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winxanity-ii · 2 days ago

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DO YOU STILL BELIEVE?

ship: odysseus x fem!penelope!reader warnings: non-explicit (emotional intensity, mentions of war and trauma, heavy themes of longing and separation, a bittersweet reunion) word count: 5.2k a/n: I had so much fun writing this one-shot inspired by Epic the Musical and The Odyssey! Penelope and Odysseus’ love story has always fascinated me, and I wanted to explore the raw emotions of their reunion while staying true to the themes of trust and enduring love. 🥹 I hope you enjoy this piece, and as always, feedback is welcome! Next update for Catch Me If You Can is in the works, so stay tuned! 👀.

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

An unsettling silence clung to you as followed Eurycleia down the quiet corridors back to your chambers. The weight of the contest bore down on your shoulders like a storm cloud, and your mind churned with thoughts too heavy to quiet.

As you reached your room, Eurycleia stopped, turning to face you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. Her aged hands, calloused from years of service, trembled slightly as she reached for the latch. "My lady," she began, her voice low and trembling, "you must remain in your room at all times tonight. No matter what you hear, you cannot leave."

Her words struck you with a jolt of unease, and you frowned. "Remain here? What do you mean, Eurycleia? What is going on?"

She hesitated, her gaze darting to the side as if the walls themselves might overhear her. "Please," she said softly, bowing her head. "Forgive me, but it is for your safety."

The cryptic answer only deepened the knot in your chest. "Eurycleia," you pressed, stepping closer, "tell me—"

"I cannot, my lady." Her voice wavered, but she straightened herself, her resolve unwavering. "I ask only that you trust me. Stay here, and do not leave until someone comes for you."

Before you could utter another word, she dipped into a deep bow, her gray hair catching the faint lamplight, and hurried away, the door clicking shut behind her.

For a moment, you simply stared at the door, her final words echoing in your ears. Trust me. What could she mean? What danger awaited beyond these walls?

Letting out a shaky sigh, you turned toward the room. The weight of your robe dragged against your shoulders as you pulled it tighter, seeking comfort from its soft folds.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows that danced across the stone walls. It was a futile attempt to drive out the chill that had seeped into the room—and into your very bones.

Crossing to the window, you pressed your palms against the cool sill, your gaze drifting out over the kingdom below. The village lights flickered like stars scattered across the darkened land.

Beyond them, the sea stretched into the horizon, its surface shimmering faintly under the light of the crescent moon.

Your thoughts wandered, as they always did in moments of stillness, drawn to the same familiar ache that had lived in your chest for years.

The contest... Would it truly decide your fate? One of those suitors, those arrogant men who had feasted in your halls and mocked your son, could soon become your husband. The very thought sent a shudder down your spine, and you hugged your arms tighter around yourself.

A whisper escaped your lips, barely audible over the soft crackle of the fire. "Odysseus..." The name hung in the air, a prayer, a plea, a question. "What would you think of me now, letting this madness continue? Letting strangers fight for what was never theirs to claim?"

Your vision blurred, and you lowered your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. For years, you had waited. For years, you had woven and unwoven that shroud, holding on to a hope that had felt as fragile as a thread in the loom.

Was it foolish to hope still? To think that he might return, that the man who had held your heart so completely could be more than a memory?

Your lips trembled as you forced a bitter laugh. "I am not you," you murmured, the words breaking the silence. "I am not brave enough to fight this battle. All I can do is endure."

Your mind drifted, as it often did, to Telemachus. A smile tugged at your lips despite the ache in your chest. "Oh, Odysseus," you said, a soft chuckle escaping through your tears. "You would adore our son. He has your mind—so sharp, so clever. And your smile..." You let out a watery laugh, pressing a hand to your mouth to stifle the sound. "Even when he's being stubborn, I see you in him."

The image of Telemachus as a child came to you, vivid and warm—a boy who had once clung to your skirts, demanding stories of his father's heroism. Now, he stood tall, a man in his own right, with the weight of the kingdom already pressing on his shoulders. How proud Odysseus would be of him.

