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lydscare · 1 month ago

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Xaden Riorson Fluff Alphabet

| warnings/notes: suggestive notes for kissing and I briefly mention sex to get a point across, the start kind sucks ngl, wc: 3k ;-;

a/n: sooo hi. i’m sorry i’ve been dead😭ihavenoesxcuses anyways, here are some xaden hcs because I finally finished iron flame (from summer shushh) and yes. i am publishing this at 11 at night. my sleeping schedule was always ruined from the start-

fluff alphabet is from @/snk-warriors

reader is written as gender neutral / masterlist

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

when Xaden has free time (either from being a wingleader or from helping run the rebellion) all of his breaks are spent with you

he doesn't do anything too special during these rare moments of peace and quiet with you. they’re special to him because he’s with you and that’s all he really needs

sometimes you two train, sometimes you two just sit and talk on the roof (whether that be at Basgaith or at Riorson House) about each other’s day and events that happened while the other wasn’t there

most days he’ll just trail you and silently stand with you as you go about completing some ordinary tasks. it offers him a certain comforting peace to see you go about your day in a less hectic and chaotic fashion then he’s used to

he also may just drag you to his room for cuddles <3

he’d be fine to do anything that you’d want to do with this spare time you two rarely get, but he really just wants to be able to be silently comforted by just you at the simple fact that you exist and are waiting for him when he comes back to you; his home

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

if we’re talking about physical beauty then it would be your hair (sorry if you’re bald 🫢)

whether it’s long or short, straight or curly; he loves it. he wasn’t kidding when he told Violet that all she needs to do to win an argument is let her hair down. just play with your hair a bit and you’ll FEEL his gaze instantly be drawn to the motion. he might even pause what he’s saying for a heartbeat before he promptly ignores his own reaction

but personality wise it’s probably your softness/patience with him. he knows that he can be frustrating to put up with but you still love him and are patient with him about opening up and he truly appreciates that more than you could know

he also enjoys that he can be vulnerable around you (hence the ‘softness’) he hasn’t been in a relationship like that before so it’s kinda odd for him but he likes it soo

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

he’s had his fair share of panic attacks probably, so he’d recognize the building signs and realize “oh shit. my beautiful s/o is freaking out.”

at first I think he wouldn’t be entirely sure what to do. sure he’s handled his fair share of panic attacks but he isn’t exactly sure how to help someone else who is having them, considering he just ✨deals with it✨ on his own

he ends up just touching you to help keep you grounded. he’d cup your face and lean your forehead against his, whispering to you reassuring words like “i’m here” and that “you’ll be okay. it’ll pass”

he’ll seat you on his lap and hold you, rubbing his knuckles against your back until eventually you manage to calm down and rest your head against his shoulder

he also does that thing where he tells you to count your breaths with him “breath in, breath out. breath in, breath out. see sweetheart, you’re doing great. just keep going, alright?”

overall physical touch is his way of comforting you during a panic attack

if you feel sad he will also at first have no idea how to help you, considering he’d probably mostly be the one to turn to you for comfort so he’s unsure how to go about providing the same thing for you

he’s trying his best tho, truly. he ends up just having you tell him what’s making you feel down and he’s sure to listen intently. he’s a great listener. he’ll kiss your forehead all while telling you that he’ll be here for you until you start feeling in better spirits

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Xaden doesn't tend to think too much about his future with you

he’s too concerned with making sure that you two survive to the next day so he doesn't really have enough time to think about it

although there are times when the possibilities of your future together starts to develop in his mind, but he doesn't allow himself to think too much about it

he’s kind of scared to have a too optimistic outlook on the future. he’s scared to give you two false hope

as long as your at his side by the end of the day he’ll be satisfied

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Overall Xaden would be the dominant one in the relationship

that isn’t to say that you don’t have moments of dominance as well (you have quite a few ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), you can be very persuasive) but Xaden does tend to take the lead overall

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

um…

Xaden is a very stubborn individual. he always tends to believe that he’s constantly in the right and that what he says goes

such as telling you that coming with him for a weapon drop off is too dangerous but you go with him anyway

he’ll mainly try to act grumpy about it but (for things that aren’t too big a deal) he’ll get over it in a few minutes

but if the argument is very explosive then he’ll probably distance himself, train and blow off some steam before he goes to you wanting to talk about the issue with you more

I think he would be overall pretty reasonable in an argument (except for special occasions when his stubbornness and temper get the best of him) but you need to be able to hold yourself against him. not that he’s your enemy is these instances, he’s just stubborn and you may need to repeat yourself a few times for your words to really sink in against his

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

he’s very much aware of what you do for him. he knows that being in a relationship with him can be so hard, but the fact that you love and stay with him despite that? he all the more loves and appreciates you for it (if that’s even possible)

he tends to sometimes see himself as a burden (romantically) to you, but he’s selfish and he’s not letting you go anytime soon. you’re the best thing that happened to him and he’ll be damned if he lets you leave him

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

👀👀

his red flag is pretty much keeping secrets from you.

not directly lying but refraining information (his words)

granted he wouldn’t hide information from you that you would die without but it is still annoying as fuck

due to you being the first relationship he’s been in that contains vulnerability and emotions, he doesn't know how to be transparently honest. he wants to try sharing things with you, but he has no idea how

teach him please. he probably hasn’t ever had a real loving relationship before so he’d going to stumble a lot in the process but he’ll keep trying

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helping them overcome personal problems?

he becomes more honest and vulnerable with you

you teach him that having emotions beside anger doesn't make him weak

you help him be able to be more.. human

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

short answer: yes. Xaden gets jealous

but it can go one of two ways

1) he grits his teeth and bares the other person being more around you while he’s seething on the inside (with an occasional dig at them every now and then)

or 2) he goes all out. hands are constantly touching you. he puts his arm around your shoulder and just calmly is like “yeah, my s/o is fun to talk to” with an almost dangerously low voice

honestly he just needs a little reassurance from you that nothing’s going on and he’ll be fine. he trusts you 100% (he’d still be pissed at someone looking at you in any way like that tho)

