#Homecoming and Heartbeats | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heavenbloom · 8 months ago

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🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ:

DAILY CLICK • BOYCOTT TLOU • DONATE

please do not skip over this! continuing to support palestine in any way possible is much more important than reading any piece of fanfiction.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊: 𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏

knight!abby x princess!reader

summary: your plans to usurp your despotic brother are halted when he assigns one of his strongest knights to keep an eye on you. what will wither and what will blossom in her presence?

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, political elements, fem afab reader, princess reader is manipulative, extensive descriptions of blood and violence, graphic depiction of murder, subtle enemies to lovers (more so in next chapter), degrading terms used in a non-sexual manner, insults, profanity, probably ooc?, not edited, reader discretion advised

a/n: this is HEAVILY inspired by The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri. this song is the atmosphere i was going for if you wanted to listen while reading!! dedicating this to @catfern, love you <3

wc: 4.7k

The corpse-quiet hours before dawn settled over the world with the languidness of dripping wax. There was a tenseness to it, beneath the silence, the twinings of a tautly strung instrument. You could smell it on the breeze too, a lick of disturbance carried sharply on the air alongside the fragrance of jasmine and rose. This night was a thing too tender for imminence, you thought, as you watched off-white petals scatter across pristine marble.

You felt it in your bones first, as it reverberated through the night. It felt like rolling thunder across the mountainside, but it was far too regimented to be birthed from mother nature. No, you knew this sound as intimately as your own heartbeat.

Hoofbeats. Steadfast, almost urgent, as they ascended towards the palace. Through your balcony, you could see a sea of them, clad in the pure white of moonlight and the gold of dawn. At the very front jostled a garish carriage swathed in the same colours, flying your nation’s flags. You stepped further out onto the balcony. A retinue, a homecoming. Your brother has returned.

Of course, ease slid through your veins at the fact that it was not a darker reality encroaching, but it curdled instantaneously, soured by the notion that you would merely be a marionette tugged upon and prettied up in order to appease him. A dutiful princess, you would play the part of orator, musician, perhaps finally bride to a stranger if the King and all his attendants had his way. What were you but a flower with an endless array of malleable petals to be arranged this way and that?

You drank in the perfumed scents that swirled around you, a sigh passing your parted lips. The silk curtains of your suite lifted like a breath, the solid colour broken apart by somebody familiar, whose chest rattled for the solace of fresh air.

Your features did not falter as your eyes remained fixed upon the retinue fast approaching. The girl, one of your many pairs of watchful eyes, strode towards you, sweat upon her brow, a worrisome crease at the youthful corner of her lips. You remained fixed as you felt the brush of rough parchment against your smooth palm.

Politics was a game played by degrees, after all. It demanded quiet, the slithering of a black-belllied snake in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to coil around its prey and squeeze. You let the paper unfurl against the wind, let it flap in the air as you read word upon word scrawled onto the page with an unsteady hand.

You knew what you hungered for, the prey that dangled just out of reach above your open maw. It glistened deepest oceanic blue cast in gold, and it sat safely atop of your tyrannical brother’s head.

Like all noble daughters, you knew that patience was a virtue. Things did not fall easily into your lap, so you would have to work for it, a dog searching ceaselessly for a single scrap of bone. You would let the meat of the empire simmer, wait until it was your turn to have your fill.

The parchment began to crinkle under the ferocity of your grip as your brother flashed through your mind. His smile, all canines. The cruelty that lurked just beneath the surface of that untarnished exterior.

With a fiery savagery singing in your veins, you silently declared that his crown would be yours.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

The day’s last light was beginning to wither away, its last breath sweeping across the courtyard below and setting it ablaze. The air that seemed like an extension of your own lungs the night before was cloying now, pollen stuck in the crevice of your throat and tightening it with fist-strength.

There were certain things you expected of your brother, but this…

Your eyes flitted from the balustrade to the woman who stood just behind the gauzy silk draped across the doorway. She had a straight spine to match the strength in her features. Slight aquiline nose, plump lips, and those eyes, crystalline blue but honed from years of slinking, silent observation. There was no denying the touch of regality woven throughout her being. If somebody had said she were an empress from some distant land, you would have believed them.

It wasn’t such an extravagance that granted you with her presence, though. A white cape threaded with gold was draped around her armour-laden shoulders. There was a sword at her hip, but the breadth of her body alone was enough to make anybody hesitate.

This woman, whose body was carved for the gruesomeness of the battle, was to be your watchful knight, under oath to quash any harm that may arise.

A bitterness rose from the pit of your stomach to the back of your throat. Sworn protector. The words thrummed in your skull like jailer. It was clear from her unbroken gaze alone where her loyalties were placed, at the feet of your brother and your brother alone.

You were the first to break your eyes away, demurely, subtle but unerringly feminine, and more importantly, inferior. Your spine was straight, but you hung your head slightly, letting your eyes wander along the outline of lush greenery below. Your hands skimmed along the finery that swathed your body. You appeared reticent and meagre, but every minute movement was deliberate on your part, a dance in which you knew all the steps.

Her shadow of a presence was a setback, certainly, something to keep you at bay, but if you wove the right tale, spun an intricacy of honeyed words and laid syrupy sweetness upon her… this one, like any other, could be used, moulded and rolled like clay with the right pressure. All you had to do was locate a chink in her armour.

You gave a hesitant pause, counted to three, until you walked the expanse of the balcony, back into your quarters, the tinkling of weighty jewellery sounding with each step you took. Even closer, she appeared much more powerful, the jagged lines of her face schooled into sternness. The refusal to drop her gaze in the presence of her new lady sent a shiver down your spine.

“Abigail.” Your voice was gentle, the lulling of a flute. “I am grateful for your service. To my dear brother, of course, but especially to me.” You stepped closer to her, but remained at a polite distance, a benevolent smile gracing your lips.

Her face remained the same, but there was a slight quirk to her thick brows. She was used to doing bloody work for the King, but you could tell that she was unused to interacting with royalty. “My loyalty is to the crown. I would do anything His Majesty asked of me, princess.” Ah, what a well trained response. As expected of one of the most renowned weapons in your brother’s arsenal.

“Yes, and it warms my heart.” You ensured your smile widened, your eyebrows softening in tandem with the lovely upward curve of your mouth. “I have heard stories of your bravery. To have such a hero protect myself alone… well, it feels rather a waste of talent, does it not?”

Her lips parted for a moment at the steer in conversation. You could see the hardness melting from her face like butter, replaced by an expression unreadable. It was too early to tell whether there was now a weakness to strike at, but it was better than talking to the righteous facade of her. “My talents can be just as useful in the Royal Palace as they would be on the battlefield.” Her words were as certain as solid stone, unmoving in their conviction.

“Such a noble heart you have.” You let the distance close between the two of you, then, your body just a few mere inches away from steel. Your hand met the one at her side, soft fingers grazing across leather, the cool hilt of her sword brushing against your knuckles. “But you do not need to protect me. Guards swarm this palace, after all.”

You expected abashment, the averting of that steady, unbreakable gaze, but not so much as a twitch of her fingers was drawn out of her. Still, you pressed on, as a thumb circled a spot on her gloved hand. “You would be better suited to attacking any threats at the root, dear knight. I could arrange you to be back where you once were. Not here, not with me.”

These lies, this faux flattery, left your tongue with the ease of second nature. You had none of the power you wished to possess, and you could not fulfil any such promise to her, but a few sweetened words could at least put you in her good favour, string her along for at least for a few moments outside of her obstructive gaze.

Something flashed across her features, but it was not the distant yearning for battle, not even the consideration of your hefty offer. You felt her thick fingers slip, gently, out of your grasp. Shock burst in your chest when her lips curled into a smile. Not completely unkind, but belittling all the same.

“The way we view honour differs greatly, princess.” Her mouth shaped the words slowly, deliberately and they hung in the air like an accusation. The last of the sun filtered through the balcony, causing the stray hairs framing her face to shine gold, the dust of freckles on her cheeks to appear like a smattering of starlight. You were once again struck by the wondrous beauty of her, a blow to the ribs.

You urged the swell in your guts down hastily.

“Is it so dishonourable,” you started, choosing to focus instead on that same jagged ambition that ate away at you, “to desire glory for oneself?”

The eyes that you thought resembled a pristine shoreline now darkened with the implications of your question. You watched as the storm passed across her face, as the act of noble knight swallowed her whole once more.

“Glory means nothing if it is not for the sake of serving the King.” She finally averted her gaze to the rolling gardens below.

“Our King.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

Thunder rippled across the charred night sky, the rain beating against the earth with the ferocity of a thousand rapid heartbeats. Your quarters burst white and fizzled with each lightning strike, and you could see the dozing face of Abigail each time. She laid, with one arm cradling the back of her head, in a cot at the foot of your bed, her golden-brown lashes long enough to cast wispy shadows on the apples of her cheeks under the inconsistent light. Even in her sleep, she seemed to be withholding herself from you, despite the stretch of days you had spent together thus far.

Beneath the writhing rage that clawed at your insides, you felt a soft pang, something faint and unfamiliar, for this woman. She was forced to live her days, in utter numbness, waiting for an attack on your life that would never come. She was here to intimidate you into compliance, at your brother’s whims, and she was completely unaware of it. To be a pawn in such a twisted game unwittingly… It was cruel. But weren’t you attempting to do the exact same? The hypocrisy was completely not lost on you.

You watched her sleeping figure for a few more moments until you were certain she was asleep. Then, soundlessly, you slipped out of the embrace of your bed. The air was cool but heavy with humidity as you walked on the balls of your bare feet, your nightgown brushing your ankles and sending an anxious tremble up your body. You tried to move as swiftly as you could. Your spies and confidants were loyal enough, but even they would not wait out the entire night for you when there was other work to be done at dawn.

An electric thrill jolted your being when you clasped the door handle. Was evading her watchful eye really so easy? Was all you had to do is slink around in the deep hours of dark? You bit down a smile as the heavy door gave way . Freedom, for a few mere minutes at least, was just beyond the door…

“My Lady?” Something glacial hardened in your veins. The voice was hoarse with the remnants of slumber, but there was no doubting the razor-edge awareness of it.

For a beat, you were too stunned to face her. When you didn’t turn, she spoke again. “Princess, what are you doing out of bed?”

What was the safest way to avoid her suspicion? The crashing of thunder sliced through your thoughts like a knife, offering you an escape route on a silver platter.

You whorled around, your eyebrows high-strung. Abigail was sitting upright, her head tilted and her unbound blonde hair dripping over one shoulder. There was no armour covering the wide expanse of her chest, a rare exposure of bare collarbone and surprisingly soft skin. You would perhaps never get used to the sight.

You clutched the fabric of your nightgown and widened your eyes, fawn-frightened. “Abigail, I…” you let your voice taper off into a quiver.

She was up in an instant and striding towards you, brows knitted together. Despite the urgency vibrating every cell in her body, her large hands cupped your shoulders with a gentleness you thought so disjointed for a woman of her size and profession. You doubted she would have touched you if it weren’t for the haze of confusion that overpowered her usual meticulousness.

“What is the matter? Speak to me, princess.”

“I-it’s absurd, I…” You trembled ever so slightly and could only pray that you were convincing. “The storm… well, it frightened me. I apologise. You mustn't be used to such frivolity.”

The tautness of her bow-strung body seemed to drift away all at once. Her shoulders drooped and she smiled, this time a thing of pure relief. “Is that all that this is?”

You nodded once, pulling yourself inward more and silently thanking whichever god had just granted you quick wits. She tsked softly and brought you closer to her. The warmth of her body was comforting, as alive as the spark upon a coal.

“You can wake me when you’re frightened, my lady,” she breathed out, her breath rustling the hair at your ear.

“I thought– I didn’t wish to burden you.” For once, there was a distasteful speck of truth in your words. She was a thing too gentle and straightforward for the ugliness of court politics. How could you ask her to help you usurp a throne she adamantly kneeled at the foot of?

“Princess,” she sighed, her hands trailing from shoulder to elbow. “Your brother has tasked me to protect you.” A lie, and yet she believed it so wholeheartedly. A loyalty as steady as a heartbeat.

“You cannot be a salve for every little thing that ails me.”

“There’s a sort of protection in comfort, is there not?” Such naive words, ones a child could have spoken, but they rang throughout your entire being.

She was diluted ink in the dark of the storm, but the whites of her eyes and teeth shone with the sheen of pearl. Your lips parted, drinking in a shaky inhale. You should have kept playing the delicate flower in distress, but you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous and curious, a hunger that gnawed at the very marrow of your bones. A hunger that you had no choice but to satiate.

“And how do you intend to comfort me, dear knight?”

A moment of something heady passed, and you could practically see the churning of her mind, the weight of precariousness at her throat like a glinting blade. You knew then that the same starvation engulfed her own being, your hands slithering down to her wrists and clutching them.

“I would do whatever you ask of me, My Lady–”

“No,” you cut her off, tracing a sliver of puckered flesh that outlined her bare wrist. A quaint shiver wracked her shoulders at the abrupt stone of your voice, unbidden. “No, Abigail. How do you wish to comfort me? Speak plainly.”

“I want…” Her voice was strained, the word leaden and fumbling on her tongue, her own will now foreign to her. Her hands tightened around your elbows. “What I want… what I desire, is not so easily spoken, princess.”

Even in the dark, her eyes were the bottomless wells of a carefully guarded vulnerability. You wanted to chip away at that wall she had between you and her, between anyone but her fiery devotion and her own self.

You cupped her cheeks with the soft, uncalloused palms of your hands, watched as her reluctance dissolved with the touch.

“Then show me.”

Perhaps all that was needed was an uttered confirmation that you felt the same infuriating emotions. You had torn through the neat little bow of restraint that kept her being together, and now it was uncontainable, this ever-swelling.

