solarache

[solarache]

tags primary teacher! sae x fem! reader, unnecessarily detailed imagery of sae jumpstarting a car because that’s a very beautiful man I do not apologise

author’s note you thought I was never gonna go back to teacher sae again huh?? I know I said I was going to focus on the long fic but I’m unpredictable like that yeah!

The engine gives one last cough before giving up entirely.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath.

It’s been a long day— the kind that stretches you thin in ways only a classroom full of five-year-olds can. You love them, of course you do, but Leah had knocked over one of the potted plants during morning circle, and you’d spent your entire break sprinting to the nearest grocery in hopes of finding a halfway decent replacement.

Then Tommy cried for a solid twenty minutes because Jerry (the class mascot, a laminated cartoon mouse with googly eyes) had gone missing. You’d promised he’d be back by one, and had in consequence spent most of lunch break crawling on the floor, only to discover Jerry had slipped behind the blackboard, wedged in a place your arm physically cannot reach. Tommy had been inconsolable when you told him.

And now, after knowing you still have a stack of marking waiting for you on the kitchen table, you hear the engine turn over, and it’s just one thing too many.

You’ll figure it out, you tell yourself. Or at least, you’ll pretend to. All it takes is a little poking around under the hood until someone who actually knows what they’re doing shows up, if the universe ever feels like throwing you a bone.

“Car troubles?”

You turn your head, slower than you mean to, but he’s already walking over: Sae Itoshi. Again. The newest addition to the history department, too pretty for someone who talks so little. He waves at a kid being picked up at the curb who was calling out one last ‘have a nice week-end!’, and then crouches beside your car like this is routine.

“Car troubles?” he says again, quieter this time. maybe he thinks you didn’t hear him the first time.

You blink at him. Your brain works overtime to find a response that doesn’t sound utterly foolish. Gosh, this is not the bone you were talking about.

“Yeah,” you say, brushing your hair back from your face. “It’s, um… not starting. But it’s fine. I know a guy around here, so—”

You smile too quickly. You don’t know a guy around here. In fact, you don’t know a single mechanic in the entire city. But you’re not about to let him be the one to open the hood and fix it, because, ultimately, you’re not sure what’s worse— the car dying, or the thought of Sae Itoshi seeing you like this.

“I can take a look. Mechanics don’t come cheap these days anyway,” he says, almost offhandedly. “Save you the money.”

You want to say no. You should. You want to tell him that it’s fine, really, that you’ve got it under control. But the truth is— you don’t. Not really. And living on a primary teacher’s wage doesn’t exactly leave room for breakdowns, let alone the cost of calling someone out to fix them.

“Errr,” you start, hesitating, “alright then. At your heart’s content.”

You say it with a smile, trying to diffuse the tension, but then again, maybe it’s just you masking up your own discomfort. Your fingers tighten around the edges of your car as he turns to look at you and gives you a small smile in return. The kind that makes your chest twist a little too tightly.

He pops the hood like it’s second nature, leans forward, and peers inside. There’s a quiet sort of concentration on his face, and the contracting muscles under his shirt make it impossibly hard to look away.

And then, something shifts, and his brows pull just slightly together.

“When’s the last time you had your car looked at?”

You blink, unsure how to answer. “I don’t… remember? It’s been a while.”

Sae glances at you over his shoulder, eyebrows raising just slightly. “You know you’re supposed to get it checked every year, right? For MOT?”

Right. The MOT. The mandatory inspection you’ve conveniently pushed to the very back of your mind, somewhere between laundry day and booking a dentist appointment.

“Technically, yes,” you mumble. “Practically, I might’ve forgotten.”

He huffs a soft breath, something between amusement and disbelief, and turns back to the engine. You sink further into your seat, heart still tapping nervously against your ribs.

You’re standing off to the side now, arms crossed loosely over your chest. It’s cooler out than it was earlier, but the sun is still bright and gleams down at your car.

Sae doesn’t say much while he works— not that you expect him to, anyway— and stands with his weight leaned into the open hood, one hand braced against the frame, the other reaching down to fiddle with something you don’t recognize. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, forearms flexing every time he moves.

You try not to stare. You do. But it’s hard not to notice the way his jaw tenses when he leans forward, or the way his shirt lifts slightly when he shifts to one side. He’s always been a little unreadable, but right now, he feels almost close. Like someone you could touch if you weren’t so afraid of what that might do to you.

Eventually, he steps back, letting the hood fall shut with a soft clunk. He turns to you, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“Should be alright for now,” he says, tone as neutral as ever. “But don’t forget to check it out.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The car,” he repeats. A beat passes, and then, slightly softer, “Don’t forget to have it checked out.”

Oh. Right.

The car.

@pemiski 2025 - all rights reserved. I do not authorize any reposting translating or modifying of my content on any platform

[solarache]

texts with streamer! bf nagi

pairing. streamer! nagi x reader (f! implied)

warnings. league mentioned 💔💔💔 some swearing, nothing crazy!!!! slight crack, slightly suggestive??? slight ooc coping after chapter 298....

csing = creep score

[solarache]

"it's open!" I cried.

ANYWAYS, could I request that one trend where your bf leaves and you prank him by texting him "he's gone you can come over now" with the bllk boys please (doesn't matter who, as long as Reo is in it) 😋

"𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰"

a/n: YES HI

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi, mikage reo, kaiser michael

itoshi sae

itoshi rin

shidou ryusei

nagi seishiro

isagi yoichi

mikage reo

kaiser michael

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[solarache]

ʚɞ Itoshi sea x fem!reader. childhood best friends to lovers. sae helping you get over a breakup. him being kinda sweet??

Tears stained your face. Your hair was a tangled mess, and your lips looked stuck in a frown. You knew it was better to forget your asshole of an ex but it was a lot harder than you thought it would be. Footsteps tapped against the hardwood floor, slowly reaching you. Realizing someone was here made you hide your face further into your pillow.

The mattress dipped as the person sat down opposite you. You didn't bother looking up. You already knew who it was, and you already knew what he would say. Since the two of you were children, you had always been the emotional one and he, the emotionally constipated one. It's not like he didn't try to comfort you sometimes… he just was not very good at it.

“Why are you crying?” Sae questioned, his tone wasn’t harsh, but it didn’t show any sign of empathy. Your head lifted from the plush of the pillow, your eyes still glossy and slightly bloodshot. Your lips poking out going from a frown to a pout “of course you wouldn't understand…” you muttered.

The pink-haired boy rolled his eyes, “he wasn't good for you anyway, wasn’t that obvious?”. His question made you groan; all he saw was the things your ex put you through and not how you felt about him. You shifted, using your arms to help you sit up. Messily brushing your hair out of your face. “You know what… I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” you grumbled.

Sae let out a soft sigh, shifting closer towards you, his hand coming up to your face. His fingers gently tucked the hair behind your ears more neatly. You tried to ignore the subtle jump in your chest and the rush of blood to your cheeks.

“A guy like him doesn't deserve a girl like you.” his words sound plain and dry, yet there was some sort of feeling behind them. You always knew he hated your ex or any guys you talked to or dated before that, but you never noticed the tinge of jealousy in his words until now.

Was he jealous?

Your lips twitched upwards, and a small smirk formed as you leaned in closer. His hand moving from your ear to the back of your hand, showing a clear sign that he wasn't about to back away. His fingers tangled into your hair as you parted your lips, “what kind of guy do I deserve?”. his face stayed blank, his lips coming close enough to brush yours.

“One like me…”

[solarache]

Caught in the web — Suna Rintarou

Suna Rintarou likes spiderman a normal amount, though his friends would say he's pretty much obsessed. He's determined to find out who the hero really is and when he does, he's amazed to find out that spiderman is actually a girl. The manager of his volleyball team, too.

status: COMPLETED

pairing: suna rintarou x spiderman!reader

cw: mdni, friends to lovers, fem reader, college au (yes i simply transformed inarizaki into a college idc i just wanted the characters to be adults bare with me), characters probably ooc, might be suggestive at times, happy ending

taglist: closed!

• • •

chapters:

0.5 – spiderman and the lifesavers | volley freaks

1 – unrequited crush

2 – i don't trust your judgement

3 – not slick

4 – don't freak out 🕷️

5 – off the radars

6 – lover boy

7 – super hot

8 – friday everyday

9 – romantic 🕷️

10 – can't cheat 🕷️

11 – i could

12 – gentle🕷️

13 – insane

[solarache]

FANG IM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES PLEASE I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR MORE ABOUT BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS WITH SAE

you meet sae at 14

in spain, an exchange student from another country. your very first words to him come out in a very broken spanish—trying to tell him his bangs look ridiculous while you’re busy running away from the other students from your school.

sae harbors no good memories of spain. this includes you. you’re a nuisance in his side from that moment forward. not only do you force your phone number on him and manage to snatch his too - you text him all the time with nonsense updates. you speak sometimes in spanish, sometimes in english, and later—in japanese when you choose to study in highschool, to curse at him a little better. he spends the first few months running your messages through a translator, but he keeps this a secret from everyone - including you.

you’re a thorn in his side, but you met at the right time. back before sae was completely beaten down, still receptive to people coming in and out of his life.

you weren’t even especially close. not enough to be there for all the good and bad like something out of a manga. not constantly stuck together. you were more like a pen pal. or a pet he had to maintain in his phone. it wasn’t that you were so connected

it was just that - in a place where his existence and talent became meaningless, occasionally there would be some moron who would spam his phone in a hundred different texts if he took too long to text back. nothing more, nothing less.

you meet up a few times in the years sae lives in spain. once every few months, at the same cafe you met. you do most of the talking and take a million pictures. time goes by like that, with you in the constant peripherals of his life.

a connection he doesn’t want to acknowledge until he’s forced to. even as he hardens over the years, for some reason you stick around. he doesn’t want to see you as anything. he doesn’t form relationships that way. his indifference is genuine. but you’re alright

by the time you’re both 18–sae has to return to japan for a short while. and at the airport, you sob - mistakenly thinking he was moving back. he stood and watched you for a long while before smacking your head and calling you stupid.

despite that there was nothing but pure relief on your face. and his expression, for once, had a pleasant tiny smile.

it’s then that sae would acknowledge you as more than a nuisance. he refuses to call you his best friend even as the years continue. even as you turn 19, 20, 21 and as saes career blossoms and you’re the only one who ever seems to check in about his games. even though you spend holidays together and make sure you celebrate birthdays.

sae can’t close the distance. he doesn’t want to. the comfortable, accommodating relationship between you suits him. anything more would make him uncomfortable. you never push it, so he doesn’t either.

and then, at 23 - you come to sae heartbroken for the very first time.

it’s a mess. you come over sobbing, mascara running down your face with a bottle of wine in hand. it’s the first time in your almost ten years of friendship that you come to him for anything and sae lets you in. you sit down on his living room floor and sob helplessly about some guy who broke your heart. sae hadn’t even known you’d been seeing someone.