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

needless to say, Xaden’s an amazing kisser

although he has experience, he and you both know that he’s never kissed someone with as much passion as he does with you. the high he gets off just by kissing you is only a fraction of what sex had given him before you

his kisses always tend to be heated. even his pecks which are usually hard and quick can leave your body gently humming

Xaden is very observant and after a few make out sessions with him he quickly figures out what you like and makes sure to use those techniques with you later on

he tends to use his tongue and use his teeth to pull on your bottom lip

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

i he’d be the type to confess his love to you either in a moment of passion or in an argument or after/before a near death experience in which you or he almost died (yes, this is wide variety but bear with me please-)

the scenario would play out like this: say that you decided that it would be okay to join him in a weapon run to the griffin riders. things escalate and you and Xaden end up getting attacked by venins and wyverns blah blah blah. eventually you two just narrowly escaped death again, and you thought nothing of it. but then Xaden turns to look at you with the most cold and angry look that you’ve ever seen. he starts raising his voice at you, asking you why you even snuck to go on the run without him knowing and how it was a reckless and stupid decision on your part. but you weren’t going to just stand there and let him insult you so easily so soon enough you both are practically shouting at each other about how you wanted to be there and that you’d do it again if you so choosed. and Xaden says that you’re not and you say you are, and eventually you just straight up ask him why he doesn't want you to go with him considering life threatening situations weren’t anything new to you, and he, built up with rage and fear from almost losing you again just says that is was because he loved you and he couldnt bare to think what would’ve happened to you if– and he just confessed to you, huh? you both get all quiet after that. it’s a bombshell moment for you two considering he never told you it before despite you two having been in a relationship for a while

(i’ll let you figure out how the aftermath goes ;))

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

at first marriage isn’t really on Xaden’s mind. he’s so busy just trying to keep you and him alive that he doesn’t really think too much about your guy’s future relationship. he’s just taking it one day at a time

but- they’ll come a certain instance where you two may be sitting alone on the roof of Riorson House or you laugh at your own really bad joke. and he’s just softly smiling while looking over at you. and he comes to the realization that this, you, are the person that he wants to spend the rest of his life with even in the hell that your lives have been. then marriage randomly pops into his mind and- no, no, no, no. he is NOT going to think about marriage right now. he low-key feels kinda guilty for thinking about it?? you two are in the middle of a damn war! people are dying and here he is thinking about marrying you like a lovesick boy? cue Xaden not being able to process his emotions so he finds excuses to keep a bit of distance between you two. eventually you ask him about it and he reassures you that it’s nothing. and while he’s back to being near you most of the time, he’s a bit.. different. less talkative. you’ve caught him a few times with this blank look on his face, seemingly staring off into space. and he seems a bit more distant physically too, more hesitant with his touch. eventually though (you two are probably all cuddled up in his bed) and he just asks you your opinion on marriage. and by the gods, it’s your first time ever seeing Xaden look nervous, REALLY NERVOUS, avoiding eye contact and everything- if you do (gods he hopes) say that you’re open to marriage he’s secretly ecstatic about it (you can’t tell tho) and it gives him another reason for him to give his all every day during this war

(if you’re not a fan of marriage and you voice that he’ll slowly die inside, but he’ll get over it)

he’ll find somewhere where they give away wedding rings and you pick the one that he thinks you’ll love the most and won’t bother wearing all the time. he wouldn’t hesitate to threaten the vendor if for some reason the ring wasn’t for sale.

he’ll just carry the ring wherever he goes, waiting for the right moment to propose to you

he wouldn’t really want a big party or wedding. but if you wanted one you two would make it a smaller one with just your friends and family

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

your nickname would probably have to do with your initial (the first letter of your name) and something that he enjoys about you (Violence for Violet, Flash for Fiona, Tiger for Tammy, etc.) I think you get the idea 😭

other than that he doesn’t use nicknames that much though

but petnames wise he’d call you sweetheart, darling, princess (in a more teasing/mocking way) and he MAY call you love but but it’s even more rare. he’d probably only use it on special occasions

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

i think people can just.. tell

like he doesn’t even need to say that you two are dating to know that there’s something between you two

the way his eyes will slightly soften when he looks at you. or how his eyes always stay focused on yours. or how if anyone disrespects you or doubts your words then he gets all defensive and snaps at the person

even if you two are in a situation where he isn’t going to be physically affectionate with you as much as he normally does, people just KNOW that your his and that they better not mess with you

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

it depends on where he is. that normally affects how affectionate he is with you

sometimes he acknowledges that there are moments that require him to be more professional and he’ll be careful not to be too affectionate with you in public (although he would sneak his hand on the small of your back or on your thigh if you two are sitting next to each other or manage to give your hand a light squeeze when he knew no one was looking.)

if he’s around people who hate him or you being physically affectionate- he will always keep a hand on you. on your waist, hip, shoulder, the small of your back or just simple hand holding

he likes touching you in public. he thinks it’s funny to see people be pissed off at his direct touches. but it’s you and that’s enough of a reason for him to enjoy touching you, in public or private. pissing people off in the process is just a little bonus to him. he basks in people’s anger at his shenanigans a bit too much but who are you to complain, really?