Your musings were cut short by a sudden, sharp sound—a shout echoing faintly down the corridors.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. Another shout followed, then the unmistakable clash of steel against steel.

Your breath hitched, and you stumbled back from the window, your pulse racing. What was happening? Panic swirled in your chest, and you turned toward the door, your hands trembling as you reached for the latch.

It didn't move.

You tugged harder, a frustrated gasp escaping you. "Open the door!" you shouted, pounding against the wood with the flat of your palm. "What is going on out there?"

A muffled voice answered from the other side, strained and apologetic. "My Queen, please—forgive us. You must remain inside."

"Why?" you demanded, your voice rising as fear clawed at your throat. "Tell me what is happening!"

But the only response was silence, broken only by the distant sounds of chaos—the cries of men, the clash of swords, and the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

You staggered back, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of it all. Your mind raced, grasping for answers. Was it the suitors? Had the contest descended into violence? Or was it something else—something you dared not name aloud?

Your knees buckled, and you sank onto the edge of the bed, your hands clutching the fabric of your robe as though it could anchor you. The air felt thick, suffocating, and your thoughts spiraled, each one more desperate than the last.

"Odysseus," you whispered, the name falling from your lips like a prayer. If he were here, he would know what to do. He would protect you, protect Telemachus, protect this kingdom.

Another shout rang out, closer this time, and your breath caught in your throat. You could do nothing but wait, trapped within these walls, your fate hanging in the balance.

☆

You paced the length of your chambers, your footsteps muffled by the thick rug underfoot. Every pass brought you closer to the walls and then away again, as if your own restlessness could push the heavy silence out of the room.

Minutes ago—minutes that felt like an eternity—the shouts and screams that had echoed down the corridors had gone silent. That silence pressed on you now, as heavy as the stone walls of Ithaca's palace.

Your mind churned, spiraling into darker and darker thoughts. What had happened? Had the suitors staged an uprising, turning the contest into bloodshed? Did Ithaca fall under siege from an unseen enemy? What if the guards were overwhelmed, and Telemachus...

You stopped mid-step, your breath catching painfully. Telemachus. Your son. The boy you'd raised to be strong, who carried so much of his father's spirit. Had he fallen in the chaos? Was he lying out there, cold and lifeless while you were locked away, helpless to protect him?

"No," you whispered, shaking your head furiously, as if the motion alone could banish the thought. But your heart wouldn't listen, and it dropped like a stone into your stomach, twisting painfully.

What if the suitors had taken over? What if they had harmed Telemachus? The thought of losing him, your son, the last piece of Odysseus you'd held onto, made the breath hitch in your throat. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the world around you.

No, no, no. Your mind flashed to his strong but still-youthful face, the way he carried himself with the dignity of a man but the vulnerability of a boy. Your knees weakened at the thought of him hurt—or worse.

"Telemachus," you whispered, clutching your robe tighter around you. Panic clawed its way up your throat, and you rushed to the door, slamming your fists against it. "Let me out! I demand to see my son!" Your voice cracked, trembling with desperation. "Open this door! What's happened to him?"

From the other side came a muffled voice, hesitant and filled with regret. "My lady... forgive me, but I cannot. I have my orders."

"Orders?" you repeated, your voice rising with fury. "To keep me locked away while my son—while my kingdom—falls apart?" Your fists pounded harder, the sharp thud echoing in the empty room. "I beg you, please! Telemachus! Is he—" Your voice broke, and the words wouldn't come.

Your knees weakened, and you leaned heavily against the door, pressing your forehead to its cool surface.

No response. Not even the muffled, apologetic voices from earlier. Just silence.

You leaned your forehead against the wood, trembling as your thoughts spiraled further. Pressing your palms flat against the door, you whispered a prayer to the gods above, your voice trembling. "Please gods... protect him. Protect my son. Keep him safe. Please."

The silence beyond the door stretched on, heavy and suffocating. You stayed there, trembling against the wood, every second a fresh torment.