There was a moment of hesitation, shared breath mingling sweetly, before she pressed her lips to yours. She cradled your waist as if you were porcelain, but her kiss was a beast of want, all teeth and tongue. Your back melded with the carvings of the door as she nudged you back, wooden jasmine blossoms and orchids keeping you tethered to the moment. You kissed back with just as much viciousness, astonished by your own affections welling up like crimson from a finger pricked.

It was with the ebb and flow of ocean waves that she let you go just as promptly as she had kissed you, her face a hazy mass of surprise in the semi-dark, leaving only the remnant of her warmth against your skin, the phantom of soft lips and tongue.

Her fingers scraped her blonde locks away from her face, chest heaving.

“Princess,” she spoke through the ragged edge of her breath. There was a singed quality to her voice, raw and crisp. “Princess, it would be improper to continue.”

Disappointment, to your dismay, pooled in the pit of your stomach. You turned your head to the side and gave a feeble nod, swallowing at the thick knot lodged in your throat. Letting her warm your bed would be unwise, you reminded yourself now. It would serve no purpose to your goals, and a lovesick knight trailing you around was the last thing you needed. And yet...

“We cannot cross that line,” she whispered. You felt the gentle snaking of arms around yours as you were pulled close to her chest, your ear snug against it. “But I am still here.” Her heartbeat was hummingbird-rapid, a reflection of your own.

She led you back to the bed and watched intently as you laid down beneath the smooth blanket. You stared in return. How was a person sharpened for such luridness able to wield tenderness the way she did a weapon? It was more frightening, you silently mused, than any tale of her violence could offer. It did little to divert the ache that seeped to your very bones, the craving for it.

Lightning still ruptured the heavens, followed dismally by a cacophony of thunder.

“Abigail.” Your hand drifted into the air, toward her. She held it gently in both of hers.

“Are you still frightened?”

Your plan for the night had been uprooted, and you had no choice but to remain here in this room. You traced each feature of hers with your eyes, lingering on the worrisome crease of her brow. Perhaps… “Yes, a little.”

Perhaps, this once, sweet selfishness was justified. Perhaps you could let this sordid business of trickery and usurpation float from your mind. This once…

“Will you lay beside me?” You sat up, peeling the blanket aside. “It would help me a great deal.”

“My lady…”

“Innocently, of course,” you reassured. “To know someone is beside me, to share that warmth… it would ease my nerves greatly.”

A beat passed, then another. “I think… It's something I also need. For tonight.”

“For tonight,” you echoed, patting the empty space of the bed next you.

She clambered in beside you without another word, a slow exhale escaping her when her head softly hit the pillow. You could feel her breath fan over your face gently, followed by a soothing, steady hand on your arm.

“Will you hold me?” There was a waver in your cadence, something unbearably soft puckering to the surface. “Is that okay?”

You were encircled by her arms, so gently that you felt, something swirl inside of you, just to then sink.

Consciousness left her almost instantly at the feel of your body against hers. The comfort of someone to hold in the eternal stretch of night elleviated the quiet ache that thrummed and tugged at her own being.

You listened as she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, until the sky stopped its tears and the only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of her heart at your ear.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

The marble was icy beneath the soles of your feet, each footfall echoing softly through the desolate, cavernous halls. The lanterns flickered low, the walls cast in leaping, ravenous shadows.

Wait for me at the entrance to the orchard, you had told your spy, an inconspicuous place for business made in the night, but as you reached the intricately designed archway, you were met with the absence of the living. The sharp smell of damp earth and overripe fruit wafted through the open space, yet it did little to calm the eerie feeling in your blood.

Perhaps you were too late, or perhaps she had appeared conspicuous. A fist of disappointment twisted at your gut, but relief flooded your veins with it. There was silence, at least. Stagnance was a better ordeal than disruption. You turned away from the trees, feet almost silent without the usual finery adorning your ankles.

A whisper against the precious stone. Something scratching and picoting, until you felt the brush of it at your leg. Frozen, you peered at what had touched you. A piece of flimsy paper, the uncertain handwriting that you had come to know so well. Between the looping letters of secret after secret unfurled, vermillion stained the thin sheet. Vibrant. Fresh.

A man at the very first tree, the shimmer of the whites of his eyes furious and expansive. You knew this face, these pompous clothes, the cruel, all-knowing scowl on his lips. Your brother’s confidant and his closest advisor. If this man could stretch himself as thin as a carpet to soften your brother’s steps, he would have.

His movements were rigid, yet quick as he lunged in your direction, teeth bared and motivated by his sweltering rage alone. His cheek was streaked with the same shade of red.

“You treasonous whore!” He swiped his hands at you, but you scrambled away at the very last moment. “Traitor!”

“My Lord–” Your heart thrusted against your ribcage, your breath coming out in uneven, shattering breaths. There was no cajoling such a blind beast. His voice was much too loud, his body propelled by something untethered to reason.

You were going to be found out. He had the evidence and his screams were enough to alert any guards patrolling the slumbering palace. You had to do something, you had to–

He lunged forward again, forceful yet sloppy. Your body began to react on its own accord.

The blade was an ugly little thing, stolen from beneath Abigail’s pillow weeks ago and fastened in a makeshift sheath of torn silk and ribbon, held steadily enough by a bangle at your wrist. It was in your hand, slipping from the snugness of the material and clanging against the jewellery with the same delicate ring of anklet bells chiming in the midst of dance and song. A song of retribution, thrumming, awake and unabated, in your veins.

The moment was a blur, the contact of iron to skin one you could not even comprehend until a surprised, wet sound bubbled forth from the nobleman’s lips. He slumped forward against the blade, his eyes glassy. Lifeblood trickled down the hilt of the blade and down your fingers. The warmth of it made your stomach churn.

Before you could pull the blade out, he swayed to the side, toppling to the ground with a sickening thump. Crimson bled across the stark white of the floor, pooling beneath his now motionless body.

The bile of pure panic rose to your throat, face leached of warmth. What have I done? What have I done? What have I–

“Princess?” A voice of honeycomb, even when it wavered with such uncertainty.

No.

You stared ahead, the bulky outline of her blurring only to refocus as she got closer. There was a look that had never graced her face before, one of confusion mixed with something akin to horror. Had she known this man? Taken orders from him?

But she did not look down at the grim image at her feet, but rather at you. Your stained fingers, the way your face had grown ashen and fear-stricken.

Her fingers ghosted over your cheek, but stopped short of making contact. “What…” You could hear the thoughts that knotted in her mind. How could such a sweet thing – you – do this?

A shout sounded down the hall, and you flinched, eyes darting in the direction as a new wave of bone-rattling fear crashed down upon you. There was a clamour, the sound of swords against urgently moving legs.

Abigail pulled her hand away from you as if seared. Hardness seeped into the cracks where her moment of bare emotion shone. A moment ticked by, voices growing closer.

With a flash of movement, she yanked the blade out of the lifeless body beside her, a sickening squelch that did not seem to rattle her, and turned her back on you. Surely she had to be more selfish than this?

“Abigail–”

“Be silent and stay behind me.”

Your voice sank down into an urgent whisper. “Your recklessness is going to get you killed.”

Her head turned toward you then, her gaze meeting yours. Blue flame, a flicker of pure torment.

“You have already made me your accomplice.” They should have been sweet, simple words, but they held the acrid tang of rotting fruit, bitter and wilting despite their saccharine nature.

They were encircling you in an instant, guards wearing the colours of the sun and the moon. Their swords were raised, but they waited for something…

The guards parted, roiling ocean waves. You watched as your brother stepped his way to the front, head held high.

Without a single word, Abigail dropped to her knees, the blade clanging against the floor and skidding away from her to rest at his feet.

Your brother did not spare her a glance. His eyes pinned you in place, cold and measured. He did not ask about the commotion or point grieving eyes towards his closest advisor. No, he already decided on what truth in this he would spin and alter in order to squash you beneath his bejewelled hand.

As he stared you down, you gazed at the back of Abigail’s neck, peach-toned skin peaking beneath the cascade of blonde waves over her shoulders. You wanted to reach out, to touch her one last time if only to bid farewell.

Such a rotten heart you had. You felt it thump mournfully, greed winning out in the end.

Your lips remained tightly locked as she took the fall for your turpitude, an act of the foulest betrayal.

As you watched them drag her away, you may as well have been clapping the chains around her wrists yourself.

Who knew that even a blade of the soul could be double-edged?

#kinda rusty so don’t mind the inconsistency 😭#abby anderson #knight!abby #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #tw blood #aeot

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misserabella · 1 year ago

Text

homecoming

hazel callahan x fem! reader.

summary; loving her was a sin, but if there was a hell, you’d go with her.

cw; +18 content, minors dni!, we’re in the 80s!, both reader and hazel are 18!!, inspired by homecoming from ethel cain, homophobia, angst, pining, both reader and hazel being in love, kissing, crying, hair pulling, mentions of the bible, god and hell, fingering (r! receiving)…

you’re staring at her, and she can’t be more beautiful. it hurts. everything about it hurts. her suit matches her beautiful eyes, and her hair looks so soft you just want to dip her fingers in and tug. tug her closer. until there is no distance in between the two of you. until you can breathe from her lips, until nothing else exists.

but you can’t. and it just breaks you apart like a porcelain doll smashed against the floor.

her name is just as beautiful as her. hazel. like the spring, like the earth and the green. and just like the season, she brings butterflies to your stomach, makes goosebumps bloom like flowers on your skin. and she’s so warm…

she’s a sin. but such a pretty one… maybe they all are. would it make a difference? everything else evaporated as she takes your hand, like the blood in your veins. you want the blue in her eyes to bathe you clean.

“dance with me?” she asks, as if you could resist, as if you weren’t on her knees and begging for her to a god that forbid this sickening love that drenches your bones.

and you nod, ‘cause there are no words you could muster. not when she’s this close, when her fingers are laced in between yours and her cologne is suffocating you.

you’re more patient now than you ever have been.

her smile is blinding, and you can just follow her to the mass of teenagers dancing in the middle of the room, even when your heart is about to burst out of your chest and your stomach is tying in knots.

you’re more brave now that you ever have been.

her hands are on your waist, and your arms are around her neck. and you’re dancing, slow. you feel like one of those princesses in the fairytales your mom would read you when you were just a mere kid, with glass heels and satin fluffy dresses, in between the arms of a prince. you wanted to smash the crystal below your feet and break it to pieces, dance bare feet on the remains of the happily ever after that you won’t get.

“you look beautiful.” she whispers, and your cheeks redden. your heart flips, and you wish this weren’t the way it all goes, but you can’t help but say it back.

“you too.” you stare into her eyes, shying when she smiles, pulling you closer against her chest. you swore you could feel the quickened heartbeat of her heart. hazel fears you do.

you could feel her breath on your neck, through your homecoming dress before she speaks again.

“can i tell you a secret?” you nodded, your soul blooming in a field of flowers when she spoke those four words against your ear. “i’m desperate for you.”

and even though you felt complete, you couldn’t help but want to push her away, punch her in the face. ‘cause your love was so big. you wanted it to be her problem too.

there, just inches away from her, from her plushy reddish lips…four left feet in a room, always all over her. why had you had to fall in love with her?

and you both knew this was how it goes. you both get too close ’til you fucking explode.

you only tugged her closer, burying your face on her neck to hide your blushing, your nerves, but mostly your fear. you couldn’t look her in the eyes, into this sin.

“don’t look now but everyone’s staring at us weird.” she said, and your breath hitched.

“is it just me or there’s no air in here?” you could feel your chest tighten, millions of eyes on you.

but you’d take it all. stand there and bleed under the knives their eyes sent you if that meant you could stay in between her arms just one more minute, one more second.

“just breathe. i’m right here.” she promised, holding you tight.

everyone was watching you. you couldn’t breath.

“can’t we just leave?” you muttered, and she nodded. you wanted to run away with her, run to where no one would know you, would see you.

she took your hand, and you followed as you two left the prom, the hallways of your high school felt sickeningly cold, yet she kept you warm, hand on hand.

it was all a blur as you two ran through them, eyes on the back of her head, on her flowy soft black hair, and before you knew you were inside the bathrooms, your back against the cold tiles as she looked into your eyes.

“tell me i shouldn’t.” she whispered against your lips, one of her hands cupping your cheek. your eyes met her lips.

your fist tightened on the jacket of her suit, knuckles turning white as you leaned closer to her, until your lips were hers and hers yours. you closed your eyes, relishing on this love that you were gifted, this cursed love that you couldn’t scape.

tears were soaking your eyes, ruining the makeup your mother had helped you put on. you were gutted. your hands found her hair, tugging. you wanted to hurt her. break her just like she had broken you.

“i wish you were a boy…” you muttered in a sob, and hazel’s eyes fell. she silently kissed you again. and you let her. they said love hurt, and you were ready to die for it.

the kiss only got deeper, so deep you were drowning. you wished there was no god. no heaven. no hell.

“i love you.” she muttered against your neck, softly kissing it, pressing you harder against the wall.

“don’t.” you begged. “please, don’t.”

“i’m sorry. i’ll go to hell for it. but i do.” tears were brimming her eyes as well.

you kissed her to quiet her. you needed her to hush it all. to not speak up this forbidden love that hung in between the two of you.

her tongue pushed inside your mouth and you moaned.

“please, hazel. make me forget…” you pleaded, starred eyes staring into her soul, and her shaky warm hands crept under the skirt of your dress, pushing aside your panties to feel how wet you’ve become for her. you cried out when you felt her fingers dive in between your slick folds, her fingertips tracing soft circles against your clit. you pulled on her hair, making her grunt.

“you’re so beautiful…” she repeated, if she could she would say it over and over again until she’d lose her voice. a whimper fell from your parted and swollen lips when she pushed her middle finger inside you, fucking you slowly. it was as if she were trying to make love to you. to convince you that this was no sin. just love.

you could believe her.

