently. The ship—a beacon of light and safety just moments before—suddenly seemed so far away.

The hammerhead shark hissed, its body bracing for something larger approaching, and Yn felt the sea itself shift, the ocean turning from a place of solace into one of danger.

Yn's breath caught in her throat as the shadows in the water cleared, and there, in the dim light filtering through the waves, she saw the unmistakable figures of her father and his guards. Her heart sank into her stomach, her pulse thundering in her ears. They were here.

Her father, his stern figure cutting through the water like a shadow, was flanked by two of his elite guards. They moved with an eerie grace, the sharp glint of their armor visible even in the depths. They were not here to negotiate. They were here to bring her back.

The hammerhead shark, her loyal companion and protector, let out a sharp, warning hiss, but before Yn could fully process the danger, the creature swam away, retreating into the deeper waters. The shark, once so steadfast at her side, was now gone—pulled away by some unseen force or by the overwhelming presence of the guards.

Yn's heart thudded painfully as her companion disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone in the vast, suffocating ocean. The coldness of her father’s approach seemed to fill the water around her, and she could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her, even from a distance.

"Yn," her father’s voice, low and commanding, cut through the water like a blade. "You’ve gone far enough."

Her breath hitched, her body frozen in place, and she didn’t respond immediately. The sting of his words—the disappointment, the anger—was too much to bear. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. The father who had always been her protector was now the one chasing her down, the one who would take her back to a life she didn’t want.

" no" yn said, surprising herself and her father. The word escaped Yn’s lips before she could fully process it. It was quiet, almost a whisper, but in the tense silence of the water, it rang out with a weight she hadn’t expected.

Her father’s eyes widened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something like uncertainty in his gaze. The guards, too, stopped in their tracks, looking at each other as if unsure whether they had heard correctly.

"No," Yn repeated, her voice stronger this time, though it trembled with the weight of her own defiance. The water around her seemed to thicken with the tension, as if the ocean itself was holding its breath.

Her father’s face hardened, and the anger that flashed in his eyes was a stark contrast to the brief softness she had seen. His jaw clenched, his posture shifting as he swam closer, his authority palpable in the water around them.

"You dare defy me?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, each word cutting through the current like a blade.

Yn’s heart was pounding in her chest, her tail flicking nervously beneath her, but there was no turning back now. She had said it. She had spoken the words that had been trapped inside her for so long.

"I’m not going back," she said, her voice firm, though the words felt foreign on her tongue. "I won’t marry him. I won’t live my life the way you want me to."

The fury in her father’s eyes was enough to send a shiver through Yn’s body, but she stood her ground. The desire to flee was overwhelming—her instincts screaming at her to swim away from the storm that was about to break. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything she had just said.

Her father’s glare bore into her, his tail lashing angrily behind him as he swam a few paces closer. The tension in the water thickened with every passing second, and Yn felt the weight of his disappointment like a physical force pressing against her chest. The ocean around them seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the next move.

“You really think you can defy me?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His normally controlled demeanor had shattered, and now the anger was raw, unchecked. “You are my daughter, Yn. You were never meant to have a choice. You belong to the kingdom. You belong to your people. Do you understand what that means?”

Yn swallowed hard, but her resolve held steady. She could feel the pounding of her heart in her ears, the fear and anger swirling within her, but she refused to show it. This was her moment. The one moment she would take for herself.

"Daddy, I love him!" Yn cried out, her voice breaking as she struggled against her father's iron grip. Every movement she made felt like she was being pulled further away from everything she wanted—away from Wooyoung, from the life she had begun to imagine with him. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the love she felt, and the overwhelming fear of losing it all.

Her father’s grip tightened, his eyes flashing with both anger and something colder, something deeper. "Enough, Yn!" he snapped, his voice sharp like a whip. "You cannot love him. He is human. You are of the sea, and that is where your loyalty must lie, not with a mere human."

Yn’s tail swished violently through the water, trying to free herself from his grasp, but her father’s strength was too much. His fingers dug into her arms, and with every pull, she was dragged further and further away from the ship that still held Wooyoung’s presence. The sight of the ship growing smaller in the distance filled her with a new wave of desperation.

"You don’t understand!" Yn cried, her voice thick with tears. "I don’t care that he’s human. I don’t care about the rules. I love him. Why can’t you just let me be happy?"

Her father’s face twisted in fury, his patience wearing thin. "You are a fool, Yn. You think love can change everything? The ocean does not care for love. It only cares for power and tradition. You cannot have both."

With a final, desperate tug, Yn broke free from her father's grip, her tail propelling her forward with all the strength she could muster. The rush of freedom surged through her, and for that brief, fleeting moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. She could feel the pull of the ocean behind her, but it wasn’t enough to drag her back. Not this time.