he didn’t even know you were dating. or seeing people in that way. he didnt know something about you. him, the person you text your cycle to. him, the person whose heard your opinion on every single ghibli movie ten times over. him, whose been putting up with your spam texts for a decade nearly of his life.

sae feels his heartbeat pulse for the first time. its an ugly feeling under his ribcage. throbbing and red blooded and alive. he manages to comfort you without being weird (he’s gotten good at it over the years) but you insist on sleeping at his place.

so he lets you. you sleep on the floor of his room despite him offering you the guest room. it’s the first time you stay over. just before bed, you thank him for letting you in and he thinks you’re an idiot for being thankful for that. that much is nothing.

you sleep soundly. it makes sense.

sae does not sleep. for some reason he can’t. all he does is lay down and close his eyes and feel frustrated. he thinks about how easily he let you in to his place. he thinks about all the dates you’ve been on without him knowing - surely assuming he wouldn’t care.

he shouldn’t care. if you decided that you don’t need to tell him that then sae doesn’t see a reason to push. he shouldn’t care. he never pries into your life anyhow. your relationship has always been comfortable. he puts up with you because you’re pretty alright.

no matter how much he tries to sleep, nothing lets him. he tosses and turns until the sun is almost risen.

he turns to face you where you sleep on the floor and the sun is hitting your back.

he stares and stares and stares. he thinks—if you barged in on him like this even further. if you got even closer, he’d be fine with it. if you were looking to date just to have a guy to show off, he’d be fine if you asked. if you walked in and made yourself even more comfortable and pressed on - well whatever. he might as well.

he thinks, if he knew you were wanting to date someone, he wouldve just been your boyfriend. it’d be fine. if you wanted to kiss or go on dates - sae would go with you.

he jolts. freezes when that thought crosses his mind. and he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut hard and brow furrowed. suddenly frustrated.

in the confessional of dawn, sae thinks to himself just once—it’s probably a lot more than just tolerance. and it’s been that way for a long time.

it’s the first time in his life he doesn’t know what to do. what the hell does he do? what does he want to do?

he tells himself nothing. really. it’s been fine until then so why should it change.

but your phone buzzes with the number of the guy you just broke up with when he thinks and he learns quickly that’s not happening either.

he’s never felt so exasperated with something in his life. the only option is to do the one thing he’s been avoiding his entire life and make you fall for him.

it’s his turn, he figures - being the one looking stupid between you

[solarache]

✦ good old fashioned lover boy — riddle rosehearts x reader smau.

11. bruh what — previous / m.list / next

a/n — bisaya ace agenda. GUSSYYY COMMENT ON MY POSTS PLEASE IT MAKES ME SUPER HAPPY AND MOTIVATES ME TO POST MORE. TY ESM 😘😘😘🥰🥰🥰

SYPNOSIS [name], at this point, had riddle rosehearts smitten for her. surprisingly, it was assumed to be obvious. nonetheless— only his closest mates knew. how? he told them himself. now.. how would he get that usually stubborn girl to soften up to him somehow without making it obvious?

TAGLIST, opened! send in an ask to be added because i won't be accepting comments. if your name isn't highlighted, it means i cannot tag you. please notify me if you've changed your user. 🏷 @lunavixia @ventiswisp @c3lery @vixxzill @teacute @toxicm0cha @bakedgrape @ritsleep @meigalaxy @bbgbonald @theblueslytherin @shatiyuh @sweetstrawberrybabe @miy-svz @cheriesrightearing @yanri @jaiistg @serenareiss @our-raven-strife-universe @mplesyrup @frootloopscos @whoreforeverythingspice @boredselkie @gasolineyum @naru-thebest @prettyforshow @gabirii @frangiipanii @whatmakespaperwithoutitspen @randomhumans-blog @lazulixz @0rangej0e @sakyira

a/n — WOWWOWOOWOWIWI ACT II

[solarache]

"I Fear He might be Beast.. or a Troll."

A Telemachus x Princess!Reader requested by: @luckywitchsong

Summary : You a Princess is scared, for you do not know who the identity of your fiance. Word Count : 1296 Credits to @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers

“You are to marry the son of Queen Penelope Períphron and King Odysseus the Polytropos. In three months, you will be sent to Ithaca.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You sit in your bedroom, filled with the golden glow of Apollon’s light, its warmth wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Yet, in stark contrast, your mind is a cold wasteland, destroyed by a swirling tornado of thoughts about who this man could be.

You try to think positively, You know your parents! There's no way they would marry you off to a man with no class, he must be a kind man. Not like those rude men in stories. The ones who are usually nobility—entitled, arrogant… and unhygienic. Oh gods.

You stand up and start frantically pacing around the room, thinking about who this mystery fiancé could be. What is he like? Is he really like a manchild like you thought he would be or could he be the opposite? 

A long sigh leaves your lungs as you lean on the balcony, you can only wait until the fates weave you and your future (hopefully kind) husband together. 

Meanwhile, In a distant land, a young prince gazes out towards the horizon 

The Prince sighs, longingly staring out to the sea, his elbows perched on the balcony's railings. He leans onto his hand as he daydreams about his future bride.

His parents had described his bride-to-be as a kind woman. Now, he wasn't foolish; he knew his parents understood what they were doing when choosing a bride whose kingdom's assets could benefit Ithaca. Yet, doubt remained. What if this woman was not what his parents had described?

But… she could be kind and intelligent… The thought of him marrying an intelligent and beautiful girl made his stomach burst with butterflies.

‘Oh Lady Aphrodite, guide me… ‘

3 months later….

Your ship arrived in Ithaca under the cover of night. The guards on duty had orders to provide temporary shelter for you and your companions if arrival occurred during the sleeping hours, ensuring a place to rest until morning.

You lay awake in your bed, unable to sleep as your thoughts are consumed by the identity of who you’re marrying.

These thoughts lead you to the Palace’s gardens, trying to find some comfort in this unfamiliar place. It’s cold— very cold, you rub your hands together in an attempt to generate heat but to no avail.

This weather is not helping your nerves. Mentally preparing yourself, you raise your palms upwards and pray to the Goddess of Marriage 

Hear me, Queen of the Deathless Gods, 

Consort to the Mighty Zeus

and Goddess of Marital Union, —-

“--- My Lady what are you doing..?”  You turn around and see a young man with leaves in his hair and a blue blanket wrapped around his frame. You look at the man from the side of your eye. “Nothing.” You say in response, getting back to your prayer.

I seek your wisdom and guidance.

Please grant me a good husband.

A husband who is loyal— “My lady… while praying to the Gods is important, I feel as though that the God or Goddess you are praying to will be much happier if you weren’t shivering while praying..” 

“I am not shivering.” You say as your shoulders shake from the chill of the wind. You raise your palms up to continue praying.

A husband who is— “But, you are... Shivering”

You let out an annoyed exhale, “I am not.” 

“You are…”

“I am not!” 

“You are!”

‘Sorry Queen Hera, I fear my prayer will have to wait.’ You internally pray as you lower your palms. 

You turn around, annoyed; and raise an eyebrow at the man. “Good Evening um– Ithaca has harsh winds this time of year, I recommend you come back inside where it is warmer, or atleast have something to keep you warm…” He says as he offers his blue blanket to you.

You furrow your brows in suspicion, slowly backing away from the mysterious man. “I’m quite alright thank you…” but then suddenly, a wave of cold air washes over the palace. You shiver and instinctively hug yourself with your arms to shield yourself from the cold.

The young man walks beside you and offers the blanket again. “You say you don’t need it but your shaking shoulders tell me otherwise; please take it, I insist.” 

You shakily reach out and take the blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Thank you,” You whisper. “For the blanket…”

You and the man stare out into the horizon, Selene’s moon casting an ethereal glow onto Poseidon’s deep blue sea.

“Your hands were stretched out… Were you praying?” “Yes.”

In the corner of your eye, you see him turn to you. “Why?” He asks.

“Well that’s oddly personal.” You look him up and down. “None of your business.”

You and the man stiffly stare back out into the distance, the whooshing of waves filling the awkward silence. You tiredly sigh, maybe you shouldn’t have responded rudely. “Because I am afraid, I am afraid of who or what he is, my parents have not told me any details of who he is.”

Your hands grip onto the blanket tighter. “I am afraid of my future, women who are often in arranged marriages tend to have husbands that are… goblins…” 

“A goblin?” He asks, “or a brute.” 

He raises an eyebrow and clicks his tongue in thought. “Who are we speaking of?”

“The prince.”

“Not a peep of information from my mother and father, clearly they are hiding the fact that the Prince is a goblin or a brute.”

He smirks. “Understood.”

You gasp, a metaphorical candle lighting up above you. “Maybe you could assist me in running away from my fate!” 

“A question please my Lady— you do not like brutes or.. Goblins? Does looks happen to be an important quality in marrying you..?”

“I do not care what he looks like, what I don’t like is having no knowledge of my future husband. Now—”

You walk along the side of the palace and spot a horse with a saddle on it. “Do you see that horse over there? By the torch? With your help I believe I could escape my goblin husband!”

“You want me to help you run to that horse so you may escape…?”

“I quite literally just said that.”

“Won't your entourage notice your absence?” 

You wave your hand “I shall worry about that later, now– make haste!” 

He breathes out and shakes his head. “I… have no desire to help you.”

You raise your eyebrows and stare at him in disbelief. “I am a maiden in need of saving.. You refuse? You refuse to help a maiden in distress?” 

“I refuse when that maiden in distress is trying to horsenap a horse so that she won't have to marry me…” He says softly, a soft smile gracing his features. “Hello ____.” 

A crashing tsunami of realization hurls into you. “Oh gods… Forgive me my Prince— I did not know..” You attempt a bow but he stops you in your tracks.

“Please, Call me Telemachus” He softly holds your shoulders, guiding your posture so that you would face him. “Not ‘My Prince’ or ‘Your Majesty’ Only… Telemachus.” 

“Please Your Majesty—” “Telemachus.” He corrects you.

You cough to clear your throat. “Telemachus forgive me, If I had known that you were my fiance—” “You would’ve what? Not have told me your plans that you would steal a horse..?” 

“....Well yes.” You say, He chuckles in response. “I deeply apologize, Your Majesty.” “Telemachus… well yes— ‘your Majesty’ but to you..? Always just… Telemachus.” 

You exhale 3 months of anxiousness, what-ifs, and fears out of your body. He wasn’t a brute after all. He was just Telemachus.

A/N : Chapter 2 of my series "For the queen" will come out soon (not rlly soon but it is in the works!) sorry for not posting guys school has rlly been hectic lately.

