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winxanity-ii · 4 months ago

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WASHED UP [1/2]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this one… He was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what kind of suffering he would bring in return.

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

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

But not this one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait!"

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

"Who are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tilted your head slightly, studying him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By Aphrodite's grace…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Eperitus?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was before.

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

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

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

Or so you had thought.

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

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

You had not wept, not then.

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

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

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

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

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

The life that you would never get back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Odysseus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you knew better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together, yet worlds apart.

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

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spidernuggets · 1 year ago

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Jason Todd x Reader

"And who are you to judge him? It's not like you've tried to get to know him. You guys just don't know him like I do,"

"I don't get it" Rachel says to herself, staring at the couple. You're sitting on the island while Jason's head is buried in the fridge looking for another brew.

"Get what?" Gar chimes in, following where Rachel's gaze was at. "Jason and Y/N? What about them?", he quietly asks, not wanting the lovebirds to overhear their conversation.

"Yeah, I think I'm improving, but I still can't get the landing right," you say to Jason as he pops the cap off of the beer he finally finds. He replies with a simple hum of acknowledgement while taking a swig.

"He's so..." Rachel starts, trying to look for the right words to describe him. "Rude? Self-absorbed? He's not even listening to what Y/n's saying," she whispers back to Gar, finally turning away from the two.

Gar tilts his head to the side. "I don't know... They've been together for a good few months now, right? We don't see them together that often, we don't know how they're like," he tries to reason.

Rachel scoff, sitting on the couch. "That's another reason why he's a bad boyfriend. We never see them around. Does he not like showing off that they're together? Jason being a cocky-ass person, he's the kind of person to flaunt around his partner."

Rachel turns back to where you and Jason were standing just to see the two of you were gone as she scoffs once more.

Gar opens his mouth to speak once more as Kori and Dawn enters the room.

"What are we talking about?" Kori asks.

"Jason being an asshole of a boyfriend," Rachel almost laughs.

"How so?" Dawn questions.

"How could you not see?" Kori says. "Jason's always brushing Y/n off, blunt, short replies, puts missions before them, he's hardly ever acknowledging their presence," She laughs, listing all of Jason's flaws as a partner.

"I guess I've never really notice..." Dawn says, unsure.

~Meanwhile~

"Jesus, you drive me crazy," Jason says, his voice low, grinning at you like a school girl with her crush.

You're on his lap, hands cradling his face, his hands on your ass with a firm grip. You're placing soft kisses all over his face, a quick break from the hungry make-out session you both were so busy with.

Your soft kisses trail away from his face, down his jaw and onto his neck, kisses and nibbling all over. Biting a certain spot, Jason lets out a quiet gasp along with a held back whimper.

You let out a light chuckle while continuing to pepper kisses on his neck.

"I liked that," You softly say, kissing against the same spot. "Do it again," you teased.

Jason groaned. "You're trying to kill me, babe," he complains as he captured your lips against his once more.

You sighed in content, breaking the kiss and leaving another lingering kiss on his forhead.

"Don't let them get to your head, love," You tell him quietly. The both of you are well aware that the other Titans (maybe except Gar) don't see why you would date Jason. You're kind and considerate while Jason is... Jason. Jason has told you many times that he wants to be taken seriously by the other members, hence his cold demeanour. And along with those explanations, came affectionate apologies of him spending all his free time alone with you in either his or your room, cuddling, kissing, properly listening to your rants and more.

"They're right though," his reply is delivered rough and raspy, a change of voice that indicates to you that he's upset.

You sigh, arms wrapping around his neck, burying your face in his meck, breathing in his distinct scent of faint alcohol and strong cologne.

"No they're not," you say, just above a whisper. "I get it, Jay. You want to prove yourself. But you don't have to prove yourself to me. Okay? You're more than enough for me," One of your hands move down, grabbing hold of his own hand, bringing it up to your lips for another gentle kiss as your other hands cup his cheek.

Jason sighs, leaning into, your touch. "I love you, okay, Jay?" He nods in reply.

"I..." He tries to say it too, but fails as his gaze shifts to the ceiling in guilt.

"Hey, hey. I told you. Only say it when you're ready, you don't have to force yourself to say it, Jay," I assure him. "Now," You move yourself off of him, bringing him down to lie with you as you rest your head on his chest. "You're supposed to tell me about this book you were reading," You remind him. He smiles once more, his arms wrapping around you happily as he starts ranting about his new book.

"You guys got it?" Dick confirms with the rest of the group, finishing up a debrief with the other Titans. Everyone nod and murmur 'yes's and 'yep's.

"Alright, everyone get to training," He says as he departs.

You turn to Jason excitingly. "You wanna train together, Jay? You can help me with the new move I was telling you about!"

"Not today. I'm gonna train with Gar," Jason replies.

"Ah, okay! Have fun, teach me some new stuff you learn, later, kay?" You reach up to his cheek, giving him a quick peck and a short "Love ya!"

He responds with a grunt and a nod and leaves you with a quick caress on ur cheek as he goes to one of the training rooms with Gar. Oh how much he wants to just pick you up and kiss you and hug you and hold you for all eternity.

Hank scoffs at Jason's reaction as he walks off. Donna shakes her head in disapproval as she followed along too. The other women in the room have their eyebrows furrowed, judging looks towards your boyfriend and crossed arms as they looked at you with a lovesick grin and heart eyes, watching your love walk away til he disappeared.

You quickly turn around, smiling at the rest of the members. "Any of you guys wanna train with me- what? What's with the looks?" You ask, confused.

"What's with your boyfriend?" Rachel hisses.

Your face scrunches in slight offence. "What about him?"

"Honey, he's..." Dawn starts to say though her words trail off.

"You can do better," Kori states, her hands landing on her hips.

You lightly scoff "Why's that," You say lowly, eyes narrowing, ready to defend Jason.

"Y/n..." Dawn speaks up. "We're just looking out for you. We just think you and Jason... Aren't the best match."

"We think Jason is selfish, rude and annoying, is what she was meant to say," Rachel said quietly, but loud enough for all of you to hear.

You roll your eyes. "And who are you to judge him? It's not like you've tried to get to know him. You guys just don't know him like I do," you barked, almost wanting to cry for Jason.

"Y/n, we just-" you cut Kori off by putting a hand uo, refraining her from continuing.

"No. No, no. You can talk to me when you find some respect for Jason." You coldly say as you walked away to train.

The girls looked at each other with disappointed and worried looks.

The team was on a mission that involved Deathstroke. It was wild and messy to the point where everyone was split up, and only some of the Titans returned back to the tower.

Jason is pacing around, alone in his room. He's covered in blood and bruises, but those don't matter to him right now. The only thing in his mind was

Where the fuck were you?

It's been two hours since he came back with Dick, Gar, Rachel and Donna but there were no signs of you coming back. Or of the others coming back he guesses. You're comms weren't working and you weren't answering his messages.

To piss him off more, Dick forbade him from going back out, knowing that Jason's impulsiveness would bring further damage.

"He's not even worried," Rachel says, sitting in the couch cleaning the blood of herself, noticing Jason's absence of worry.

"He could be?" Gar shouts from the kitchen, trying to reason again.

"Why are you even trying to defend him, we know how he is."

"He's our teammate, Rachel. We can't go off judging him if we don't know him that well," He says softly, trying not to get a rise out of the purple haired girl.

She scoffs and reply with whatever.

Dick and Donna walk into the room. "We got a message from Kori," Dick says. "The comms were breaking up but they're all safe."

Rachel and Gar sigh in relief.

Around half an hour later, you, Dawn, Hank and Kori finally return.

You're cracking your back and stretching your arms. Parts of your hero outfit is ripped and some of your blood that escaped your skin was dried and dirty and bruises littered your face, but you were always in a bright mood.

"She's finally back and bird brain isn't even running out," Rachel whispers to Gar as his shoulders sink.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna need a lie down for the rest of my life," You groan, cracking your neck.

Even from his room, Jason heard your voice as he rushed out and saw you there all battered up.

He heavily sighed in relief, running up to you, lifting you up. You lightly shriek at his sudden appearance, wrapping your legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders.

"You're okay... you scared me..thought you weren't coming back," he admits quietly, but as the other Titans stare silently in shock, especially Rachel, they heard him loud and clear.

Jason lets you down slowly and litters your face with kisses before pulling you in closer, attaching his lips to yours, finally not caring about the presence of the other members.