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

his shadows and title/reputation

due to his reputation, people are scared to question him, practically meaning that you could go wherever you wish. all you need to do is drop his name to a guard or general and their face seems to lightly pale and you’re free to do as you please

and in the rare state where he can’t be physically touching you he has his shadows comfort you in some way, although he’d prefer to do it himself

he also is practically your body guard so that’s a plus

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

this depends on your bias. although he himself is somewhere in the middle. while he tends to be truly romantic in private, he might do a romantic gesture in public every now and then like kiss you passionately (you one where he picks you up and spins you around before kissing you type-thing) but still a bit more rare

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Xaden would lean more towards being supportive, but also kind of not??

like… he cares about you and all and he believes that part of that is sort of bringing you back to reality kind of thing

he’s not the type to entertain goals for himself, especially if they seem to be sort of out of reach

it’s not that he’d say anything trying to hurt your feelings or that he doesn't see you as capable of achieving any high goals, but it can come off as him shutting you down sometimes

he’s kind of a pessimist at heart so 🤷

it’s worth noting that if your goals in life imply that your life would be in danger most of the time then you’re not going to get much support on that front :/ but he can’t stop you (you’re too badass)

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

thrills aren’t really needed in your relationship with Xaden

if anything, you and Xaden are looking for the opposite

a relationship with Xaden can be hard and stressful to maintain when you’re constantly surrounded by riders always trying to kill each other

a sense of normalcy and domesticity and some type of a hangout schedule is pretty much a need, not something sPicY

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

he isn’t empathetic right out of the gate

BUT i think that he would grow to understand his partner and would grow to be more empathetic through your relationship with him

like said before, you help him be able to connect with his emotions, even the sad ones and that helps him be able to be a more empathic person as a whole

when it comes to less emotional knowing and more so physical/material knowing he knows EVERYTHING about you

any little new bit of information that you drop about yourself he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind

and it isn’t like he’s memorizing it, it’s just so easy for him to remember everything about you

favorite foods, favorite color, the places and people that you like to go to

he doesn't just know what you like either, he also keeps track of what you hate as well, which can come in very handy

he can ready your body language very well, and always knows just by looking at you if he would need to come up with an excuse for you two to leave whatever the situation is

he’s really good at reading his partner

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

it may not always be obvious, but you are the most important thing in his life. he will drop everything and anything just to ensure your safety

he said that he’d let Basgiath burn to the ground for Violet soooo

pretty safe to say that you would be his priority

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

he ALWAYS is staring deep into your eyes. his eye contact is constant. even when your attention is directed to someone else and you’re not directly looking at him, he’s looking at you

if you ever rant to him about something he’s always staring into your eyes. he could do it for hours. sometimes his stare can be too much for you and you need to glance away as you try to prevent a flush from overcoming your cheeks

he knows that this stare gets you flustered, and he basks in seeing you squirm under his intent gaze

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

yes

he enjoys kisses and makeouts in public and private. it doesn’t matter too much to him. either way he gets to show you how much you mean to him. he prefers allowing his actions to speak for him instead of his words and boy does he deliver-

it would take him a bit longer to get used to cuddles though. the first time you just casually tried to cuddle him he was so stiff. he just didn’t exactly know what you wanted from him. after you explained that you just wanted to be near and close to him, entrapped in his warmth he suddenly really liked it??

you always end up sleeping in his room at the Riorson House. he tends to intertwine his legs with yours and his arms rest around your waist and he just holds you close to him, your back against his chest (often he won’t let you leave before him in the morning, saying in his morning voice “mm.. five more minutes.”)

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

he kinda doesn’t

anytime he needs to be away from you (either in fourth wing as wingleader or in iron flame leading the rebellion) he makes sure to distract himself with with his duties because if he thinks too much about you he might just have Sgaeyl fly him back over to you

every time after he’s had to be separated from you for multiple days he always greets you with a hug and a kiss

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Xaden is willing to go all the way for you

he’s quite literally all “i’d LET THE WORLD BURN for you” type guy

he’s willing to try and better himself for you. he wants to be able to comfort you and love you on days where you maybe can’t love yourself. he wants to be a sword and shield for you. he’ll protect you and love you at all costs and even death won’t separate his heart and soul from you

sooo… yeah

#lydscare;#xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson fanfic #fourth wing #iron flame #the empyrean #the empyrean series #fourth wing x reader #iron flame x reader #fourth wing imagine #iron flame imagine #xaden x reader #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson headcanons #I hope the right people see this-#I spent too long on this fr fr 😭#like Xaden ain't even my fav character from fw #(looks at liam slyly)

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lydscare · 3 months ago

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WASHED UP

ship: odysseus x fem!calypso!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 7.3k (strap up, babes, this is a long one~) a/n: Y'all forgive me, i have been horrible and abandoned the fandom 😔💔; i swear it wasn't on purpose, i just haven't been bit by the inspiration bug, but nevertheless, here i am getting inspired, so enjoy my twist on odysseus w/ calypso, no worries there will be a prt.2

★·.·´🇪‌🇵‌🇮‌🇨‌: 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇺‌🇸‌🇮‌🇨‌🇦‌🇱‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The sea spat him out like an unwanted secret. You watched from the cliffs as his body was tossed against the sand, limbs splayed like a broken marionette.

Thunderheads still roared in the distance, but the storm had spent its fury, leaving only the shattered remnants of his ship and the limp figure of its captain.

His first breath on your island was a gasp, harsh and desperate, followed by a violent cough that shook his entire frame.

Water poured from his mouth, a relentless cascade as he heaved, clawing at the sand with shaking fingers. He turned onto his side, retching, purging the sea from his lungs.

Each convulsion seemed to rip through him, leaving him weaker, more drained, until he collapsed back onto the shore, chest heaving, eyes shut tight against the grit and salt.

Above, the clouds began to peel away, the black and bruised sky giving way to a faint glimmer of sun.

The wind, once howling, softened to a mournful sigh, as if the island itself pitied him. Waves lapped at his feet, gentle now, apologetic, as if seeking to soothe the very man they had tried to destroy.

His eyelids fluttered open, the sky above a blur of gray and gold. He groaned, the sound raw and broken, the cry of a man who had seen too much, lost too much.

He lay there, sprawled out on the sand, staring up at the heavens with eyes full of disbelief and despair. His voice, hoarse and cracking, clawed its way out of his throat.

"Why?" he croaked, the single word carried away by the wind. "Why do you forsake me?"

He tried to rise, muscles trembling as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He looked around, taking in the unfamiliar shore, the jagged rocks jutting out like sentinels, the dense forest looming beyond. He was alone—utterly, helplessly alone.