[solarache]

𐙚 ⋮ Aphrodites gamble ꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇This series is basically like what if Antinous had a younger sister that likes to bully Telemachus but plot twist they fall in love and Antinous crashes out.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

╰─ ♡ Main series:

୨୧┇Chapter one

୨୧┇chapter two

୨୧┇Chapter three

୨୧┇Chapter four

୨୧┇Chapter five

୨୧┇Chapter six

୨୧┇Chapter seven

୨୧┇Chapter eight

୨୧┇Chapter nine

୨୧┇Chapter ten

୨୧┇Chapter eleven

୨୧┇Chapter twelve

୨୧┇Chapter thirteen

୨୧┇Chapter fourteen

୨୧┇Chapter fifteen

୨୧┇Chapter sixteen

୨୧┇Chapter seventeen

୨୧┇Chapter eighteen

୨୧┇Chapter nineteen

୨୧┇Chapter twenty

୨୧┇Chapter twenty one

୨୧┇Chapter twenty two

୨୧┇Chapter twenty three

୨୧┇Chapter twenty four

୨୧┇Chapter twenty five

୨୧┇Chapter twenty six

୨୧┇Chapter twenty seven

୨୧┇Chapter twenty eight

୨୧┇Chapter twenty nine

୨୧┇Chapter thirty

୨୧┇Chapter thirty one FINAL!!

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ Antinous and Y/N sibling stuff:

Talking about their relationship/past

Scenarios from when they were younger

More scenarios from when they’re younger but antinous is shittier

Reader is injured

Antinous being a shitty brother (and character designs)

Antinous walks in on his sister smooching Tele

Antinous dying during hold them down

Reader having a breakdown during chapter 19

Chapter 20 scenario that anti talked about

A brother’s plea

Readers dead

Kid reader is drunk

Emotional manipulation.

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ Extra:

Ithaca saga scenario

Ithaca saga scenario pt2

Bad ending (not cannon)

The cast as cats

Reader is dead again

Eurymachus’s first time meeting reader

Early palace scenarios

Reverse au

Younger reader and Tele

Pillows….

Caught in the act

Odyssey!Tele meets reader

More early palace

College au Drabble

How would odyssey!telemachus deal w this

Early palace pt3

Antinous’s bad babysitting

Telemachus fearing for his life

Early palace pt4

Early palace p5

Odyssues finding out of readers past

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ SEQUEL

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ COMMENT TO BE ON TAGLIST

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast @dorkyfangirl24

[solarache]

𐙚 ⋮ Aphrodites gamble sequel ꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇ the amount of trigger warnings the sequel will have is too much to put on here, I’ll do it later. BUT basically, this sequel is basically the plot of the Trojan war but instead of mene and Helen, it’s Tele and pandora/y/n. This sequel doesn’t “need” to be read, so remember you can always click off if you feel uncomfortable.

୨୧┇TW: implied sa, physical abuse, violent language, suggestive jokes, sexual threats, physical threats, description of gore and dead bodies, branding, pregnancy, ptsd attacks, Raphael is a warning.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

╰─ ♡ Main series:

୨୧┇Chapter one

୨୧┇Chapter two

୨୧┇Chapter three

୨୧┇Chapter four

୨୧┇Chapter five

୨୧┇Chapter six

୨୧┇Chapter seven

୨୧┇Chapter eight

୨୧┇Chapter nine

୨୧┇Chapter ten

୨୧┇Chapter eleven

୨୧┇Chapter twelve

୨୧┇Chapter thirteen

୨୧┇Chapter fourteen

୨୧┇Chapter fifteen

୨୧┇Chapter sixteen

୨୧┇Chapter seventeen

୨୧┇Chapter eighteen

୨୧┇Chapter nineteen

୨୧┇Chapter twenty

୨୧┇Chapter twenty one

୨୧┇Chapter twenty two

୨୧┇Chapter twenty three

୨୧┇Chapter twenty four

୨୧┇Chapter twenty five

୨୧┇Chapter twenty six

୨୧┇Chapter twenty seven

୨୧┇Chapter twenty eight

୨୧┇Chapter twenty nine

୨୧┇Chapter thirty

୨୧┇Chapter thirty one

୨୧┇Chapter thirty two

୨୧┇Chapter thirty three

୨୧┇Chapter thirty four

୨୧┇Chapter thirty five

୨୧┇Chapter thirty six

୨୧┇Chapter thirty seven

୨୧┇Chapter thirty eight

୨୧┇Chapter thirty nine

୨୧┇Chapter forty

୨୧┇Chapter forty one

୨୧┇Chapter forty two

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

╰─ ♡ extra:

The crew as cats pt2

Post-war scenario 1

Post-war scenario 2

[solarache]

Finally a proper post war scenario, I’m wayy too lazy to change pandoras name to y/n, so take it

——

At first, it had been sweet—endearing, even. He had spent so many years believing she was lost to him, so of course, he wanted to make up for lost time. The occasional arm around her waist, the lingering touches, the stolen kisses—it was expected.

But now? Now it was insufferable.

Telemachus was glued to Pandora’s side. If she so much as shifted away from him, he’d pull her right back. If she spoke to anyone other than him for too long, he’d nuzzle into her neck and hum pointedly, as if to remind everyone whose wife she was. Even at feasts, he insisted on pulling her into his lap rather than letting her sit like a normal person.

It was getting old.

“Telemachus,” Antinous deadpanned as he watched his friend once again pull Pandora into his lap while she was mid-sentence speaking to Penelope. “You do realize she’s not going to vanish into thin air, right?”

“She was taken from me for ten years,” Telemachus retorted, nuzzling into Pandora’s hair with a smug grin. “I’m simply making up for lost time.”

“Making up for lost time my ass,” Eurymachus scoffed. “You’re suffocating her.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Penelope offered kindly, though her smile twitched when she saw the way Pandora subtly tried to pry Telemachus’s arms from around her waist—only for him to tighten his grip.

Cassander, who had been quietly sipping his wine, finally groaned. “If I have to witness one more dramatic display of affection, I swear to the gods, I will personally throw him off.”

“You’d have to pry him off her first,” Druses muttered, watching as Telemachus kissed Pandora’s cheek for what had to be the twentieth time that night.

“Telemachus,” Pandora finally sighed, gently pushing at his chest. “I love you, but for the love of the gods, give me some air.”

Telemachus gasped as if she had personally wounded him. “But, my love—”

“No buts—let me breathe,” she whined, wiggling out of his grip.

Telemachus reluctantly let her go, crossing his arms over his chest like a pouting child. “Fine.”

The table sighed in collective relief. For exactly five seconds. Then, Telemachus scooted closer again, resting his chin on Pandora’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

Everyone groaned. “Ten years!” Telemachus defended. “I was without her for ten years!”

Antinous pinched the bridge of his nose. “By the gods, someone just kill me already.”

——-

The halls of the palace echoed with the sound of footsteps and hushed conversations, but within the chamber where Pandora and Telemachus stood, tension crackled like a brewing storm. Adonis stood rigid, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tight with frustration. He had been stewing in silence for days, watching his mother settle back into Ithaca, watching Telemachus act as if he belonged in their lives, as if he could just replace Raphael.

And he couldn’t take it anymore. “You expect me to just accept this?” Adonis snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air. His gaze burned into Telemachus. “You act like he was the enemy, like he didn’t raise me, like he wasn’t there when you weren’t!”

Pandora took a step toward him, voice soft, pleading. “Adonis, please, it’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” he shouted. His face twisted with rage and something deeper—grief. “You were his wife, and now you just… what? Pretend like you weren’t? Like you didn’t love him in some way?” His eyes flickered to Telemachus with disgust. “And you. You kill him and then expect me to call you my father? I don’t even know you!”

Telemachus, usually steady in battle and war, hesitated. He didn’t know how to fight this. But before Pandora could say another word, a small voice spoke up. “Papa’s not gone,” Phebie mumbled, her tiny hands gripping the edge of Pandora’s dress. Her wide, innocent eyes looked up at her brother. “He’s coming back.”

Adonis turned to her, his expression darkening, and something inside him snapped. “No, he’s not!” he yelled, his voice thunderous in the quiet room. “Raphael is dead, Phebie! He’s never coming back!” The words hit the little girl like a slap. Her face crumpled, her bottom lip trembling before a wail tore from her throat. She stumbled back, eyes filled with fresh tears as she buried her face in Pandora’s skirts.

Pandora instinctively dropped to her knees, wrapping Phebie in her arms, whispering soothing words despite her own heartbreak. She looked up at Adonis with a mixture of sadness and disappointment. Telemachus, however, stepped forward, his voice low and firm. “That was too far.”

Adonis clenched his jaw, his eyes glassy, his hands shaking. He looked away, his breath ragged. He didn’t mean to hurt her—he just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Without another word, he stormed out of the room, leaving behind the echoes of his anger and the quiet sound of his sister’s sobs.

——

Adonis barely had time to react before a strong hand grabbed his hair and yanked him backward. A sharp cry tore from his throat as he was forced to face Antinous, whose expression was dark with fury. “You little bastard,” Antinous spat, gripping Adonis’s hair tighter as the boy winced. “You think you can scream at my sister? Make my niece cry? You are nothing but a spoiled, ungrateful brat.”

Adonis squirmed, his hands clawing at Antinous’s wrist. “Let me go!” he sobbed, his face burning.

Antinous only yanked harder, bringing his face close to Adonis’s. “If you want to act like a beast, then I’ll treat you like one,” he growled. “Maybe I should drag you outside and leave you there—see how long you last without someone to coddle you. Maybe the wolves would have better use for you than we do.”

Adonis’s breath hitched, panic flashing in his eyes. “No—!” A loud smack rang through the hall as Antinous’s palm cracked against his cheek, snapping Adonis’s head to the side. The boy gasped, stunned, before hot tears started spilling down his face.

“Antinous, stop!”

Telemachus’s voice cut through the tension as he rushed forward, grabbing Antinous’s arm and wrenching it away from Adonis. “That’s enough!”

Antinous turned to glare at him, his chest heaving. “No, it’s not enough! He needs to learn his place!”

“He’s a child!” Telemachus barked. “And he just lost the only father he’s ever known! You think beating him is going to fix that?”

Antinous clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, but his grip loosened as Telemachus stepped between him and Adonis. Adonis hiccupped a sob, his hands trembling as he clutched his stinging cheek. He was too stunned to speak, his whole body frozen with fear and humiliation.

Telemachus turned to him, his voice gentler. “Go to your mother.” Adonis hesitated, his lips trembling, but as soon as Telemachus stepped closer to Antinous again, he bolted, tears blurring his vision as he ran down the hall.

Once he was gone, Telemachus turned back to Antinous, his jaw tight. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Antinous scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re too soft on him.”

Telemachus exhaled sharply. “And you’re too damn angry to think straight.” Antinous didn’t respond. He just shook his head and walked off, leaving Telemachus standing alone, his stomach twisted with unease.