“i love you.” you cried on her shoulder, your hips pushing against her touch. “i love you so much it hurts.” she kissed your cheek, your forehead and your lips.

she hushed you, her free hand coming to softly brush your hair as she added a second finger, curling them and making you moan. “just focus on me, alright? just me, sweet girl. i’m right here, baby.” she kissed you once again, painfully slow and sweet. you could feel yourself rotting in it, vanishing as your orgasm approached, whimpers and whines being swallowed by hazel as she worked you towards it.

“hazel…” you called out for her.

“i know. i know. just let go for me, princess, let go.” you cried out as it hit you, your hips sputtering and your chest rising in a deep breath. you whole body shook at its intensity, and hazel made sure to help you ride it until it became too much for you. she pulled her fingers out of you just to push them into her mouth to taste you. you were heaven on her tongue.

you needed a taste.

and as you kissed her, holding her close to your heart, you whispered.

“if there’s a hell, i will go with you.”

and that’s a promise no god could break.

a/n; relatable

#hazel callahan angst #hazel callahan fic #hazel callahan fluff #hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #hazel bottoms #hazel callahan bottoms #bottoms x reader #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #bottoms fanfic

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topherwrites · 1 year ago

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- start of a silver fox

summary - back from deployment, you notice a change in your boyfriend's appearance. pairing - jake seresin x (fem!)reader word count - 1.4k rating - no smut, but 18+ anyways, mdni! content warnings & tags - age gap (reader is in her early twenties, jake is in his early thirties) / fwb to lovers / no use of (y/n) / vague allusions to sex / mentions of nudes / mentions of masturbation / no actual smut / mentions of death (sorta) / lmk if i missed anything! a/n: saw these recent photos of glen ➙ became possessed ➙ wrote this. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!

Jake is back after three long months on deployment, a fourth of your relationship — not counting the first couple months when you were ‘just hooking up’. This is your first welcome back. Having texted extensively with Nat’s girlfriend, Sasha, you were given a pretty good lay of the land by her, informed of what to expect.

Homecoming day has arrived, and excitement has consumed your entire body, making your limbs buzz.

Awaiting his arrival on the pier, your foot tapping out a nervous rhythm, you stand in the back, allowing spouses and children to be the first in line. You’re just the girlfriend, the one almost a decade younger than him, the one you know his friends assumed wouldn't be around long. You assumed you wouldn't be around long. Jake is a charmer, and when he set his sights on you, you assumed it would be a one-night stand, a fling at most.

But one night turned into two and then three, which turned into nearly three months of falling asleep and waking up next to him. Most days you’d get a text the second he was done with training, the buzz of your phone always kicking up your heartbeat.

At first, you’d just meet him at The Hard Deck for drinks, then dinner at sit-down restaurants — the preambles to him fucking the shit out of you growing longer and decidedly less casual. Post-coital, he’d sling an arm around your waist in an attempt to keep you from slipping out, waking up with that same soothing weight on you. Eventually, he casually mentioned that you could keep some of your stuff at his place — for convenience, he said. He tried slipping the suggestion under the radar, pre-coffee on a Saturday morning. Bleary-eyed and half-asleep, you barely processed his words, absent-mindedly humming in response.

Then you saw the half-cleared-out drawer — which you later learned was a measure in order not to spook you. Like a full drawer would make you wise to his intentions, like he was trying to acclimate you to the idea of commitment, to a relationship with him.

You remember the feeling of placing spare clothes in that drawer; a spare bra and sweatshirt. Jake watching you from the doorway, trying to not act too pleased in response.

You liked him, his company and his laugh and his baffling love of Taylor Swift that he blamed on his nieces. The man under the bravado wormed his way into your brain.

Though, you could appreciate how he looked puffed-chest and cocksure. Near equally competitive as you are. The first game night you spent with his friends meant you both were banned from ever being on the same team again. Pictionary, trivia, One-Night Ultimate Werewolf — you mopped the floor with them. The rule wasn't entirely the case of sore losers, you can acknowledge the fact that you two were immediately, freakishly in sync. Ultimate Werewolf may have ended in tears of betrayal being shed.

And that's how things progressed for a while, falling deeper while avoiding acknowledging the fact that you were in a relationship. Afraid to say the words and make things complicated. Near everyone in both your and his life were trying to push you both to just trust it. Have a little faith in one another.

One minute you were his girlfriend in all but name, and then you were just his girlfriend. A confession on his couch in the midst of rewatching Veep, ‘Relax, cow eyes’ the soundtrack to everything falling into place.

────────────────────────

Once officers start filtering off the ship, your mind blanks in anxiety. Around you, tears are shed, and poster board is ditched in favor of tight hugs. Laughter and children squealing background noise. You scan the crowd, the sun beating down on you, searching for the handsome shape of Jake Seresin. People come and go, giving you a better view of the naval officers, till you finally spot yours moving towards you. He weaves through the throng with ease, standing before you in a matter of seconds.

A smile stretches your face, eyes squinting from both happiness and the sun. You scan him, categorizing any minute change. Gray. A small streak above his right ear. Your nerve endings light up like a Christmas tree, the sensation doubling at the slight hint of age. Reaching out, your fingers run across his scalp, nails tracing back, playing with the hair that has decided in his relatively brief absence to go gray.

He doesn't shy from your touch, his lashes fluttering at the sensation, an intimate moment playing out in public. Though no one is probably taking notice, wrapped up in their own reunion. He does seem to be a hint abashed at your attention.

He breaks the quiet, “Hey, sweetheart.”

The sound of his voice, clear and unobstructed by distance, rushes through you. Fuck. You're trying to suppress the blatant arousal coursing through your system, keep it out of your voice. Words startled, voice pitched, “You've gone gray.”

Despite your age gap, it’s never been your thing, your Tinder age range has only ever been set 3 years older — but seeing Jake in the flesh, and with a few more grays, is making you muster every ounce of self-control so you don't fuck him in the parking lot, ride him in the backseat of his truck. He probably wouldn't enjoy getting dishonorably discharged.

He hefts his duffle over his shoulder, free hand taking your own to lead you to the car — his truck that he handed the keys over to, something in his gaze when he told you to not let the battery die. Maybe a way for him to feel connected to you, maybe a reassurance that you'd be around when he got back. Your board is still in the bed, having taken up surfing in the mornings since your time was no longer being occupied by Jake slowly fucking you into the mattress.

“I already had grays, I'm just… grayer now.” His pace is quick. It's clear that he's itching to get home. Your boots stamp on the pavement as you practically skip behind him, content with his hand in yours. He looks at you out of the side of his eye, eyebrow raised, “And I wonder why that is.”

“That suspiciously sounds like an accusation.”

“Those photos…” He stops at the teal-striped Ford, throwing his duffle next to your surfboard. Crowding you against the side of it., his voice dropping, “I was opening my mail in the mess, ‘bout gave me a heart attack.”

You’d sent them on a whim — a well-researched whim, you didn't need some random desk jockey finding out your taste in lingerie. But you had missed Jake and wanted him to miss you in return. And what better way to make the heart grow fonder than with scantily clad pictures of your body?

“Well? Did you like them?” You know he liked them, it was a whole production to take them, but even if it wasn't — he’s a man, and you were in lingerie. You looked hot, are hot, present tense. An indisputable fact. And he’s not reserved with telling you and showing you that, but you can't pass up a moment to hear it voiced to you, not after how long he’s been gone.

“I think I have carpal tunnel.”

You snort out a laugh as he exaggeratedly shakes out his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist for your amusement. Eyes skating along your features, he huffs, “Add that to the long list of ailments you've inflicted.”

Letting your fingers lightly trace down his biceps, you press your body even closer to his, perhaps a touch too scandalous for a parking lot in broad daylight. A coy reply rolls off your tongue, “I keep you young.”

“You're going to send me to an early grave.”

Rising to your toes, you brush your lips against his, holding back from full contact. You feel his breath stall in his chest, desperate for it. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing, his face awash in anticipation. He’s beautiful.

Your palm stroking the side of his head, you brush the hair away from his face, pinky skimming the top of his ear. You single out the silver strands between your fingers, silky soft as ever. He’s real and yours — home.

“Ditto. Might as well invest in matching plots, right?”

Broad shoulders shaking with laughter, he brushes his nose against yours. Palms cupping the side of your face, thumbs sweeping across your cheeks, he stops waiting. A long-awaited kiss pressed to your lips, neither one of you able to keep the smiles off your faces.

e/n: thank you for reading!

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fic #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #my writing

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lover-also-fighter-also · 1 year ago

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Choices Couples we all wished had better endings (The fault in their stars ✨⭐- Part 1)

Hey guys!

So I have been thinking for a while to do this series on Choices couples who I felt deserved a happy ending (I am in an emotional mood this week but that's another story) . These are the top 3 that came first in my mind. Please let me know if I should continue this series or not.

P.S English is not my first language so please excuse me for any spelling or grammatical errors

1. MC and Dakota Winchester (With Every Heartbeat)

This of course comes first on my list. While from the beginning of the book I knew Dakota was eventually gonna succumb to their cancer, the dynamic between them and MC was SOO GOOD ❣️❣️. I liked how their relationship developed throughout the book, It literally broke my heart in the end 😭😭😭.

2. Sienna and Danny (Open Heart)

This was my all-time favourite non-LI couples! After what Sienna went through having to deal with the pressures of her residency and breaking up with her crappy boyfriend, Danny was like a ray of sunshine to her life. But PB had to go ahead and break my heart 😭💔. When Sienna said 'the world is already a cruel place, why do people have hurt each other' I just wanted to hug her🫂.

3. Joanna and Gabriela (Murder at Homecoming)

While this might seem underrated, I feel a lot for Joanna. Having strict and homophobic parents is a lot to deal with, and she has gone through a lot of trauma. Having Gabbie in her life made her feel love and gave her happiness. Her dreams of a life with Gabbie have been shattered and I just wish that our Joanna baby has a better life 🥺🥺

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springtyme · 1 year ago

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𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ♡

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: After spending months on deployment, Simon surprises you by coming home in the middle of the night to meet his daughter for the first time.

word count: 1.6k

warning/tag: Mostly just dad!Simon fluff with a little hint of angst. No gendering terms are directly used for the reader, but they are pretty fem coded. It's mentioned that they were pregnant. No use of y/n.

"Home where my thought's escapin' Home where my music's playin' Home where my love lies waitin' silently for me"

You wake up to the sound of rain tapping against the windowpane, the darkness of the night wrapping around you like a thick blanket. Groggy and disoriented, you rub your eyes and glance at the clock on your bedside table. It reads 3:04. Confused as to why you’re awake at such an ungodly hour and it not being from your three week old daughters cry, you sit up in bed, your mind still clouded with sleep trying to decipher the source of the disturbance.

As you try to gather your thoughts, a faint sound catches your attention, your heart pounding in your chest as you sit up and strain your ears. It's a muffled thud, followed by the creaking of the front door. Your heart skips a beat, and a surge of adrenaline courses through your veins. Your mind races, frantically searching for an explanation. Could it be an intruder? Or perhaps just your imagination playing tricks on you? Panic starts to set in, but you quickly remind yourself to stay calm. You need to protect your baby.

With bated breath, you slip out of bed and tiptoe towards the bedroom door. The rain continues to patter against the window, the sound growing louder with each passing moment.

Slowly, you make your way down the dimly lit hallway, your senses heightened and on high alert. Your heart pounds harder with each step down the creaking staircase, the sound of your own breath echoing in the silence. As you reach the bottom, you pause, listening intently.

And then, you hear it. A soft sigh, unmistakably familiar. Your stomach makes a flip, recognition dawns on you, and a mix of emotions flood your body. Relief, joy, confusion – all swirling together in a whirlwind of anticipation.

As you approach the living room, the soft glow of the lamp on the side table reveals a figure standing in the doorway. Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart pounds in your chest.

Standing in the doorway, with a mix of excitement and nervousness painted across his face, is Simon, who has been on deployment for the last four months, who is still supposed to be deployed for another.

You almost don't believe your own eyes, contemplating if you’re actually still sleeping and that Simon’s presence is nothing more than a wishful dream, but no, there he stands, tall, strong and real, still dressed in his uniform, a tired but radiant smile on his face.

“Simon?” you whisper, your voice trembling with disbelief.

“Hi, lovie,” his eyes wide with adoration as he takes in the sight of you. You, who are still a little dishevelled from sleep, your beautiful eyes wide with surprise and emotions from his unexpected homecoming and still glowing with the radiance of new motherhood, “I came home.” He says, almost a little sheepishly.

Emotions surge through you like a tidal wave. Joy, relief, and disbelief blend together, leaving you momentarily speechless. You rush towards him, throwing your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as if afraid he might vanish into thin air. But no, you're feeling the solidity of his presence, the familiar scent of his aftershave. You bury your face in his broad chest, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming rush of emotions coursing through you.

As the rain drums against the windows, you both stand there in the darkness, wrapped in a long-awaited reunion. The sound of his steady heartbeat against your ear fills you with a sense of comfort and security while tears stream down your face, a mixture of happiness and the immense weight of the past months without him by your side.

“I can't believe you're home,” you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion. "I missed you so much. We missed you."

Simon holds you tighter, his grip steady and strong. "I missed you too and I'm so sorry I missed the birth," he says, his voice tinged with guilt. "I wanted to be there for you, for both of you."

You lift your head from his chest and look into his eyes. "Simon, don't you dare blame yourself, I’m not gonna lie, it would have been nice to have you there, but that that just couldn’t be and that’s okay," you say firmly. "Besides you’re here now."

A mixture of relief and gratitude washes over Simon's face. "I was worried," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Worried that I wouldn't be a good dad, that I missed out on too much… Shit, I’m still worried."