"Hello to you too," you giggle, leaving a kiss on his nose.

"You're hurt," he says, looking at your scrapped body.

"I'm okay, Jay," You reassure him. But he shakes his head, carries you bridal style.

"I need to patch you up," He says, giving you another kiss on the cheek before heading to his room.

"Okay, that just happened," Kori said in amusement.

"They're cuties, aren't they, Hank?" Dawn asks, looking up at the lover of her own.

Hank rolls his eyes and answers with an "I guess so" before they leave the room.

"So?..." Gar grins in success and amusement as he looks at Rachels shocked reaction.

She sighs and leans back against the couch.

"Yeah, yeah you're right, I was wrong. They are good for each other," She admits.

"In front of them too?" You question, sitting on Jason's bed as he wipes away any dried blood before patching you up.

"I don't care," He says, keaving you surprised. Jason patches up your last wound, giving it a kiss before getting up and cradling your face. "Your safety is more important to me"

You lean into his touch, your hand coming up to hold his. He leans into you for a deep, passionate and long lasting kiss.

Breaking it, he leans his forhead against yours.

"I love you," He quietly but confidently say.

Your eyes brighten and you couldnt helo but break into a wide smile, feeling giddy like a kid receiving a oresent from Santa.

"I love you too"

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delusionsofgrandeur13 · 14 days ago

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wayne heir!dick grayson x socialite!reader…

coming soon

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toulousewayne · 9 months ago

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🌿🍃Toxic Lover: Pt: I

Nightwing X male!reader with a former team who had become Poison Ivy like meta-human.

Summary:Your a former Titan teammate, you and Dick have unresolved feelings and you become infected with the same toxins and chemicals that turned Poison Ivy into a meta-human.

————————

It was a simple mission. Get in and get out. It wasn’t supposed to go the way it had.

Y/n was a skilled fighter and vigilante, he trained with Black Canary, WildCat, Wonder Woman and the League of Assassins. He operated as solo vigilante since he could remember.

He worked with most of the league and helped them as much as he could. He helped Batman and Robin a lot since he did very similar missions to them. When Dick formed the Titans and went solo as Nightwing he asked Y/n to join him. Y/n worked well with Starfire and Raven, he had fun playing games with Cyborg and Best Boy. He often hung out with Dick and Donna and Wally would visit often too.

Y/n took some time from the team and did solo missions for a while before being called by Dick to help him,Wally and Donna with a rescue mission in Metropolis.

“We just need to find the data bank with the information containing Ivy’s records and research. Luthor was help to gather and stored it in his lab. We need to get the information and destroy any bioweapon schematics.” Dick instructed.

“Anything we should be aware of,”Y/n perked up from his seat in the jet. Donna adjusted her sliver lasso to her waist,”Is Ivy herself involved?”

“As far as Batman’s intel can confirm she’s been missing for the last three months.” He confirms.

“Great so no giant kale bushes to crush us, noted.” Wally quipped. Y/n chuckled as Donna and Dick rolled their eyes.

——-

The Quad split into pairs;Wally and Donna and Dick and Y/n. Donna and Wally took the research offices upstairs meanwhile, Dick and Y/n took the lower levels.

Dick sneak into some of the office while Y/n found a hidden lab. He took photos, and took a flash drive to take the data from the server. He found several vials, tubes and plants on a desk and took photos.

“Nightwing, I’m in this lab. It looks they’ve extracted some of Ivy’s original pheromones and try to weaponize them.”

“I’ll be there soon…kinda busy.” He heard a loud bang and a punch. Y/n turned around to see a scientist and three guards at the doorway.

“Sorry you found this, but unfortunately Mr. Luthor doesn’t what this getting out. Boys don’t let him leave.” The scientist quickly fled as the guards moved in.

“Sorry lapdogs,but I’m leaving with the drive.” Y/n sprang into action and started fighting.

“It’s a trap,you have to get out of that room.” Nightwing’s voice filed the hero’s ear. Y/n managed to take out two goons but the last one was the biggest and blocked the only exit. He rushed Y/n and managed to forcefully shove him into the computer and servers. Knocking Y/n off his balance and disorienting him. He had cuts on his faces and blood trickled from his lip.Then, while he was stunned he took him and threw him into the desk with vitals and pheromones.

The two guard got the their feet and assisted in beating him to a pulp. Y/n was loosing his consciousness and went in and out. “..Dick—help.” He winced.

The large goon took the remaining vitals and smashed them over the hero. He threw the plant cart on him too and took out a lighter.

“Mr. Luthor sends his regards.” He threw the lighter at the spilled chemical and engulfed the room in flames.

——

The fire spread through out the facility and Nightwing managed to find the source. Toria and Flash managed to get to him but the flames were to high.

“We need to save him!” Nightwing tried to go towards the labs but Toria stopped him.

“You can’t go in there you’ll die!” He tried to push her but she wasn’t budgeting. Tears streaming down his face he begged his friends.

“Please, we have to try, please.” Wally nodded.”Get him to the surface I’ll try to get to Y/n. Go now!” He barked. Toria grabbed Nightwing and sped out of the lower levels as Flash created tornados to clear up the flames.

—-

Dick set on the jet without his mask, tears, bruises, and soot. Donna stood guard watching as the building’s flames were put out by firefighters. Wally entered the vessel with a stretcher with a white sheet on top.The form on it was Y/n’s body. Dick didn’t say a word as more tears formed in his eyes.

“It’s all my fault.” He hissed. Donna placed a hand on his shoulder,”It’s not Dick, you can’t blame—“

“It is. I asked him to come, I asked both of you to come and it nearly killed you all. I—l..” Dick broke down in tears and shouted. He rocked hisself and sob and Donna comforted him. Wally placed a hand on his other shoulder and talked him through it.

——-

Dick sat in his seat at the cemetery in Gotham. The small crowd of heroes dressed in black one by one left the small private ceremony for Y/n. Dinah gave a worried look at Dick whose gaze hadn’t left the spot where Y/n’s casket had been lowered into the earth and covered with fresh soil.

Bruce stood next to her and they didn’t speak right away but Dinah broke the silence. “Diana told me what happened from Donna. He hasn’t been the same.” Bruce didn’t reply.

“Well he be okay?” She hummed. Bruce turned to his friend and looked back at his son.”They were in love Dinah, it was obvious to most of us but not them. I’m not sure he if knew he loved Y/n as more than a friend, but I know he won’t stop until he can give him justice.”

“You think he’ll kil-“

“I hope not but I can only help him through this, I’ve learned a long time ago to not try to pressure him into a decision.” He walked to Dick and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Let’s go son.”

——-

Y/n saw his life flash before his eyes during his attack. Between each rib being fractured, another punch to the back, or kick to the stomach he felt his favorite memories flood his eyes.

From training the younger members of Young Justice with Dick’s little brother the third Robin, game nights with the Titans, going to a concert with Dick he practically dragged him to.

That concert was the best night of his life he felt so carefree, not birdied with the responsibilities of being a more experienced hero. Not feeling like he couldn’t tell his best friend how he truly felt, and just watch from a distance as he went out dates with other girls or laughed with the guys at games nights.

Y/n knew he was in deep shit from the moment he met the Last Flying Grayson, and he didn’t care.

The band was one he like since he was in Middle school,and he begged Dick for weeks to go with him, eventually he agreed to go because he felt bad for missing so many plans to help his family with their own missions.

“I hope they aren’t a snooze fest because I could have stayed home and listened to Tim explain Quant-Time travel.” He joked as Y/n pulled on his hoodie he just purchased.

He shoved his shoulders,”Don’t even Grayson these guys are the best. You’re not gonna regret it. Plus, don’t act like you don’t love Timmy’s rambles.” Y/n fired back.

He held his hands in surrender. “Hey I had to think of something.” Y/n took Dick’s hand and dragged him into the arena just as the music blared through the speakers. Y/n was unaware of the crimson color that painted Dick’s face. And to busy to notice the stole glances Dick took through the night.

—-

The smell of smoke burned Y/n’s nostrils and he chocked on it. But the blood in his mouth took out some of the harsh smells. The flames were roaring in the room and shortly everything began to spin. Y/n barely regained consciousness before everything swiftly went to black.

Then it went Green.

The green light became paler and paler and the sound of a heartbeat echoed. Almost in slow motion. Most of the light became closer too. Became bright white and the sounds of Gotham City came hard and fast like a gunshot.