And then... the latch clicked, breaking through your whispered pleas.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you staggered back. Slowly, the door inched open, the dim light from the corridor spilling into the room.

Relief surged through you, mingling with your anger as you rushed forward, ready to demand answers. "How dare you keep me—" But the words died in your throat, caught like a fish in a net, as your gaze landed on the figure standing in the doorway.

Your heart stopped.

"...Odysseus?" His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible, trembling like the flicker of a candle in the wind.

It couldn't be.

Your eyes widened, your mind struggling to reconcile the man before you with the ghost of the memory you had clung to for so many years. But there he was, standing in the doorway, real and solid, and yet so very different from the man you had kissed goodbye all those years ago.

He looked older. His once-youthful face was lined with the passage of time and the weight of what he had endured. Faint scars crisscrossed his hands and forearms, reminders of battles fought and hardships survived.

His frame was leaner than you remembered, his once-strong build worn by years of trials, yet he carried himself with a strength that belied the weary lines etched into his features.

His hair, streaked with silver, curled just slightly at the edges, framing a face that was both familiar and foreign.

And his eyes—oh, his eyes. They were the same piercing eyes you had fallen in love with, though now they carried a heaviness, a burden of things seen and done that you could scarcely imagine.

You took a trembling step closer, your breath shallow. Your gaze darted over him, drinking in every detail as though you feared he might vanish if you blinked. His clothes were ragged, torn at the edges, and caked with dust and blood, but he stood tall, the weight of the years and his trials radiating off him like a shield.

When your eyes met his, something shifted. The hardness in his gaze softened, the lines around them easing ever so slightly as his lips parted.

"Penelope," he rasped, his voice hoarse, as though it had been too long since he'd spoken your name aloud. He took a step toward you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if testing the waters of a dream.

Your head shook slowly, side to side, as tears welled in your eyes, spilling over before you could stop them. "N-No..." you stammered, your voice trembling, barely audible. "No... no!" The word grew louder as you turned abruptly, your legs buckling beneath the weight of the moment, sending you stumbling back toward the window.

You pressed your palms to the cool stone sill, your gaze locking onto the distant horizon as though it could anchor you. Your mind raced, each thought more frantic than the last. This isn't real. It can't be real. Fear clawed at your chest, your heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might break free. A strangled laugh escaped your lips, wild and unbidden.

The sound startled even you, cracking like thunder in the stillness of the room. It morphed into a sob, the sound catching in your throat as you gasped for breath. "I've lost it," you whispered, a broken, bitter laugh slipping through your trembling lips. "The gods have taken pity on me—or perhaps they've cursed me." Your shoulders shook as the dam finally broke, tears spilling freely now, mingling with the bitter laughter that refused to stop.

You clutched at the sill, your fingers digging into the stone as if you could steady yourself against the onslaught of emotions. The ache in your chest was unbearable, a mixture of disbelief, longing, and the fear that this was nothing more than a cruel trick of your mind—a dream that would shatter as all the others had.

A warm hand rested gently on your shoulder.

You froze, the heat of his touch cutting through the storm raging within you. A gasp escaped your lips, and your eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to face whatever was behind you—whether it was real or a phantom conjured by desperation.

The warmth seeped through your robe, grounding you, making it impossible to ignore. The sobs caught in your throat, and you were left trembling, torn between the urge to lean into the comfort and the fear of being hurt by it.

"Penelope," he said again, his voice softer this time, filled with something raw, something that threatened to undo you completely.

Your breath hitched, and with painstaking slowness, you turned. Your legs felt weak, as though they could give out at any moment, but the pull of his voice, of that warmth, was impossible to resist.

Your gaze lifted, hesitantly, until it met his. There he was, your husband, the man you had mourned and prayed for.

His face, lined with years of hardship, was impossibly familiar yet so changed.

His hair was streaked with silver, his cheeks sunken, but his eyes held the same warmth, the same depth that had drawn you in so many years ago.

Your hands shook as you raised them, trembling in the space between you, hesitant, unsure. Your lips quivered, the words catching in your throat as you whispered, "Odysseus... is it really you?"

He didn't speak. Instead, he reached out, his calloused fingers wrapping gently around your trembling hands. You flinched at the contact, the shock of it too much, but he didn't let go. Slowly, he guided your hands to his face, pressing them against his cheeks.

His skin was rougher than you remembered, his beard thicker, weathered by years of trials and battles, but the warmth—the life beneath your touch—was unmistakable. It grounded you in a way that no words ever could. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as though savoring the moment, as though he feared you might pull away.

"It's me," he murmured, his voice low and steady, his breath warm against your hands. His thumbs moved in small, gentle circles over your wrists, as if to reassure you, to anchor you both in this moment.

Your breath hitched, and fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. "O-Odysseus," you choked out, the name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your hands, still trembling, curled slightly against his skin, afraid to let go, afraid to believe, and yet unable to deny the truth of the man before you.

He opened his eyes then, meeting your tearful gaze with a tenderness that took your breath away. "Penelope," he said again, the way he spoke your name like a vow, a promise that he was here, that he was real.

Your heart stuttered, caught between disbelief and an aching hope that threatened to overwhelm you. The tears you had tried to hold back now flowed freely, your chest heaving as you fought to find words, any words, to bridge the chasm of years and heartbreak that separated you.

"Have my prayers been answered?" you whispered, your voice trembling, fragile as the thread of a spider's web. Your eyes searched his face, tracing every new line, every scar, every mark of hardship etched into his features. "Is it really you standing there, or am I dreaming once more?"

Odysseus' lips parted, as though he, too, struggled with the enormity of this moment. He tightened his hold on your hands, his calloused thumbs brushing against your skin in a gesture so tender it made you tremble. "It's me, Penelope," he murmured, his voice low but steady, a reassurance as much for himself as it was for you.

You shook your head slightly, as if to clear it, your tears blurring your vision. "You look different," you said, your voice cracking under the weight of emotion. "Your eyes... they look tired. Your frame is lighter, your smile..." You swallowed hard, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Your smile is... torn."

A flicker of pain crossed his face, and he let out a breath that seemed to carry the weight of years. "I... I am not the man you fell in love with, Penelope," he admitted, his voice soft but unwavering. "I am not the man you once adored. I am not your kind and gentle husband."

His words struck you like a blow, each one driving home the truth that you had feared, and yet something in his gaze kept you rooted, unable to look away. "And I am not the love you knew before," he finished, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you.

Your lip quivered, your knees threatening to give out again. "What kinds of things did you do for you to believe such things?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question carried no accusation, only a desperate need to understand, to piece together the years that had separated you.

His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped for a moment, as though the weight of the answer was too much to bear. "I left a trail of red on every island," he said finally, his voice raw with the truth. "I traded friends like objects I could use. I hurt more lives than I can count on my hands." His eyes flicked back up to yours, and the pain in them was almost unbearable to witness. "But all of that was to bring me back to you."

Your breath caught, your hands trembling in his grip. He was baring his soul before you, and yet you couldn't stop the flood of questions, the fears and doubts that had plagued you for years. "So tell me," he continued, his voice softer now, carrying a note of something fragile. "Would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all I've done? The things I can't undo? I am not the man you knew, Penelope. But I know you've been waiting for my return, my love."

You felt as though the air had been knocked from your lungs, his words hitting you with a force that left you reeling. "Odysseus..."

He stepped closer, the air between you heavy with unspoken emotion. The years of longing, the nights spent weaving and unraveling hope, the ache of absence—all of it welled up inside you, pressing against your chest until it was hard to breathe.

"If that's true," you began, your voice trembling with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve that even you hadn't expected, "could you do me a favor?"

Odysseus tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied you, the faintest flicker of concern crossing his features. "Anything," he rasped, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had carried countless burdens but would shoulder another if it meant easing yours.

You drew in a shaky breath, your hands twisting in the fabric of your robe as you glanced toward the corner of the room, where the wedding bed stood—a monument to the love you had cherished through the years, even as it seemed impossible to hold onto. "Just a moment of labor," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you struggled to keep it steady, "that would bring me some peace."

He straightened, his brows drawing closer together as unease flickered in his gaze.

You swallowed hard and gestured toward the bed. "See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here."

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Even the crackling of the fire in the hearth seemed to fade into the background as your words hung heavily in the air.

At first, Odysseus didn't move, his body as still as stone, but the change in his expression was stark. Confusion gave way to disbelief, then hurt, and finally, a simmering anger that seemed to pulse just beneath the surface.

He took a slow step forward, his eyes fixed on the bed as though it had somehow betrayed him.

"How could you say ask this?" he asked, his voice low and tight, the tremor in it betraying the storm of emotions he was struggling to contain. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles whitening as though he were trying to ground himself. "That bed isn't just wood, Penelope. It's us—it's everything we built, everything we were."

You held your ground, your heart hammering in your chest. "I know," you replied softly, though your voice carried a sharp edge, your words deliberately chosen. "That's why I ask."

His gaze snapped to yours, his eyes flashing with a pain that struck deep. "I built that bed with my own hands," he said, his voice rising, the anger now bubbling to the surface. "Do you remember the olive tree, Penelope? The one in the garden, where you smiled at me for the first time—truly smiled, not out of courtesy or politeness, but with a warmth that lit up the whole world? That tree was alive, vibrant, like you. I could have built a bed from any wood in the kingdom, but I chose that tree. I thought it would hold us together, root us, even when life tried to tear us apart."

You said nothing, your eyes brimming with unshed tears as he continued, the floodgates of his heartbreak fully open now.

"When I carved it..." he said, his voice breaking slightly, "I poured everything into it—my love, my hope, my belief that what we had was unshakable. And now, after all these years, after everything I've done to get back to you, you ask me to destroy it? To tear it from its roots and cast it away as though it means... nothing?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he shook his head, stepping back as though the distance might protect him from the blow you'd just dealt.

Your lip quivered, but you refused to look away. Instead, you stepped closer, your voice quiet but resolute. "And do you know why I asked, Odysseus?" you countered, your tone measured, a mixture of cunning and vulnerability. "Because I had to know. After twenty years, I had to know if the man who stands before me is the man I loved, the man who could never move that bed because he made it immovable—because he made it ours."

He froze, his breath catching in his throat as your words sank in.

You took another step forward, your tears finally slipping down your cheeks as you continued, your voice softening. "Only my husband would understand what that bed means, what it represents. Only he would react the way you just did—with anger, with heartbreak, because it's not just a piece of furniture, is it? It's us. It's the life we built together, the promises we made under the shade of that olive tree. Only my Odysseus would carry that weight with him... even after all these years."

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, and the anger in his eyes melted into something deeper—something raw and unguarded. He took a shaky breath, his hands relaxing at his sides as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Penelope..."

"Yes," you murmured, your lips trembling as a smile began to form. "Yes, only my husband knew that... So I guess that makes him you."

The tension in the room shattered, replaced by a flood of emotions that neither of you could fully contain. Odysseus took another step toward you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek with a gentleness that belied the storm that had just passed.

"Penelope," he said again, his voice full of reverence, his thumb brushing away your tears. "You... you are still the clever woman I fell in love with, the woman who could outwit gods and men alike. And you’re right. That bed... it's us. And I could never, would never destroy it. Not for anything."

You placed your hand over his, your fingers trembling against his calloused palm. "And I could never stop loving you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Not then. Not now. Not for anything or anyone."

Your tears fell freely now, your voice breaking as you spoke. "I will fall in love with you over and over again, Odysseus," you said, the words tumbling from your lips like a confession, raw and unguarded. "I don't care how, where, or when. No matter how long it's been... you're mine."

His eyes opened, meeting yours with a fierce intensity. "Don't tell me you're not the same person," you continued, your voice trembling but determined. "You're always my husband, and I've been waiting for you."

His hands cupped your face then, his touch gentle but firm, as though grounding himself in your presence. "Penelope," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, his forehead resting against yours. "For you, I would wait an eternity."

"How long... has it been?"

His lips curled into a faint smile, bittersweet and full of unspoken apologies. "Twenty years," he said, the weight of those two words pressing against you like a physical force.

Twenty years. Twenty years of pain and longing condensed into this moment, the air between you heavy with unspoken promises and the undeniable truth of a love that had endured against all odds.

And then, without warning, he kissed you.

It wasn't tentative or shy but raw and consuming. His lips claimed yours with a fervor that stole the breath from your lungs. You felt the tremor in his hands as they cradled your face, his calloused fingers rough yet gentle, grounding you in his presence.

The weight of twenty years was in that kiss—two decades of longing, of yearning, of pain too deep to articulate.

He kissed you like a man starved, as though you were the first taste of life he’d had in an eternity. The press of his lips was firm, insistent, yet reverent, as if he were terrified that you might slip away if he loosened his hold for even a moment.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, the rhythm faltering before surging forward with a force that left you lightheaded. Your hands, trembling and unsure, found their way to his chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his tunic as if to anchor yourself, as if to remind yourself that this was real, that he was here. His heart thundered beneath your touch, the rapid beat matching the wild cadence of your own.

The kiss deepened, his desperation bleeding into every movement. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that left no room for hesitation. His beard brushed against your skin, rough and unfamiliar, but it only added to the heady sensation, grounding you further in the reality of him.

When he pulled you closer, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you firmly against him, the warmth of his body seeped into yours, chasing away every lingering doubt, every shadow of uncertainty.

You could feel the tension in him—the coiled strength of a warrior who had been fighting for so long, the vulnerability of a man who had feared he might never return home.

A small, broken sound escaped him, muffled against your lips, and it sent a shiver racing down your spine. His lips lingered on yours as though memorizing the shape, the feel, the reality of you.

When he finally pulled back, his breath came in ragged gasps, his forehead resting against yours once more. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lashes damp with unshed tears, and his grip on you remained firm, as though he feared you might vanish if he let go.

"Penelope," he whispered again, his voice hoarse, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. "I thought... I thought I'd never hold you again."

Your own breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts, your lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss. Your chest heaved, your hands still clutching at him as if you might fall apart without the solid weight of him beneath your fingers.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and the raw vulnerability you saw there stole whatever words you might have spoken. His lips were red and slightly swollen, his cheeks flushed, and the way he looked at you—as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded—made your heart ache and soar all at once.

You lifted a trembling hand to touch his face, your thumb brushing against the tear trailing down his cheek. "Odysseus," you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of everything you felt but couldn't say.

And as his lips found yours again, softer this time but no less fervent, you knew without a doubt that this was your Odysseus—the man who had left, the man who had fought, the man who had returned.

And you kissed him back with all the love, all the pain, and all the hope that had carried you through the years. The two of you stood there, the world falling away as time seemed to collapse.

He pulled back slowly, his breath mingling with yours, the space between you charged with everything unspoken. For a moment, he simply stared, his hands trembling against your skin.

"Penelope," he whispered, his voice breaking, his tears falling freely now. "After everything... after all this time..."

You placed a trembling hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm, a grounding warmth that made you choke on a sob. "I—I love you, Odysseus."

His hand covered yours, pressing it tighter against his chest as though to hold you there, to keep you from slipping away. "I love you, Penelope," he murmured, his voice steady now, resonant, filled with everything he couldn't say before. "Always. Forever. Even when I thought I'd never see you again... it was always you."

And in that moment, twenty years of separation melted away, leaving nothing but the love that had never wavered, the bond that time and trials could not break.

A/N: Ahhh, y'all im crying in bed!!! i just listened to the last saga of epic (ithaca saga) and it got me sobbing, just a mess. jorge did a phenomenon job portrtaying odysseus love for penelope ❤️❤️ i just had to create my one-shot/interpertation of this 😩❤️

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