The Gods had abandoned him here, cast him away like a piece of flotsam.

"Have I not suffered enough!?" he shouted, the words rasping against his parched throat. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. "Is this my reward for years of service, for blood spilled and honor upheld?"

The sky remained silent, indifferent to his plea. He dropped his head back onto the sand, teeth gritted in frustration, the last remnants of strength draining out of him.

The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing down on him like the weight of his failures.

You could almost feel it, that heavy despair that hung around him like a shroud. A warrior undone, not by the sword or the spear, but by the endless, unrelenting cruelty of fate.

You knew that look—had seen it before, in the eyes of those who had washed up on your shores, broken and lost, only to be healed by your touch, only to be bound by your love.

But this one… He was different.

His suffering was like a beacon, bright and piercing, pulling at something deep within you, something you had buried long ago.

And so you watched, unseen and silent, as he lay on the shore, a man shattered, calling out to Gods who would not answer.

You wondered who this man was, what sins he must have committed to be cast into your lonely exile. Another soul, shattered and lost, delivered to you by the cruel whim of fate.

Was this the Gods' twisted sense of humor, to send you the broken, the despairing, and then sit back and watch as you tried, again and again, to piece them together, knowing each time that they would eventually leave, taking a piece of you with them?

It had been that way for as long as you could remember. They arrived on your shores, eyes wide with fear or despair, bodies battered by storms both within and without.

And you, like a fool, took them in, healed their wounds, offered them solace. You let them weave themselves into your heart, into your very soul, only for them to tear themselves free when the time came, leaving you bleeding and hollow.

Was he any different, this man with his piercing eyes and voice full of sorrow? Would he be the one to break you completely? You don't know. But as you turned away from the beach, you couldn't help but feel that this time, the Gods had sent you a different kind of suffering.

You moved through the familiar paths, the underbrush parting easily beneath your feet. It was an old routine, gathering the essentials—just enough to keep them alive until they could find the will to keep themselves going.

Your hands worked mechanically, filling a small basket with a jug of water, a bit of bread, some fish you'd caught that morning. It was more than they ever needed, really. Most of them wouldn't even look at food when they first arrived, the shock still too raw, too immediate.

As you made your way back, the weight of the basket a comforting presence against your hip, you tried to steel yourself for what you would find. But when you reached the beach again, your breath caught in your throat.

He was sitting up now, his back to you, shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world still pressed down on him. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, empty and unfocused, the eyes of a man who had seen too much.

What remained of his clothes clung to him, tattered and soaked through. His armor—what little was left of it—gleamed dully in the fading light. A breastplate, once magnificent, now dented and scarred, a single pauldron hanging by a thread, the gold tarnished and scratched.

The rest had been torn away by the sea, leaving him exposed, vulnerable.

He looked every inch the hero brought low, a man stripped of his glory, left with nothing but his pain and regret. His dark hair clung to his forehead, still damp with seawater, and his hands rested limply on his knees, fingers digging into the sand as if he needed to feel something solid, something real.

You stopped a few paces away, your shadow stretching out before you. He didn't notice. Didn't even flinch. You could see it then, the full extent of his despair, etched into every line of his face, every weary slump of his shoulders.

He was beautiful, in a tragic sort of way, like a statue of a fallen God.

And you knew, as you stood there watching him, that this one would not be easy to heal. This one had a wound that went far deeper than flesh and bone.

You took a step forward, and then another, until you were close enough that your presence cast a shadow over him. He blinked, as if just now realizing you were there, his head turning slowly, eyes lifting to meet yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, laden with the unspoken, the unknown.

You held out the basket, your heart pounding in your chest. "You need to eat," you said softly, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves.

He didn't move, just stared at you with those piercing eyes, eyes that seemed to see right through you.

And for a moment, you thought he might refuse. That he might just turn away, let himself be swallowed by the sea again, and you would be left standing there, holding out something that could never be enough.

But then, slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he took the jug of water from your grasp.

"Thank you," he murmured, the words rough and uncertain, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time. He took a small sip, then another, his eyes never leaving yours.

You watched him, this broken man, and wondered what kind of suffering had brought him to you.

And what kind of suffering he would bring in return.

The days here had a way of slipping through your fingers, soft and warm like the sands on your island. It was easy to lose track of time, lulled by the rhythm of the waves, the steady pulse of the tides.

You had left him to his own devices, giving him the space he needed to come to terms with whatever fate had led him here. Most of them needed that—time to break down, to cry, to rage at the Gods.

But not this one.

When you returned the next day, basket in hand, you stopped short at the sight before you.

He was shirtless, skin bronzed and gleaming with sweat, muscles taut as he hammered a spike into the ground with a makeshift wooden-mallet. His remaining clothes and battered armor were piled neatly to the side, along with a few other scavenged materials.

The sound of wood striking stone echoed across the beach, a steady, determined rhythm that spoke of purpose.

There was the frame of a hovel half-built, crude but sturdy, the beginnings of a shelter taking shape where there had been only barren sand.

A small pile of freshly caught fish lay nearby, their scales glinting in the sunlight. You could still see the blood on his hands, fresh from gutting and cleaning them. He worked with an intensity that was almost mesmerizing, every movement precise, controlled.

"Wow," you murmured, stepping closer, setting the basket down at your feet. "I'm impressed."

He stilled at the sound of your voice, shoulders tensing as he glanced over his shoulder. Sweat dripped down his brow, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you, assessing.

You gestured to the hovel, the fish, the evidence of his labor. "Most who arrive here are still crying or lost, not knowing what to do with themselves. You're already building shelter."

His eyes sharpened, his expression shifting from guarded to curious, almost suspicious. He straightened, rolling his shoulders, the muscles in his back shifting under his skin as he set the mallet down. "There have been others?"

You snorted softly, crossing your arms as you looked at him. "Of course, there have been others. Did you think you were the first to be sent here?" The question was almost rhetorical, a simple truth that hung in the air between you.

He frowned, his gaze turning thoughtful, troubled. "Where is here?"

You hesitated for a moment, then took a few steps forward, your eyes flicking to the sword he had tossed carelessly to the side, half-buried in the sand. You reached down, your fingers brushing over the hilt. "This is Ogygia," you said, the name slipping easily from your lips, as familiar to you as your own. "A place of exile, for those the Gods have no more use for."

You were still tracing the hilt of his sword, fingers brushing over the worn leather grip when he spoke again, his voice tight and strained. "Is there a way off this island?"

You stilled, your gaze shifting from the sword to him, catching the desperation in his eyes through your lashes. For a moment, you considered lying, spinning some tale of escape, but you’d seen that look before, and you knew what would follow.

"You can try," you said, your voice calm, almost detached as if you'd had this conversation a thousand times before. "But once you get at least five feet from the shore, the waves will rise and destroy whatever you're floating on to pieces."

The truth of your words hung heavy in the air, a quiet certainty that left no room for hope. His face twisted, the anger and helplessness flaring in his eyes as stared at you.

You could see the way his jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath the stubble on his cheeks, his fingers flexing and unflexing at his sides as if he wanted to hit something, anything.

He turned away, staring at the horizon as if willing it to yield some answer, some solution.

He was the very picture of a man caught in a trap he couldn't break free from.

"Excuse me," you murmured, pushing yourself up from the sand and brushing off your hands, wanting to give him space to process the reality of his situation.

"Wait!"

The word came out sharp, almost desperate, and you paused, glancing back over your shoulder. He was looking at you, really looking, his eyes piercing, searching for something—anything—that made sense of all this.

"Who are you?"

You could feel the laugh bubbling up inside you—a tired, almost bitter sound that you suppressed, forcing your expression into something calm, something almost serene.

It was always the same: this question, the disbelief, the desperate need to know why they were here, why you were here.

"Calypso," you said, the name falling from your lips like a sigh. "Daughter of Atlas and Pleione."

He blinked, the words clearly not the answer he had been expecting. He stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces.

"Calypso," he repeated softly, your name unfamiliar on his tongue. There was a softness to it, a kind of reverence that almost made you want to laugh.

You hummed, a sound low and almost mournful. "Aye, cursed to carry the brunt of my parents' sins."

You saw the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something like pity in his eyes before he looked away, his gaze shifting to the sand at his feet as if he couldn't bear to look at you.

You wondered what it was he saw, whether he saw you as a jailer or just another prisoner in this place of exile.

He cleared his throat, the sound rough, hesitant. "My name is Eperitus," he said, the words slow, deliberate, like he was testing them out. "From a small village in Thessaly."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly as you watched him. The name meant nothing to you, but the way he said it—the slight hesitation, the almost imperceptible shift in his posture—it was a lie, or at the very least, not the whole truth.

Still, you nodded, as if you believed him, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "Very well, Eperitus," you said, the name rolling off your tongue with a hint of amusement. "I suppose I will leave you to it."

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of suspicion in his gaze, but you didn't give him time to question it. You turned, your bare feet barely making a sound on the sand as you walked away, leaving him there, alone with his thoughts.

You could feel his eyes on your back, the weight of his gaze heavy, but you didn't look back. You had seen this play out too many times before—the hope, the despair, the bargaining with fate.

Each time, it was different, and yet, always the same.

And this man, this Eperitus, whatever name he chose to call himself, was no different.

You just wondered how long it would take him to realize it.

The waterfall cascaded down from the rocks above, the sound a constant, soothing roar that drowned out everything else. The water sparkled in the late afternoon sun, clear and cool as it pooled into the pond below, a hidden sanctuary nestled within the heart of your island.

You stood in the shallow waters, the hem of your white slip floating just above your knees, the fabric clinging to your skin in places where the water lapped gently against you.

The air was sweet with the scent of jasmine and wet earth, the leaves above casting dappled shadows across the surface of the pond.

You hummed softly under your breath, an old song your mother had taught you long ago, a tune that spoke of faraway places and dreams that never seemed to come true.

The melody blended with the sounds of the waterfall, a quiet lullaby that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

It was peaceful here, a place untouched by the outside world, a place where you could almost forget who you were and why you were here. You dipped your hands into the water, scrubbing at a piece of cloth, the rhythm of the motion almost hypnotic.

Then, a sharp crack echoed through the grove, the sound of a branch snapping underfoot. Your head snapped up, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes scanned the treeline.

It took only a moment for your gaze to settle on him, partially hidden behind the bushes, his body frozen in a half-crouch, as if he had been trying to sneak away unnoticed.

"Eperitus?" you called out softly, your voice carrying easily over the sound of the water. He flinched, his eyes wide, a startled, almost guilty look on his face as he straightened up. He took a step back, his gaze darting around as if he were trying to find an escape.

For a moment, you thought he might run, but then he seemed to gather himself, his shoulders slumping slightly as he stepped forward, pushing through the bushes. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. His cheeks were flushed, whether from the heat or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell.

You offered him a small, reassuring smile, setting the cloth aside as you turned to face him fully. "It's alright," you said gently, wiping your hands on the slip, the water dripping from your fingers. "I wasn't expecting company, that's all."

He nodded, his eyes flicking to the ground, then back to you, a hesitant, almost bashful look on his face. "I just... I was looking for you," he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. "I thought I'd, well... check in."

You tilted your head slightly, studying him.

It had been a few weeks since your last conversation on the beach, and in that time, you had kept your distance, letting him find his footing, so to speak. He was more self-sufficient than most who ended up here, resourceful and determined in a way that spoke of a man who had spent years fighting to survive.

You had stepped back, observing him from a distance, only intervening when necessary.

You'd seen him sitting on the shore more than once, staring out at the sea with a look in his eyes that made your chest ache. A kind of yearning, a quiet desperation that seemed to pull at something deep inside you.

Other times, you'd found him working tirelessly on his shelter, hammering away at the wooden frame with a focus that bordered on obsession.

You shrugged lightly, the gesture casual, as if it didn't matter to you either way. "You've been doing fine on your own," you said, your tone light, almost teasing. "Didn't think you needed my help."

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile passing over his face before it faded. He glanced down at his hands, rough and calloused, the fingers still smudged with dirt and sawdust. "I wasn't sure if I was... interrupting," he said awkwardly, his gaze flicking back up to meet yours.

You laughed softly, the sound echoing through the grove. "You've been here long enough to know I'm not that easy to disturb," you said, amusement coloring your words. You glanced at him, taking in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the awkwardness that seemed almost out of place on a man like him.

"Besides," you added, your voice softening slightly, "I've been keeping an eye on you. Just to make sure you didn't do anything foolish."

His eyes widened slightly, and you saw a flash of something in his gaze—surprise, maybe, or something close to it. "I've been that obvious, have I?"

You shook your head, taking a few steps closer until you were standing just at the edge of the pond, the water swirling around your waist. "You're not the first to end up here, remember?" you said quietly. "I know the signs."

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he stared at the ground, his hands curling into fists at his sides. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

"I'm sorry." He glanced back at you, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite name. "I didn't mean to—"

"To what?" you interrupted gently, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "You've done nothing wrong, Eperitus."

He flinched slightly at the name, and you saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes before he quickly looked away. It was almost imperceptible, but you caught it, that brief hesitation, that moment of uncertainty.

You hummed softly, waving him off with a light smile. "No worries," you said, your voice easy and warm. You turned away, wading through the cool water to where the last cloth floated lazily on the surface.

The fabric clung to your fingers as you lifted it, squeezing out the excess water, your movements slow and deliberate. Droplets slid down your arms, glistening like tiny jewels in the fading light as you made your way back to the shore.

Setting the damp cloth gently in the woven basket with the other clean clothes, you straightened, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. "I was meaning to tell you, there's fresh water here. You can come and bathe; clean up a bit." You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you shifted the basket to the side. "Unless you're the type of Greek who doesn't do that."

He let out a short, surprised chuckle at that, the sound rough and genuine, his shoulders relaxing just a little. But then his laughter died away, the words faltering on his lips as he looked at you.

You stepped out of the pond, the water cascading down your legs, the sunlight filtering through the leaves above, casting a soft, golden glow over your skin. Your white slip clung to you like a second skin, the wet fabric almost translucent, outlining the curves of your body in a way that made his breath catch in his throat.

His eyes roamed over you, unbidden, as if drawn by some unseen force. Your smooth, sun-kissed skin glistened with droplets of water, each one catching the light, making you look like you were carved from marble, like a statue come to life.

Your hair, damp and wild, was adorned with small pieces of coral and tiny flowers—a crown of nature's bounty that seemed almost otherworldly.

By Aphrodite's grace…

The thought struck him like a blow, and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from letting the words slip past his lips. He watched you, mesmerized, as you moved with an effortless grace, your bare feet barely making a sound on the moss-covered stones.

Every step, every sway of your hips, seemed to pull him in deeper, into a trance he couldn't escape.

You seemed almost unreal, as if the Gods themselves had sculpted you from the very essence of desire.

His gaze lingered on your lips, soft and full, naturally pouty in a way that made his mouth go dry. He thought to reach out and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers, to trace the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck.

He swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming in his ears, his hands clenched into fists at his sides to keep from losing himself completely.

His breath hitched, his mind spiraling, teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something he shouldn't be thinking, shouldn't be feeling.

He had a wife, a son, a home waiting for him, a life he had fought tooth and nail to return to.

Penelope, with her quiet strength and unwavering loyalty, the woman he loved more than life itself.

And yet, here he was, staring at you like a starving man, drinking in every detail, every inch of your body with a hunger that burned in his veins.

It was wrong, all of it, and yet he couldn't look away, couldn't pull himself free from the spell you had woven around him.

You were beautiful, achingly so, and in that moment, he knew he was treading dangerous ground.

And for the first time in a long, long time, he truly felt afraid.

"Eperitus?"

Your voice, soft and lilting, broke through the haze in his mind, snapping him back to reality. You were looking at him with those wide, doe-like eyes, your gaze gentle, curious, your lips curved into the barest hint of a smile.

He cleared his throat, the sound rough and strangled, his eyes wide as if he'd just snatched Persephone from Hades' very arms. He took a stumbling step back, his hands raising slightly as if in surrender, his gaze darting away from you as if your very presence burned him.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice uneven, breaking on the last word. He shook his head, the movement almost frantic, as if he could shake free of whatever spell you had woven around him. "I didn't mean to—I should—I should go."

He gestured vaguely toward the forest behind him, his hands trembling ever so slightly. "Fish," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the word itself was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the chaos of his thoughts. "I need to— I'll go fish. Or forage. Or fix something. Yes, I'll— I'll go do that."

He took another step back, almost tripping over his own feet; his cheeks flushed a deep, mortified red. His eyes flicked back to you, just for a moment, and then away again before hurrying off like a man fleeing the scene of a crime, the ghost of your beauty chasing him, haunting his every step.

You watched him go, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, its light spilling across the sea in a riot of colors—gold and crimson bleeding into the darkening blue of the water, the water shimmering like liquid gold beneath the dying light.

You sat with your legs curled up beside you on the cliff's edge, the wind whispering around you, soft and cool, tugging gently at your hair as if trying to coax you closer to the edge.

This was your favorite place on the island, the place where the land met the sea, where you could sit and lose yourself in the endless expanse of water and sky. It was where you had seen him, Eperitus—his body limp and broken, washed ashore like so many others before him, another lost soul thrown at your feet by the whims of the Gods.

The ocean stretched out before you, vast and endless, its beauty a cruel mockery of the cage that held you.

For as long as you could remember, this had been your only view, the only sight that had remained unchanged through centuries of exile. The sky, the sea, the stars—eternally bound to this lonely rock, this place that was both your sanctuary and your prison.

The water was so close, just a few feet away, and yet it might as well have been a world apart. You could still feel it, the pull of the tides, the longing that thrummed in your veins, the memory of what it was to be one with the sea.

You sighed softly, your gaze following the path of the sun as it dipped lower, the sky turning from brilliant orange to deep purple.

Once, you had swum through these waters as freely as the dolphins, your body slicing through the waves like a silver blade. The ocean had been your domain, your home, every current and tide a part of you.

You were a sea nymph, a daughter of the sea, wild and unbound, but the water no longer sang to you—no longer held the promise of escape.

But that was before.

You closed your eyes, the memories crashing over you like waves, each one more painful than the last.

The Titanomachy. The great war that had torn the heavens and the earth apart, that had pitted brother against brother, father against son.

You had watched from the sidelines, powerless to intervene, to stop the destruction that had swept through your family, your kind. And when the dust had settled, when the victors had claimed their spoils and the losers had been cast down into the darkness, you had been left behind, forgotten.

Or so you had thought.

The punishment had come later, delivered with the cold, indifferent hand of justice.

You, the daughter of Atlas, the child of Pleione, had been deemed unworthy, a threat to the new order of things. And so you had been cast out, not to the depths of Tartarus, but to this island, this paradise-turned-prison, to live out your days in endless solitude.

You had not wept, not then.

You had been too proud, too defiant to show the Gods your pain. But as the years had passed, as one by one, those who washed up on your shores had come and gone, the loneliness had seeped into your bones, a slow, insidious poison that sapped your strength, your will.

You had not been broken by the war, but by the endless, unchanging years that followed. You had stopped counting the days, the years. Time had lost its meaning here, each day bleeding into the next in an endless, monotonous cycle.

You had grown numb, your heart a hollow thing, a fragile shell that you guarded fiercely, lest it shatter completely.

And yet, there were moments like this, rare and fleeting, when the ache became too much to bear, when the weight of your exile pressed down on you like a physical thing, crushing the breath from your lungs.

You missed it… the life you had once known—the feel of the water around you, the way it had held you, cradled you in its depths.

The life that you would never get back.

Your eyes stung, the salt of unshed tears burning as you blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. What good would it do? What good had it ever done? The Gods did not care for your tears, your pain.

They had made their judgment, and you were bound to it, bound to this place, this fate.

You glanced back over your shoulder, towards the fire, towards the small, simple home you had made for yourself on this cursed rock. You had tried to build something, to find some small measure of peace, of contentment in the simple things—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt air.

But it was never enough. It would never be enough.

A soft, bitter laugh slipped past your lips. How foolish you had been to think you could defy them, to think that you could carve out some semblance of a life here.

A soft "hey" broke through your thoughts, the voice low and tentative. You blinked, your gaze shifting from the horizon to find him standing a few feet behind you, his posture stiff and uncertain. Eperitus looked like he was at war with himself, his eyes dark and troubled as they searched your face.

"Hey," you replied softly, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below.

You studied him for a moment, taking in the subtle changes—the way his skin looked cleaner, the faint smell of salt and fresh water clinging to him. He must have taken the time to bathe at the spring, washing away the grime of his journey.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you raised an eyebrow, a teasing lilt in your voice. "I see you took my advice?"

He chuckled, the sound a bit awkward but genuine, as if he were unused to laughing. He took a few hesitant steps closer before lowering himself beside you, his legs dangling off the edge of the cliff.

For a moment, he said nothing, just sitting there with you, watching as the sun dipped lower, its golden light spilling across the water like liquid gold.

You followed his gaze, the sight of the setting sun a familiar comfort, yet tinged with the ever-present ache of longing. "Helios is resting now," you murmured, your eyes softening as the last sliver of the sun slipped beneath the horizon, casting the world into the gentle embrace of twilight. "Even gods need a reprieve from their duties."

His gaze remained on the horizon, the light from the fire behind you casting shadows across his face. He let out a deep, weary sigh, as if the weight of the world had finally caught up to him. He turned to you then, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that made your breath catch.

"Look, Calypso…" His voice was strained, rough around the edges, as if the words were being dragged out of him. He swallowed hard, his gaze darting away, unable to meet your eyes. "I haven't been truthful with you." He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "My name… it's not Eperitus. I'm not some soldier from a village in Thessaly."

He paused, drawing in a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his own lies were too much to bear. "My name is Odysseus," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it aloud might shatter the fragile peace between you. "I'm a king—from Ithaca."

You watched him, your expression unreadable, your heart beating steadily in your chest as his words settled in the air between you.

Odysseus.

The name hung there, heavy with meaning, with the weight of the legend that preceded him. A name that had been whispered on the lips of sailors and soldiers, spoken with reverence and fear, a name that had traveled farther than the man himself.

He turned his gaze back to you, his eyes filled with something like regret, like guilt. "I gave you a false name because I… I wasn't sure if I could trust you. I didn't know if you were friend or foe, if you were another test from the gods, another trial to endure."

He swallowed again, his throat working as he struggled to find the right words, the right way to explain himself. "But your kindness… the way you've treated me, even when I didn't deserve it…" He trailed off, his eyes searching yours, pleading for understanding. "I'm sorry, Calypso. I've spent so long fighting, lying, doing whatever it took to survive, that I forgot what it meant to be honest, to trust."

You let out a sharp snort, then burst into a fit of giggles. The sound caught Odysseus off guard, his head snapping over to you, eyes wide with something like panic. He clearly expected anger or disappointment, but you waved him off, your hand covering your mouth as you struggled to stifle your laughter.

"I-I'm sorry," you managed to say between chuckles, your shoulders shaking as you tried to catch your breath. "It's just… 'Eperitus'? Really?" You let out another peal of laughter, the sound almost musical in its lightness. "I mean, really? 'Man of Strife'? I may have been stuck on this island for eons, but even that sounds fake! You're lucky I'm polite enough not to have called you out on it."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and before he could stop himself, he was laughing too, a deep, genuine sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it did you. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head in mock defeat. "I suppose you are the first to see through it so quickly," he admitted, his voice warm with reluctant admiration.

You hummed, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you leaned back on your palms, the firelight casting a soft glow on your face. "Those around you must not have been that bright to believe it," you teased lightly, watching as his laughter grew, the sound carrying out over the darkening sea.

Odysseus chuckled, shaking his head again. "You'd be surprised," he said, his voice warm with shared humor. "Sometimes, people believe what they want to believe. A name is just a name, after all."

You nodded, the laughter slowly fading as a comfortable silence settled between you, the sound of the waves filling the space left behind.

You glanced at him, the firelight casting his face in soft, flickering shadows, highlighting the lines etched into his features, the weariness in his eyes.

You found yourself wanting to know, to understand, what had brought him here, to your shores, so far from his home.

"How did you find yourself here, Odysseus?" you asked quietly, your voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity. "A king of Ithaca, so far from home."

His smile faltered, the light in his eyes dimming as his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. He let out a long, weary sigh, his gaze dropping to his hands, his fingers tracing absent patterns in the sand.

"It's… it's a long tale," he murmured, his voice heavy with the weight of too many memories. "One filled with more suffering than I care to remember."

You shifted slightly, turning to face him more fully, your eyes fixed on his as you waited, patient, giving him the space to begin.

He drew in a deep breath, as if steeling himself, and then he spoke, his words slow, deliberate, carrying the weight of years of pain and regret. "It all began with a war," he started, his voice low, almost reverent. "Helen of Troy, they called her. The most beautiful woman in the world, stolen from her husband, Menelaus, by Paris of Troy."

You nodded, familiar with the tale. It was a story that had reached even the shores of your island, carried on the whispers of the waves.

"I was tasked to join the rescue," he continued, his gaze distant, as if he were seeing those events play out before him, the battles, the bloodshed. "I sailed with six hundred men, my loyal soldiers to reclaim her and bring her back to Menelaus. We stormed the beaches of Troy, built walls of bodies and dreams, all for the sake of one woman."

He paused, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words. "We fought for ten years," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "Ten long years of death, of suffering, of loss…" You could see the pain, the regret, etched into every line of his face. "And when we finally breached the walls, when we finally stood victorious, I thought… I thought that would be the end of it. I thought I could go home…"

He laughed then, a bitter, hollow sound. "…but the Gods had other plans."

You watched him, your heart aching with a sympathy you couldn't quite explain, couldn't quite contain. "What happened?"

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to his hands, his fingers twisting together as if he were trying to hold onto something slipping through his grasp. "We set sail for home, but the winds were against us. We were thrown off course, tossed from island to island, each one more cursed than the last." He swallowed, the sound thick and heavy in the stillness. "I made… unsavory decisions, angered those who should not be angered," he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly, the words dragged from some dark place deep within him. "I sacrificed my honor, everything, all for the sake of returning to Ithaca."

You listened in silence as he recounted his tale, the trials and tribulations that had followed—the blinding of the Cyclops, the enchantment of Circe, the deadly song of the Sirens. Each word, each memory, seemed to take a piece of him, leaving him more worn, more broken.

"I lost good men. Friends. Brothers…" he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his grief. "I lost them all... Every single one of them…"

You were silent for a long moment, studying the way his shoulders were hunched, his hands clenched into fists on his lap, the way his eyes shone with a pain you could almost feel. He was a man broken by war, by loss, by the endless trials the gods had thrown at him.

A man who had forgotten how to be anything but what the world demanded of him.

And here he was, baring his soul to you, offering up his truth like a fragile, precious thing. You would have gave your sorrows, but from what you've known of him, it wouldn't do any good.

A sigh escaped your lips, soft and resigned, as you turned your gaze back to the sea, the waves rolling in gentle, rhythmic swells, the last of the light fading into the deep, dark blue of the coming night. "Odysseus of Ithaca," you murmured, the name tasting strange on your tongue, heavy with the weight of all that it carried. "You're not the first to wash up on my shores, lost and broken," you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the horizon, your voice carrying a sadness that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the endless, unchanging cycle of your existence. "And you won't be the last."

He looked at you then, really looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the curve of your shoulders, the way the firelight played across your skin.

You could feel his gaze like a physical thing, warm and searching, and for a moment, you almost believed that he could see you, not as the myth, the story, the cursed daughter of Atlas, but as something more, something real.

But you knew better.

"You're right not to trust me, Odysseus," you continued, your voice steady, calm. "I'm bound by my curse, just as you're bound by your fate. We're both prisoners here, in our own way."

He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but you shook your head, a small, sad smile playing at the corners of your lips. "You don't owe me anything," you said softly, your eyes meeting his, holding his gaze with a quiet intensity. "But thank you, for your honesty. For your truth."

He stared at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, the silence between you heavy with the weight of all that remained unspoken. And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours, the warmth of his skin a tantalizing whisper against your own.

For a moment, you thought he might take your hand, might bridge the distance between you.

But then he hesitated, his fingers curling into a fist, and he drew back, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

You looked away, your heart aching with a familiar, bittersweet pain, your eyes drifting back to the sea, to the endless, unchanging horizon.

And so you sat there, side by side, two souls bound by the whims of the Gods, watching as the last light faded from the sky, as the stars began to bloom overhead, bright and cold and distant.

Together, yet worlds apart.

A/N: ahhh! not me falling in love with this lil one-shot. anywho, had to cut this in half cuz it was getting ridonculusly long... prt 2 shall be here soon tho, also, would you guys be cool if i added smut to it or nah? cuz i feel like the smut between these two will be so angsty cuz deep down odysseus ass still loves penelope, so calypso!reader is really just getting used, ma babieee 😭😭

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