Y/n stood up in the middle of the street and he noticed something wasn’t right. The last thing he remembered was dying in Metropolis and now he’s in old Gotham. To his left was the build up of traffic and to his right was Gotham Cemetery. He tried to move but fell to the ground.

“The fuck.” His hoarse voice choked out. He noticed his arms were covered in slime of some kind and leaves. He saw a small puddle and took a glance at his reflection. His face was the same but more beautiful, sharper features, deep green iris, and fuller lips.

“Hey freak,get outta the way!” A voice shouted and honked his horned.

Y/n snapped his head up and grew easily frustrated,his head was still spinning and blaring horn was causing more pain.

“Ugh, can’t you be idiotic somewhere else.” With his hand on the ground it began to shake and large vines jumped through the concrete and began to crush the car. The driver managed to get out before it was crushed to pieces. Y/n slowly got to his feet and stumbled.

“That’s new.” Several other drivers fled their cars and screams. Two officers drew their weapons and order Y/n to freeze. Something in Y/n slowly turned and began to change in his feelings toward the police.

“Freeze Freak!” The older officer hisses,Y/n cocks his head to the side with smirk.

“Pathetic pigs, you never appreciate the things you take for granted. You worthless meat sacks.”

The two officers look at each other,”Meat-what?” It’s short lived as vines bursted through the growing and take them prisoner. Y/n strolls over to them. He chuckles.

“Mother Earth wouldn’t be to proud of you. Nature will always win.” He takes his nails and scratches both across the face and then plants begin to grow out their faces and they gag. More large vines rise and take Y/n underground.

—————

He re-emerges in the old Gotham Greenhouse in Robinson Park. More vines and flowers bloom in the old building giving it a new look. The old overgrown plants become green and flourish again with life.

“Men have ruined you, I don’t know what yet, I know can revive you. But I promise you will be avenged. I am Mother Nature’s new branch and I will take Gotham first then, we will cleanse the rest of this planet.” He laughs to himself before the sound of glass shatters.

He worlds around to see Nightwing.

“Y/n,what happened to you. You were dead.” Y/n felt conflicted. On one hand he wanted run to Dick and get his help, but on the other hand he wanted to crush him and turn him into mulch.

Nightwing drew closer, “This isn’t you N/N. I don’t know what happened in the last 72 hours but you aren’t yourself. I can help you but you have to let me.” His voice was strained like his had been yelling or not speaking. It didn’t go unnoticed but something in Y/n didn’t care and he was constantly fighting a battle within himself.

“Dick—what?”

“I can help you,Y/n you have to understand I care about you. But you have to stop.” Nightwing earpiece buzzed and Y/n could heard the voice of Robin from a nearby plant. The words: Cops. Killed. Poisoned. Y/n.

Nightwing turned to him with a blank expression and a tighter grip on his weapons.

“Y/n, let me take you get help. I promise I won’t let anyone harm you.” His voice wasn’t as raw as it was. It was stern yet cautious.

The switch in Y/n flipped and the smirk and sultry voice returned.

“Dick, join me,” he persuades, “Become my Adam and help me flourish this place into a new garden. Just for the two of use.”

Nightwing took a defensive stanch. “Can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The last part was a whisper but Y/n caught it.

“Well then I’m sorry too.” With the flick of his wrist and two large flowers sprouted. The plants around Nightwing were now healthily and quickly attacked him.

Y/n rose several feet in the air on a seat of large leaves and petals. Nightwing dodged the vines but is eventually became captured after miscalculating a step after trying to not harm Y/n.

He’s wrapped in vines and is unable to move. The vines bring him closer to Y/n who purrs.

He runs a thumb across Dick’s lips. “I never noticed.” He whispered.

“What?” Dick huffed. Y/n takes his face and brings it closer. He has a soft smile and Dick is conflicted.

“How much I wanted to do this.” He kisses Dick. He tries break free of his binds but after a few moments he stops and kisses back and soon the kiss deepens and Y/n has to stop. He places his forehead against Dick’s and sighs.

Dick’s eyes are glossed over and his blue eyes are a pale green.

“Dick?”

“Yes, my Love?” He says deadpans. Y/n sighs to himself and releases him.

The virus in Y/n grows stronger. And he laughs to himself.

“We have a few housewarming gifts to give out. Fetch them for me Darlin.” Nightwing mindless obeys and leaves Y/n who glances at his appearance in the water fountain for the first time noticing the torn up suit he was buried in.

“It’s time for a new Harvest.”

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spencerslover-blog · 10 months ago

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Sometimes, I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me but you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave and I had said that to Jack about you, so I felt seen. Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be, oh, 'cause we're crazy so tell me, who else is gonna know me? and who's gonna know you? (Who?) Me. Who's gonna hold you? (Who?) Me.

—From the desk of the tortured poets department intern.

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nimbus-notes · 5 days ago

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soulless, sea storm-eyed sae itoshi, I yearn for you like a thousand battleships sinking for helen of troy

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jayswhorex · 8 months ago

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This is more of a ramble than request.

I don't know why but I can't imagine rough sex with Kyle. He’s so caring and gentle I just can't imagine it. I'm not saying he's against rough sex, sometimes there are days when he needs to let out all the repressed anger but I think he's more into gentle sex BUT I know he's very playful and teasing in bed and I know he's loud in bed, he doesn't even try to hide all the sounds in bed

Anyway, I need your thoughts on him because there is so little Kyle content that I can't even form my thoughts on what he's into in bed

i 100% agree with this because i could never seem like the type of guy to yearn for rough sex. and this actually reminds me of a panel from titans when he and donna run into each other and she's just going through a lot and he's trying to help her out because he still loves and worries about her!! like how could a man like that be rough and hurts even more knowing that he still loved her after they broke up and since she lost her memories, she died never remembering him.

but getting back on track, he's definitely the type of guy to hold you and whisper "i love you" into your ears a million times while deep inside you. if you asked him to be rough he wouldn't die for you, but he definitely prefers to be gentle with his partners. he's definitely the playful type but also “brings you breakfast” in bed just cause he can type. i see him as a really caring guy because of the way he was with donna, get me a man who loves me as much as kyle loved donna.

now i can see rough sex with him when he's pent up or having a bad day. or what about rough sex in the heat of the moment, where he just needs you?? like he's got you pressed up against the wall, holding you up by your hip with one of your legs around his waist while he's rough fucking you right there & then. and just can't stop because he needs you now and then and he'll feel so bad after, asking you if he was too rough even though you secretly loved it 😩

#✩ kleo's mailbox ✩#kyle rayner #kyle rayner x reader #donna troy #kyle rayner smut #green lantern #green lantern x reader #dc comics #dc characters #dc universe #dc x reader #dc x you #dc x y/n #dc smut

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calumsargwife · 1 year ago

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i think its a female (just me probably) urge to wanna read troy bolton fics because i genuinely think he's the perfect boyfriend and im so sad that he doesn't exist and that there are not new troy's fics in tumblr

#5sos blurb #5sos fic #5sos x reader #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum blurb #calum hood #calum hood fluff #calum hood x reader #calum hood x y/n #calum imagine #troy bolton #troy bolton x reader #troy bolton imagine

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ftwdb · 10 months ago

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Don’t say go.

Chapter 18.

Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content, violence, non-graphic description/implications of SA, child abuse and domestic violence. References to addiction. Unhealthy love/obsession/relationships. Soulmate AU. Eventual smut. Love Triangle!

It’s dark by the time you feel the strength of The Pull reaching its peak, and you know what that means. You look around into the darkness. In the wastes there isn’t much besides stretches of empty barren land and mountains in the distance. You know you’re not yet at your destination which can only mean one thing; the boy with the flag was headed toward you too.

You see twin lights in the distance. A car headed toward you. Eventually you stop in the middle of the road and just wait. The lights get closer until they shine on your windscreen and you both sit, unmoving, just waiting for the other to make the first move.

You cut the truck’s engine and step out.

The boy does the same. The light of your vehicles illuminate the night just enough that you can make each other out in the darkness.

The boy steps forward enough so that he is thrown into view and you can see the warm brown of his eyes, his features which are so different from Troy’s, softer but still strong.

You hesitate. Your gun is tucked in the back of your jeans and your fingers twitch.

The boy speaks.

“Hi… I’m Nick.”

You don’t say anything, you just keep watching until he clears his throat as if a little unsure of himself.