You gently cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Simon, you are going to be an amazing father," you say, your voice filled with certainty. "Yes, you missed the birth, but you're here now. And you have a lifetime ahead of you to be the best dad our little girl could ever ask for."

Simon's eyes well up with tears, and a mixture of emotions dances across his face. With a shaky voice, he says, “Thank you, love. I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to be the father she deserves. ”

You smile and press a soft kiss against his lips. "I know you will, Simon," you say. "You already are.”

"Can I see her?" he asks, his voice filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

You nod, a radiant smile spreading across your face. "Of course, Simon. Let's go say hi to your daughter."

Together, you make your way up the stairs, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. The door to the nursery creaks open, revealing a dimly lit space adorned with soft toys and a crib. As you enter, Simon's eyes are immediately drawn to the tiny figure nestled in the crib, her eyes fluttering in sleep.

Simon's gaze shifts from you to the sleeping baby, his breath catching in his throat.

His eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. He reaches out, his hand hovering above her delicate cheek, as if unsure of how to proceed. You place your hand over his, guiding him gently to make contact with the soft, warm skin of your daughter, his fingers lightly brushing against the delicate skin of her cheek. A smile spreads across his face, a mixture of awe and wonder.

"She's perfect," he whispers, his voice filled with awe. "Absolutely perfect."

You watch as Simon's eyes well up with tears, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he continues to stroke her cheek. The connection between father and daughter is palpable, an unspoken bond forming in that very moment.

You can't help but smile at his words, feeling your heart swell with love for both Simon and your daughter. It's a moment of pure magic, witnessing Simon's transformation into a father, his worries and doubts fading away.

"She has your eyes," You say, your voice filled with a mixture of pride and adoration. "And your smile."

This comment makes Simon let out a choked sound.

“Do you want to hold her?” You ask, bewitched by the view of your daughter and her father meeting for the first time.

He nods, his eyes never leaving the little girl, but you catch the glimps of insecuritie that flickers over his face as he does so. “I’m scared of doing something wrong though, I’ve never hold a baby before…” He confesses, his voice low to not wake your daughter.

“You won’t do anything wrong, Simon I promise,” you asure him. Leaning closer, you gently place your hand on Simon’s, guiding it to cradle your daughter's tiny body. His touch is gentle, his fingers instinctively supporting her fragile frame. The look of awe on his face intensifies as he holds her for the first time.

"She's so tiny," he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of amazement and awe. "I can't believe she's ours." Simon's gaze never wavers from the baby girl in his arms, his touch becoming more confident as he cradles her against his chest. The room is filled with a sense of wonder, the air thick with love and newfound responsibility.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you watch the profound connection between father and daughter deepen. In this moment, you know that Simon's fears were unfounded. He is already a natural, a loving and devoted father.

"You're going to be an incredible dad, Simon," you say, your voice filled with conviction. "You already are."

Simon looks up at you, his eyes shining with gratitude and love. "Thank you," he says, his voice filled with emotion. "Thank you for bringing her into our lives, for supporting me, for everything."

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss against Simon's jaw. "We're a family now," you whisper, your words filled with love. "We’re in this together.”

As you stand there, Simon cradling your daughter in his arms, you know that this moment is just the beginning of a lifetime of love, laughter, and cherished moments. And with Simon by your side, you are filled with a sense of gratitude and excitement for the beautiful family you have created together.

"She's so lucky to have you." you say, your voice filled with conviction.

Simon looks at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I'll do everything in my power to be the father she deserves," he promises, his voice filled with a newfound sense of purpose.

You smile at him, feeling how your heart flutters from happiness. “You already are, Si.”

You stand beside him, watching the scene unfold before you. The sight of Simon, tall, broad, strong, Simon, reduced to a gentle giant by the presence of his daughter, warms your heart in ways you never thought possible.

As you observe the encounter between father and daughter, you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude for Simon's safe return, for the love that fills your home, and for the future that lies ahead – a future where your family is complete once again.

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winxanity-ii · 2 months ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 04 Chapter 04 | homecoming⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The light of the late afternoon sun streamed in through the small window of your room, illuminating the modest space with a soft golden glow. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, drifting in and out of the sunlight, as if time had stilled within these four walls.

The space was modest—small enough that, if you spread your arms, your fingers would nearly brush either wall. The bed was a simple cot pushed against the corner, layered with a thin blanket and a single pillow.

There wasn't much else: a rickety chair, the small dresser, and a wooden box under the bed where you kept your belongings.

It was far from luxurious, but it was yours.

You had a room to yourself, and that was more than most servants could ever dream of.

Servants usually stayed in the common quarters, sharing their space with others—no privacy, no quiet moments, so having your own room—albeit a tiny one—felt like a luxury, a place where you could gather your thoughts in peace, surrounded by familiar, if simple, comforts.

In this space, the worries of the palace faded, leaving only the gentle hum of your own heartbeat and the soft echo of music that seemed to linger even in silence.

Here, you could lay down the weight of duty, if only for a little while.

And for that, you were thankful.

You hummed softly to yourself as you prepared for the evening's performance.

Your chiton was simple—white, loose, and flowing, cinched at the waist with a thin cord. The cloth was light, airy, and allowed you to move comfortably—perfect for an evening of singing.

There was nothing grand about it, yet the purity of the white fabric gave you a sense of grace and calm.

Settling onto the stool, you picked up your lyre, letting it rest gently in your lap.

As your fingers moved deftly along each string, coaxing it back into tune, you began to oil them, the scent of olive oil filling the small room.

Suddenly, a warmth bloomed at your fingertips—a faint, tingling sensation. It was a sensation you couldn't quite place—a hum that seemed to pulse through the strings, the kind that felt almost... alive.

As you worked, the hum deepened, like a heartbeat echoing through the wood.

For a fleeting moment, the air in the room had grown thick, a hush settling over everything as if the world outside had faded, leaving only you and this ancient instrument.

Your fingertips continued to tingle, and you swear you felt a pulse beneath them, steady and calm, mirroring the beat of your own heart.

And for a fleeting moment, the sound grew in warmth, the strings shimmering faintly as they caught the light filtering through the window.

A shiver ran through you, and you stilled, watching the faint glimmer along the strings with wide eyes.

The resonance felt almost like a whisper of something familiar, a presence that had lingered since childhood—one that filled you with warmth and promise.

It felt like a quiet companionship—a steady hand guiding you forward, filling you with an inexplicable sense of safety and purpose.

A soft knock on your bedroom door pulled you from your thoughts, making you jump slightly; the room returned to its quiet normalcy in an instant.

The glow had faded, the hum of the strings softened to silence, as if the lyre had settled back into itself, leaving you to wonder if you'd only imagined it.

Setting the lyre gently on the table, you rose from the stool, smoothing down your chiton.

"Come in," you called, your voice steady despite the lingering confusion in your mind.

You couldn't help but glance back at the lyre for a brief moment, wondering at the strange warmth you'd felt, before turning your attention to the door.

The wooden door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, shutting the door behind them.

As the light spilled across his face, your heart skipped a beat; it was Telemachus. "My prince, you're back so soon..." you started, but your words trailed off as you noticed the strange, almost dazed expression on his face.

He stood there, framed by the light of the hallway, his expression unsteady, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

He looked different—his usually composed demeanor replaced by an almost haunted look. His clothes were rumpled, his hunting cloak hanging loosely around his shoulders, as if he'd forgotten to fasten it properly.

Dust clung to his boots, and his hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching ever so slightly.

Worry tugged at your chest, and you took a hesitant step forward, your fingers hovering just above his arm. "Telemachus... Are you alright?"

At the sound of your voice, his gaze sharpened, focusing on you as though you'd just pulled him back from some distant place.

He let out a shaky breath, and you could see his chest rising and falling a little too quickly, as if he were catching up with the reality before him.

For a moment, he looked at you with eyes wide, unblinking—caught between disbelief and relief. His lips parted, and then closed again, unable to form the words.

"My father..." he whispered finally, his voice so low you could barely hear it.

Your heart stilled, your breath catching in your throat. Your mind raced, filling with the countless possibilities that lay behind those two words.

Telemachus' face twisted, as if he were caught between two worlds—one of sorrow and one of hope—and for a fleeting moment, you feared the worst.

Though you had never met King Odysseus, the stories Queen Penelope had shared of him and the drawings depicting his glory made you feel as though you knew him.

Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them, "T-Telemachus... I'm so sorry—"

But before the weight of grief could settle, Telemachus surprised you.

Instead of breaking down in tears, he reached out, his hands cupping your face with a tenderness that sent a jolt through you.

His fingers trembled against your cheeks, his palms warm and steady, but what struck you most were his eyes, shimmering with unshed tears. A wild, uncontainable joy danced within them, making them look brighter, alive with an intensity that took your breath away.

Then, a smile—a raw, unfiltered grin—broke across his face, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, making the expression even more radiant and true.

"No," he breathed, his voice trembling with an awe that sent shivers down your spine. "He's alive, ____... my father... he's here." The words fell from his lips like a revelation, his voice rough, as if he hardly believed it himself.

Your mind raced, trying to process what he'd just said. You searched his face, looking for any sign of jest, but all you saw was truth—pure, shining, undeniable truth.

You rapidly blinked away your tears as a wide, disbelieving smile spread across your face. "How...? How do you know? Where is he?" The words tumbled out, your voice breaking with emotion.

Telemachus laughed softly, the sound wavering with a touch of disbelief, his eyes misting with the same overwhelming happiness you felt. "I'll explain everything, I swear, ____. But there's no time—we need to act now, and I need your help."

Without another word, he released you, slipping his cloak from his shoulders and draping it around you in one swift movement.

The fabric was thick and heavy, carrying the earthy scent of pine and the faint, lingering trace of the day's sun, mixed with the warm, familiar scent of him—a hint of cedar and a faint musk, the unmistakable scent you'd come to associate with his presence.

It fell around you like a shield, warm and protective, and he gently tugged it closer around your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your arms.

"Come with me," he urged, his voice a soft command, filled with a mix of urgency and something else—a quiet, unspoken trust.

The look he gave you was steady, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and in that moment, you understood: Whatever lay ahead, he wanted you by his side.

He bustled you out of the room, keeping you close as he led you through the dim corridors, his steps swift but cautious, his hand hovering just above your back.

The two of you always stayed to the shadows, avoiding the eyes of others.

You could feel his fingers brush against you whenever you faltered, grounding you, guiding you through the dark.

Every so often, you glanced over, catching the tight line of his jaw, the way his eyes darted to every corner, his shoulders tense beneath the weight of everything he now knew.

Your heart pounded, questions swirling in your mind, but you kept your silence, understanding that patience was key.

At last, the two of you slipped through a side door, stepping into the cool evening air; the castle seemed to grow quieter as you moved further away from the central halls.

The sound of livestock and the earthy scent of hay thickened as you approached the swineherd's hut—Eumaeus' humble dwelling.

The ground beneath your feet turned to packed dirt, the rich smell of hay and animals mixing into the air.

The hut was far from the castle, a place that seemed almost forgotten, where the night's darkness wrapped around you both like a cloak.

You tugged gently on Telemachus's arm, and he paused, leaning down to catch your whispered words. "Telemachus, dinner will start soon..." you murmured, your voice laced with concern.

He gave you a reassuring nod, a small smile touching his lips. "Don't worry," he whispered back. He turned towards the door, giving a peculiar knock—three sharp raps followed by two softer ones.

After a moment, the door creaked open.

Telemachus ushered you inside, his hand resting briefly on your back as he guided you into the dim space.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

The interior was humble, the flickering orange glow of a small hearth barely illuminating the walls. The smell of livestock—hay and the musky scent of pigs—lingered heavily in the air, mingling with the faint tang of woodsmoke.

You looked around, taking in the rough-hewn furniture, the clay pots along one wall, and the woven blankets thrown across a worn bench. It was a simple space, but there was warmth here, a sense of comfort that spoke of long years of loyalty and care.

Your gaze shifted, and you stopped when your eyes landed on two figures standing a bit further back.

You blinked, recognizing one of them as Eumaeus. You gave the swineherd a sweet smile in greeting before your eyes strayed to the unknown man, standing behind Eumaeus, his form shadowed and hunched.

Eumaeus responded with a fond smile before walking over to Telemachus, giving him a knowing grin, his tone teasing. "So, you're off to get help, and of course, it's her you bring," he said, chuckling as he patted Telemachus on the shoulder.

Telemachus shrugged, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he returned Eumaeus's smile with a shy grin. Eumaeus added, "Well, you did say you'd go get the best option around, didn't you?" with a teasing lilt, making Telemachus' ears redden slightly.

But your eyes stayed fixed on the other figure.

He looked old, his clothing tattered and dirty, the lines on his face etched deep by years of hardship.

He held himself like a beggar, but there was something else in his eyes—a glint, a sharpness beneath the surface.

As you stared at him, you saw the flicker of something familiar—an underlying wit and mischief that tugged at the corners of your mind.

Telemachus stepped next to you, his voice gentle. "____, this is—"

Before he could finish, you stepped forward, bowing deeply before the man. "King Odysseus," you said, your voice steady, a hint of reverence beneath it. "It's a true honor to be in your presence. Queen Penelope has spoken of you often. To finally meet you is a joy I cannot express."

As you rose, a soft smile graced your lips—warm, sincere, with a hint of knowing.

Telemachus turned to you, his brows furrowed in amazement. "But... how did you...?" he asked, incredulous. "He looks nothing like my father—he's disguised!"

You gave a soft laugh, casting a gentle look from Telemachus to Odysseus. "True," you said, your eyes twinkling with mirth, "but no disguise can hide the soul. You both share the same mischievous eyes, the same spark that no cloak or dirt could ever conceal." You turned your gaze back to the man, and a wide grin spread across his face.