"I can and I will!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the water, filled with the determination that had been building up inside her for so long. The words felt like a declaration—both to herself and to her father. She would no longer let the fear of consequences stop her. She would no longer be bound by the traditions and expectations that had never felt like her own.

Her heart raced as she swam faster, pushing herself toward the surface, toward Wooyoung, and toward the ship she had almost lost. The water around her seemed to resist her movements, but her resolve was stronger than ever. She could do this.

Behind her, her father’s furious roar echoed, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She had already made her choice, and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone take that away from her.

The light of the surface was within reach, and with every stroke of her tail, it seemed to get closer, brighter. The ship loomed above her, and she could see the outlines of her friends on deck, the ship’s sails fluttering in the wind. But most importantly, she saw Wooyoung standing near the edge of the ship, his eyes scanning the horizon, looking for her.

A breathless cry escaped Yn as she surged toward the surface, breaking through the water and into the open air. The wind hit her face, and she gasped in a mix of relief and exhaustion, her eyes locking onto Wooyoung’s.

“Yn!” Wooyoung’s voice rang out, filled with both relief and concern as he rushed to the edge of the ship, his arms outstretched as if he could catch her.

Without thinking, Yn propelled herself forward, her heart leaping in her chest. She was here. She had made it. She was free.

With a final surge, she reached the ship, and Wooyoung’s hands were there to help pull her up, his touch warm and steady as he guided her onto the deck. He didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t need to. His eyes told her everything: that he was just as relieved as she was, that he was proud of her for making it.

Yn collapsed against him, her breath ragged as she held onto him tightly. She could feel the tears in her eyes, but they weren’t from sorrow anymore. They were from the overwhelming relief of knowing she had made it to where she truly belonged.

" did you get it?" yn asked, finally catching her breath.

Wooyoung smiled as it reached his eyes, he pulled out a iridescent pearl necklace that shine brightly. Wooyoung placed the necklace around her neck, Yn gasped as she felt the weight of the iridescent pearl necklace settle around her neck. The cool, smooth pearls brushed against her skin, and the moment the clasp clicked into place, a sudden warmth enveloped her entire body. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the unmistakable sensation of her tail slowly fading, replaced by a pair of legs. The transformation was both strange and beautiful—like her entire world was shifting beneath her.

Her once shimmering tail now felt like distant memory as the magic of the necklace took hold. She stared down at her new legs, flexing them slightly as the sensation of movement in a whole new form became clearer. Her fingers brushed the pearls of the necklace, their soft glow reflecting the hope in Wooyoung's eyes.

"You did it," she whispered, her voice a little unsteady. She looked up at Wooyoung, her heart swelling with gratitude. "You actually did it."

Wooyoung’s smile widened, the joy and relief in his expression lighting up the space between them. "I said I would." His eyes were full of warmth as he gazed at her, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them, here, in this moment.

As Yn took a few tentative steps on her new legs, she stumbled slightly, still adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation. Wooyoung reached out, steadying her, his hands gentle but strong. "Easy," he said softly, his voice filled with affection. "You’ve got this."

Yn laughed lightly, the sound of it filling the air as she gained her balance, standing tall in front of him. Her eyes sparkled with newfound wonder, looking at Wooyoung with awe and affection.

Yn threw her whole body onto Wooyoung, her arms wrapping around him tightly as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. A joyous laugh bubbled up from her chest, the kind that she hadn’t felt in so long, and the world seemed to brighten around them. Wooyoung spun her around, the two of them twirling under the open sky, the sea breeze ruffling their hair.

Her heart soared with every spin, the excitement, the relief, and the love all mixing together in a whirlwind of happiness. Yn felt weightless in his arms, as if she were flying, her heart soaring with the freedom of the moment. Her lips parted in a soft sigh as she leaned into Wooyoung’s kiss, the warmth and tenderness of it sweeping through her like a wave. The world around them seemed to disappear—the ship, the sea, even the sky—until it was just the two of them, entwined in the embrace of their love.

Wooyoung’s hands gently cupped her face, his fingers tracing the soft curve of her cheek as he deepened the kiss. Yn melted into him, her hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, feeling the strength and steadiness of him beneath her touch.

It was a kiss filled with everything they had fought for: freedom, love, and the hope of a future they could finally share together.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested against one another, both of them breathless and smiling, eyes locked in a silent understanding. Yn’s heart still raced, not from fear or uncertainty, but from the sheer joy of knowing that they had crossed an impossible boundary to get to this point.

"You’re mine," Wooyoung whispered, his voice a soft promise.