——

Antinous found Phebie sitting alone on the palace steps, her tiny arms curled around her knees. Her soft sniffles were barely audible over the distant chatter of the returning soldiers, but he heard them anyway. He sighed, rolling his shoulders before lowering himself beside her. “What’s with the long face, little one?”

Phebie didn’t look up. She wiped at her damp cheeks with her sleeve and sniffled again. “Adonis said… said my papa is never coming back.” Her voice wavered, small and broken. “He’s gone.”

Antinous exhaled through his nose, leaning forward on his knees. “Yeah,” he said, voice softer than usual. “He is.”

Phebie’s lower lip trembled as she turned her wide, tear-filled eyes to him. “B-but… he was always there,” she whispered. “He carried me, and— and he gave me sweets, and—” She hiccupped. “Now he’s gone, just like that?”

Antinous looked at her—really looked at her. She was so small. Too small to understand what war took from people. He let out a long breath before pulling her onto his lap, letting her tiny body curl up against his chest. At first, she stiffened, but then she relaxed, burying her face into his tunic.

“Sometimes people leave, Phebie,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles on her back. “And it’s not fair, and it hurts like hell. But you still got people here, yeah?” She nodded against him, her tiny fingers clutching his tunic.

“And those people aren’t going anywhere,” he continued, resting his chin atop her head. “Not me, not Pandora, not Telemachus.”

Phebie sniffled again but nodded. Then, in the smallest voice, she asked, “You won’t leave me?”

Antinous stilled for a moment before exhaling and holding her just a little tighter. “…No, little one. I won’t.” For a long while, they just sat there, Phebie tucked safely in his arms, her tears soaking into his tunic. Antinous wasn’t good at this—comforting people, saying the right things. But, he didn’t pull away.

[solarache]

Take this little post war scenario

——

Antinous sat on the palace steps, arms crossed, watching the waves roll in from the shore. His mind was elsewhere—caught between the past and the present—when a sudden tug at his tunic made him glance down. Phebie, her little hands gripping the fabric, had latched onto his tunic with her teeth, gnawing on it absentmindedly like some kind of feral pup.

Antinous raised a brow. “What in the gods’ names are you doing?” Phebie only giggled around the fabric, refusing to let go. For a brief moment, Antinous froze. A memory, long buried, resurfaced—his sister, as a little girl, doing the exact same thing. She had always been attached to him, always clinging, always biting at his tunic whenever she got bored or sleepy. His chest tightened at the thought.

“You’re just like her,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

Phebie blinked up at him, still grinning. “Like who?”

Antinous hesitated, then gently ruffled her hair. “Never mind, brat.” But as she kept gnawing on his tunic, he couldn’t help the small, bittersweet smile that crept onto his lips.

[solarache]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 42 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇FINALLL

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The shores of Ithaca had never felt so distant, yet as the ships finally reached the docks, the weight of their journey settled over them all. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the distant chatter of anxious voices, families waiting with bated breath for the return of their sons, husbands, and fathers.

Telemachus was the first to step off, but he didn’t do so alone. With a gentle yet firm hold, he cradled his wife against his chest, carrying her as though she were something sacred. She had spent too long in a foreign land, had endured too much under the hands of another man. But here, on Ithaca’s soil, she was his again. His wife. His love. weak from exhaustion, clung to him but still lifted her head. The sight before her made her breath hitch—familiar faces, eyes filled with hope and sorrow, waiting for their warriors to return.

Behind them, Antinous stepped onto the docks, an unimpressed look on his face as Adonis squirmed in his arms. The boy whined, kicking his feet as if he could will himself free, but Antinous only held him tighter. “Quit it, brat,” he grumbled. “You’re not running off again.” Adonis, despite himself, sniffled and buried his face in Antinous’s shoulder, too overwhelmed to keep up his usual defiance.

Druses followed, his steps steady as he carried Phebie with ease. The little girl had her tiny fists tangled in his tunic, blinking sleepily as she adjusted to the new sights around her. Druses wasn’t particularly sentimental, but he found himself oddly protective of her, keeping his arms secure even as she yawned into his chest.

The gathered crowd began murmuring, some calling out names, others running forward as they spotted their loved ones. Eurymachus, grinning despite the bruises from battle, stretched his arms wide. “Ithaca, we’re home!” he bellowed, earning cheers from the warriors behind him.

Telemachus ignored the noise, his sole focus on his love. He lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “We made it,” he whispered. She exhaled, closing her eyes as she let herself sink into his warmth. After everything—after all the suffering, the battles, the betrayals—they were finally home.

The moment Penelope laid eyes on her son, she didn’t hesitate. Her feet carried her across the docks faster than they had in years, her breath caught in her throat as tears welled in her eyes. Behind her, Odysseus, the once-mighty warrior, was just as swift, though his steps were heavy with emotions too overwhelming to put into words. “Telemachus!” Penelope sobbed as she reached him, throwing her arms around him and her without a second thought. Her fingers curled into his back, gripping him as if he might disappear again. “My son, my boy… you came back.”

Telemachus barely had time to breathe before he felt his mother’s arms wrap around him. He squeezed her just as tightly, his own throat tightening as he murmured, “I’m home, Mother. I’m home.” Odysseus reached them next, his strong arms encircling them all, his calloused hand cradling the back of Telemachus’s head. For a long moment, no words passed between them—only the raw, quiet sobs of a family reunited.

Y/n, caught in the middle, felt a lump form in her throat. She had not expected this. Not after all the pain. Not after all the time apart. But as Penelope pulled her in, pressing a trembling kiss to her hair, and Odysseus gave her a firm, reassuring squeeze, she felt something break inside her. “You’re safe,” Penelope whispered, voice trembling with relief as she cupped her face. “Oh, my girl, you’re safe.”

She couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. She wasn’t sure if she had ever been held like this before—not since she was a young. The warmth, the love, the fierce protectiveness in their touch—it was enough to unravel everything she had been holding in. She sobbed, clutching onto them, feeling Telemachus’s steady presence at her side, his arms never leaving her. Phebie whimpered softly from Druses’s arms, while Adonis, despite everything, stared at the scene with wide, uncertain eyes.

For the first time in years, she felt like she truly belonged. The joyous reunion at the docks was cut short by a sharp, worried voice ringing over the murmuring crowd.

“Where is Acrisios?”

Lethea pushed her way through the gathering families, her expression frantic as she scanned the returning warriors. Her eyes landed on Telemachus first, who immediately stiffened. His hesitation was brief but noticeable, and it sent a cold dread through her veins. “Where is my husband?” she demanded, her voice trembling now.

Before Telemachus could form the words, a familiar voice—quieter, weaker than she remembered—called out, “I’m here.” The crowd parted slightly, revealing Acrisios stepping forward, his movements slow and careful. A thick bandage was wrapped around his eyes, and at his side, Pisistratus kept a steadying hand on his arm, guiding him gently forward.

Lethea’s breath hitched in her throat. “Acr—” She choked on his name, covering her mouth with her hands.

Acrisios lifted his head slightly, as if searching for her in the darkness that now consumed him. “Lethea.”

She rushed toward him, nearly stumbling in her haste, her hands finding his face as she cradled him between her palms. “Oh, gods,” she whispered, her fingers trembling as they traced over the bandages. “Your eyes… Acrisios, what happened?”

He gave her a small, pained smile. “A battlefield is no place for the foolish, my love.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head. “Don’t joke—don’t—” Her voice cracked, and she pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him as if she could protect him from everything that had already happened.

Pisistratus, still supporting Acrisios’s weight, gave a small, grim smile. “He’s still as stubborn as ever, Lethea. You’ll have your hands full keeping him still long enough to heal.”

Lethea let out a shaky laugh between her tears, pressing her forehead against Acrisios’s. “I don’t care how stubborn he is,” she whispered fiercely. “He came back to me.”

Acrisios exhaled, reaching up to gently wipe away one of her tears with his thumb. “Of course I did. I always will.” The docks, which had fallen into a hush at the sight of Acrisios’s condition, now buzzed softly again, murmurs of sorrow and respect passing through the crowd.

But in that moment, Lethea didn’t hear them. She only held her husband, vowing silently to be his eyes in the world that had taken his sight. A small voice, hesitant and curious, cut through the emotional silence.

“Mama… who is that man?”

Lethea inhaled sharply, her grip tightening on Acrisios. She turned her head to see a little girl standing a few steps away, clutching the hem of her chiton. The child had dark curls like her mother, but her eyes—those were Acrisios’s, the same sharp, piercing gaze he once had, now staring up at him with innocent wonder.

Lethea swallowed back her emotions and reached for Acrisios’s hands, carefully guiding them forward. “Come, my love,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “There’s someone you need to meet.” Acrisios furrowed his brow in confusion but allowed himself to be led, his hands outstretched slightly, feeling the air. Callista, still uncertain, pressed closer to her mother.

Lethea knelt beside her daughter, gently taking one of Acrisios’s hands and placing it on Callista’s small shoulder. “This,” Lethea said softly, her voice trembling, “is Callista. Our daughter.”

Acrisios’s breath hitched, his fingers curling slightly as if trying to memorize the shape of the little body before him. “Our… daughter?” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper, thick with emotion.

Callista, unsure at first, looked up at her mother before turning her wide eyes back to the blind man in front of her. “You’re my papa?”

A strangled sound left Acrisios’s throat. He let his hands wander up, brushing over the soft curls atop her head, then down to cup her tiny face. “Yes,” he whispered, a tear slipping from beneath the bandages. “Yes, my little one… I am.”

Callista tilted her head, her small hands reaching up to touch his rough, calloused ones. “Why can’t you see me?” she asked, her voice laced with innocent concern.

Acrisios let out a small, broken chuckle. “Because, my sweet, I had to fight very hard to come home to you.”

Callista seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding solemnly. Then, to everyone’s surprise, she threw her arms around his waist, pressing her face into him. “It’s okay,” she murmured against his chest. “You’re home now.”

Acrisios exhaled shakily, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around his daughter, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. “I am,” he whispered, burying his face into her curls. “I am.”

Lethea, unable to hold back her sobs, knelt beside them, wrapping her arms around both of them, feeling her family whole for the first time.

——

The great hall of the palace was alive with laughter, the scent of roasted meats and honeyed bread filling the air as wine flowed freely. Servants hurried between tables, refilling goblets and laying out more platters of food, while Ithacans, young and old, reveled in the long-awaited return of their warriors.

Antinous was drinking with Eurymachus and Cassander, loudly boasting about their exploits, while Druses sat quietly, sipping at his cup as one of the more rebellious warprizes playfully fed him grapes. Acrisios sat beside Lethea, Callista practically glued to his side, eagerly chattering about everything he had missed in her little life.

Adonis, still slightly bitter, sat beside Antinous, fidgeting with his food while Phebie happily clung to her new favorite person—Antinous himself—occasionally stealing food from his plate, much to the amusement of those watching.