“You came alone?” he asks.

You could have kicked yourself. Coming alone had been a risk but now that he was here, in the middle of nowhere, and no one knew where you’d gone, you realised how vulnerable you’d left yourself.

“For now,” you answered him flatly. At least if you were vague about whether you had people with you it might make him have second thoughts if he was planning anything…

The boy waits a beat before trying again.

“I guess you felt it too then…”

You don’t want to say the words out loud so you simply nod your head. The boy, Nick, continues.

“I thought I was going crazy at first. I never thought I’d find my… find you. Feel it, you know?”

You frown at this. Everyone worries they’ll never find their soulmate but something in his voice captures your attention. It’s less that he’s worried about the odds and more… something you can’t quite distinguish.

“Why?” you ask.

Nick hesitated before shrugging a little.

“That’s a… it doesn’t matter. What matters now is that I found you. It feels… weird. Don’t you think?”

Perhaps if you hadn’t already had the experience with Troy you would agree. But you didn’t want him to know that Troy was your soulmate and so you don’t answer his question.

“Look I came here to warn you. Some of the people from my community are coming back tonight to finish what they started. You need to tell your people to run.”

Nick frowns at this information.

“We agreed to a truce-“

You shake your head in annoyance. You don’t want to explain all this. You want him to just listen to your warning and leave so you can forget about whatever this mistake is between you both and go home, go back to Troy.

“They’re acting of their own accord. Some of the men have certain… loyalties. This isn’t about protecting their home, it’s about revenge.”

Nick is watching you closely now and you don’t like the way his eyes are roaming over you. You freeze. You wonder if he can feel your emotions just like you can with Troy. You reach out in the same way you do with Troy and try to find Nick, to feel what he feels… there’s nothing. Just the regular sense of The Pull.

“You’re warning me because of this feeling between us? You came looking for me because of it.”

You shake your head growing more frustrated as all you want to do is head back before Mike and the others see you out here.

“I don’t have time to explain myself. You have to get your people and go far away from here. Don’t come back.”

Nick’s eyes widen as he realises you have no intention of staying with him.

“But… you have to come with me. When I left earlier, after I saw you, it felt like my heart was being-“

“It doesn’t matter.” You say quickly, all too familiar with that pain. “I can’t come. I won’t go with you. But I don’t want you to die either so, please, leave.”

Nick is staring at you incredulously.

“I can’t do that.”

You actually growl from your frustration with him.

“Why!?”

“Because,” Nick says as he steps closer. You take a large step away from him. You can’t risk him getting too close, having him touch you. You don’t know what will happen.

“I just found you. I can’t walk away!” he continues.

“Then run! Drive! Fucking skip for all I care! If you stay, you die. Not that I care-“

“That’s a lie.” Nick cuts you off quickly. “Soulmates need each other. Hearts literally break when they lose one another. So why… why are you denying this?”

You swallow nervously and look at the truck. You could just get back in and drive away, but what if he follows? You have a feeling he would. He seems the type. Reckless and stubborn.

“I… it’s complicated.”

You say, and you hate how pathetic that sounds.

“‘It’s Complicated’ used to be a Facebook status.” Nick quips. “Tell me the truth. Why run from me?”

“I’m not!”

“Then what are you running from!? Or… wait… what are you going back to?”

You clench your jaw as Nick slowly starts to put the pieces together in his head.

“You have someone-“

“No.”

“A boyfriend? Fiancé?”

“No! No one!”

“Your home then, your community. You’re worried this would cause a problem. Conflict? But maybe it could help solve the bad blood between us! Two soulmates who find each other on opposites sides-“

“This isn’t bloody Romeo and Juliet, Nick!”

He grins and it makes you want to slap the beautiful smile off his face.

“You’re hardly Juliet sweetheart.”

You snarl, your anger beginning to erupt. Why won’t he just listen! Why make this so complicated!

“Whatever! Just get in your car and drive away Romeo!”

Nick laughs and it’s almost like he’s enjoying this.

“Oh the universe is truly a bitch. I didn’t think I’d find my soulmate because I didn’t deserve one. But maybe I do. It’s ironic that she would hate me, a poetic kind of punishment I guess…”

Your expression eases but doesn’t soften as you listen to him ramble. Hate? You didn’t hate him…

“Why would you be punished?” you ask, your senses on alert in case this was the part where he confesses to being a serial killer or something.

Nick shrugs again.

“If you got to know me, you’d understand.”

You shake your head again with a weary sigh.

“You don’t listen do you.”

Nick steps forward again and this time the light moves so he’s back in the shadows with you.

“I could… but you’d need to actually tell me something for me to hear it. Something besides “run away” because that isn’t happening.”

You swear at him and he smirks.

“We don’t have time. Your people will be killed.”

Nick rubs his hand over the back of his neck and it finally seems to dawn on him, he has other responsibilities. Other people to protect.

“When are your people attacking?”

“They’re leaving the ranch around midnight, so probably by the early hours of the morning. Before sunrise though.”

“Element of surprise, cover of darkness. They’re smart.”

“And well armed. So will you listen to me now?”

Nick stares at you for a few seconds and you almost believe he’d let his people risk being slaughtered instead of going back to warn them.

“Fine.”

You blink at him.

“Fine?”

“That’s what I said. I’ll go back. I’ll warn them.”

“And you’ll run? You can’t fight back, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Look I can’t promise anything… we have some stubborn members of our group and they might not take the truce being broken well-“

“The truce isn’t broken. It’s just a small group-“

“Still breaking the truce. Still disobeying your leader, right?”

You bite your tongue. Jeremiah wasn’t their “leader” officially but he was as good as.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess. So what? You’ll go back and they’ll try to defend themselves?”

Nick shrugs again.

“If they think it’s more beneficial than running.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I’m getting a damn headache.”

For some reason this amuses Nick.

“Head rub?”

Your look at him is deadly and he sniggers.

“Joking. Lighten up. Look, I’ll go back and do what I can to stop anymore death. But I can’t promise anything. We lost people. The guy who was in charge came at us like a demon. We didn’t stand a chance…”

Your stomach twists as Nick talks about Troy.

“You want revenge?”

Nick’s expression blanks out and you recognise the perfectly controlled mask on his face. You’d used it yourself before.

“Me? No. But there are those who do.”

“Then convince them their lives aren’t worth it. Tonight is not their night to die. Please… no more death.”

Your voice breaks as you finish your sentence and Nick tilts his head at you. You look away, hating that you’d let some vulnerability slip through.

“Who’d you lose?”

You take a slow breath and shake your head.

“Doesn’t matter. Just… do what you can. And if you can’t save them… save yourself at least.”

Nick looks like he wants to say more. He looks pained.

“Can I… see you again?”

It’s almost laughable. Like a schoolboy asking out his crush. You place your hand on the door of the truck and grip it tight as you give him a firm “no” and turn away before you can see the look on his face.

You slide into your truck and slam the door, locking it before turning in the engine. This was for the best. You didn’t know what else to do. There had been some mistake and maybe Nick had another soulmate out there somewhere too? You hoped so… you didn’t want him to be in pain.

You hear a tap at the window and you look over to see Nick still standing there, motioning for you to wind it down. You do, only a few inches so you can hear him speak.

Nick pauses as he looks you over before speaking.

“It’s him, isn’t it.”

You frown and Nick elaborates.

“The guy who attacked us. The one who was hurt. He’s why you won’t stay with me.”

You feel your stomach drop. Your hands clench on the wheel as you grit your teeth.

“His name is Troy.”

“Troy…” Nick repeats and you hear the sadness and disappointment in his voice. “Well, you must love him a lot to choose him over your soulmate.”

You avoid his eyes still and stare straight ahead until the light from his car burns your eyes.

Nick continues.

“… I hope he makes it, for your sake. And… I want you to know it wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt him.”

You nod, not that it would have mattered. As much as you loved Troy you could understand he’d made a choice that led to his own injuries. Even if he’d done it to protect you… you hated that the blood that had been spilt was on your hands too now.

“I have to go,” you say emptily and put the truck into reverse.

