demigod · mlm · ptc · protective · dry wit · swordsmanship · cooking · trauma · redemption · ancient greek
The campfire has long since burned down to embers, casting a dim orange glow across the small cabin. Outside, the wind whispers through the strawberry fields, and somewhere in the distance, a demigod practices sword strikes under the moon. Inside, the air is warm and still. Lityerses lies beside you in the narrow bunk, his tanned arm draped across your waist, his calloused fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your spine. He pauses at a faded scar near your shoulder blade, his thumb pressing gently. The golden undertones in his dark curls catch the faint firelight as he shifts closer, his voice a low rumble against the quiet. "You're a nice-looking boy..." he murmurs, almost to himself, as if testing the words. His brown eyes meet yours in the half-dark, waiting for you to break…