But amidst the celebration, y/n and Telemachus exchanged a knowing glance. This moment—this night of joy—wouldn’t last forever. They needed to talk. With careful discretion, Telemachus leaned over to his parents. “Come,” he murmured lowly, just enough for Odysseus and Penelope to hear. “We need to talk.”

Penelope’s joyful expression faltered slightly. “Now?” she asked, voice hushed.

She gave a small, forced smile, nodding. “It’s important.”

Odysseus, though reluctant to leave the feast, saw the tension in their eyes and nodded. He stood, placing a firm hand on his wife’s back as they followed their children through the winding halls of the palace, away from the noise of the celebration.

Finally, they reached a quiet chamber, where the fire crackled softly, casting shadows across the walls. The moment the door shut, Penelope turned to them, her brows furrowed with concern. “Alright,” she said, crossing her arms. “What is this about?”

Telemachus ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “It’s about… the children.”

Odysseus frowned. “Adonis?”

She hesitated, swallowing hard. “And Phebie.”

At that, both their parents exchanged a glance, the weight of realization settling between them.

Penelope’s eyes softened as she looked at her daughter. “My dear…”

Tears pricked at her eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I need you both to know the truth before anyone else.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Phebie… she’s Raphael’s.”

Silence. Penelope’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Odysseus remained completely still, his expression unreadable. “She’s his child,” Pandora continued, her voice trembling. “And I… I don’t expect you to love her. But she’s mine.”

Penelope took a slow breath, stepping forward to gently take Pandora’s hands. “my love…” she said softly, squeezing them. “She is your child. That is enough for me.”

Her eyes widened, tears threatening to spill. “You—”

Penelope brushed a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear, smiling gently. “She will be raised as Ithacan. That is all that matters.”

Odysseus exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw. “I won’t lie and say it doesn’t sting,” he admitted gruffly, “but she is blood through you. And that makes her ours.”

She let out a shaky breath, nodding as she tried to hold back her tears.

Odysseus then turned to Telemachus. “And Adonis?”

Telemachus sighed, crossing his arms. “He… he won’t accept me,” he admitted, frustration and sorrow laced in his tone. “He refuses to believe that I’m his father. In his mind, Raphael is the only man who raised him.”

Odysseus rubbed at his temples. “Gods.”

Penelope pressed a hand over her mouth, her eyes glistening. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she murmured, shaking her head. “What will we do?”

Telemachus clenched his jaw. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just need you to know, in case things… get worse.”

Odysseus let out a heavy sigh, placing a firm hand on Telemachus’s shoulder. “Then we will show him the truth. With time.”

Penelope nodded, taking her into her embrace. “And until then,” she whispered into her daughter’s hair, “we love them both, as we love you.” Tears finally slipped down her cheeks as she clung to her mother, the weight of the past years slowly beginning to lift.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast @dorkyfangirl24

[solarache]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 41 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇ mostly filler

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Antinous reclined lazily on a pile of furs, his broad chest bare as two of his warprizes sat beside him, doting on him with gentle hands and soft voices. One combed her fingers through his hair, humming a tune he barely paid attention to, while the other traced light patterns along his arm, giggling at whatever nonsense she had just whispered in his ear. He didn’t mind the attention—it was a good distraction, a way to keep his mind from spiraling back to thoughts of his sister and everything that had happened.

Across the room, Eurymachus and Cassander were loudly showing off their own collection of warprizes, each one more enthusiastic than the last. Eurymachus, sprawled over a cushioned bench, had an arm thrown over two women at once, a cup of wine in hand as he smirked at Antinous. “You look comfortable, my friend,” he drawled, sipping lazily. “But I have to say, Cassander and I clearly have better luck. Look at them—” He gestured to the four women hanging off him and Cassander. “I swear, they adore us.”

Cassander, grinning as one of his warprizes pressed a kiss to his cheek, nodded. “I think we just have a certain charm that draws them in. Unlike someone, who only managed to claim two.”

Antinous, who had been lazily enjoying the attention of his own warprizes, opened one eye and scoffed. “The only reason you bastards have so many is because you stole them before I could.”

Cassander let out a bark of laughter, while Eurymachus dramatically placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Ah, come now! Are you saying we cheated you out of more lovers? That hurts, Antinous. Truly, I’m wounded.”

Antinous rolled his eyes, pulling one of his warprizes onto his lap. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Eurymachus.” Antinous just huffed, shaking his head, but he couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. They were all insufferable, but at least, for tonight, he could pretend the weight on his shoulders wasn’t quite so heavy.

——

The crew was deep into their revelry, cups of wine clashing together, boasting about their spoils of war. Eurymachus had an arm draped over one of his many warprizes, smirking as she traced her fingers along his jaw. Cassander, sitting nearby, had two curled against him, his grip possessive as he leaned back, savoring the warmth of his prizes.

Antinous, with his own two attendants beside him, lazily looked over at Druses, who sat alone, swirling a cup of wine without a single woman in sight. He raised a brow, exchanging a glance with Eurymachus before finally speaking.

“Druses,” he drawled, “not enjoying the spoils of war?”

Druses didn’t even look up. “I don’t take warprizes.”

That caught the attention of the entire group. Cassander nearly choked on his drink, while Eurymachus leaned forward with a snort. “You? The one who always brags about wanting a woman to depend on you? You’re telling me you didn’t take a single one?”

Druses shot him a glare, setting his cup down. “I don’t approve of enslaving women.”

A silence settled over the group, save for the crackling of torches and the distant laughter from other corners of the ship. Cassander instinctively pulled his warprizes closer, his hold tightening around them as if someone was going to rip them away. “Tch,” he scoffed. “What, are you saying we’re in the wrong, then?”

Druses exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “I’m saying I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of it. If you lot sleep better at night with women wrapped around you, fine. But don’t expect me to do the same.”

Eurymachus raised his cup in mock surrender. “Gods, Druses, no need to get so high and mighty. We were just asking.”

Cassander muttered something under his breath and looked away, holding his prizes even closer. Antinous just chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against his furs. “Well, that’s a first,” he mused. “Druses, of all people, refusing a woman’s company. What’s next? Eurymachus taking a vow of celibacy?”

Eurymachus scowled. “Blasphemy.” The tension dissolved into drunken laughter, but Druses remained quiet, simply taking another sip of wine, staring out into the sea.

——-

The ship rocked gently against the waves, the air thick with the scent of salt and spiced wine. Druses sat at the edge of the deck, leaning against the railing with his cup half-full, staring out at the open sea. He had been keeping to himself for most of the evening, away from the drunken revelry of the others. That was until one of Eurymachus’s warprizes—a sharp-eyed woman with an air of quiet intelligence—approached him.

“You don’t talk much,” she said, sitting gracefully beside him, her hands folded in her lap.

Druses glanced at her and smirked. “Not when I don’t have anything to say.”

She hummed, tilting her head. “And yet, I hear you talk plenty when you argue with the others.”

That made him chuckle. “That’s because they’re all idiots.”

She smiled at that, a small, knowing smile, and the two of them fell into an easy conversation. She wasn’t giggling mindlessly or vying for attention. She was calm, observant, and had a sharp wit that Druses found surprisingly refreshing. He even found himself enjoying her company—until a familiar voice cut through the moment.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Eurymachus stormed over, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen, replaced with an ugly scowl. His eyes were fixed on his warprize, dark with possessiveness. “I own you, and you’re over here chatting with him?”

The woman’s expression hardened, but before she could speak, Druses sighed and stood up, stretching as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Calm down, Eurymachus. We were just talking.”

“Like hell you were,” Eurymachus snapped, grabbing the woman’s arm. “You belong to me.”

Druses’ expression turned cold in an instant. Before Eurymachus could react, Druses grabbed him by the back of his tunic and, with one swift movement, launched him over the railing. There was a loud splash.

The woman blinked. “…Huh.”

Druses sat back down, completely unfazed, sipping his wine like nothing had happened. “Where were we?”

She stared at him for a moment before letting out an amused breath, shaking her head. “You’re an odd one.”

He smirked. “So they tell me.”

Meanwhile, Eurymachus’s sputtering curses echoed from below as he struggled to climb back up onto the ship.

——

Eurymachus sat on the deck, arms crossed, scowling as he watched Druses lounge with his warprize. The woman—who should have been doting on him—was now completely focused on Druses, brushing her fingers through his hair as he lazily reclined against a pile of cushions. Every so often, she plucked a grape from a bowl and popped it into his mouth, her expression serene. Druses, for his part, looked utterly content, not even bothering to acknowledge Eurymachus’s burning glare.

Cassander nudged Eurymachus with a smirk. “You gonna do something about that, or are you just gonna sit there pouting like a child?”

Eurymachus let out an annoyed huff and pushed himself to his feet, storming over to where Druses was being shamelessly pampered. “Oi.”

Druses cracked one eye open, looking up at him with the laziest smirk. “Oh? You’re still mad?”

“Damn right I’m mad,” Eurymachus snapped. “That’s my warprize.”

Druses let out an exaggerated sigh and lazily stretched his arms. “I didn’t take her, Eurymachus. She came to me.” He gave the woman a smug glance. “Isn’t that right?”

She didn’t even look up as she ran her fingers through his hair again. “Mhm.”

Eurymachus’s eye twitched. “That’s not the point!”

Druses just smirked wider. “Sure it is. It’s not stealing if she came willingly.”

Cassander, who had come up behind Eurymachus to enjoy the show, let out a bark of laughter. “He’s got you there, mate.”

Eurymachus clenched his fists. “You—”

Before he could finish, the woman picked up another grape and placed it between Druses’s lips. Druses held eye contact with Eurymachus as he bit down, chewed, and swallowed with an infuriatingly satisfied look.

“Mm. Delicious.”

——

Antinous sat on a crate near the ship’s railing, arms folded as he watched the waves roll in the distance. Druses sat beside him, chewing idly on a piece of dried fruit. Their warprizes were gathered a short distance away, sharing a small picnic spread—laughing, gossiping, and enjoying a rare moment of peace.

Antinous didn’t speak for a while, his usual arrogance dimmed, replaced by something more brooding. Druses glanced at him, waiting. Eventually, Antinous sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“It’s been bothering me,” he muttered.

Druses raised an eyebrow. “What has?”

Antinous exhaled sharply. “Phebie.”

Druses stilled, watching him more closely.

Antinous ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do with her.” His voice was quieter than usual, more vulnerable. “She’s his...”

Druses leaned back against the railing, studying Antinous’s face. “She’s also your sister’s,” he pointed out.

Antinous clenched his jaw. “Doesn’t make it easier.”

Druses tilted his head slightly, considering. “You don’t blame her, do you?”

Antinous was silent for a moment. “No. But that doesn’t change the fact that every time I look at that kid, I see him.” His fists tightened. “The man who took my sister. Who defiled her. And yet…” He hesitated. “She’s still just a kid.”