Nick steps back just in time to save his foot being run over as you reverse and turn, glancing back to see his shadow in the headlights as you drive back home. Back to Troy. Back to where your heart felt complete as you tried to ignore how it felt as if you’d just left a piece of it in the darkness behind you…

#troy otto #fear the walking dead #ftwd #ftwd fanfic #troy otto x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fear the walking dead fanfic #ftwdfanfic #Nick Clark #Nick Clark x reader #Nick Clark x y/n #don’t say go fic #soulmate fanfiction #soulmate au #soulmate #ftwd season 3

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supernatural-bias · 1 year ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬

↳ summary: in between their friends voicemails, and a spanish teachers punishment, troy and abed are struggling to tell you something important. or; a reader insert of season one episode sixteen

↳ warnings: period accurate jokes, internalized homophobia, jeff being weird, and alcohol

↳ notes: abed and troy are in a relationship change my mind

↳ song: me and your mama—childish gambino

masterlist | commisions | carrd

It was early morning, just before first period Spanish, when you finally decided to say something.

“Okay, so I can’t be the only one creeped out by that thing, right?”

You looked around with a sense of judgement as six pairs of eyes immediately whipped around to meet your own. Taking a moment to observe the flower in Annie's hand, and the box of chocolates in Shirley's, you stopped biting at the end of your pen momentarily to gesture at said thing; which just so happened to be your school's mascot.

It was Valentine's day at Greendale community college. Something that, in between your day to day classes and usual group shenanigans, you had forgotten about. If the seven couples french kissing hadn’t reminded you of that enough on your way to the library, the pair of heart shaped boxers draped over the statue outside did.

You had sat down at the study group as usual, expecting Britta’s rant about the patriarchal undertones of the holiday and a well timed meta quip from Abed, but instead all you got was a pair of artificially painted eyes staring at you.

The mascot in question turned to you and made what sounded like an offended gasp as it stopped wheeling its little cart full of gifts. Cards covered in pink hearts and lacey trim overflowed from it, all attached with tacky glue, and you got a good look at one of them as it was sent flying near your forehead.

“Jeez! Sorry, man! I didn’t know this job meant that much to you!” You swiftly ducked under the table to avoid the line of fire. Coming up once the sound of squeaky wheels on carpet faded away, you ended up glowering as Troy laughed at you.

“Shut up, Barnes. Abed got more muffins than you.” You glared, referencing the lack of valentines gifts he'd been given. Troy was quick to choke on his laughter after that. He straightened his posture consciously, only stealing a look or two at the goodie basket placed neatly in front of Abed.

“Great dodge.” The amateur filmmaker praised you in his usual quick pace as you picked up the card from the floor. “If you had been in the Matrix, and that card was a bullet, that would have been the second coolest scene in the movie. Next to the other part where Neo also evades bullets.”

“Neo’s? I have a few friends that are those.”

“Ignoring Pierce's questionable life choices and their daily allotted hazing— ” Jeff sighed from his usual spot next to you, “— I have more important things to discuss. And speaking of which!”

Jeff slouched further into his chair as the door to the study room opened once more. You all watched as an extremely hungover Britta stumbled in, a pair of reflective aviators resting on the brim of her nose.

“Sorry I’m late.” She grumbled. Going to sit down she nearly fell out of the chair, and all of you exchanged various looks. If the way Jeff was smirking at Britta said anything, there was some new weird sexually charged adventure to be had between the two, and you were not ready to be in another one of those. You had done your time last week, and you weren't eager to repeat it.

"Actually, you're very late, Britta. See you later!" You slammed your Spanish textbook down on the table with an overly cheesy smile to punctuate the end of your sentence. Britta jumped at the loud noise, hissing at you to shut up, but you were already walking out of the room by then. If the shuffling behind you told you anything, it was that the rest of the group had done the same. Sans Britta and Jeff, per usual.

You tilted your body sideways as you navigated through the busy hall full of various highschool dropouts and divorced parents, letting the sound of tennis shoes squeaking against the floors bounce around in your head. It was more annoying than usual today, and it took you a second to realize that it wasn't the shoes making the noise, but rather Troy as he called after you.

“Hey! Hey! Wait up!" He wheezed. "You are very fast when you want to be!” The athlete gasped for breath when you finally slowed down. Coming to a stop as you turned around to face him, you saw another pair of legs enter your line of sight. This time much thinner, and accompanied with a wicker basket full of various baked goodies.

“Troy, I know you like to have someone hold your hand as you walk to class, but normally that's Abed’s job. Please don't allow me to take that pleasure from him.” You said, face completely blank. If you looked hard enough, you thought Abed’s nose flared a bit to insinuate a laugh.

“No, that’s not what I'm here to— hey how did you know that?” Troy took another gulp of air as his brows furrowed.

“I took a guess based on the way both your bodies and hands are angled apart each morning as you walk into Senior Chang’s class. Also, when you eat Cheetos, it rubs off onto the back of Abed's palm.”

“I don't eat Cheetos that much.” Troy frowned. “Do I? For the record I am not gay." Troy made sure to ennunciate that last part as he stared you down. His facial expression reminded you of a nervous first grader doing a bad job in their school play.

“You do, and that's not important right now.” Abed answered back. His head snapped to you with the same amount of intensity that he always got when thinking of a movie reference, and you got the sense he was holding back for the sake of the conversation.

Raising both eyebrows, you motioned for them to go on. The hallway was clearing out a bit more, and you didn't want to be caught late for Changs class a third time in a row. Last time he threatened to beat you with maracas, and you wouldn't put it past him to actually carry through with it this time.

“Listen, we have something important to say.” Troy began. Abed backed him up with a furious nod, or his equivalent of it. Which really just boiled down to a regular paced nod.

"Is this about Valentine's day? You should ask Shirley about that."

"Come on man!" Troy threw his hands in the air, turning away from the both of you and crossing his arms. "How did you possibly come to that conclusion so fast?!"

"We were just talking about us holding hands."

"Thank you Abed." The both of you said at the same time. Albeit Troy with a little more teeth grinding then nessicary.

"Did you become a ninja overnight? Did you take a ninja class?" Troy took a step forward as he pointed his forefinger in your face. You stared at it as it approached, going cross-eyed momentarily.

"Yes. And if you did, I would like the name to that class." Abed pipped up.

"No, I didn't go to a ninja class." You said while pushing Troy's arm down. "Does this mean I'm right?"

The lack of response from Troy and Abed's unbothered expression provided you with your answer.

"Are you two trying to ask for dating advice or something?" You frowned as you started to walk in the direction of Spanish. Both of them followed as you fixed your backpack strap. "Because if so, Troy you could learn a lot from Abed. And Abed, if you're having a problem, I don't know how to make you anymore appealing to the ladies than you already are."

"It's true." He responded, looking off into what he probably thought was the fourth wall. "I am devilishly irresistible."

"Stop that!" Troy waved his hand in front of his friends face, bringing both their attentions back to you. "Listen. We were wondering how to go about asking the same person to the dance tonight."

"Oh. So like a love triangle thing? I never liked that troupe."

"No no." Troy shut his eyes as he shook his head. "More of like, uh—"

"Neither of us exactly know." Abed cut Troy off in a matter of fact manor. "We both see ourselves hanging out with them at the dance, but aren't exactly jealous of the other being there too."

"If you wanted me to I could crack open Websters dictionary to find a word for that."

"No thank you." Abed echoed. You simply shrugged.

"Okay. So what do you want me to do about it?" You questioned while turning a corner to another hallway. The three of you were nearly at Spanish now, but this conversation had pulled you in more than conjugating verbs ever could.

"We don't. Exactly know how to ask this person to go to the dance." Troy sucked in a breath.

"You guys have seen plenty of movies. Do the typical thing. Flowers, chocolate, and not what they do in your sci-fi movies Abed." You grinned at him knowingly as you passed through the doorway to class. "Personally I'd take kickpunching robots over literally anything ever, but I tend to be the exception for most things."

"It's not a date though. It's, like, three really close people hanging out. Not in a gay way though! I like girls! With boobs. Yes." Troy stammered as you all plopped into your rickety seats.

"Nice save Troy." Senior Chang called from the front of class with a snicker. He brought his feet down off his teachers desk to lean forward and cup his hands around his mouth. "Or should I call you gay-lord!"

"I really hate this language requirement." Troy grumbled, sinking into his chair. You snorted as Abed stiffly reached his hand out to pat his shoulder, making robot sounds as he did so.

"Cheer up." You allowed yourself a shit eating grin. "It is Valentine's day after all."

“Well that was a disaster.” You said over the sound of a ringing bell. Students and teachers alike passed you and Annie by as the two of you made your way through the hall, neither of them seeming to care very much if they bumped into you or not. To say that’d you’d almost gotten into a fight or two due to traffic here would be an understatement.