"And you’re mine," Yn whispered back, her heart full.

[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😚

[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

[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.

[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.

[yuomizuu]

⋆.˚ ᰔ . to be with you, is to sit in autumn sunlight !

[ kazuha. ] — just a couple of random hcs that suddenly came to me! it has truly been a hot minute since my last post but regardless, hope you enjoy the zuha brain rot folks ^3^

w.c: 945

➴ kaedehara kazuha.

if there’s anything that kazuha enjoys doing—apart from writing poetry, resting upon a warm rock, or indulging himself in a bit of sake—it’s your presence.

whether it’s taking a leisure stroll through the streets of liyue together or simply listening you talk to your heart’s content, kazuha finds your company to be as pleasant as a gentle autumn breeze. when the alcor is buzzing with an endless revelry that continues on into the late hours of the night, kazuha will seek you out, quietly taking your hand and leading you elsewhere, away from the festivities to instead pursue a secret rendezvous of your own.

if he’s not particularly keen on leaving the ship, then he’ll steal a bottle of sake and two cups and instead bring you up to the ship’s nest, enjoying each other’s company as you both silently admire the rolling ocean waves across the horizon.

but it’s also important to remember that kazuha is someone who enjoys his own solitude from time to time as well. therefore, his most prominent forms of love languages would probably fall into words of affirmation. you recall the time beidou had referred to his manner of speaking as having flowers come out of his mouth instead of actual words and honestly, you would have to agree. countless times has this charming wanderer left you with nothing but a racing heart and a hue of rose tinted cheeks from just a few cherry-picked lines.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

“the sunlight is bright, the leaves are vibrant and yet, your eyes, your smile… when you look at me in this moment, the brilliance of flowers and daylight seem dull, as if i’m staring into the heart of a blooming star.”

“… kazuha!? where did that come from all of sudden??”

“hmm… just thinking of some lines to use in my next poem dove.”

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

kazuha will seldom chose to call/refer to you by your actual given name, not because he finds it awkward, but he simply prefers to use his own terms of endearments with you. the most frequent of which being ‘my love’ and ‘dove,’ however don’t be surprised if he suddenly throws in a new one into the mix. the times in which your name is spoken by his lips are the quietude moments beneath the viel of stars at night in which he recites poems to you in your honor or softly proclaims vows of forever being yours.

each time the young ronin prepares to set off on another journey, ready to follow wherever the winds take him, he leaves a token of himself with you. this token can end up being a variety of things: an item he procured on his previous travels, a simple flower or leaf ( though to him, they are anything but simple ), or even the red tassel on him with the ornamental maple leaf where his vision is tied to. whatever it is you end up receiving, it serves as a reminder that even though he may travel great distances, he will always return to you.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

“they do say that distance makes the heart grow fonder.. so you need not worry my love. a part of me will always be with you, but i can only be complete if i am by your side.”

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

as if the token itself weren’t enough, kazuha will undoubtedly continue to keep in touch with you via written letters. he does this special thing where depending on the nation he’s currently traveling in, he’ll pick a local plant speciality and seal it with wax to the envelope — a way of letting you know where he was in the world. sometimes he’ll simply muse to you about his travels, writing about all the wonderful sights he’s seen and is certain you would enjoy. on days when kazuha is missing you more so than usual, his letters will consist of haikus/poems centered around you or just going on a lover’s tangent about how much he adores you.

you also write to him, and of course, kazuha finds immense happiness each time he receives your letters. if he’s having a hard time falling asleep at night, he’ll read through your letters, hoping your words alone will manage to lull his restless mind to sleep ( and they do ). back home, he’ll fold them into origamis in order to preserve them and from that alone he’s able to recognize what letter of yours it was in and what you’d written in particular. ( beidou is constantly finding random origamis scattered around her ship sometimes www )

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

“hey [name], mind giving this to kazuha and reminding him not to misplace them around the ship unless he wants a drunken sailor stepping on them?”

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

when the time of your fateful reunion finally arrives, it feels akin to a homecoming for kazuha ( although he would argue that it is exactly that because well.. you are his home ). the moment he sets foot onto the familiar grounds of liyue, his eyes seek you out instantly, knowing that you would be waiting for him just like you always do. some days he’ll surprise you, silently walking up from behind and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck and planting a series of kisses — ones that are so gentle and feather-like, it felts as though a butterfly had landed there. slowly, they’ll trail up until he reaches your ears where he whispers to you his greeting and how happy he is to see you.

you can most definitely expect to be showered in all his love and attention for the next few days so hopefully you won’t find yourself tiring of him too quickly :)

[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!

[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.

[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.