Druses nodded slowly, glancing over at the group of women. “You ever actually sat with her? Talked to her?”

Antinous scoffed. “What would I even say?”

Druses smirked slightly. “Maybe start with something that isn’t ‘I hate your father.’”

Antinous groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t know if I can, Druses.”

Druses shrugged. “Then don’t. Not yet.” He looked out toward the water. “But sooner or later, you’re gonna have to decide what she is to you. Because to her? She’s everything.”

Antinous didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced toward the warprizes, watching as they giggled and shared food, their light chatter floating through the air. One of them playfully swatted another’s arm, and Druses’s prize fed him a piece of fruit without even looking at him.

Antinous exhaled. “Damn it.”

Druses grinned, popping another piece of fruit into his mouth. “That’s the spirit.”

——

Phebie waddled onto the deck, her small feet barely making a sound against the worn wooden planks. The salty breeze tousled her curls as she clutched a piece of bread in her tiny hands, nibbling on it absentmindedly.

The moment she stepped into view, the crew fell silent. Conversations died mid-sentence, laughter cut short. Even Eurymachus, who had been boasting about his latest conquests, shut his mouth with a tight-lipped frown.

Phebie blinked, glancing around at the sea of unfamiliar stares. The men weren’t glaring at her—no, it wasn’t outright hostility—but there was something… uneasy in their silence.

Druses cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. Cassander avoided looking directly at her. Antinous, sitting with his arms crossed, clenched his jaw and turned his head away. Even Telemachus, standing near the mast, stiffened.

No one knew what to say.

She was his.

The enemy’s.

The man they despised. Phebie, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air, took another bite of her bread and started walking toward the edge of the ship, her attention caught by the waves. The only sound was the creaking of the ship and the distant cry of seagulls. Then, unexpectedly, she tripped. A sharp gasp left her lips as she tumbled forward, her bread rolling across the deck.

For a second, no one moved. Then, Telemachus was there. He stepped forward instinctively, catching her before she hit the wood. His large hands steadied her, and when she looked up at him with wide, watery eyes, his chest tightened.

She sniffled. “Careful,” he murmured, setting her upright.

Phebie wiped at her face, then stared at him, tilting her head. “You’re warm.”

The entire crew was still watching. Antinous had tensed even more, his knuckles white. Eurymachus looked like he wanted to say something but bit his tongue. Phebie, completely unaware of the weight of her presence, simply leaned into Telemachus’s leg.

——-

Antinous had always been Pandora’s older brother, her protector, her shield. But as he held her now, something inside him shifted. She felt so small in his arms—fragile in a way he had never allowed himself to acknowledge before. She had always been fiery, stubborn, a force of nature. Yet now, as she clung to him, her breathing uneven, her fingers curling into his tunic like a lost child, he realized how much had been taken from her.

Slowly, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, adjusting his hold on her. His arms encircled her fully, pulling her into his lap the way a father would cradle his daughter after a nightmare. He pressed his chin lightly against the top of her head, rocking her ever so slightly, his fingers smoothing down her tangled hair.

“It’s over now,” he murmured, his voice softer than it had ever been. “You’re safe.” She didn’t answer at first. She just burrowed deeper into his chest, her body curling into his.

“I don’t feel safe,” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Antinous tightened his hold, the same way he had when she was little—when their mother had ignored her cries, when the room had been too cold, when she had felt small and unseen.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice steady, unwavering. “No one’s going to hurt you ever again.”

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast @dorkyfangirl24

[solarache]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 38 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇they’re so sweet, it sickens me

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

She sat frozen on the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around Phebie’s small frame. The little girl nestled against her, unaware of the tension in her mother’s body, the way her fingers trembled as they clutched at the fabric of her chiton. Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision. She bit down on her lip, trying to hold them back, but it was useless.

Antinous’ reaction still rang in her head. The disgust in his voice. The anger in his eyes. She had expected it—of course she had expected it—but it still hurt. It still twisted inside her like a dagger, cutting deep into wounds she hadn’t even realized were still open. A shaky breath left her lips, and before she could stop herself, a quiet sob escaped.

Phebie stirred in her arms, letting out a soft whimper, and she immediately loosened her grip, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay, little one,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she was speaking to Phebie or to herself.

The door creaked open. She flinched, instinctively curling protectively around Phebie. But when she looked up, it wasn’t Antinous.

It was Telemachus.

The moment he saw her face—her red-rimmed eyes, the tear tracks staining her cheeks, the way she was clutching Phebie as if the girl were the only thing keeping her together—he moved. Without hesitation, he strode across the room and knelt beside her, his hands gently cupping her face. “Love..,” he breathed, his voice filled with concern.

At the sound of her name, her composure shattered. A sob wracked through her chest, and she collapsed into him. Telemachus caught her easily, his strong arms wrapping around her and Phebie, holding them both against him. One hand cradled the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

She clung to him, her hands fisting the fabric of his tunic. The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the way he held her so carefully—it all made something inside her crack open. She had spent so long feeling trapped. Feeling like she had to be strong—for herself, for Phebie, for Adonis.

But here, in Telemachus’ arms, she didn’t have to be strong. She could just be. Another sob escaped her, and Telemachus only held her tighter, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against her back. Phebie whimpered between them, shifting restlessly, and Telemachus leaned back just enough to glance down at the child. His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Instead, he pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “You’re home.” She closed her eyes, her tears still falling, but for the first time in years, she let herself believe it. She clung to Telemachus, burying herself in his embrace as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. His warmth, his strength—it was overwhelming after so many years of emptiness.

Telemachus held her just as tightly, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. His breath was steady against her hair, a silent reassurance. But then, as he shifted slightly, his gaze fell upon Phebie nestled between them. His hold on her softened just enough for him to gently pull back, just enough to look at her face. He reached up, brushing his thumb against the tear tracks on her cheek.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice hesitant. “Who… who is the child?”

She stiffened. Her breath hitched, and her entire body tensed. Telemachus was looking at her, waiting for an answer, but the words refused to come. She could feel his curiosity—the way his gaze flickered between her and the little girl still curled up in her arms. He wasn’t asking out of anger. Not yet.

But he was waiting.

And she—she couldn’t say it.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as fresh tears welled up. Her grip on Phebie tightened, as if somehow shielding the child would make the truth disappear. But it wouldn’t.

“Y/n,” Telemachus tried again, softer this time. He reached up, tilting her chin just slightly, trying to meet her gaze. “Tell me.” A choked sob escaped her lips. And that was all it took. Her entire body trembled as she broke down, shaking her head over and over again. “I—I can’t,” she whispered between gasps, her voice raw with emotion. “I can’t, Telemachus—please don’t make me say it.”

Telemachus’ expression flickered with something unreadable—realization, hesitation, pain. His arms tightened around her again, as if trying to shield her from whatever storm was raging inside her.

His jaw clenched. “Dear,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. But she only sobbed harder, pressing her forehead against his chest, her tears soaking into the fabric of his tunic. And for the first time in years, she felt truly helpless.

Telemachus held her close, his mind racing as she trembled in his arms. Her refusal to speak, the way she clung to the child as if shielding her from the truth—it all clicked into place like a blade sinking deep into his gut.

His breath hitched. His arms, once so steady, tensed around her. His fingers curled slightly against her back as he slowly, slowly, pulled away just enough to look down at the child nestled between them.

The little girl—so small, so fragile—her soft curls and delicate features…

His stomach twisted.

His throat tightened.

“My love,” his voice was quieter now, but the weight behind it was crushing. “She’s… his, isn’t she?” She flinched. Her breathing grew unsteady, and though she didn’t say anything, the way her grip tightened around Phebie told him everything he needed to know.

Telemachus inhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening so hard it ached. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—he just stared at her, at the child, at the undeniable truth in front of him. Raphael’s child.

his wife, had borne the child of that man. A sickening wave of nausea rolled through him, fury and grief twisting together in a way that made his hands shake. He wanted to deny it, wanted to demand an answer, to tell her she was wrong, that this wasn’t possible—but it was.

The scars on her arms.

The years stolen from them.

The way she had hesitated to answer.

He had fought so hard to bring her back, to save her—only to find that a piece of Raphael still lived on in the form of this child. Telemachus’ breath came sharp and uneven, his heart pounding. He wanted to be furious, to feel the full weight of betrayal—but he couldn’t.

Because when he looked at his wife, he didn’t see a traitor. He saw a woman who had been trapped. Broken. He saw a woman who had suffered for years. And now—now she sat before him, clutching a child that was never meant to exist, sobbing into his chest like the world was caving in around her.

Telemachus exhaled, slow and shaky, pressing his forehead against hers. His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“…lover.”

She didn’t respond—just sobbed harder, her body shaking so violently it hurt to watch. And in that moment, Telemachus made his choice. He would not blame her. He would not take his rage out on her. He would take it out on the man who had done this to her.

Pandora clung to Telemachus, her sobs wracking her frame, her fingers twisting into his chiton as if he might disappear if she let go. She couldn’t look at him—not after everything, not after the truth was laid bare between them like a gaping wound. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Telemachus remained silent, his arms wrapped around her trembling form, his breath shallow as he tried to keep himself steady. She squeezed her eyes shut, her nails digging into his back. “I—” Her voice cracked. “I was unfaithful to you.”

Telemachus stiffened.

Her breathing grew more erratic, her body curling inward, as if trying to make herself as small as possible. “I—” She swallowed hard, guilt suffocating her, pressing into her ribs like a dagger. “I let another man touch me—I let him touch me, and I—” She broke down, her entire body shaking as she gasped between her sobs.

“I’m a whore.”

The word tasted vile on her tongue, but she spat it out anyway, as if she needed to punish herself, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it less unbearable. Telemachus pulled back slightly, his hands coming up to frame her tear-streaked face. “Love.”

She kept her gaze down, refusing to meet his eyes. “You should hate me,” she whispered. “You should despise me.” Telemachus inhaled sharply, his grip tightening just a fraction.

“Look at me.”

She didn’t. He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice barely above a breath. “Please, look at me.” Hesitantly, her swollen, red-rimmed eyes flickered up to meet his, and what she saw there made her breath hitch.

There was no hatred.

No disgust.

Only a deep, aching sorrow.

“This wasn’t your fault,” he murmured. “None of it was your fault.”

She shook her head violently, her hands weakly pushing against his chest. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand everything,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “I know what he did to you. I know what he made you.”

She flinched at that. Telemachus exhaled, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “You are not unfaithful,” he said softly. “You are not a whore.” His voice hardened slightly. “You are a woman who was taken—who was trapped. Who had no choice.”

Her lip trembled. “But I—”

He cut her off by pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before whispering, “You were always mine, love. No matter what he did, you were always mine.”