“I don’t know.” Annie frowned. She brushed her hair out of her face and clutched her books to the front of her chest. You made a face subconsciously, the sight reminding you all too much of the stereotypical school girl. “I thought it was very mean of Senior Chang to do that to Troy! And Pierce, I guess.”

“Annie. He called a balding senior citizen and a lonely freshman out on their sad Valentine’s Day gifts to themselves. It’s Chang. Of course it’s mean. But mean things can also be also be disasters.”

The girl next to you seemed to think about your words for a second. Furrowing her brows once or twice, she eventually let out what you could only describe as a harumph.

“Well I think we should do something about it!”

“Pass.” You said without a seconds hesitation. Annie deflated a bit at that and eyed the tips of her shoes. You stole a look down at her, and let out a sigh.

“You know me. I’m such a big fan of sticking my nose in other peoples business when it doesn’t belong— “ Sarcasm. “— but I think you and Shirley would be a better duo for this. She’s ruthless when she sets her mind to it, and you’re crafty in the way that you could have written the script for the movie Seven if you wanted to. Probably.”

“Aww thanks! I think.” Annie beamed. She regained some pep in her step as she skipped ahead of you, only turning back to say one more thing to you. “No wonder Troy and Abed like to talk about you so much. So many obscure movie references between you guys. Cute!”

“Seven was a box office hit, Annie— “ You began with the hint of a frown tugging at your lips, but she was already off. No doubt to find Shirley before lunch so they could cook up their plan in a flurry of giggles. That only left you with one more question.

“They talk about me?”

Jeff huffed as he walked into the near empty classroom. His hands, which he had spent the last three minutes nervously slathering in expensive lotion as a part of his mid-day exfoliation routine, were stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to this interaction, but sometimes he’d throw his better judgment out the window. Sometimes.

Raising a single eyebrow, he glanced around at the spare video equipment set up; the bulk of which was sat right in front of his target. The former lawyer ignored as a kid in a yellow button up kicked a trash can across the room, instead making a beeline for Abed. Who was giving directions rather loudly to the angry kid.

“Wow. Do you normally deal with divas like this?” Jeff flashed his signature charming smile while commenting on the temper tantrum. Better to be friendly and break the ice rather than dive right in. Otherwise you’d scare people off. He learned that while working at the firm.

“One Papa Johns commercial, and he thinks he’s Christian Bale.” Abed pursed his lips comically.

“Look, uh— “ Jeff began to steer away from the topic of the questionable kid as he pulls Abed’s attention in. “You were right earlier. During Spanish. Britta is being weird around me, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“By being right, do you mean my prediction that the accidental booty call she sent you while drunk is going to cause the imminent breakup of our fragile group?”

Jeff blinked.

“Yeah. That.” He spat out.

“Nice. So what can I do for you?” Abed leaned back into his makeshift directors chair while crossing his legs. “Do you need a drunk voicemail of your own to send to her so the score will be evened? Because I have nowhere to be for the next twenty four hours and personal dilema to avoid.”

Jeff inhaled with the intent to bulldoze over the younger mans statement, but ended up falling flat.

“Ignoring that last part, yeah I do, actually. How did you know that?” He squinted. Jeff would never admit it, but sometimes it creeped him out how easily Abed could predict what people would say next.

“Classic sitcom staple.” Abed shrugged without changing his expression one bit. “Goes hand in hand with the booty call. Now— “ He leaned forward with a glint in his eye. One that Jeff didn’t quite like.

“How well can you act?”

You don’t know how you ended up here, and you had been ready to leave the moment you arrived.

A faint punch stain from years ago sat at the hem off of your slacks, reminiscent of a house party from a year ago that had ended in disarray. They were the good slacks too. Paired with what was thankfully an unstained button up polo shirt. This was the closest anyone was going get to fancy from you tonight.

Various pink and red hues cascaded across the dance floor, playing into the Valentine’s Day theme as the schools mascot continued to prowl around on the dance floor. You were sure that the dean would be happy with himself over that if it wasn’t for the fact that couples were making out everywhere. It was pretty fun watching him try to break them all up, actually. You’d made a little game out of it with how long you’d been standing at the punch table.

The toe of your shoe came in contact with a stray balloon from one of the tables centerpieces. With a downward twitch of your lips, you picked the rubbery material up into your hands and started messing with it. Sounds of latex on skin distracted you from all of the screeching and poor singing.

“Not having a lot of fun, huh?” A voice from your left asked.

Glancing near the onion rings that had been laid out as finger food, you saw the familiar form Britta peering at you from under some fake eyelashes. That would have been more of a shock to you if the skimpy red dress she was wearing didn’t overshadow it.

“Hey there.” You avoided her question as you threw the balloon back into the crowd it had come from. “Great disco ball costume. Very sparkly.”

“Ha ha.” She mocked you before crossing your arms. “For the record, I still think Valentine’s Day is a sham. I’m just doing this to see Jeff squirm.”

“Ah. Well then, I’m sure all of the women out there will forgive you for your transgressions.” You teased her with an empty smile.

Britta let out a cross between a laugh and a huff, gaze straying from you to look out at the mass you launched your balloon into. Occasionally someone in unusually high heels would fall, only to be swept back up into the bobbing heads.

“Have you talked to Troy lately?” Britta cut in suddenly. The tone of her voice made you narrow your eyes, and you hummed out a suspicious no.

“That question is both too casual and well delivered on a night like this to have come from you. What’s going on.” You had fully abandoned kicking around stray balloons for talking with her. Or at least, staring at her forehead while she talked. You didn’t know if you could manage eye contact right now.

“He was looking for you earlier at lunch. While sweating. A lot.” Britta scrunched her nose up as if she could still smell the body odor. “Sounded like he wanted to ask you something.”

You looked away from her for a moment, temporarily overcome with a feeling of nausea.

“Oh, yeah. My bad. I was in the study room.” A pause. “Studying.”

“Troy said that he checked there beforehand.” It was Britta’s turn to squint at you. “Why are you the one acting weird now?”

Rubbing at the back of your neck proved as a temporary relief to her question. Inhaling through your mouth, you pulled out your phone and messed with it for a second.

“I got a weird voicemail from Abed today. The main part is him talking to me about the dance scene from Breakfast Club, I think, and some weird phone thing with Jeff and you— " Britta coughed into her hand at that “— but the last few seconds really threw me.”

You opened your mouth to continue the story, but quickly shut it once you saw that Britta wasn’t paying attention anymore. You didn’t even have to follow her line of sight to know she was staring at a dejected looking Jeff— who had been standing by the cusp of the exit for six minutes now. You didn’t even have to nod at her to go before she took off, awkwardly waddling in her stilletos in an attempt to not trip.

It only took a few more minutes of watching the two of them go back and forth for you to give up on anything exciting happening to you. With a halfhearted grumble, you took one last grab at the punch bowl before starting towards the double doors. You hoped the juice had been spiked. If you made all this effort to show up to some lame school thing, might as well get a little tipsy.

“Well this is awkward.”

A harsh cough came from your throat as you choked on your own spit. In an attempt to make yourself feel better, you turned around to glare at whoever had scared you, only to start coughing more.

“Abed?” You wheezed. Letting out another round of coughs, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the sunglasses on his face.

“I came as fast as I could when I realized Troy was stuck as Senior Changs whore for the night.” He looked at you calmly as you continued to die a little right in front of him.

Finally taking one more gulp of punch from the table, you calmed down enough to string together a sentence.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Let me explain for any in the audience that might have missed it while in the bathroom.” Abed held up a finger. All you could do was deadpan weakly at him.

“Both Troy and I approached you a little bit ago saying that we had something important to say to you. He worded it wrong. We were supposed to ask you something, not tell you. Instead, Troy allowed Senior Chang’s torture to ruin that question, and later I with Jeff and Britta’s voicemail problems”

“Their what’s? What is going on with voicemails today.”

“Not important.” Abed carried on. “What’s important is that while I was fulfilling the spot of Jeff’s drinking buddy, I realized something.”

“That you shouldn’t be drinking??” You questioned wildly. It was beginning to feel like this night was a special episode in a really bad main cable show. Either that or this place was finally getting to you.

“No. I realized that while Troy was fitting himself and Pierce into extra tight women’s suits, that we would miss the opportunity to ask you what we wanted to. I called Troy to tell him to go look for you, but only after sending a call to you that I do not remember the contents of. I assume you have it?” He blinked owlishly.

With a pair of very wide and very confused eyes, you grabbed your phone for the second time that night and shook it with a loose wrist. The audio from a few hours ago began to play faintly. It’s sound was swallowed by the bass of the dances music, but the both of you could still make the words out. Abed’s voice tumbled out at twice the speed it normally does, his energy no doubt heightened by alcohol.

“— e’re sort of like Marty McFly and Jennifer Parker, but there’s three of us. Have you seen the second movie? I need to show you the second movie. There’s more of Jennifer in that than the first. And Martys mom isn’t trying to get with him. Oh, and you don’t have to have a time traveling car for us to want to go to the dance with you. Although that would be nice. Jeff stop drooling on tha —"

Abed looked at it silently as the message continued to run. It was as if he expected nothing more from its contents. For a second you wondered how he’d react to the twenty minutes before that where all he talks about is Breakfast Club, but you figured it would be the same.

The feeling of nausea from earlier was back, and this time was trying to crawl out of your throat with a ferocity. Swallowing both your nerves and that not so metaphorical metaphor, you inhaled.

“So. Troy’s okay with this?” You asked cautiously, as if this was a dubious prank. Abed nodded almost immediately after you asked. The nausea subsided.

“And you’re okay with this?”

Another nod.

“Alright.” You shuffled. It felt like ten pounds had been lifted off your chest, and you didn't know how to express that. “I’ll go to the dance. With the both of you.”

A brief period of silence stretched between the two of you. The lights continued to flair, and the music continued to shake the floorboards, but none of you moved.

“Abed?”

“Sorry. You made me so happy I peed a little, and didn’t want to say anything.”

The corner of your mouth lifted up once. Twice. It only took one more time for a tirade of laughter to escape you all in one go. Abed’s unmoving expression just watched as you laughed to yourself, waiting patiently until you had stopped. When you paused to catch your breath, Abed placed a hand on your shoulder and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Normally this doesn’t happen in shows.” He hummed. “Do you think that this is a way of adding some diversity in the form of a polyamorous couple at a community college?”

“How about no lables?” You suggested. “It feels weird. What if it was just me, you, and Troy for now.”

Abed repeated your words under his breath, mumbling a little. He lifted his head back up to you with his thought on the proposition, which arrived in the form of a steady thumbs up.

“Cool. Cool cool cool.” You grinned at him. Abed’s nose flared at your use of his unspoken catchphrase, and he turned away from you to cup his hands around his mouth.

"They said yes!" He told the figure dancing on the floor; the likes of which responded with a yell of victory before getting back to it. It took you a minute to get past the skintight blue suit and floral scarf to realize who it was.

"Troy?!" You sputtered with an open mouth. He looked at you at the mention of his name with a painful smile before turning back to his dance partner with a dramatic sob.

"What is he wearing? And why is Senior Chang— oh god." Your eyes widened, unable to look away. "I think I'm going to puke."

"It's better if you don't question it." Abed told you, his hand just a few inches shy of touching his eyes as he hid behind it.

"Give me your hand Abed." You said blankly. Without questioning you, he held it out. You were quick to sheild your own eyes from the dancing.

"So." You turned your head to look at him after a moment of gross silence, both of his hands still in the air. "Movie date tonight when Troy is released from captivity?"

"I've been waiting forever for you to ask that."

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pedrosdameron · 1 year ago

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Treat You Right || Joel Miller x f!reader

Description: When you and Joel get into an argument, your first instinct is to shut down and cry. Joel shows you how to come back to life in a very sinful way.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Porn with very little plot, Angst, reader has a bipolar disorder (unspecified), mental health issues talks, mention of medication, reader flinches when he moves once, arguing, hurt/comfort, slight dissociation, established (kind of toxic) relationship, unspecified age gap, unprotected piv (come on, you know the drill), oral m and f receiving, ruined orgasm, multiple orgasms, cumshots, aftercare, comforting!Joel, daddy kink, use of pet names, no use of y/n, reader uses she/her and is afab but has no physical descriptors

Word count: 2.6k

Recommended song(s): Daddy Issues - The Neighbourhood

Crush - Danny Fischer

I Hope You Understand - Del Water Gap

Still Don’t Know My Name - Labrinth

Note(s): Hi everyone!! I'm so nervous to post this. This is my FIRST Joel x reader fic and one of my first rare attempts at second person, first tense so I'm sorry if there are mistakes. I also rarely write smut! I wrote this as a vent piece and I hope you like it or it can help you. Enjoy and follow my main blog: @delliestattoo

The sound of the rain splattering against your living room window is nothing compared to the harshness of his tone. Joel’s yelling at you, finger raised and pointed with that same, sly smirk on his face; he knows what he’s doing, he’s making you weak.

And not in the good way.

You can feel tears threatening to spill over your waterline, fresh and hot and not at all helpful to the situation. You want to speak, you want to scream, you want to yell right back at him; but you find yourself completely mute, barely even able to process the words he’s throwing at you. He doesn’t get like this often - the first time was when you brought up Sarah the first time, and the only other time was when you threatened to leave him; but those times were both understandable now, sole misunderstandings that you had caused.

This time, however, was honestly just stupid. You two had been arguing about where to go for dinner, and he called you indecisive, which your brain translated to immature and here you were.

“J-Joel,” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you. He’s still shouting, and you know you have to do something. You have to say something. You have to get out of this.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time, “P-Please -” you stop yourself from continuing, bowing your head with a muffled sigh. You didn’t want to argue anymore, you didn’t want to fight.

You just wanted him to stop yelling at you.

Silently, the tears begin to fall, and it quickly turns to broken sobbing, a hand covering your mouth to try and stay quiet. Quiet - which is what Joel is now, silent and staring at you while you try to compose yourself. You know he’s hating himself for the screaming, but you know you deserve it, and you think deep down he does, too.

“I’m s-sorry,” you manage to stutter, and you glance up at him, and that’s when you notice Joel has gone not only silent, but also still, his face completely changed from the moment before. You’re puzzled for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, when he walks towards you.

On instinct, you flinch.

“Joel-?” It’s more of a question than a statement, because now you’re just confused, though your tense body relaxes underneath his touch, his calloused and rough hands reaching for your shoulders, fingers dragging down your arm, and despite being relaxed, you freeze. You don’t know what he’s doing, and all you can do is look up at him with unsure, teary eyes, as a few tears still fall.

“Oh, baby, -” Joel says then, and you blink, mouth suddenly dry with a sense of something else entirely. Suddenly, you’re not crying anymore.

Everything’s fine. He’s talking to you. He’s looking at you and touching you and he has that sweet, thick southern accent - everything seems okay now; and you know it may only be for a moment, and you know you missed your medication this morning, but it’s okay now.

“Darlin’,” Joel begins, and you know this is about to be good, “Why’s my pretty girl cryin’ like that? Come on now, chin up for me,” he says, and you obey, raising your chin and wiping your tears. You have the sudden urge to call him daddy - the way he’s looking at you, the way he was yelling at you. It fits. It fits so well and so would he.

“That’s my girl,” Joel praises, and you feel your mood shift, already having gone from upset to nonchalant; but now it’s something different, now it’s a yearning you know only the man in front of you can fulfill.

“Joel-” you huff, biting your lip. You don’t know what to say to him to make him understand what you need now.

What if he wasn’t interested? What if he didn’t want you? What if he was just trying to fix what he had started?

“What is it, pretty girl?” he whispers then, and you feel your core burn hot. You want to sit down, but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere but his arms. You feel mute again, silenced, but then Joel rubs your arms again and you’re fully there.

“Need you, daddy,” you mutter, and your pussy throbs with want, with need. You need him to kiss you, to put his mouth on your neck; and you want him to shove you against a wall, throw you around, praise and degrade you at once. He’s staring deep into your eyes, like he’s trying to decide whether he wants to give in, and you open your mouth to say something but…

You’re cut off by movement, his hands falling from your arms down to your hips, and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Goddamnit, Joel,” you curse, though you’re sure he knows you don’t mean anything by it. You grunt, moving backwards, and pull your blouse over the top of your head with ease. The remainder of your clothing consists of your black biker shorts and a black, lace bra that you know damn well Joel wouldn’t be able to take his eyes - or hands - off of.

“Goddamn, you,” Joel grunts back, and just like you thought, his hands are immediately on you, fingers laced underneath the hem of your bra like he wants it off already. You smirk. The tears on your face have dried, and you no longer have bloodshot eyes, no, now they’re full of lust and longing that belongs to Joel and Joel only. “Need me already?” you ask teasingly, and you expect him to laugh, play it off like he usually does, but you’re met with a sudden force, throwing you up against the wall just like you had wanted. “Fuck, Joel,” you can’t help but moan, the force making your panties wet, heart skipping beats and core throbbing with a desperate need. “Joel,” you mutter, as you move to wrap your arms around his neck, “Please.”

He seems to understand what you want by the look on your face and the pleading sound to your begs, hands reaching around to undo your bra strap. You don’t have time for that - you move away from his hands, instead your body presses close against his and you can feel his cock hard in his jeans. “I wanna get you off,” you whisper, leaning close to his ear. Your hand moves down to cup his balls underneath the fabric and you give them a gentle squeeze, a gesture that was almost like asking for permission for you. Joel’s breath had already been heavy but now it had picked up, and his fingers were thumbing over your nipples, and you knew that was an okay.

You drop to your knees, not wasting any time with Joel’s belt. He helps you, and before he seems to know it your mouth is on his cock, lips wrapped tastefully around the tip as you bob your head back. His arm is hovering over your head, his hand pressed against the wall as he resists the urge to thrust his cock into your mouth; you know that’s what he’s thinking, because you’ve talked about it.

And you want him to.

“Come on, daddy, fuck my mouth,” you say, as you pull away for a moment to spit. You take his cock whole, and Joel cries out, hips moving to fuck your mouth. Your eyes roll back in your head, mouth dripping with saliva and pre-cum as he fucks into you. Your panties have to be fucking soaked by now, you’re so needy, you’re grinding down into nothing. There’s no sound in the room except for the wet slapping sounds of Joel’s balls against your cheeks and you don’t mind it one bit, muffled and strangled heavy breaths coming from your end and rough, heavy grunts from Joel’s.

He’s getting close, you can tell by the way he’s breathing now; you’d been together for so long you had gotten accustomed to every sound. “That’s enough,” you say, voice hoarse now, as you pull away from his cock, which still thrusts towards you even after the loss. He’s not saying anything, and you know he’s pissed, but you know that would just make him fuck you better.

“Come on, daddy,” you murmur, your legs moving to stand, “Come fuck me.”

The two of you manage to make it to the bed, but you don’t manage to make it much farther. Joel’s got his hands on you again, and you can see the remorse from earlier reflected in his eyes, but you see way more lust. He throws you down onto the mattress and you let out a soft sigh, body going pliant. This is what you wanted, what you seemed to have needed. You just needed a man to throw you around and fuck you right. Treat you right.

You don’t bother helping him with your pants. He makes quick work of ripping them off of you, revealing your matching black, lace panties, and the sound he makes upon sight of them is comparable to a wolf’s snarl.

“Like what you see?” you ask, smirking as you position yourself for missionary - it was your favorite position, your go-to, and if you were being honest, you needed the honest connection right now. You needed to really feel him make love to you.

“‘Course I do, pretty girl,” Joel confirms, pulling his own shirt over his head. He’s completely naked now, and you feel overdressed. You shimmy your hips. “Take ‘em off me, daddy,” you purr, and Joel can’t resist you, diving for your cunt. You scream and fall back, a laugh falling from your lips as he drags your panties down to your ankles and then off fully. You can’t even take a breath before he’s got his mouth on you - and he’s eating you real good, tongue flicking up and down and swirling around your clit in perfect motions. It’s not often he does this, either; Joel never really seems to enjoy it, but right now he’s all in. You’re left wondering if he’s even breathing while his tongue attacks your pussy. Your back arches and you feel an orgasm approaching, and it’s coming up fast, your breathing now labored and your hips bucking up into his mouth for more, more friction, more anything.

You need his cock. You need it deep, nestled inside of you, holding you together.

“J-Joel,” you pant, a hand reaching down for his hair. You try to pull him off of you, but Joel only presses his face deeper into your cunt, leaving you breathless and out of energy. Your core is burning hot, ready to cum, and you need to. You need to release. You need it so bad.

“Fuck, fuck - gonna cum,” you manage to mutter, pulling at his hair again. Joel’s lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, and you scream, your orgasm rippling through you at the speed of lightning. Joel doesn’t pull away, either; he helps you through it, licking your folds gently as you try and breathe, cunt twitching underneath his tongue. You still want his cock, more than anything now, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes again as he continues to stimulate you.

“Joel… p-please,” you whisper pleadingly, with another tug, “Please.” He pulls away then, looking up at you, and you swear you could see the devil in his eyes, he looked that sinful. His hair was messy, his chin dripping with your juices and lips red and puffy. You almost wanted to grab your phone and snap a photo, but you know he’d kill you.

The both of you take a minute to just breathe. Joel reaches to wipe his mouth before kissing you but you stop him and pull him forward anyways, wanting to taste yourself. “Need you to fuck me,” you whisper against his lips, the sickly sweet taste covering your tongue, “Need it, baby. Need you.”

Joel pulls away, only to look you in the eyes. “Need me that bad, darlin’?”

You nod in desperation. Your eyes are filled with tears. All Joel does is let out a chuckle, and then he pushes you back down into the mattress. “Alright,” he mutters, “be a good girl for me and stay there, alright? Gonna fuck you nice and right,” he says, and you go pliant once again, body completely relaxed on the mattress. Your juices are flowing out of you and soaking the sheets but neither of you seem to care. They can always be washed.

Once you’re fully relaxed and ready, Joel climbs on top of you, and you instantly wrap your arms around him to bring him closer, his cock rubbing against the folds of your cunt. “Fuck,” the both of you say in unison, and then you both laugh a little, too. You’re always glad you can laugh with Joel in moments like these, serious or not.

“That’s my girl,” Joel praises, his breath coming to a halt as he presses his cock into you slowly. The both of you adjust for a moment, and then you’re grabbing at any part of him you can reach. “Fuck me,” you beg, “Please, Joel. Fuck me.”

He obliges quickly, shifting his weight to his hands to begin thrusting his cock into you. It’s a quick pace, balls slapping against your thighs every other second, and you feel so fucking full.

“Feels good,” you moan, “Feels - feels f-full, Joel.”

“Yeah? Fuck, darlin’, takin’ my cock so good,” Joel praises in return, and you feel your core start to heat up again and your heart swell. You’re going to cum again, and you’re probably going to do it quickly.

“Harder,” you huff, fingers digging deep into Joel’s shoulders. He grunts at the pain but says nothing, allowing you to take hold of him. If anything, it spurs him on to fuck you harder. “Harder,” you repeat, throwing your head back, “I’m gonna fuck - I’m gonna fucking cum,” you warn him, moving your hand to reach down and rub at your clit quickly. You swirl your finger around the little sphere and cry out in pleasure, bucking your hips up to meet Joel’s pace. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cry, breathing strangled, and Joel didn’t even have his hands on your throat.

“Yeah? Come on, darlin’,” Joel pants, his own orgasm approaching, though his focus remained on you, “Come for me. Come for me, pretty girl. Come on this fucking cock.”

He doesn’t have to say it twice - only once and you’re crying out again, overwhelming pleasure taking over your whole body. You’re trembling underneath him as you cum, fingers digging deep into his shoulder, so hard it could possibly draw blood; and despite the pain, Joel enjoys it, and it floods his own orgasm through him, streams of his seed spurting into your pussy. You can feel him filling you up and it feels better than anything you could ever imagine, and you’re way too dreary now to care there was no condom.

“Did so good,” Joel praises, as he pulls his cock out of you, and you whine at the sudden loss. You find yourself reaching for him, but he’s already shifting to move off of the bed. “Where - where are you going?” you whisper, sadness taking hold of your voice; was he leaving?

“Nowhere, my sweet girl,” Joel whispers then, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, “Gonna get a towel, clean you up, ‘n we can lay together. Okay, baby?”

You can feel your eyes closing from exhaustion; between the fight and sex, you were beat. “Okay,” you whisper quietly, “Baby.”

DT: @swiftispunk @gracieispunk @ilyltm @darkroastjoel

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller angst #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal #troy baker #pedrohub #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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winxanity-ii · 1 month 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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