Odysseus chuckled, the sound deep and approving, his eyes crinkling as he watched you with newfound respect. "Bright girl," he murmured, his voice rich with admiration, before turning to his son. "You picked well, Telemachus," he added, his tone carrying a hidden meaning that made the prince flush, though a smile spread across his lips.

The lines on Odysseus' face softened as he gazed at his son—a glimmer of pride, a silent acknowledgment of the bond between them, as if he saw something of himself in Telemachus reflected back.

Odysseus' face then shifted, the warmth in his gaze dimming as his face hardened. Lines carved by years of war and hardship deepened, casting shadows over his stern features. He straightened, rising to his full height, and for a moment, it felt as though he filled the entire room.

The faint firelight flickered against his face, casting him in sharp relief, illuminating the fierce, hawk-like gaze that held each of you captive.

His presence was undeniable, almost overwhelming—a commanding energy that seemed to radiate from him, rippling through the room like a gathering storm.

Despite the humble rags draped over his shoulders, there was nothing of the beggar about him now; he stood like a king, his bearing more regal than the finest robes could ever convey.

He got straight to business, reexplaining what he had told Telemachus—his troubles, his arduous journey back, and the suitors that plagued Ithaca.

As he spoke, his voice was low but unyielding, every word imbued with a simmering fury that was barely restrained, like embers waiting to ignite.

He spoke of the suitors' disrespect, his jaw clenched as he described their mockery of his home and family. His fists tightened, and you could see the faint tremor in his hands—a testament to the deep, barely contained wrath within him.

It was a silent promise, an unspoken warning that whatever mercy he might have once shown had been long spent.

"These men—these pretenders—desecrate my halls, mock my family. They think themselves safe, sheltered by my absence..." he said, his voice rising before he stilled, inhaling deeply; the air seemed to grow colder as he clenched his fists, the tendons flexing beneath his weathered skin. "But they will learn," he continued, his tone edged with steel, "that no man defies Odysseus and walks away unscathed."

Eumaeus and Telemachus exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting to mirror the intensity that radiated from Odysseus.

You could see the tension in Telemachus' posture, a mix of pride and anticipation flickering in his gaze as he watched his father, fully understanding the force about to be unleashed.

It was as if, in this moment, Odysseus' years of suffering had crystallized into a single, unbreakable resolve, his very presence a testament to his unyielding will.

Then his gaze shifted, softening as it settled on you, Eumaeus, and Telemachus—a quiet resolve in his eyes that held both respect and a trace of weariness. "But with you—the few servants and handmaidens who have not betrayed Ithaca... we might have a chance," he continued, his voice steady, softened with a gratitude that flickered beneath the tension etched in his features.

You blinked, momentarily bewildered, the word hanging in your mind. "Betrayed?"

Odysseus's eyes snapped toward his son. Telemachus stilled, his shoulders tensing before he sighed and turned to you. "The others... the handmaidens... they weren't just fooling around with the suitors. They were trading secrets, leaking information, undermining us."

A chill settled over you as the weight of his words sank in.

Suddenly, the betrayal felt closer, sharper.

Faces you'd trusted flashed through your mind, but none stood out more painfully than Cleo's—the friend you thought had been as loyal as you were.

The realization struck you like a blow—the loss of her loyalty an ache you hadn't anticipated.

Her smiling face flashed before your eyes. You remembered her taking you under her wing, showing you the ropes, sharing quiet moments of laughter in the kitchens, late nights spent talking until your eyes grew heavy.

She was the one who had comforted you through your fears, celebrated your small victories. "Cleo... what have you done..." you murmured mournfully, your voice breaking.

Odysseus' gaze softened for a moment, understanding glimmering in his eyes, but his voice remained steady, resolute. "Greed, lust, ambition—they cloud judgment and poison loyalty," he said. "Such betrayal will be answered. But right now, we must focus on what lies ahead: reclaiming our home."

Nodding, you steeled yourself, your shoulders squaring with determination. Odysseus gave a curt nod, pleased, and continued, outlining the plan and what would happen next.

☆

Telemachus swiftly led you back to your room, his hand still holding yours firmly, the warmth of his grasp grounding you through the turmoil of emotions.

Outside your door, he looked both ways cautiously, his eyes scanning the shadows before turning back to you.

"Just stick to the plan, everything will be fine," he whispered, his voice soft, almost a plea, as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze; he still hadn't let go as if reluctant to release you.

You breathed out slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. "Okay," you whispered back, staring up at him.

The hood of the cloak swallowed your features, almost entirely hiding your face. It was only then that you remembered you were still wearing it.

You glanced down at the heavy fabric and whispered, "Your cloak..."

You began to move, reaching to take it off, but Telemachus quickly stopped you, his hands gently hovering over your own. "No need," he smiled, his eyes kind, lingering on you for a moment longer before he hurried off, the echo of his footsteps fading into the dim hallway.

With a soft sigh, you pushed open the door, stepping back into the small solace of your room.

You moved towards the window, staring out at the night sky. The stars were beginning to twinkle, scattered like tiny diamonds across a velvet expanse.

The cool evening air drifted through the cracks, and you breathed it in, letting it calm your nerves.

You knew dinner was just around the bend, and you quickly moved to finish getting ready.

Shedding Telemachus' cloak, you folded it neatly and set it on the bed. You reached for your lyre, giving the strings one last careful tuning, listening for the perfect resonance.

Then you knelt before the bed, pulling out a small clay box.

Inside was the golden laurel leaf—a gift from years ago. It glistened in the dim light, shimmering just as it had back then, a symbol of your devotion.

You carefully set the wreath upon your head, feeling the weight settle in place, completing the look. Just as you adjusted it, there was a knock at your door.

Startled, you quickly pushed the box back under the bed, smoothing out your clothes before moving to open the door.

It was Cleo, her familiar smile greeting you as she peered in. "Dinner is almost ready," she said, her tone cheerful, "and your area is set up for you to begin playing."

You gave her a small nod, the corners of your lips lifting. "Give me a moment," you replied, turning to fetch your lyre.

As the two of you walked towards the dining hall, you fought to keep your face calm, your lips from trembling, your eyes from welling up with tears.

Every step felt like a battle—the kind that raged silently inside, tearing at your heart and leaving you gasping for strength.

There was so much you wanted to say—to scream at her, to demand answers. The betrayal twisted deep in your chest, tearing at your resolve.

Cleo was your first friend after becoming Queen Penelope's handmaiden.

You remembered her taking you under her wing, showing you the ropes, sharing quiet moments of laughter in the kitchens, late nights spent talking until your eyes grew heavy.

She was the one who had comforted you through your fears, celebrated your small victories.

To find out that she had betrayed Ithaca—it was worse than you could ever imagine. The memories flooded you as you walked, each one twisting the knife deeper.

You clenched your jaw, forcing a neutral smile, fighting the growing storm inside you.

The hallway seemed endless, the echoes of your footsteps a steady reminder of the façade you had to maintain, even when it felt like you were shattering inside.

Soon, the dining halls came into view, the dim lighting growing brighter as the torches along the walls flickered. The air filled with the low murmur of muffled conversations, laughter, and the clinking of goblets.

As you approached the doors, your steps slowed.

Cleo let out an excited gasp, clutching your arm. "Look," she whispered, her eyes wide with excitement. She nodded towards the cracked door.

Through the narrow gap, you could see the lavish feast already underway.

The grand table was laden with extravagant food—platters piled high with roasted meats, bowls brimming with ripe fruits, flagons of wine that shimmered in the torchlight. Honey-drizzled bread, golden and steaming, lay in abundance, filling the air with a warm, rich scent.

At the table sat the suitors, loud and boisterous, their voices raised in merriment, laughter echoing off the high ceilings as they drank and talked without restraint.

Cleo pointed to the center of the table, her gaze brightening as it landed on a striking figure. "That's Antinous," she said, her voice hushed but filled with admiration. "Son of Eupeithes. Isn't he handsome?" She sighed dreamily. "He's from a powerful house. He could have anything he wants."

Antinous' blond hair gleamed under the torchlight, his piercing blue eyes commanding attention even amidst the chaos. His rugged handsomeness was undeniable, but there was an arrogance about him—a smugness that twisted his expression as he spoke, gesturing grandly to those around him.

You gave a disinterested hum, your eyes trailing from the group of men to the far end of the table.

There, alone amidst the noise, sat Penelope. Her head was bowed, her gaze downcast, her posture tired.

She looked as if the weight of all the years had finally settled on her shoulders, her only company, a simple bowl of broth set before her.

You leaned towards Cleo, your voice barely a whisper. "I think I'll go ahead and start playing."

Cleo turned to you, her brow furrowing with concern. "Are you sure? You usually warm up?"

You shook your head, a small, strained smile tugging at your lips. "I'm fine," you said softly.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door fully and walked inside.

The atmosphere shifted as the door creaked, the suitors' raucous voices faltering, several heads turning your way.

Penelope looked up, her eyes meeting yours, and for a brief moment, a smile of relief crossed her face, her shoulders seeming to lose some of their tension.

You made your way towards the cushioned seat set a few feet before the table, your lyre clutched close to your chest.

As you moved, your eyes discreetly scanned the room, searching for Telemachus.

But despite your hope, he was nowhere to be seen.

With a sigh, you began playing the Queen's favorite song.

"I weep for you, my lost love, across the endless sea, and still my heart will find you, where the wild winds are free.

Though night may fall, and stars may fade, I'll search till break of day.

Where moonlight bathes the restless waves, my love will find its way.

Till shadows fade and dawn returns, I'll wait where echoes stray."

As the soft melody filled the room, moonbeams from a nearby window bathed down on you, the soft silver light reflecting off your white garments, making them shimmer ethereally.

During the day, you soaked in the sun's favor, the golden beams warming your skin, and now at night, it seemed the moon offered you the same devotion, casting a glow that seemed almost unfair.

You swayed gently as you played, your eyes closed, your fingers expertly plucking the lyre's strings with a grace that spoke of years of practice and devotion.

Penelope sat with her eyes closed, her hands clutched to her chest, a single tear escaping down her cheek.

Even the suitors, loud and arrogant just moments before, had fallen silent, captivated by your voice and the haunting melody.

As you strummed the last note, the final echoes of your song fading into the stillness, a silence hung over the hall.

It remained until Antinous broke it, clapping loudly. "Bravo!" he called, his voice echoing, and the rest of the suitors immediately joined in, their applause filling the room.

From across the hall, Antinous stared at you, his gaze lingering, his eyes piercing through the distance. It made you shift uncomfortably, the intensity of his attention unsettling.

He flashed you a smile, the kind meant to charm, and spoke in a loud, confident voice. "Your voice is extraordinary. I wish we had such talented singers back home."

You forced a polite smile, your head dipping slightly in thanks.

Not a moment later, the double doors pushed open, and in walked Telemachus, followed closely by a man cloaked in rags—Odysseus, still disguised as a beggar.

The room fell into hushed murmurs, the air thick with confusion and curiosity.

Antinous was the first to react, rising from his seat, his gaze narrowing on the two figures as he crossed his arms arrogantly over his chest.

"Telemachus," he began, his voice dripping with a mix of mockery and irritation, "who is this you've brought to our feast? Another beggar to entertain us?" He gestured dismissively towards Odysseus, his lips twisting into a sneer. "I thought the castle had already enough mouths to feed, or perhaps you're running out of servants and need the charity of beggars now?"

The other suitors erupted into laughter, their cruel voices echoing off the stone walls, jeering at the sight of Odysseus. Some called out taunts, others shook their heads in disdain, whispering amongst themselves about the audacity of Telemachus to bring such a figure before them.

Telemachus stood tall, though his jaw tightened at their ridicule. He opened his mouth to speak, but Penelope beat him to it.

She rose from her seat, her gaze cutting sharply towards Antinous, her voice carrying a strength that commanded silence. "Enough," she said, her tone polite but leaving no room for argument. "He is our guest, and as such, he deserves respect."

She looked to Odysseus, her expression softening, though there was no recognition in her eyes. "Please, stay for dinner and enjoy a beautiful show. You are welcome here, traveler." Her words were measured, her smile gentle but tinged with weariness.

Odysseus' gaze lingered on Penelope, his eyes softening at the sight of her, a longing flickering across his face that he quickly masked with a humble bow of his head. "You honor me, my lady," he replied, his voice rough with a practiced humility. "I shall accept your hospitality gratefully."

Penelope nodded, her eyes shifting to Telemachus, offering him a small, reassuring smile before sitting back down, her fingers once more wrapping around her untouched bowl of broth.

Odysseus moved to the side, his eyes watching the suitors with a careful gaze, observing the men who had taken over his hall, violated the sanctity of his home, and pushed his family to the brink.

The tension was palpable, a quiet storm brewing under his composed exterior, his resolve only solidified by the disdain thrown his way.

Antinous called out suddenly, his voice dripping with derision. "Servant girl! Play us another tune, something a bit jollier!" His command was sharp, cutting through the murmur of the hall.

For the first time in a long while, you saw the Queen's face marred by anger. A scowl darkened Penelope's features, her eyes narrowing as she snapped, "Don't you dare order her around." Her voice carried a chilling edge, a fierce protectiveness that hushed the room instantly. "She will play what I deem fit." Her gaze locked with Antinous', daring him to challenge her authority.

The room tilted into a tense silence.

Telemachus sat by her side, his face betraying a small flicker of sadness. He watched his mother, seeing the strain in her eyes—the fight she had been holding for far too long.

The suitors, who had grown accustomed to Penelope's patient endurance, were visibly taken aback by her outburst. For years she had kept her emotions under a tight lock, never allowing a crack in her composure.

Your voice broke the silence, soft and gentle. "My Queen... would you like for me to play your song again?"

Penelope turned to you, her expression softening, a warmth returning to her eyes. "Yes, dear, please..." she whispered, her lips curving into a grateful smile.

Once again, your voice filled the dining hall, the haunting melody echoing from the lyre's strings.

As you sang, Odysseus' eyes were fixed on you, his expression one of awe. The sound of your voice stirred something deep within him, the notes wrapping around his heart, cracking the walls he had built.

He felt his chest tighten, realizing with a pang of bittersweet sorrow that the song was an ode to him, a reflection of Penelope's undying love.

It made his longing to set things right grow more urgent, more determined.

As the final note lingered in the air, fading into the hushed silence of the room, Penelope waved you over, her hand lifting gently. To your surprise, she said, "You may take a short break, dear."

You froze for a moment in shock, your eyes darting up to meet Telemachus'. He gave you an encouraging nod, a supportive smile on his lips.

Slowly, your own lips twitched up into a smile, and you bowed your head in thanks. "Thank you, my Queen," you murmured, preparing to step back and head towards where the other servants ate.

But before you could move, Penelope's hand gently grasped your arm, her touch soft yet insistent. "Stay," she said, "eat here tonight."

You stilled, your heart fluttering in both nervousness and an unexpected warmth. Your eyes flickered towards Telemachus again, and his smile only widened, nodding once more in encouragement.

You smiled back, bowing your head slightly before agreeing, "As you wish, my Queen."

Before you could find a seat, Telemachus was already on his feet. He moved swiftly, fetching a chair and placing it beside Penelope, ensuring you had a place at her side.

You whispered your thanks as he pushed the chair forward for you, a sense of gratitude swelling in your chest as you took your seat, the warmth of their kindness enveloping you amidst the otherwise hostile room.

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Antinous burst into the conversation, his voice rough as he drank deeply from a large goblet of wine. "Telemachus," he called out, irritation clear in his tone, "are you going to tell us who's this beggar you've brought among us?" He sat arrogantly at the head of the long table—Odysseus' rightful seat—before standing slowly, each step deliberate as he strolled down the length of the table towards them.

Odysseus bowed his head slightly, speaking up in a humble tone. "I am Aethon, from Crete," he said, his voice steady despite the eyes on him. "I am merely traveling through, looking for a place to rest and fill my belly for the night."

Antinous stopped in front of him, a scoff escaping his lips as he looked Odysseus up and down, his eyes filled with disdain. "A beggar indeed," he sneered. "Look at you—filthy, ragged. Ithaca should be above sheltering such wretches." He shook his head, his voice laced with contempt.

You clenched your jaw, suppressing the scowl that threatened to mar your face, feeling the bubbling anger rise. Not only was he speaking to your King—whether he knew it or not—but his actions went against xenia, the sacred rule of hospitality.

It churned your stomach, the blatant disrespect cutting deeply.

Odysseus, however, did not waver. He met Antinous' gaze evenly, a small smile playing at his lips. "It is true," he replied, his tone calm, almost serene. "I may be in rags, and my journey long, but those who forget the value of hospitality, who dishonor their guests—well, they may one day find themselves in need, and then what kindness will be shown to them?"

Antinous' face flushed, the suitors around him shifting awkwardly at the rebuke. The room tensed further, the silence thickening as the arrogance on Antinous' face twisted in irritation.

The pressure had been building for weeks.

Penelope's steadfast refusal to choose among the suitors, Telemachus' bold return, and now the appearance of yet another beggar—these affronts piled on top of each other, pushing Antinous further than ever.

It wasn't just Odysseus' words, but the culmination of the disrespect he felt as Penelope continued to defy them.

Instead of apologizing, instead of righting his wrong, Antinous' hand moved swiftly, striking Odysseus across the face.

A collective gasp echoed in the room.

You flinched, your hand flying to your mouth, horror widening your eyes.

Penelope's face blanched, her hands tightening around her bowl as she tried to mask her shock.

Telemachus looked ready to leap from his seat; his body tensed like a coiled spring, fists clenched at his sides. His eyes flashed with anger, the strain of holding himself back clear in every line of his posture.

The fire in Odysseus' chest, tempered for years, flickered, and he smiled inwardly, knowing that soon it would blaze.

A/N: ahhh, i'm so happy you guys are enjoying the story so far; i know i tend to be slow with the plot/pacing at the start with most (lol all, i'm a fucking liar), but i promise when the ball starts rolling, it'll be fast. all i can say for now is enjoy these peaceful moments while they're here...😭

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0cta9on · 4 months ago

Text

And We Danced

Length: 1.1k words

Genre: Angst

Nmixx Lily x Male Reader

(Author's Note: Wrote this for a prompt thingy hosted by @mintwithchoco! Inspired by this really pretty song, do give it a listen if you have the chance :])

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

“...and then he just brushes past me and immediately gets on his game!” Lily huffs, pacing around your room. “Like, I get that he’s tired and all that, but at least a ‘Hi’ would be nice!”

A song you don’t recognize blasts from your speaker, fiery and tumultuous to mimic the current emotions of your friend. With how often she comes over to your place to rant about her boyfriend, it’s a wonder how she doesn’t have a consistent playlist.

“What do you think? Am I just overreacting?” she asks, slumping onto your mattress.

You shake your head. “Not at all.”

“Really? Because if I’m being crazy, I need you to tell me.”

“I know when you’re being crazy, but this isn’t one of those times.”

Lily chuckles before scooting next to you and resting her head on your shoulder. You swallow down the thoughts and words that threaten to burst from your chest, potentially ruining this good thing that you have. Things are fine. Calm down.

“What should I do now?” she asks, her words floating through the open air between the transition of songs. The next song brings in slow, melancholic piano chords paired with a heartbreaking story of unrequited love. Lily’s head sinks deeper into your shoulder like the weight of the lyrics is pulling her down and you’re her only means of support.

You should break up with him.

“You should talk to him,” you say, breathing steadily. “You said that this started happening recently, right? Maybe something happened to him and he just hasn’t told you yet. Most guys are stupid and don’t like talking about their feelings and all that mushy stuff.”

“Talk to him. Right,” she sighs. “You make it sound so simple.”

You shrug. “Things are always more difficult than they seem. It really depends on him for this to work out. You’re doing the best you can, and if he can’t see that then… maybe you should—”

Lily’s phone buzzes from across the room, prompting her to jump towards it with the desperation of a lost puppy finding its owner. Her warmth is stripped away from you in an instant, and the impending cold becomes a grim reminder that it was never yours in the first place.

Her expression immediately sours as she checks the notification.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, worried.

“No.” Lily’s shoulders slump as she tosses her phone back on your desk with a resounding thud. “Bae just wants me to get her some ice cream on the way home.”

You fail to stifle a chuckle, earning an icy glare from those perfectly round eyes.

“I feel like I’m going insane.” She throws up her hands in exasperation. “What if I just end it all and jump off a cliff?”

“You definitely shouldn’t do that. How else will Bae get her ice cream?” you quip.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

The last bit of sunlight fades past the edge of your window just as the music dies down to give way to the next song. From the first note, you’re left reeling as memories of thumping heartbeats and unattainable closeness flood your mind like a tsunami. Flashing lights, the linoleum scent of the gym floors, your dad’s tie that your mom made you wear, every single excruciating detail of that night comes crashing down in an instant.

The night you cherish deeply, yet regret the most.

“Oh. My. God!” Lily yanks your arm, nearly pulling it out of its socket from sheer excitement. “Get up!”

“W-what?”

“Do you not remember this song!?”

“I-I, uh…” Of course you remember it. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed where you don’t think of what that damned song entails.

“Sophomore year homecoming! We slow danced to this song together! How could you forget that!?” She pouts at you, and it takes every facial muscle you have not to immediately burst out into the dumbest smile.

Without hesitation, Lily pulls your arms around her waist and intertwines her fingers behind your neck, and suddenly, you forget how to breathe, how to think, how to function like a regular human being.

“I-I think I remember this song,” you stutter, not quite meeting her eyes.

You find yourself being transported back to that sophomore dance as the two of you sway to the beats of the music. Lily rests her head on your chest just as she did back then, and you wonder if she can hear your heartbeat as it races from the proximity. You wonder if she can hear your thoughts, what she would think about how every corner of your mind is occupied by her. You wonder what would’ve happened if you had done something, anything differently that night, if a couple words were the difference between dancing here as lovers or as reminiscing friends.

Say something. This is your only chance. After this, she’ll be gone forever.

Yet, just like that night so many years ago, you stand quietly like a fool, damning yourself to an eternity of forever staying out of her reach.

“That was fun,” Lily giggles as she steps away from you, her fingers lingering in between yours. “I should probably head back though, it’s getting kinda late.”

“Um, yeah, sure.” Regretfully, you let go of her hands and walk her to the front door, trying to not let your mess of emotions reveal itself in your expression.

“Maybe we can hang out again tomorrow! If you’re not busy of course.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but yeah, I would like that.” Of course you don’t have anything planned for tomorrow. Even if you did, you’d move Heaven and Earth just to spend another moment with her.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow!” Lily pulls you into a hug like she always does and you fight off every urge screaming at you to keep her close.

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Long after the door shuts behind her, all you can do is stand there, motionless, like life suddenly stops mattering when she’s not around. This is all your fault, really. It shouldn’t be a surprise that guys would line up for an inkling of a chance with her; in fact, you could fill up entire libraries with books describing how perfect Lily is in every single way, forever pondering how a single glance can fill you up with so much joy and sorrow that it threatens to drown you. You had more than a decade head start, you should’ve been the first one in line.

And yet, your own cowardice got in the way.

Again. And again. And again.

That song plays in your head once more, its melody haunting yet comforting. In a perfect world, the two of you would be able to dance all night to a song that never stops.

#nmixx #lily jin morrow #nmixx lily #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #lily x male reader #nmixx lily x male reader #lily x male oc #nmixx lily x male oc #angst #lily angst #nmixx lily angst

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solxamber · 3 months ago

Text

Homecoming - Rollo Flamme x reader

You return home after a long work trip. Rollo is happy to have you back

Rollo Week Day 3!

You sigh as you step off the carriage, the wheels creaking one last time as it rolls away into the quiet, flower-lined streets of the City of Flowers. The familiar aroma of roses and freshly baked pastries fills the air, and despite the heaviness in your limbs from the long journey, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. Home. After weeks of business trips, endless meetings, and poorly made hotel tea (honestly, was it that hard to steep for three minutes?), you’ve finally returned to the place you belong.

Your bag feels like it weighs a ton as you drag it up the front steps of your home. The door swings open easily, and you’re immediately enveloped by warmth and the soft glow of candles, their flickering light casting familiar shadows on the walls. You drop your luggage right by the door with a thud. Unpacking? That’s a problem for future you.

Right now, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Or rather, one person.

Before you can even kick off your shoes, there’s a soft cough behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“You’re late.”

You turn slowly, biting back a smile. Standing there in the doorway to the living room is Rollo Flamme, arms crossed, his ever-present frown etched firmly into place. He’s the same as always—his uniform perfectly crisp, his red armband exactly where it should be, his hair styled just so. But his eyes? Those usually cold, calculating eyes are just a bit softer now, filled with something you can’t quite name. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m late because I’ve been working,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him as you try to sound exasperated. “You know, work? That thing I have to do to help fund our lavish lifestyle?”

Rollo’s frown deepens, as if the mere mention of work is an affront to his dignity. “That does not excuse tardiness. You said you would be back by midday, not at this absurd hour.”

“And you’ve been keeping track of the exact time I was supposed to return because...?” You take a step closer, enjoying the way his posture stiffens. “Maybe because you’ve been waiting for me?”

Rollo’s mouth twitches, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “I simply—” He clears his throat, looking away for a brief moment as if gathering his composure. “I dislike unpredictability. It disrupts order.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you say, smirking. “And here I thought you might’ve missed me.”

His eyes snap back to yours, and for a moment, you see it—a flicker of something unguarded, a hint of softness breaking through the usual mask of stern disapproval.

“You presume too much,” he says, but his voice lacks its usual bite.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you and pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him. You feel him freeze, like he’s not entirely sure what just happened to him. For a second, you wonder if he’s going to push you away, or make some remark about “appropriate displays of affection.”

But instead, there’s a beat of silence before you feel his hands—tentative at first—gently come to rest on your back. His embrace is awkward, as if he’s still getting used to the idea of this, but it’s Rollo’s version of vulnerable. And that? That’s more than enough.

"I missed you," you murmur, leaning into the hug and resting your head against his shoulder. You can feel his heartbeat, slightly faster than usual, and the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

There's a soft sigh from him—barely audible, but enough for you to notice. "I... suppose it has been quieter in your absence." His words are carefully chosen, as always, but you can hear the subtle admission behind them.

"You mean 'lonely'?" you tease, though your voice is softer than before.

"Do not be absurd," he huffs, his arms tightening around you just the slightest bit. “The quiet has been... productive.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, grinning against his shoulder. "Productive. No late-night pacing around, checking the clock, wondering where I am?"

Rollo makes a sound that is somewhere between a scoff and a snort. "I am not some... emotionally unstable fool."

"And yet, here you are," you say, leaning back just enough to look at him. His face is still calm, still composed, but there’s a softness in his eyes that he can't quite hide. You know him too well by now. He was absolutely waiting for you. Probably fretting over the tiniest delay.

"You overestimate your importance," he says, but the slight flush on his cheeks betrays him.

"I completely believe that," you say, grinning. “You’re clearly doing fine without me.”

His eyes narrow slightly. "If you insist on being smug, I may reconsider the tea I prepared for your return."

You blink, surprised. "Wait, tea? You made tea for me?"

Rollo straightens, clearing his throat as he composes himself. “It is standard hospitality for someone returning from a journey. Nothing more.”

Your heart melts just a little. Rollo, with all his pomp and stiff formality, had made you tea. It’s a small gesture, but from him? It feels huge.

“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that?” you say, teasing but fond. You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can protest.

His face goes crimson in an instant. "T-this is entirely unnecessary!" he sputters, backing away as if you’ve just unleashed some forbidden magic. “There is no need for... such displays.”

"Uh-huh," you say, amused. “And yet, you didn’t pull away.”

Rollo glares at you, though the pink in his cheeks betrays any attempt at real anger. “That is entirely beside the point.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “Now, about that tea?”

He sighs, clearly exasperated, but turns to head toward the kitchen. "Follow me," he mutters, and you can hear the resigned affection in his voice.

You trail behind him, admiring the familiar sight of your home, now warm and welcoming after your long trip. The thought that Rollo had been waiting for you, fussing over tea and your late return, fills your heart with warmth.

In the kitchen, a small tea set is already laid out on the table, the delicate steam curling from the cups. The scene is so domestic, so un-Rollo, and yet, it’s perfect.

As he pours the tea, he glances at you, his expression softer now, the frown mostly gone. "Welcome home," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. "It's good to be home."

The two of you sit together, sipping tea in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft clink of porcelain and the gentle hum of the evening outside. It’s peaceful, perfect, and for the first time in weeks, you feel truly at ease.

And as Rollo glances at you from the corner of his eye, trying (and failing) to hide the smallest of smiles, you realize something. This—sitting here with him, drinking tea after a long journey—is what home really feels like.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #rollo flamme x reader #rollo x reader #twst rollo x reader #twst rollo #rollo flamme #rollo #rollo x you

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achilles-rage · 5 months ago

Text

Good Luck Charm: Chapter 8

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: you decide to skip class with evan, and he takes you back to your apartment. after a slight argument, and an awkward run-in with your roommate, he invites you to homecoming at the end of the week.

word count: 6.1k

previous chapter

A/N: YUPPPPP FIC TITLE FINALLY DROPPED!!! this chapter may have gotten away from my, my b. but i like how it turned out hehe. enjoy<33

warnings: no use of y/n, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader, inexperienced!reader, slight smut, angst

MDNI- 18+ only!

It’s almost halfway through October, and everyone around campus is getting ready for homecoming. You’ve never really been interested in it, but with Evan on the football team, you can feel yourself getting a little bit excited about it.

You’re walking to your class with Evan, the one that assigned you as partners for your assignment, when you both get an email from your professor. You both read it at the same time, your professor telling you that she’s made this class a work period for your assignment, since she knows most people won’t be there anyway because of homecoming. A large smile breaks onto Evan’s face as he takes his eyes off his phone screen and looks over at you, stopping you in your tracks and making you face each other.

“Will you skip with me now, princess? We’re already way ahead, I’m sure you can skip just this once.” You fight back a smile as you turn your head to look at him, shaking your head. You know you don’t really have to be there, but you really don’t want to make a habit of skipping class. You’re both in your last year, and you want to make sure you end on a high note.

“But if we use this class, we can get more ahead.” you tell him in a slightly teasing tone, making him smirk. He knows you’re on the edge of giving in, so he tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you, murmuring a soft “please?”

You purse your lips, pretending to think it over for a moment, while he desperately waits. Finally, you smile widely up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tilt your head to the same side as his.

“I guess I can skip class just this once.” you say with a soft sigh, laughing softly as a smirk breaks out on his face. He puts his hands on your wide hips, squeezing them softly as he speaks.

“Good girl. You won’t regret it. Is your roommate home?” You feel your heartbeat quicken at his words, and your lips part slightly as you try not to look away. You shake your head, swallowing as you think about it. Is he alluding to what you think he’s alluding to?

“Good. I’m taking you there. One of my roommate’s is home all day today.” he says quickly, then takes your hand and all but drags you in the direction of your apartment.

You giggle softly at his eagerness, but let him drag you along, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

“Not everyone has your long ass legs.” you tease as you finally catch up to him. He squeezes your hand, giving you a wink as he glances down at you beside him.

“I’ll pick you up and carry you if I have to.” he matches your tone, licking his lips as he turns onto your street. You’re not that far from campus, and right now, he’s very thankful for that.

Your eyes widen at his words, and you quickly shake your head, feeling nervousness in your belly.

“You absolutely will not.” you tell him sternly, a small laugh escaping your lips. It makes your stomach flip to think about, but you really don’t want him to try. You’re sure he’s used to smaller girls, and you’d rather die than see him struggle to pick you up, or not be able to pick you up at all.

He guides you to your apartment quickly, and stands behind you while you unlock the door, his hands making their way to your hips again.

“This place is nice.” he trails off once you get inside, eyes surveying the room in more detail, having been distracted the last time he was briefly in your apartment.

“You’ve seen it before.” You roll your eyes as you drop your bag on the kitchen counter, watching as he stands in the hallway, looking around your living room. He turns to you once he’s finished and makes his way over to you, dropping his bag beside yours before he pushes you back against the kitchen counter. You feel his warm hands on your waist through your thin dress, and you look up at him, feeling all your nerves melt away as you take in his soft expression. He’s looking at you with a dazed smile, taking in the fact that he finally has you all to himself.

“So, what’s your roommate’s schedule like?” You put your hands on his chest as you raise a brow.

“Why does that matter?” you ask in a confused tone. Why is he bringing up your roommate right now? “Because I wanna know how much time I have with you before she comes home and interrupts us.” he purrs, and you feel your mouth go dry, Now is the time, you think. You desperately want more of him, and you feel like you’re finally ready for it.

“She has a long day today. She’ll be gone until late.” you inform him softly, tilting your head to the side as you move to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

“Good to know.” he mumbles with a smirk before leaning down to your lips, his mouth meeting yours in a searing kiss. You moan softly as his hands move down to your hips, squeezing them softly. You part your lips slightly and allow his tongue to enter your mouth, as if claiming you. One of your hands makes its way to his hair, which makes him hum softly. Slowly, he brings one of his hands down to your thigh and raises your dress, letting his fingers move up to your panties sitting on your hip. You feel your breath catch in your throat as his hand dances across your waistband, toward the middle of your stomach, and he picks up on this, leaning back to look at your face.

“Just relax, princess. You’re being such a good girl for me.” you whimper softly at his words, feeling his fingers slowly dipping under the waistband of your panties, but not moving right to where you want him.

“I'm sorry.” you mumble, looking up at him with wide eyes as your hands trail down to his biceps. You hold them firmly, trying to ground yourself, torn between giving into your nerves and giving in completely to what you want him to do. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he stops his fingers from moving any further.

“You don’t need to be sorry, princess. You’re good. There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’m gonna take care of you. Promise.” he purrs, leaning his head down to kiss your neck softly, fingers starting to go lower, just centimeters from your slit.

“I’ve never-” you say quickly, trailing off right before his fingers make contact. You figure you should be honest with him, as embarrassed as you feel about it.

“You’re- You’re telling me you’re a virgin?” he asks slowly, his brows furrowing slightly at your words. He knew you weren’t as experienced as him, not many were, but he didn’t think you were this inexperienced. He can’t help but move his hand out of your panties as you nod, mind working in overdrive as he takes in the new information. He wants to do so many things to you right now, but he knows he has to be far more gentle than he originally thought.

You blink slowly as he pulls his hand away, inhaling a shaky breath as you push his hands off of you and cross your arms over your chest. You take his surprise as disappointment, and you feel intense embarrassment wash over you as you look down, tears threatening to escape your eyes.

“No, no, no. Wait a minute. I’m not mad, baby. You just surprised me, I wasn’t expecting that.” he tries to reassure you, noticing your walls coming back up as you avoid his eyes. You shake your head, leaning back as far as you could, still trapped between him and the counter, his hands quickly reaching out to grab your hips again.

“I thought it was obvious! I could barely even kiss you!” you exclaim softly, looking up at him as a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you for it. I knew you weren’t experienced; I just didn’t think you were a virgin.” he says softly, reaching up to take your arms from your chest. He then takes your face in his hands, forcing you to look up at him. You sniffle softly. You feel pathetic; you can’t believe you’re crying right now.

“You seemed like you were upset.” you tell him, your voice barely audible. He sighs, leaning forward and kissing your forehead softly.

“I’m not upset, princess. I’m just- I don’t know what to do right now.” Your brows furrow slightly at his words, and you try to lean away from his touch. You can’t help the tears forming in your eyes again as you speak.

“So, you don’t want me anymore?” You can’t believe how today is going. You were about to give yourself to him, and now it feels like that’s so far from happening, you might as well not even think about it. He sees your face fall, and he shakes his head quickly, keeping your face in his hands despite you leaning away.

“No. God, no. That’s not what I meant. I want you, so bad. You have no idea how much. I just- Are you sure you want your first time to be with me?” he asks you softly, his thumbs gently running across your cheeks in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask, your voice slightly louder. Your brows are furrowed. Why is he asking you this? Of course you want him. You thought that was obvious by now.

“Because I have to be gentle with you, and patient. But, with the thoughts I’m having right now, I don’t know if I could be.” You bite your lip, your eyes softening at his words. You’re so desperate for him at this point that the things he’s saying are going in one ear and out the other. Your roommates' words ring through your head, and you know that right now you just want to get it over with.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” He scoffs slightly at your words. He begins to realize that you don’t quite understand him. If he weren’t so nervous about not hurting you, he’d have you pinned down on your bed, kissing and sucking on your chest and roughly thrusting into you, but he knows he can’t do that yet.

“No, I do, baby. You deserve that. I care about you too much, I don’t wanna hurt you. Ever. Or have you regret it.” You frown slightly at his words.

“Why would I regret it?” He sighs at your question, tilting his head back and closing his eyes for a second to collect his thoughts.

“Baby, you deserve someone who wants everything that you want. A relationship, special treatment. I don’t know if I can give you that. I’ve never been in a serious relationship; I don’t know if I can treat you as well as you deserve.” You can’t help the scoff that escapes your throat, beginning to get angry with him. Where did this switch up come from? Can’t treat you well? You think about when he took you to see the stars. You know he can. If he doesn’t want an actual relationship, you’re starting to think you can handle that, as long as he keeps treating you the way he has.

“What if I didn’t want a relationship?” you challenge, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. You’re beginning to think he just doesn’t want you, and he��s just too scared to be honest.

“Princess, I know you well enough. You’re not that type of girl.” You huff softly, looking away for a moment. He can’t believe your words. It’s like you’re a different person right now; the shy and soft-spoken girl from the last few weeks is nowhere to be found.

“I could be.” It’s his turn to scoff as he shakes his head, giving you a “really?” look.

“I don’t want you to be just so you can be with me.” he tells you, his face falling slightly. His head is reeling, he doesn’t want this new information to change anything, but he can’t help the nerves creeping into his stomach that he’ll be your first. It feels like it changes everything.

“Where is this coming from? Why are you pulling away all of a sudden?” you ask him, your angry tone slowly slipping away, being replaced with a hint of sadness.

“I don’t know, princess. This is all new to me. I don’t know what to do.” He runs his hands over his face, turning away from you and taking a step away. He hopes taking a step away will somehow make his thoughts make sense. Your presence messes with his head. He’s never felt this way before, and it scared him to think that he could mess it up so easily.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to go find a random guy to sleep with and then come back to you? Make it easier for you?” You ask sarcastically, taking a step forward, your arms flailing as you speak. You’re joking, but a small part of you thinks you might just do it if it means you can keep seeing him like this. He takes his hands away from his face, giving you a stern look.

“Absolutely not. I would never let that happen.” he says, his tone low. Jealousy fills every inch of him as he imagines you with another guy, letting him put his hands and mouth all over your soft body. You scoff, running your tongue along the inside of your teeth at his sudden outburst.

“Then what the hell do you want? You don’t want me, but you don’t want me with another guy. So, what?” You can feel your anger bubbling up as you speak in an exasperated tone. He’s not making any sense. He doesn’t want you, but he doesn’t want you to get with someone else?

“I don’t want you to find a random guy at a party. I want you to have someone who’ll treat you with respect. That wants to take his time with you.” You feel yourself move before your brain catches up to you, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him hard.

“Then do it.” you tell him once you pull back. You notice how quick his hands are back on your hip and your jaw, and you think it’s a good sign.

He looks down at you, his breathing quicker than normal as he thinks it over. He’s torn. As much as he wants to give you everything, he’s nervous that he won’t be able to. Your eyes search his as he thinks, and you see in his eyes that he’s about to cave.

You stand up on your toes again and kiss him, slowly walking him back to the couch and pushing him down onto it. You move to straddle his waist, putting both of your hands on his face as his hands find your hips. You’re not sure where your newfound confidence is coming from, but you’re too caught up in the moment to think about it.

“Baby I-” he pulls away after a moment, knowing he can’t just give in to you. He can feel his pants getting tighter as he feels your clothed heat over him, and it’s taking everything in him not to flip you onto your back and rip your clothes off.

“Will you try? You’re better than you think you are. Will you give yourself a chance?” you cut him off, speaking softly, one hand twirling a small lock of hair on the base of his neck. He groans at your words. He can see the hope in your eyes, and he really doesn’t want to let you down.

“Okay, I’ll try. For you.” he says after a moment with a small sigh, and he can’t help but mirror you as you give him a big small. You lean into his lips again, whining softly as he pulls you further down against his lap.

“God, you’re gorgeous. My pretty girl.” he purrs against your lips. You smile at his words, beginning to move your hips against his in a slow grind. He groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulls away.

“You’re making it really hard for me to hold back, princess.” he tells you softly, licking his lips as he looks up at your puffy lips and blown pupils. The only thing on your mind is him, how his hands feel on you, how his lips will feel as they trail down your body. You bring your hands down to the hem of his shirt, and he lets you pull it over his head before you let it drop to the floor. Your eyes take in his bare torso, biting your lip as you trace your fingers down his bare chest.

“We can’t do this, princess. Not today.” he murmurs, eyes trailing down over your clothed figure, aching to see more.

“Please.” you whisper, and his eyes snap back up to your face at the softness of your plea.

“No. No. Don’t give me that look.” he gets out, his hands itching to grope every inch of your body.

“What look?” you ask innocently, looking at him with big, doe eyes. You fight back a smile as he groans, tilting his head back to rest on the couch.

“That look. Those big eyes. I know what you want, princess, but I’m trying to hold onto some shred of resistance here.” he tells you sternly, raising his head back up to look at you. You laugh softly, running your hands through his hair.

“So don’t.” you lean in, whispering in his ear. He can feel your warm breath on his neck, and he’s getting painfully hard as you all but plead for him to take you.

“Stop, princess. Please.” he begs. He can feel his resistance hanging on by a thread. He wants nothing more than to do what you’re asking him to do, but he knows he has to hold back.

“Do you really want me to stop?” you whisper in his ear, leaning down to kiss his neck softly.

“Yes. No. Fuck, princess, I should tell you to stop.” you sit back, looking at his expression. You know he’s still holding back a little, so you try to set your nerves aside as you reach for the hem of your dress, pulling it slowly off your body and dropping it onto the floor. He lets in a sharp breath as he takes in your exposed form. He smirks as he takes in your heaving chest, and the way your hands start to shake in slight nervousness. You can’t help the twisting in your stomach as he takes in your nearly bare body. You know he must like your body enough; he’s been with you for weeks, but you can’t help but still feel a little insecure as he sees you without clothes covering your soft curves.

“What are you doing?” His eyes don’t leave your torso, and he fights back a groan as his eyes land on your soft belly. He can’t help but let his hands move from your hips to the sides of your stomach, tracing the stretch marks littered across your form.

“It’s hot in here.” you murmur with a soft giggle, shrugging. His eyes move back up to your face, and he raises a brow at your obvious lie.

“We both know that’s not why you did that.” he teases softly. He licks his lips, trying desperately to keep his eyes trained on yours.

“Prove it.” you tease him back, leaning back to his neck and kissing him again, your hips instinctively moving against his.

“This isn’t fair, princess. You know what you’re doing.” he groans, his hands gripping your hips even tighter, unsure if he wants to help guide your hips against him or stop your movements completely.

“Please. Touch me.” you whisper before bringing your lips to his, parting your lips as he slides his tongue into your mouth.

He feels the last of his resistance snapping at your soft pleading. He trails one of his hands to the waistband of your panties again, slowly dipping his fingers into them. You buck your hips as his hands move down to your core, and he feels how wet you are for him. He groans as he feels your arousal, slowly moving his fingers to circle your clit, pulling a soft whimper from your lips as you pull away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his shoulder.

He wants so badly to go further; wanting to feel his fingers slowly stretch you out, but he holds back. He increases his pace slightly, chuckling as he hears your continued whimpering and heavy breathing. He’s barely done a thing, and you’re already so desperate for him.

“You like that, princess? That feel good?” he asks softly, using his unoccupied hand to tilt your head up and meet your lips in a searing kiss.

You nod, whispering a breathy “yes” against his lips, moving your hips against his fingers, desperate for more. He chuckles softly, continuing to move his fingers at a slow pace, coating his fingers with your wetness to help with his movements.

As he keeps moving his fingers, you feel your release quickly approaching, so unused to feeling someone else’s fingers on your, and your moans and whimpers become louder and more breathy. You lean back from his lips, tilting your head back as your hands move to his shoulders, your grip tightening.

“You close, pretty girl?” he asks softly, putting one hand on your chin to tilt your head back down, forcing you to hold eye contact. You nod, your breaths coming out in shallow pants as you teeter on the edge.

“Let go for me, princess. Keep your eyes on me.” His words are all it takes for you to fall over the edge. Your body tenses as you come on his fingers, hips bucking slightly as you chase your high. He smiles at how hard you’re trying to keep your eyes on him, and slows his fingers, but he doesn’t stop them completely, instead guiding you through your release.

“You did so good, princess. So good for me.” he whispers, his hand reaching up to the back of your head as you lean your forehead against his shoulder again. He pulls his other hand out of your panties and brings them to his lips, sucking them clean with a low moan. He savours your taste, trying to commit it to memory.

After a moment, you catch your breath, and lean back off his shoulder. You meet his lips again in a soft kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, slowly moving your hands down to his belt, itching for more. He sucks in a sharp breath and reaches down to stop your hands, shaking his head softly as he pulls back from your lips.

“Not now, princess. That’s enough for today.” You whine softly at his words, but they make you think. For today? He was adamant before about not doing anything intimate with you, and now, you’re not sure where you stand.

“So, what does this mean?” you ask softly after a moment of silence. He sighs, tilting his head back against the couch, thinking for a moment. He’s still so torn. He knows doing what he just did maybe wasn’t the best way to go about this confusing situation, but he loved the soft whimpers falling from your lips so much that he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“I don’t know.” he tells you after a moment, raising his head back up to look at you.

“Were you serious? About caring about me?” you ask, tilting your head to the side as you fidget with your fingers in your lap.

“Of course, princess.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning ever so slightly closer to him.

“So, now what?” you ask again, hoping he’ll know what to do. This is so new to you. You know he’s not completely used to this either, but you think he might have a better idea of how to navigate this.

“Well, I know I want more of you. I don’t just wanna be with you once and then disappear. I want to keep you.” Your smile widens at his admission and you look down for a moment, face growing hot.

“Keep me?” you ask softly, looking into his eyes as he raises your face back up to his.

“Yeah, however I can. I wanna take you on a date, I wanna go to parties with you. I want you with me. I don’t want you with anyone else.” He knows he’s not making any sense right now, but he’s telling the truth. His thoughts are so jumbled that he can’t make sense of himself. He’s hoping that you’ll be able to; he admires how smart you are.

“And you said you didn’t know if you could give me that.” you remind him, brows furrowed. He lets out a soft laugh, shrugging before his expression goes serious again.

“Yeah. But, I want you. I want you to be mine. My girl.” he mumbles the last part more to himself, a small smile making its way back onto his face at the thought. You’re in slight disbelief. He’s singing a completely different tune than a few minutes ago, and as much as it surprises you, it makes your stomach flip.

“Yeah?” you ask, almost inaudibly, your eyes full of hope.

“Yeah.” he tells you matter of factly, feeling his heart race as it sinks in. You’re going to be his.

“Okay.” You’re not sure what else to say. You laugh softly, leaning into his chest, resting your cheek against it. He rubs his hand up and down your back, relishing in the fact that you’re all his to touch, to take care of.

You listen to his heartbeat for a few minutes, and then lean back to meet his gaze.

“I’m yours.” you mumble in a daze, a wide smile spreading across your cheeks. He chuckles softly, nodding as he runs a thumb across your cheek.

“All mine, princess.” He pulls you in for another kiss, hands moving back down to your hips as yours hold his head.

As you continue kissing, you hear your apartment door open. You pull back with wide eyes and jump off of him, sitting beside him on the couch and pulling a blanket over your exposed body before your roommate, Lindsey, sees you.

Her eyes glance between the both of you once she rounds the corner, a smirk forming on her face as her eyes trail across his bare chest. She can see how tightly you’re holding the blanket, and your dress still on the floor in front of the couch, and she immediately knows what she just walked into.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Evan says smugly, leaning back and extending his arm behind you on the back of the couch. He’s very clearly not embarrassed by his exposed torso, or the position you’ve been caught in, and it makes your blood boil. Your head snaps to him, giving him a glare at his tone, your cheeks hot in embarrassment.

“Hi,” your roommate says slowly, dropping her back onto the living room chair, “what are you guys doing?” Your eyes trail back to her, eyes narrowed. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she finds it hilarious.

“Nothing. Just, um, working on some homework.” you reply softly. You’re not sure why you’re lying. You all know exactly what’s going on, and she’s your best friend, but you can’t stop the lie tumbling from your lips awkwardly.

“Homework, huh? This your study buddy?” she teases, crossing her arms over her chest, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“I’m Evan.” he informs her, that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. If Lindsey wasn’t here, you’d smack the smirk right off his face.

“Right. You guys been studying all night together?” she asks innocently, but her face is anything but. You groan softly, hiding your face in your hands. You hear Evan chuckle beside you.

“No need to get shy, princess. We’re all friends here.” you glare at him through your fingers, which makes his smirk widen.

“Don’t you have to go now?” you ask Evan in a low tone as you pull your hands away from your face, giving him a knowing look.

“What? No, I-” He’s cut off by your hand colliding with his chest. It’s not enough to hurt, of course, but enough to stop him mid-thought. “I mean, yeah. I should, uh, get going. Don’t wanna be late to that, thing. You wanna walk me out, princess?” You look back over at your roommate with an innocent smile, hoping to be out of this situation soon. You don’t move, painfully aware that you’re almost naked under the blanket, and you know that Evan knows. He just wants to see you get as flustered as possible.

Lindsey’s eyes travel back down to your dress on the floor and laughs softly before she turns to walk to the kitchen, making herself look busy as she gives you both time to get dressed.

You jump off the couch and grab your dress and his shirt, throwing his shirt at him and putting your dress on quickly, smoothing it down as he catches his shirt and puts it on. You grab his hand, tugging him off the couch and pushing him towards the door, your roommate and him fighting back laughs at your awkward movements.

“Right. You should hurry. Don’t wanna be late for your, uh, thing.” you say softly, opening the door and pushing him into the hallway, barely giving him enough time to grab his bag on the counter.

He turns around to face you once he’s in the hallway, laughing softly as he notices that you have your head poked out the door, keeping it open just enough for your head to fit out.

“I’ll see you later?” you ask softly, a hopeful smile on your face.

“Well, actually, homecoming is tomorrow. Would be nice to have my girl there.” Your smile widens at his semi-awkward stance. He raises a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it softly. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly so nervous; he just had you coming on his fingers, but the idea of you in the stands and cheering for him has his head spinning.

You step out into the hallway, closing the door behind you, knowing your roommate is probably listening.

“You want me to come to your game?” He nods, feeling his nerves float away as he takes in the excited expression on your face.

“Yeah, it’d be nice to see you there, in the front row. I can give you my old jersey to wear.” He smirks, stepping closer to you again and putting his hands on your hips. He can’t get enough of them; he loves how soft they are under his fingertips. You feel your nerves come back, thinking about it. Your worst fear is putting it on and it being tight on you. You know it’s a little unrealistic; his jersey has to go over him and all his gear, but you still feel the nerves in your belly anyway.

“You don’t have t-” he cuts you off, now determined to see you in his jersey, with his name on your back.

“No, I do. I wanna see you in it. And I want everyone else to see you in it.” he murmurs before meeting your lips in a soft kiss. You smile into the kiss, feeling yourself cave as you feel his hope conveyed through the kiss.

“I guess I could.” you trail off once you both pull away. He smiles widely, nodding.

“Yeah, you will. But just a heads up, I think the guys on my team will try to flirt with you, some of them get kinda dumb when they see a pretty face.” You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. You’re sure they do get like that, but you doubt you’re any of their types.

“I doubt that.” you tell him softly, shaking your head.

“No, I’m telling you. With my jersey on, they won’t be able to help themselves.” You furrow your brows, tilting your head to the side, watching his smile widen at the thought of every guy on his team seeing you as his.

“What does the jersey have to do with anything?” you ask, confused.

“If you have my name on your back, they’ll know your mine. It’s like a challenge, and they’ll wanna get a rise out of me, trust me.” He’s sure he has nothing to worry about, which is why he’s so excited to see them try to flirt with you. He knows you’ll come home with him at the end of the night. He’ll make sure of it.

“Men are weird.” you joke softly, making both of you laugh softly. He shrugs, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he smirks down at you.

“I never said they weren’t. So, you’ll come? It’s a big game,” You nod, and he smiles before he continues “And you’ll come to the afterparty with me too? Wanna show you off some more, celebrate the win with my girl.” You nod again, laughing softly at his adamance that his team will win.

“But, just a heads up. I might be a little more rowdy if we win. Might get a little handsy.” he explains in a slightly teasing tone, but he’s dead serious. He knows how he usually is after a win, and with you, he’ll be even worse.

“In front of everyone?” you tease softly, feeling your nerves slowly creeping into you again. It’s one thing to have his hands on you when you’re alone with him, but it’s another completely to have his hands on you in front of so many people. You’re barely used to his hands on you in general.

“Gotta show everyone that you’re with me. Gotta show off my good luck charm after we win.” You feel your face heat up at his words, and you look down. You nod slowly, eyes trained on the shirt stretched across his chest. You like the idea of being his good luck charm.

“Should I meet you there? At the game?” you ask, looking back up into his eyes, biting your lip softly.

“No, I’ll pick you up. I’ll be here around 6, I’ll give you my jersey, and then you can sit in the front row and cheer me on. God, I can’t wait to see my name on your back.” He mutters the last sentence mostly to himself, groaning at the thought.

“So, I’m guessing that me wearing your jersey is a non-negotiable.” you tease him, giggling softly at his suddenly very serious expression.

“You’re damn right. Now, gimme a kiss.” he says sternly, putting a hand on the back of your neck and forcing you up onto your toes as he leans down slightly. He tries to deepen the kiss, but you pull back, suddenly remembering that you’re still in the hallway of your building.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” you tell him softly, slowly backing up to your door, putting your hand on the handle as you lean your back against the door. He hums softly, eyes trailing down your figure.

“Can’t wait. 6 o’clock.” He winks, starting to step backwards until he finally turns and walks down the hallway to the stairs.

You walk back into your apartment in a daze, groaning when you see your roommate sitting at the kitchen island, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Hey.” you trail off, smiling awkwardly at her.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” she teases. You laugh, nodding as you sit down on the chair beside her, beginning to tell her everything.

next chapter

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