That was what broke her. A sharp sob tore from her throat as she collapsed into his embrace, clutching onto him with everything she had left. Telemachus held her, rocking her gently as she wept.

And though the pain of what had been done still festered in his chest, he would bear it for her. Because no matter what had happened—

She was his wife.

And he would never let her go again. Pandora’s sobs had quieted to trembling breaths, her face buried against Telemachus’ chest, her fingers still clinging to his chiton like a lifeline. The room was dimly lit, the only sounds between them the faint rustling of fabric and the occasional hiccup of breath from her tear-wracked body.

She shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at him, her swollen eyes filled with something fragile—fear, uncertainty, hope. Her hands trembled as she brushed Phebie’s curls, the little girl nestled safely between them, fast asleep despite the turmoil around her.

“Telemachus…” Her voice was soft, hesitant. He hummed in response, his hand gently smoothing over her hair, his touch grounding.

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening. “Will you love her?” Telemachus stiffened, just for a moment. She noticed. She always noticed. Her fingers gripped the fabric of his tunic tighter, as if bracing herself. “She’s not yours,” she whispered. “She’s his.”

She saw the flicker in his eyes—the conflict, the unspoken anger beneath the surface. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t lash out. Instead, Telemachus looked down at the sleeping child between them, at the delicate features that were too much like Raphael’s, yet softened by his wife’s own. She was small. Innocent.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers ghosting over the girl’s curls before shifting back to his lover’s tear-streaked face. He saw the way she held her breath, the way she feared his answer. And gods, despite everything—despite the pain, despite the betrayal that wasn’t even hers to bear—he still loved her.

Telemachus cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the lingering tears. “She’s yours,” he murmured. “And that’s enough.”

Her breath hitched, her grip on him tightening. “Even though she’s his?”

Telemachus hesitated, just for a second, before nodding. “Even then.” A choked sob escaped her, and she buried herself in his chest again, holding onto him as if she might break apart.

Telemachus kissed the top of her head, his arms wrapping around both her and the sleeping child. “I don’t know how to be a father to her,” he admitted quietly. “But I’ll try.”

She trembled against him, and for the first time in years, she felt something close to relief.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast

[solarache]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 37 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇Antinous cries in this chapter and Raphael gets stepped on

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Telemachus adjusted her in his arms, his grip firm but careful, while Phebie nestled between them, clutching onto her mother’s chiton with small, tired hands. Behind him, Eurymachus hauled Adonis up over his shoulder with far less care, rolling his eyes at the boy’s dead weight. The battlefield was still alight with the remnants of war—scattered bodies, the dying groans of the fallen, and the distant clang of metal upon metal. But it was ending. The Greeks had won.

As they approached the palace steps, Telemachus’ sharp eyes caught movement among the corpses. His grip on her instinctively tightened as his gaze locked onto the bloodied, broken figure struggling to crawl forward.

Raphael.

The once-mighty man lay in a crumpled heap, his lavish armor dented and soaked in crimson. His face—usually so composed, so smug—was now contorted in pain and desperation. His arms shook as he tried to drag himself across the cold stone, his breaths shallow and ragged. And yet, despite it all, his eyes still burned with something fierce. But it wasn’t rage.

It was longing.

“Y/n…” Raphael rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, louder, more desperate— “y/n!”

She flinched. Telemachus didn’t miss it. Raphael reached out, his trembling hand stretching toward her as his body refused to obey him. His lips quivered, his face twisted with something far more vulnerable than fear.

“My love… please,” he begged, voice cracking. “Help me.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Phebie stirred against her chest, but she barely noticed. Telemachus, however, was watching her closely She wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking—but the hesitation in her eyes was there.

A flicker of something—pity, attachment, confusion—buried deep beneath her exhaustion. And that was enough to make his blood boil Without a word, Telemachus shifted her and Phebie to one arm, then stepped forward. His boot came down hard on Raphael’s already wounded chest, shoving him back down into the filth-stained ground.

A wet gasp tore from Raphael’s throat, his body convulsing beneath the weight of Telemachus’ foot. Pandora sucked in a sharp breath. But she didn’t say anything. Raphael coughed violently, blood spilling from his lips as he tried to claw at Telemachus’ leg, but his strength was failing. His breaths came in short, wheezing bursts, and yet his eyes never left his “wife”.

“You… love me,” he choked out, trying—failing—to reach her. “You… love me…”

Her fingers twitched. Telemachus pressed down harder, his expression cold and unyielding. “You took her from me,” he said evenly, his voice void of emotion. “You carved your name into her. You stole her from her family, from her life—” His jaw clenched, his next words laced with venom. “You think she loves you?”

Raphael coughed again, his fingers barely grasping at the dirt now. Pandora turned her head away. Telemachus didn’t know if it was because she couldn’t bear to watch Raphael suffer—or because she couldn’t bear to face her own feelings.

It didn’t matter. Because soon enough, Raphael wouldn’t be able to speak at all.

——

The ship rocked gently against the waves, the sounds of the sea a stark contrast to the chaos they had left behind. The Greeks had finally begun their journey home, the scent of salt and wood filling the air as the crew settled into their own tasks and thoughts.

She lay curled on the small cot in one of the ship’s rooms, the exhaustion weighing down on her like an anchor. Phebie was already asleep beside her, her tiny fingers still clutching onto her mother’s chiton. Adonis was being kept elsewhere, under close watch. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she allowed herself to breathe.

And then the door slammed open. Before she could even react, a heavy presence filled the room, and in the next moment, strong arms wrapped tightly around her, nearly crushing her against a broad chest.

“Sister.”

Antinous’ voice was rough, raw, filled with something she had never heard from him before.

He was shaking.

Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, holding her impossibly closer. “Gods, I’m so sorry.” Her fingers curled into his tunic, her heart pounding against her ribs. “I—” His voice cracked. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped them—I should’ve protected you.”

She had never seen him like this before. Antinous, her strong, unshakable older brother—the man who never bowed, never faltered, never cried—was trembling in her arms.

His breath was uneven against her hair, and when she turned her head slightly, she saw it—his face buried into her shoulder, his body stiff yet fragile, and—

A tear.

A single tear slipping down his cheek.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She had spent her entire life looking up to him, teasing him, clinging to him. He had always been her shield, her guardian, the one person she believed was untouchable.

But now? Now, as he clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded, she realized the truth. He had been terrified. For her.

For the sister he thought he had lost.

Her throat tightened, and for the first time since she had been taken, the weight in her chest began to crack. “…I’m here,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I’m here, Antinous.” His grip only tightened. And in that small, fleeting moment, she felt something she had nearly forgotten.

Safe.

Antinous didn’t let go. Even as she melted into his embrace, even as his body shook against hers, his grip remained ironclad—like if he let go, she would disappear all over again. His hand, rough and calloused from years of battle, raked gently through her hair, just as it had when they were children. Back then, she would crawl into his bed whenever the storms were too loud, curling up beside him as he absentmindedly played with her curls until she fell asleep.

Now, he held her the same way, but there was no warmth in his touch—only desperation. “I should’ve come for you sooner,” he murmured, voice raw. “I wanted to. Gods, I—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in her hair, his grip tightening. “I tried. I tried. But I failed you.”

His voice cracked on the last words. She froze, fingers twitching against his back. Failed. That wasn’t true. He hadn’t failed her. She knew that—of course she knew that. But the way his body trembled, the way his breath came out unsteady, told her that nothing she said would make him believe otherwise.

So she didn’t speak.She just held him, her arms wrapping around his broad frame, pressing herself against the only family she had ever truly trusted. Antinous sucked in a breath. “I—” He clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into her hair. “I thought you were gone. I thought—I thought I lost you forever.”

Her chest tightened. She had always known her brother loved her. He had shown it in the little things—the way he always checked on her, the way he always protected her, the way he humored her even when she got under his skin.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

This was grief.

This was guilt.

This was Antinous, her unshakable older brother, breaking because of her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead into his shoulder, feeling his warmth, his strength, the weight of his pain. “You didn’t fail me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Antinous let out a shaky breath, but he didn’t answer.

Instead, he just held her tighter, as if holding her now could somehow make up for all the nights she had been gone. Antinous pulled away just enough to look at her, his brows furrowed. His eyes, still wet from unshed tears, searched her face. “Y/n,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Who—who was that second kid? The little girl.”

Pandora stiffened. She had been waiting for this question. Dreading it. Slowly, she sat up, her arms tightening protectively around herself. “She’s… she’s Raphael’s.”

Silence.

Antinous didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe. Then, without warning, he stood up so fast that the chair he had been sitting on scraped harshly against the wooden floor. His jaw clenched, his fists shaking at his sides. She barely had time to flinch before he grabbed the nearest object—a silver drinking cup—and hurled it across the room.

The cup slammed against the wooden wall with a loud crash, denting before it clattered to the floor. Her breath hitched, and she instinctively shrank back. Antinous turned to her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His face twisted with pure, unfiltered rage.

“He defiled you,” he spat, voice shaking. “That bastard—he—” His hands clenched into fists. “And now—now there’s a child—”

Pandora swallowed hard, gripping the sheets beneath her. “Antinous—”

“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. He raked a hand through his hair, his breath coming in ragged pants. “That bastard took you—stole you—and now you have his child?” He turned away from her, pacing like a caged beast. His entire body radiated fury, barely contained, ready to explode at any second.

“I’ll kill him,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I should have killed him. Should’ve put my blade through his throat the second I saw him.”

She winced, looking down. She had known he would react like this. Had expected it. But even so, hearing it aloud—seeing his anger, his disgust, his rage—made her stomach twist painfully. “She’s just a baby,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Antinous stopped pacing. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a sharp breath. Then, slowly, he turned back to her. His expression was unreadable. His fury was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. But there was something else now—something she couldn’t quite name. His eyes flickered to her arms, where she had unknowingly clutched herself in a protective manner. Then back to her face.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, in a much softer voice, he asked, “Do you love her?”

She hesitated.

She thought about Phebie’s small hands gripping her chiton, her big, curious eyes watching her every move, the way she would curl up beside her when she had nightmares. She thought about all the times she had tried not to love her, not to get attached. But she had failed.

“…She’s mine,” Pandora finally whispered. Antinous’ jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over his face. Then, without another word, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast

[solarache]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 36 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇REUNION CHAPTER!!

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The battle raged around them, but for Telemachus and Raphael, the world had narrowed to just the two of them. Swords clashed in a violent symphony, sparks flying with every brutal strike. Telemachus was relentless, his rage fueling his every move, years of grief, anger, and desperation unleashed in a flurry of savage blows. Raphael, usually composed, was on the defensive, barely able to parry against the sheer force behind Telemachus’ attacks.

“You stole my wife,” Telemachus growled, swinging his blade in a vicious arc. Raphael barely dodged in time, staggering back.

“You abandoned her,” Raphael snapped, countering with a sharp thrust. Telemachus knocked it aside with ease, his next strike sending Raphael crashing against a pillar. Blood dripped from his lip, but he still managed to smirk. “You left her, and I picked up the pieces. She’s mine now, Telemachus. You lost.”

Telemachus saw red.

With a snarl, he lunged, slamming Raphael to the ground, his knee pressing into the man’s chest. His sword hovered inches from Raphael’s throat, the tip biting into his skin just enough to draw blood. Raphael gritted his teeth, trying to push him off, but Telemachus was stronger. He pressed down harder, watching as Raphael struggled beneath him.

It would be so easy to end it.

One final push. One final strike.

And yet—y/n.

Her name surged through his mind like a firebrand, her face flashing before him. She was here, somewhere in this damned palace, waiting—maybe hoping—praying that he would come for her.

His grip faltered. Raphael choked out a laugh, sensing the hesitation. “Go ahead,” he rasped, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “Kill me. But you’re too late, Telemachus. You’ll always be too late.” Telemachus’ breath came fast and ragged. He should have done it. He should have slit Raphael’s throat right there and then, watched the life drain from his arrogant eyes.

Instead, he let go. He pushed off, leaving Raphael coughing and bleeding on the marble floor, too wounded to stand.

There was no time.

Y/n.

Telemachus turned and ran.

——-

She sat curled on the floor of her chamber, her arms wrapped tightly around Phebie, who sobbed into her chest. The little girl trembled, clutching onto her mother’s chiton with tiny, desperate fingers. The room was dimly lit by the flickering oil lamp, casting long shadows across the walls as the distant echoes of battle rang through the palace.

Pandora’s mind was spinning. Where was Adonis? She had seen him earlier with his father, but then the chaos erupted, and now—now she didn’t know. Her heart clenched with panic, her throat tightening as she rocked Phebie gently, trying to soothe her cries while struggling to suppress her own. Then she heard it—heavy footsteps approaching the chamber.

Her breath hitched.

The door creaked open. A tall figure loomed in the doorway, clad in bronze armor, his helmet casting a shadow over his face. The lamplight reflected off the smooth metal, making him appear almost otherworldly.

Her body locked up. She tightened her hold on Phebie, pressing the child protectively against her chest as terror consumed her. “Please,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please, spare us.” The armored figure froze.For a moment, there was only silence. Then, slowly, he reached up and removed his helmet. Dark curls tumbled free. Sharp, familiar features were illuminated by the dim glow of the lamp. Her breath caught in her throat.

It was him.

Telemachus.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, her grip on Phebie slackening for just a moment. Telemachus stood before her, battle-worn and weary, but undeniably real. His face was lined with something raw—something broken. He had heard her plea. He had seen the fear in her eyes. And it shattered him.

Telemachus took a slow step forward, then another, before lowering himself onto one knee before her. His movements were careful, deliberate—like approaching a wounded animal that might bolt at any sudden motion. His eyes, dark with emotion, softened as he took in the sight of her: trembling, clutching Phebie as if she were her last tether to reality, her cheeks streaked with silent tears.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. She flinched slightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He could see it—she was terrified, not of him, but of what he represented. She had spent years trapped in another man’s world, another man’s arms, and now, as she stared at Telemachus, she looked as if she couldn’t tell if she were dreaming or waking into another nightmare.

Gently, so gently, he reached out, his fingers ghosting over her arm before finally making contact. She tensed under his touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his thumb brush over her skin, slow and warm, as if to remind her that he was real—that he was here.

“It’s me,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “I’m here, y/n. I found you.” Her lower lip quivered. More tears welled up, slipping down her cheeks in silent streams. She shook her head as if denying it, as if trying to reject the hope that threatened to bloom in her chest. Telemachus moved closer, wrapping an arm around her, guiding her into his embrace. She didn’t resist. She collapsed into him, her body wracked with quiet sobs as she buried her face into the curve of his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. His lips pressed against the crown of her head, then her temple, then her tear streaked cheek. He kissed her with aching tenderness, his fingers stroking through her tangled hair, whispering reassurances that he wasn’t going to let her go again.

She wept into him, gripping onto him with desperate fingers, clinging to the warmth, the familiarity, the safety. For the first time in years, she wasn’t alone. She burrowed into Telemachus’ neck, her fingers clutching the fabric of his armor as though he might disappear if she let go. His warmth surrounded her, grounding her in a way she hadn’t felt in years. The scent of him—salt, sweat, and battle—was familiar, painfully so. It brought back memories of long-forgotten safety, of nights spent in his arms before the world tore them apart.

Telemachus held her just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other resting carefully against her back. But even as relief flooded through him at having her in his arms again, a dreadful thought gnawed at the edge of his mind. He pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a few strands of hair from her tear-streaked face. His brow furrowed as his gaze flickered down to the small child she was clutching protectively. A little girl. Small, fragile, with dark curls and wide, frightened eyes.

His stomach twisted.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and cautious, “where is Adonis?” She stiffened against him, her breath hitching. Her grip on Phebie tightened.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered. It wasn’t a lie—she truly didn’t know where Raphael had taken him in the chaos. But the weight of guilt settled heavily in her chest. She should have fought harder to find him, to keep him by her side. Telemachus’ jaw clenched, his fingers pressing gently into her arms as if searching for the truth in her trembling form.

“And…” He hesitated, glancing down at the child in her arms. “Who is this?” She swallowed thickly, her arms instinctively drawing Phebie closer.

“She’s mine,” she said simply. It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the answer he was asking for, either. Telemachus stared at her for a long moment, searching her face. Searching for something—anything—that would explain why she suddenly looked so much smaller, why she seemed to be holding something back.

But now wasn’t the time. He exhaled sharply, pressing another kiss to her forehead before pulling her tightly to his chest once more. “Then we’ll find Adonis,” he promised, voice firm. “We’ll find him, and I’ll take you both home.”

She swallowed back the lump in her throat, pressing her face into his shoulder. She wished it were that simple.

——

Adonis ran, his breath coming in ragged sobs, his small legs barely keeping up with the chaos that surrounded him. The battlefield was nearly silent now, save for the occasional groan of the dying and the crackling of fires licking at ruined banners. The stench of blood and smoke filled his lungs, but none of it mattered.

His father was dead.

He had seen it. A stranger—faceless in the dim torchlight—had driven a blade straight into Raphael’s side. Adonis had screamed, but no one had stopped. No one had listened. And then his father fell, his body crumpling against the marble steps of the palace. Now, his only thought was finding his mother and Phebie. He sprinted toward the palace, his heart hammering against his ribs. But as he neared the entrance, his breath caught in his throat.

The “man” from before—the one who had taken everything from him—was standing there, holding his mother. His mother, crying and pressed against the stranger’s chest. His little sister, clinging to her. Adonis’ small hands curled into fists. His chest heaved. His vision blurred with a mix of fury and grief. His father was gone, and now this man—this invader—was taking his mother and sister, too.

No.

His eyes darted to the ground, to the bodies of the fallen, to the discarded weapons scattered around. His hands grasped the hilt of a heavy sword, the metal slick with blood, and he lifted it with all the strength his small frame could muster. “Let them go!” he shouted, his voice cracking from the rawness of his throat. His entire body trembled, but he held the blade aloft, his stance wild and desperate.

The moment the words left his mouth, Telemachus’ entire body stiffened. That voice. His breath caught, and he slowly turned to face the boy. His heart lurched, his mind barely processing what he was seeing. The boy standing before him, sword in hand, was small but fierce. His dark hair was matted with sweat, his face streaked with dirt and tears. His hands trembled against the weight of the sword, his arms straining to keep it steady.

But his face—Gods, his face.

Telemachus felt his knees weaken. It was his own face staring back at him. Younger, softer, but unmistakable. His son. “Adonis,” Telemachus breathed, barely able to hear himself over the pounding of his own heart.

But the boy didn’t lower his sword. He only glared at him with the fire of a child who had just lost his world. A child who had no idea that the man he was threatening to kill was the father he had never known. Adonis’ grip on the sword tightened, his entire body trembling as he took a step closer, glaring up at Telemachus with pure, unfiltered rage.

“You’re lying!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and raw. “You’re not my father! My father is dead! You killed him!” His small chest heaved with every word, fury and grief tangled together in his eyes. “Let go of my mother and sister! You don’t belong here!”

Telemachus took a careful step forward, hands raised in an attempt to calm him. “Adonis, listen to me—”

“Shut up!” Adonis screamed, lifting the sword again despite the way it wobbled in his grip. “You’re a liar! My father loved us! My father protected us! You’re just some—some monster!” Telemachus’ heart twisted painfully, but before he could say anything, there was a sharp thwack.

Adonis’ body jerked forward slightly, his furious expression slipping into something dazed and confused. His lips parted as if to say something else, but his knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed face first onto the bloodied stone. She gasped loudly, her arms instinctively tightening around Phebie as she took a stumbling step forward. “No!”

Telemachus turned sharply, rage flooding his body. Behind Adonis, standing with a smug, satisfied smirk, was Eurymachus. The handle of his sword—used to strike the boy—rested lazily in his hand as he nudged Adonis’ unconscious body with his foot. “There. Problem solved,” Eurymachus drawled, as if he had just handled a particularly annoying pest rather than an enraged, grieving child. “Gods, I thought he’d never shut up—”

Telemachus was on him in an instant. With a furious snarl, he grabbed Eurymachus by the collar and shoved him back against the nearest wall. The impact rattled the stone, Eurymachus’ cocky expression quickly twisting into one of shock as Telemachus pressed his forearm hard against his throat.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Telemachus growled, his voice shaking with rage.

Eurymachus let out a choked laugh, trying to shove Telemachus off. “Relax,” he coughed. “I just knocked the little brat out. It’s not like I killed him—”

Telemachus slammed him back harder. “Don’t call him that.” His breathing was ragged, his grip tightening as his mind raced. “You hit my son.”

“Oh, now he’s your son?” Eurymachus taunted, still smirking despite the pressure against his windpipe. “You sure he even wants to be?” That nearly made Telemachus snap—but before he could do something he’d regret, a weak voice cut through the tension.

“Stop it,” she whispered.

Telemachus turned his head slightly, still pinning Eurymachus against the wall. She had fallen to her knees beside Adonis, gently brushing the dark curls from his face. He was breathing, his chest rising and falling steadily, but he looked so small lying there, his little hands still twitching as if trying to fight even in unconsciousness.

“Please,” she said again, this time looking up at Telemachus with tired, glassy eyes. “Just… fighting for now.” Telemachus let out a sharp breath, then, with one last glare, released Eurymachus, who let out an exaggerated cough and rubbed his throat.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Eurymachus muttered. “You’re so sensitive.” But Telemachus wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were back on Adonis, on his wife, on the fractured family before him.

And for the first time since this war had begun… he had no idea what to do next.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast