#and when you are helped by someone they tend to ask for something in return

[geeky-politics-46]

NSFW Alphabet

John F. Walker (US Agent)

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is pretty great at aftercare, actually. He will check in with you to make sure you are okay and help clean you up. I think he's the kind of guy who would immediately shift to put himself in the wet spot so you can have the dry comfy spot without even saying a word about it. I also think he is a massive fan of cuddling after sex, even if he doesn't necessarily say it. If you try to get up to get dressed or do anything more than pee, he's immediately trying to pull you back into bed and wrapping himself around you. He likes cuddling with you completely bare against him. Especially once he's really let himself fall for you. He has missed being held and holding someone in return. He didn't even realize how much he missed it, but he did.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I think John has a lot of things he likes about himself. I think he's very proud of his muscles. Even before the serum, he worked really hard for them. I think he likes his eyes. They are what people tend to compliment the most. I think his favorite thing, though, is his smile. He was always smiling in photos before. He sees the posters and pictures of him smiling proudly, and now, whenever he smiles, he tries to channel that confidence again. That's part of why he grew the beard. To disguise from the fact that his smile was so different now. He can never quite get the smile to go all the way up to his eyes. Until you. You brought back his genuine smile again.

In his partner, I feel like John likes the curvier bits. Hips and thighs. He likes having something to grip onto. Something that jiggles when he fucks you. Something he can cuddle into and snuggle up with. A part of him also likes the idea that you have birthing hips. He wants more kids. The caveman part of his brain immediately hones in on the fact that you are built perfectly for that. He'd be lying if he said he didn't also love leaving little bruises and marks over the soft skin of your hips and thighs. If he's eating you out he's gonna be biting your inner thighs at least a couple times. If you're on top he's holding onto your hips so tight you're gonna have fingerprints.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

At first he's very particular about only cumming in your mouth or in your pussy. After you catch him watching porn one day you find out he really has a fantasy about cumming all over your face and tits. It hadn't really been a huge turn on before, but he cums a lot now because of the serum and that makes the idea all the more appealing to him. He loves the idea of essentially marking your body. Of you letting him cover you in himself. It’s possessive and intimate all at the same time. Since he can cum multiple times in a short period thanks to the serum he will be especially over the moon if you let him cum inside you and then all over you, back to back. He'll think he's died and gone to heaven if you let him take a video of it or pictures of you afterward for when he's away on a mission. The first time cums all over your pussy he swears it could be considered art. If he's feeling romantic or his breeding kink is going full strength he just wants to cum in your pussy. Filling you up and then daydreaming about getting the second chance at the happy life with a white picket and you bouncing his babies on your hip. Except this time he won't fuck it up.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is absolutely dying to fuck you while he's still wearing his suit. It's his biggest fantasy. He's praying you will ask him when he gets back from a mission and tends to linger before he takes it off or tries it on at random times in hopes you'll figure out what he wants. He doesn't want to ask for it, but absolutely wants it to happen. He loves that it makes him feel manly and in command. He also knows he looks pretty damn hot in it. In particular, pressed up against the wall with you hanging onto the harness for his shield or with you bent over in front of a mirror. Also he would really like it if you happened to call him Captain while he's fucking you in the suit. Actually he's gonna need to fuck you in the suit at least twice. Once with the helmet on and once without

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I tend to believe he and Olivia were each other's first. So he has maybe only had a couple of partners. Obviously, he was with Olivia for a long time, and they have a kid, so he knows what he's doing. He's also very much an overachiever. That being said, I think the variety of his experience is pretty limited. Probably hasn't done much beyond what would be considered vanilla. That doesn't mean he's not open to it. You just may have to teach him, and he will 1000% pretend he knows all of this already, even if it is completely new. I also don't know that I see him going above and beyond to learn if you aren't doing it with him. He's got tried and true ways of getting himself off. He feels there's no need to fix it if it ain't broken.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Mating press or horizontal cowgirl with him fucking up into you instead of you doing the work. He likes positions that feel a little intense where he can press his body tight to yours and give him a lot of control over speed and depth. He's a control freak with abandonment issues. He wants to be in charge and he wants to know you aren't going anywhere until he's done with you. Mating press is his go-to on any given day. Something feels very primal about it and the way it opens you up for him, but he still gets all the benefits of missionary like being able to kiss and talk to you. Horizontal cowgirl is his pick if he's feeling a little subby. He'll let you have control at the start, let you set the pace and ride him, but by the end he's usually holding you against his chest so tight you can't move and he's busy pounding into you from the bottom. If he's had a really bad day or is really frustrated he wants it in doggy or prone. A position where he can just go to town and fuck the shit out of you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is a definite dork, but that definitely doesn't translate to the bedroom. He can be a smartass in both normal situations and sexy ones, but he generally considers sex to be a more serious intimate moment. It's somewhere he can let his guard down and doesn't have to hide behind his shield or his sarcasm. You get to see a side of him no one else does. A side that isn't protecting itself with sarcastic humor or hidden by ego. He almost feels like these moments between you are sacred. You get glimpses of the sweet man he was before the military really got a hold of him, and before the government decided he was a weapon to be discarded once he made them look bad. You can see why Olivia had fallen for him, and yet at the same time, you can see why him changing broke her. He has a lot of heart, he has just built up so many walls around it it's not always obvious to everyone else.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's meticulous about it. He doesn't necessarily mean to be, but it's something harmless he can obsess over when he gets in his head. He's been told by strangers that he looks better with the beard. You kind of agree, but you tell him you'd love him either way. He keeps everything trimmed. He's not insanely hairy, just enough to feel manly to you. You love to run your fingers through the hair on his chest and tease him about how you never thought you'd be with a blonde guy and how you always liked guys with dark hair before him. The hair on his chest and his pubic hair is just a touch darker than the hair on his head. It's more the same color as his beard. He's still blonde all over, though. When you want to get frisky in the mornings, you love waking him up by letting your fingers start on his chest and slowly tease over his abdomen following his happy trail until you are stroking him. He practically starts purring when you do this.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He gets very in the moment. Totally focused on the task at hand, getting both of you off. Sometimes, he does lean more romantic. I firmly believe there is still a soft sweet hopeless romantic guy in there somewhere. He's just buried deep, and he has to trust you before revealing that side of himself. Even when it isn't overly romantic or soft, it's still very intimate and intense. As we've discussed before, he just wants so much to be good enough and not let people down. He doesn't want to let you down, and he wants to be enough for you. Even if he doubts himself, he's gonna give it everything he has every time. Even when he lets you take charge, he still will make sure that you are satisfied. I think once he falls for you, he falls hard and will do everything in his power to try and communicate how much he cares for you in bed. Sometimes he fucks you, but sometimes he full on makes love to you.

J = Jerk off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off a lot. Partly because of the serum, and his stamina will always outpace yours. He can jerk off in the morning and still have plenty to give you that night. Partly for stress relief. It's a good way to get his mind off something that is bothering him. You have caught him a few times. Walking in on him with some sort of porn on, his eyes closed and his hips thrusting up into his fist. It's gotten common enough at this point that you think he might like it when you catch him. Especially if you start teasing him about how needy he is. He always cums really quickly when you playfully scold him about jerking off when all he had to do was ask for your pussy and he could have had the real thing. He jerks off the most when one of you is away on a mission. In these instances he's almost always thinking of you and how he'd much rather be in bed with you moaning underneath him than stuck God knows where dealing with idiots.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink. He wants to hear how good he feels. How good he's making you feel. How big his cock is. How well he fucks you. He wants you to tell him he's pretty and that you want him more than you've ever wanted anymore. If you tell him he's a good boy he will practically spontaneously combust. He can almost cum just from your praise alone. He just wants to be loved and told he's enough, both in and out of the bedroom.

Breeding kink. He also didn't really consider this to be a kink necessarily until you mentioned it. Humans are supposed to procreate, right? Isn't everyone turned on by the idea of breeding their partner? He didn't really dirty talk that much until you started encouraging him to say those thoughts out loud. Now, there are days where all he can think about is knocking you up. How sexy you would look with a pregnant belly and swollen breasts. Talking about cumming in you over and over until you are leaking him for days and your body has no choice but to give him a kid.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Not a fan of PDAs, so he definitely prefers the bedroom. He's not opposed to other places for quickies, though. He likes being in a safe place with you where he can really let his guard down. Let his mind and body relax and indulge. The place he's most comfortable doing that is in one of your bedrooms. He also really likes to cuddle after sex, but he will never admit it out loud. That's much easier to play off as “making you comfortable” in bed. That being said if one of you, or both of you, have been on a long mission he's not opposed to fucking you the first place he can get you alone. Especially if he's still wearing his suit, as we discussed earlier. At least one team member has almost walked in on you in a closet or bathroom or something. There was also an incident on the jet that made Yelena consider pouring bleach in her eyes.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Praise and genuine affection. At this point, he's so used to everybody either taking the piss out of him or treating him like dirt. If you actually treat him kindly he'll follow you like a puppy. He's not used to soft things anymore, and it makes his mind spin a little when you don't immediately start making jokes at his expense. We've all agreed this man desperately craves praise both in and out of the bedroom. If you want to get him going, all you have to do is hold him close and whisper in his ear how sexy he looks or how good he did on a mission or in an interview. If you think to call him Captain or Agent, his knees will go a little wobbly. I also think he's a very visual guy. So you in his shirt or any sort of lingerie, doesn't matter if it's something fancy or just a silky nightie, will get his blood flowing south pretty quickly

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Swinging or watching you with someone else is a non-starter. This man can get very possessive. He doesn't even like it when someone else flirts with you, even if its a mutual friend. He sure as shit isn't gonna let someone else fuck you. I also see him as being a pretty faithful guy. I dont even think hes the kind of guy who would be into strip clubs if he has a hot woman he loves waiting at home. He doesn't want anyone else so the idea of swinging is a hard pass. He would feel like he was cheating even if it was something you both agreed to. He's not very kinky. So I see a lot of freakier stuff being a turn off for him. Handcuffs and spanking? He'll figure it out. Whips and chains or full on BDSM? Nope. Not for him. Also not a fan of weapons play in the bedroom. That's a part of his life he'd rather keep separate from sexy time. I don't think he'd be into exhibitionism or voyeurism either. Unless it's just you and him watching each other. That he can get into.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

If you ask him, he'll definitely tell you he prefers to be the one receiving. He loves how you work him so well. How manly he feels when you are on your knees focusing on his pleasure. He loves when you moan around his cock like he's the most delicious treat you've ever had. He's particularly sensitive when you start licking and sucking on his balls. He can't keep himself from fucking your throat when you look up at him while you take his whole cock in your mouth and suck.

However, the way he eats your pussy, you have a sneaking suspicion he actually prefers to be the one giving. His eyes never leaving your cunt and his mouth working overtime to bring you to climax. He wants you pulling his hair and grinding against his face. It's not uncommon for him to leave hickeys on your inner thighs almost every time you have sex. He gets so into it he ends up humping the bed more often than not. For a guy who says he's not that crazy about eating pussy, he eats it like his life depends on it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Let's just say if you share a wall with anyone, you will be hearing a lot of complaints from them. On occasion, he can be slow and romantic. Long and deep thrusts. Talking to you the whole time. Fingers interlocked with yours. Lots of kissing. More often, though the super soldier serum and the way he tends to hold onto his emotions leads to rougher sex or at the very least faster thrusting on his part. He gets too into it to be slow. Even if he tries to start slow, by the end the bedframe is creaking, and the drywall behind the headboard is starting to crumble. He's broken at least one bedframe so far, and he's stupidly proud of it. You were slightly mortified when you had to explain to Val how your bed had been completely demolished and that you needed a new one. Perhaps a reinforced one. John just sat there with a big stupid grin on his face the whole time. Also, as mentioned in my headcanons, this has led to a bruised cervix at least once or twice. Or, at the very least, you are walking and sitting very awkwardly for a couple of days.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's absolutely down for a quickie. Especially since with the serum, he's good to go for multiple rounds. At the start of your relationship, he's pretty insatiable. So quickies are a must. If you are alone on a mission together, as soon as the work is done he's pulling you away for a quickie. He does generally prefer not to have to rush his time with you, but he will absolutely never turn down a quickie. Especially if he's a bit upset or frustrated, a quickie is a great way to get him in a better mood. The team immediately calls on you when he's being extra bitchy. He does tend to get a really dopey smile on his face afterward that always gives it away to anyone who knows him though.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's not opposed to trying some new things, but he does like being in his comfort zone and knowing exactly what is going to happen. This is part of why he leans towards constantly being the dominant one. He will try new positions without any hesitation. New surfaces? It depends on where they are and the variables around privacy. Toys or role-playing or anything he'll have a little bit more hesitation with, and you will probably need to bring them up multiple times before he agrees to try them. Eventually, he will probably give in. Especially if the role play you want to do is him as a star quarterback and you as a cheerleader. He also won't take the risk of sex interfering with a mission. Even if it's just the two of you alone in a secluded safe house, he won't give into his urges or yours until the work is done. Once the mission is completed, he'll take you the first chance he gets, but he takes too much pride in his job to let anything else come first.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a super soldier. His stamina is off the charts. He doesn't necessarily worry about making each round last a long time because he knows he will be able to go multiple. It's also probably the first time he's really getting to test what the serum has done to him in the bedroom. Somedays, he's probably gonna wanna test how many rounds he can go. Somedays, he's gonna wanna see how long he can last before cumming. He isn't gonna push you past your limits though. Once you tap out he's probably done. He'd rather save the energy for you than exert it by himself when he could be taking care of you… unless you really want him to. We know he is probably very eager to please. You want to watch him or talk him through what you want him to do, he'll put on the best show for you he can. That happens fairly often, actually.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He knows you have them, and he's not gonna stop you from using them, but he's not crazy about them. If he's on a mission, then sure, go ahead and use them on yourself. Especially if you are thinking about him while using them. He knows that he shouldn't be threatened by them, and he's slowly coming around to your bullet vibrator. Especially after you showed him you could use it on him during a blowjob. He still generally lets you be the one to bring it up, and you be the one holding it. Anything bigger or more phallic he's still not sure about. We know he has insecurities around being enough. That would apply to comparing himself to your toys too. If you have a realistic looking dildo he doesn't really want to know about it, even if it's to send him a naughty video while he's away. Maybe someday, a part of his brain is very curious, but he's more worried about how he will start to compare himself to the toy after he sees you cumming from it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He does like to tease. He gets off on you begging for him. He needs you to nerd him. So he will tease you until you are pleading for him. Biting and licking at your thighs and the creases of your hips until you are gripping his hair and trying to push his face into your cunt. Letting his fingers dance around your clit without making direct contact or circling your entrance painfully slowly. Using just the tip of his cock until you are writhing and crying for more. His patience for being teased is not great though. Sometimes he loves it, but if he's having a bad day he will pout and whine if you try to tease him. Ultimately reminding you that he is a super soldier and can stop your little game whenever he wants. You know when he says this he's giving you a warning that he's at the end of his rope.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Just like when he fights, there's lots of grunting, growling, and snarling during sex. Baring his teeth when he gets close to climax. He doesn't even realize all the noises he's making when he gets really into it. He will also encourage you to praise him at every turn. Asking if something he's doing feels good or if you like how he feels inside you. He's not a screamer, but he's certainly not quiet in the bedroom. He loves hearing you talk to him during sex. So he may not talk at length, but he will encourage you to be as elaborate and filthy as you can. Give him directions and feedback. Overwhelm all of his senses. Make him forget everything but how he's making you feel with every deep thrust of his cock or lick of his tongue.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Would absolutely love his partner to do a striptease for him or give him a lap dance. This man craves attention. Having all your attention on him as you put on a naughty little show for him is a dream come true. The thought of you slowly taking off your clothes and wiggling around naked in his lap just for his enjoyment makes him downright giddy. It's an extra boost to his ego if you get aroused and wet doing this for him. He won't really ask you to do this for him, but he will be happy as a clam if you come up with the idea. If you take a pole dance class with the girls for shits and giggles, he will ask to see what you learned with a cheeky grin on his face. He knows you can't say no when he smiles at you like that. Although be warned, there is no way he's keeping his hands to himself during the lap dance portion. At the very least, he's gripping onto your hips or fondling your breasts. By the end of the song, he'll probably have his fingers inside you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The serum didn't really change much here. He didn't completely change size like Steve or get a ton more muscle mass like Bucky. When he's soft, he's the same size he always was. Average. It's not huge, but not small. Like most men, he probably wishes he was a little bigger, but he's not unhappy with it. He was pleasantly surprised the first time he got hard after taking the serum that he was about an inch longer and a bit thicker than he was before. I definitely think he has measured to confirm this. He knows that you don't know that the serum did this, but it's probably come up during foreplay that you are getting the bigger post-serum version of him. You tell him you would have been happy with either version, but he's really proud of it now. He also leaks a lot more pre-cum now than he used to. It has made his alone time better, no need for extra lube, and if you like it, he's even happier about it. Bringing your hand to stroke him through his underwear. Ready to have you feel how wet you get him. How much you turn him on.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I feel like he's got massive pent-up energy and has probably been denying himself a lot of things since the events of Falcon and The Winter Soldier. Sex and human touch in general included. I think it's gonna be like shaking a soda can then popping the top. He's literally going to explode once you ceack the seal. He will not be able to get enough. Between his super soldier stamina and all the repressed emotions and energy, you'll be spending a lot of time with him inside you. You are an outlet for his emotions. After one or both of you has been on a mission plan on keeping your schedule completely open for the next day. He feels like he's borderline addicted to fucking you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while to fall asleep. He also sometimes has nightmares about his experiences as a soldier. So even when he's asleep, it's not necessarily restful. He will always wait until you fall asleep before he lets himself fall asleep. He just feels like he can protect you better that way. Holding you however you need him to and just lay there thinking about things. Sometimes, he gets too into his own head to sleep. He likes having some sort of background noise on. Usually some movie or sitcom. Sometimes, he will just lay there and watch you sleep, the tempo of your breathing like a metronome lulling him to sleep himself. He does generally sleep more soundly if you are there next to him. I can also see him being a giant teddy bear who likes to cuddle you close as he falls asleep and when he wakes up. There have been times you've woken up unable to move because a certain super soldier has you pinned to the mattress in his sleep.

--------------------------------

John Walker taglist: @sareim123122 @witchygagirl

Back to main masterlist

[get-snuck-up-on]

Drawings I made of Sister Molly doing what she does best: Her job!

And click on 'Keep reading' for some new Sister Molly lore!

Sister Molly works at a park known as the "Crossnave Estate." It is a large, religious-centric estate that houses many different buildings. The name of the estate is a combination of two religious terms - cross and nave. The Crossnave Estate is a small community run by a group of nuns who take care of orphans until they are old enough to live their own lives. Here is a reference sheet of all the buildings located on the estate:

Sister Molly started working at the Crossnave Estate as a nun when she was only twenty years old. The other nuns tend to act miserably on a regular basis. This is due to the fact that the Crossnave Estate is so small and underfunded. The other nuns dislike their poor living conditions, leading them to act negatively towards each other and the orphans. But Molly is nothing like that. Unlike her sisters, Molly is a very joyful and caring individual. She does not let the negativity of the world get under her skin. Molly acts happily because she knows feeding into negativity won't do her any good, and she doesn't want her own gloomy feelings impacting the orphans she looks after.

Despite her caring nature, Sister Molly can be stern if necessary. Molly is a kind soul who will tend to whoever is in need, but she won't let others push her around. For example, if you were to mock Molly for whatever reason, Molly will simply brush it off. Empty threats and lowbrow insults have no real impact on her. But if you continuously harass her over something very specific, she won't hesitate to tell you off. As long as you're nice to Molly, she will be nice to you in return.

When Sister Molly started working at the estate, her job was to teach the orphans the ways of the lord. Lessons Molly conducted included the idea of nature vs. nurture, biblically accurate angels, what it means to forgive someone, the power of love, and not to mock someone because of their appearance. Molly would also tend to each orphan individually, hearing them out on any issues or struggles they're going through. This was Molly's job for the longest time, until a certain orphan changed up her whole life.

One day, a young girl named Linda Shepherd was given up to the estate. Unfortunately for Linda, not a single nun wanted to help her. The nuns didn't see any potential in poor Linda, as they believed she was too different from the other orphans. Sister Molly was the only nun who knew that Linda wasn't a bad seed. Molly spoke to Mother Superior about Linda's situation and asked if she could become Linda's permanent caretaker. Because Mother Superior saw how caring Molly is, she granted her request. Ever since then, Molly takes care of Linda and tends to her every need. Molly still tends to the other orphans, however. Linda just happens to be the orphan she takes care of regularly.

Along with being Linda's caretaker, Sister Molly has another job at the estate. Molly is the "Assistant to Mother Superior." This means Molly plans events, organizes meetings, checks in on all of the nuns and orphans, and makes sure the estate is in top shape. Molly was given this position because Mother Superior noticed how much of a hard worker Molly truly is. Along with that, Mother Superior saw the good in Molly, as she realized Molly is the only nun at the estate who wasn't flat-out miserable. So, Mother Superior gave Molly the position of "Assistant to Mother Superior." Mother Superior even had the other nuns clean out an old building on the estate, which was converted into an office building for Molly.

As the Assistant to Mother Superior, Sister Molly was given a blue habit to wear, opposed to a black or brown one. The blue habit Molly wears is to tell the other nuns that she is the assistant to Mother Superior. This makes it easy to identify Molly from the other nuns on the estate. Molly also wears a cross under her guimpe. The cross was given to her as a gift from Mother Superior. She gave Molly the cross as a way to say thank you for everything she's done for the estate.

Sister Molly's office doubles as her office and her living quarters. She has a bedroom in her office, meaning she doesn't have to live in the building for the other nuns. In Molly's office is a desk that she refers to as her "planning table." This is where Molly plans out how each day will unfold. She uses figurines of the nuns to pinpoint where they will be stationed throughout the day. Molly uses a staff to push each figurine around the table. When Molly is done planning, she will gather the other nuns into her office and show them how the following day will go.

Now working as Linda's permanent caretaker and the assistant to Mother Superior, Sister Molly passionately takes on both of these job titles. She deeply cares about her job and helping others find the good in themselves. No matter what happens, Molly wants to ensure that everyone at the Crossnave Estate is given the proper care they deserve. ❤️

[veunho]

Playing Nor Gloom Of Night when absolutely nobody ever has uploaded their own experience with the game so every step I take I'm like am I doing this shit right;;;

[rubbership]

i would be much less lonely and so would a lot of other people if i could handle 1 on 1 conversations like a normal person

[alltheprompts]

Dp x DC prompt #13 (yay lucky number!)

What if Danny is introduced to the family not as a gremlin, but as his friend from community College and he is so freaking normal that it makes the entire family suspicious. The only reason Jason decided to bring him along is that he knows Danny seems too normal for their cohort and it will utterly freak out Bruce and Tim, confuse Grayson and set off Damian. Jason though, he knows Danny is only normal for the first few times of interaction, then he starts getting weird even by Bat Family standards.

Jason: Hey. I brought my friend from campus tonight.

Danny: Hi! Nice to meet you!

Bat family: *suspicious eyes* Nice to meet you.

Danny: I totally didn't believe Jason when he said he was one of 5 kids but he proved me wrong. Lol.

Bat family: How'd you meet Jason?

Danny: OH! He's been tutoring me in English class and I've been helping him with Calculus. We met at the library when I was trying but failing to type a paper and ended up irritating him with my groaning. He walked right over asked me to shut up and I apologized and said I was having difficulty *insert English homework here* and he had a look utter disgust and surprise and said "how the fuck are you having problems with that?"

Jason: I was disgusted. That was such an easy topic.

Danny: For you maybe! Anyways I said "Well if it's so fucking easy, explain it to me. And he did! With way better clarity then my professor. So I thanked him and asked what I could do in exchange for help. He then told to stay fucking quiet o he can work on his stuff. And we went on about our business. A week later we were both back in the library again and he was banging his head, so I went over and asked if he was okay and he yelled to leave him alone and he just as I was about to leave I noticed he was working on calculus and told Jim I could help if he wanted. He looked at me like I was insane.

Jason: I was cause you are. Most people don't ask to help after being yelled and cursed at.

Danny: But you had helped me on my english paper! I wanted to return the favor! This happened a few more times before it became normal to meet at the library and work together!

The batfamily is reeling at this strangely normal and meet cute type story and the fact that Jason was going to college and nobody knew somehow (Alfred knew).

After meeting Danny, they stalk him to see if he was acting normal or trying to mess with Jason or Jason manipulated someone normal to mess with them. The first while Danny seems perfectly normal and innocent but after a while they start getting a feeling of something off about Danny like he was both him and not. They also notice that Jason tends to stay calmer when he is around Danny. As they realize he is weird and they slowly figure it out, they actually get less anxious about Danny. As someone not quite normal or human in Danny's case was far more comforting for them then anyone of them managing to befriend an actual normal civilian with no apparent baggage or extreme homelife. A

[sevsgiirl]

— do the girls back home touch you like i do?

sevika x insecure!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: having feelings for the most feared woman in zaun had more cons than it did pros - her being popular amongst women and a regular at the brothel just to name a few. it hurt because you knew with her history there’s no way she’d return your feelings… right?

word count: 5.5k words.

tags: insecure!reader, jealousy, miscommunication, public sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, porn with feelings, top!sevika, bottom!reader.

it was silly, honestly.

you knew it was a shot in the dark for sevika to reciprocate your feelings. much or less consider you an option on her roster.

sevika gets around. there was no denying that, and you’ve come to terms with it the second you caught these stupid little feelings that just wouldn’t go away. no matter how hard you tried.

you assumed it would. back when silco hired you to be his informant, you saw the opportunity as nothing more but an upgrade from your previous jobs. it’s safe to say, you’ve gone through a lot just to get to where you are now. whether it was scrubbing the floors of a dingy, run-down diner that made jericho’s look like a michelin star restaurant, to going as far as thinking about working at babette’s.

but then silco saw some potential in you that not a lot of people have seen before, and you were grateful for it. a lot of your co-workers were tolerable, just as long as you looked past the carnage of their jobs, it was pretty easy to get by when working for silco because he never really asked you to get your hands dirty.

no, he asked sevika to do that.

you knew she was different from the others the second you laid eyes on her. she remained unyielding in the eyes of catastrophe, she gets the job done no matter how tedious the assignments were, and she navigates through life like an enigma.

you were intimidated by her at first. when she walked into a room, her presence demanded to be felt, crowds of people would always make space for her to walk through and she could silence someone with just the heat of her glare. it was then you understood why she was silco’s number two.

but despite her brooding personality, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards her. maybe it was the allure of wanting something you can’t have, but every time you were sent on a mission with her, this desire to know her better always tempted you. even though you wouldn’t know the first thing to say to strike up a conversation with the older woman, you couldn’t deny that what you felt was beyond just physical attraction. you were intrigued by everything about her.

it tethered the line of obsession but hadn’t quite got there yet, the better way to describe it was infatuation.

she’d occupy your thoughts but not so much to the point that she was all you thought about, but when you did, you had to force yourself to snap out of it before it became borderline creepy, and you wanted to justify your feelings thinking she wouldn’t feel the same in a million years.

not only that, but her reputation precedes her.

you knew your hesitation to make a move stemmed more from just being shy or thinking you wouldn’t get along with the older woman, and it was because her sexual proclivities scared the hell out of you.

again, she gets around, far more than most people. before you worked for silco, rumors regarding his second in command traveled through the streets of zaun in whispers, whether it was good or bad, it didn’t really matter.

one detail that caught the attention of many, specifically those of women, were her frequent nights spent at the gardens. you couldn’t deny that aside from being incredibly scary, so much of sevika’s appeal came from her appearance as well - her tall stature, impressive built, corded muscles, the rigged lines and hard angles of her face. she was just as beautiful as she was domineering.

that’s why it didn’t surprise you that women tend to set aside her notoriety in hopes of sleeping with her, but that doesn’t mean the thought didn’t cause your insides to flare up with jealousy.

as mentioned, you thought about working for babette at one point. when your low paying jobs in the past couldn’t suffice to get you through the week, the idea came to mind on some occasions. but you knew it wasn’t easy work, not to mention your looks paled in comparison to the girls you’d seen working there. all slim waists, toned arms, long legs, big tits and even bigger asses.

you didn’t possess any of the traits that made the girls there appealing.

you just set aside the idea because your ego wasn’t big enough to make you think you were up for the job, and knowing that’s where sevika prefers to spend most of her nights made your insecurities worse.

especially when she’d stroll through the last drop late at night littered with hickeys and bite marks around her neck that she’d let the world see without shame, and how you’d just ogle at them with the ugliest emotions churning in the pits of your stomach.

it didn’t help when silco’s men would poke fun at her for it “damn, was the night that rough? you gotta take it easy on those girls.” they’d joke as a sly grin would make its way on her face.

“they love it,” would be her response, which would earn a roar of laughter from the group meanwhile you’d walk away after eavesdropping, with a heaviness in your chest that wasn’t there minutes ago as you tried to erase the image of sevika indulging herself with countless women.

you understood the intention behind it. you knew it was her way of escaping the stress of silco’s workload, and having sex with multiple women was just as much of a coping mechanism as gambling and drinking was.

that doesn’t mean it wasn’t any less painful to think about, even though you knew you couldn’t have stood a chance.

because how could you? who even were you in the bustling, chaotic world that is sevika’s life? if simply nothing more than just her co-worker?

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

you didn’t think she’d ever acknowledge you outside of work.

you’ve had your fair share of interactions but it was all professional so those don’t count. you were delusional but you weren’t delusional enough to think that your quick conversations about paychecks and shipment were considered bonding.

it wasn’t until an incident transpired in one of her missions where silco asked you to come along, and it so happened that the firelights decided it was a good day to ambush you, sevika and the rest of the team.

you cowered away from the commotion because it’s not like you possessed any of sevika’s combative skills. you were an informant, for crying out loud.

but you weren’t quick on your feet, and when the leader of the firelights threw one of their bombs in your direction you were crystallized in place near the cargos, unable to move.

you knew the crystals would dissolve after five minutes, you were aware of how their weapons worked, but the fear of being unable to move still stressed you out, and as you kept squirming you caught sevika’s eye who was immobilized herself.

one thing led to another, silco’s daughter came up from underneath the airship and began firing at the firelights, grazing you with one of her bullets as you let out an agonizing scream in response.

suffice to say, the mission went horribly and everyone who go out was reprimanded by silco, because of course he’d never put the blame on jinx. while you on the other hand, were hunched over the bar later that night, nursing your sides that were still bleeding due to jinx’s mishap.

thieram was more than happy to help, aiding you with your injury but your pain tolerance wasn’t necessarily high, so every time he dabbed you with the wash cloth dunked in alcohol, you couldn’t help it as you let out a wince, clutching thieram’s forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cringing at your pitiful state “I don’t know how-“

“move it.”

your eyes widened as the shadow of sevika’s tall silhouette casted over you, pushing past thieram while she took the bottle of alcohol and cloth from him. she nodded at you for you to raise your shirt up.

“let me see the wound,”

blushing, you were debating whether or not you should let sevika see you in such a compromising position, but she probably only wanted to help and couldn’t care less about seeing you exposed.

so you did as you were told and let her press her large palm onto your rib where a lot of the bleeding came from.

you hissed, gripping the sides of the bar and sevika cursed “fucking jinx,”

you shook your head “it’s okay, it’s not that big of a de-“

“but it is,” she grumbled “if only she did her fucking job and didn’t lose her shit, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

gulping, you tried not to overthink her choice of words and how she only focused on your injury and not the rest, considering you weren’t the only one who got the brunt of it.

“it’s fine, I’m just worried if the others are tending to their injuries.”

“don’t worry about them,” she muttered “they’re built for these kinds of things, you aren’t.”

you snickered, pretending to take offense “excuse me? are you calling me weak?”

sevika couldn’t hide her amusement, wiping away at the little blood smeared on your lower stomach.

“not weak,” she replied “I just don’t think a pretty little thing like you is meant for this kind of work. you’re not equipped for it.”

“I can look out for myself, you know.”

she hummed, her grey eyes staring up at you “maybe, but still. it’d be better if you didn’t need to.”

you tried not to let her words get to you, and calling you a pretty little thing didn’t help with your growing infatuation. perhaps she was just playing coy with you, you thought.

but then silco continued to let you join in on her missions, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she’d ask you to ‘keep close behind’ or how she’d shield you with her massive frame every time danger was imminent.

if she couldn’t trust you to look out for yourself, then she did it for you.

you wanted to excuse it thinking since she’s already lost so much men she didn’t want your name to be crossed off on the list as well. but that doesn’t mean you stopped dwelling on it.

especially when on most nights where she’d catch you in the last drop, she’d ask you to have a drink with her. going as far as to teach you how to play cards when you’d watch her gamble with the rest of silco’s men and how she’d win every time.

“you’re so good at this,” you said in awe during one of her games which earned a chuckle from her.

you were seated right next to sevika, not too close but not too far apart either, that sometimes you’d feel her elbow brushing against yours.

“want me to teach you then?”

“hey, that’s not fair, how come she gets to have you as her teacher while we’re stuck here getting our asses beat?” one of the men she was playing with chided in.

she only ignored him, flipping her cards over to reveal she’s won yet again, making them groan “then play better.” she quipped, turning over to you with a smirk on her face.

you swore butterflies almost erupted out of your belly. she was so smug, but radiant in her victory that you couldn’t even bring yourself too feel bad for the others, if you’d get to see her this way all the time, you hoped she’d win all of her games.

the guy huffed, taking a swig from his beer as he looked up at her, grinning “I dropped by the gardens today, by the way. lily said she missed you.”

you froze as those words left his mouth, but sevika remained ambivalent by the information as she shuffled her cards “I’ve just had a lot on my plate,” and perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you swore you caught her eyeing you for a brief moment.

“well, better not to keep those girls waiting. you know you’re their favorite,” the table laughed and sevika couldn’t help herself from joining along.

“ain’t that right,” she said, chuckling.

you gulped, feeling a lump in your throat as you forced yourself not to spew something bitter because really, who were you to act jealous over who sevika chooses to spend her time with?

she may act flirtatious with you from time to time but it’s not like it meant anything. you wanted to set it aside, and tell yourself it was just never going to happen. spend less time with her if you need to.

but as if it fate wanted to play a joke on you both, that was thrown out the window when one night, sevika came stumbling into the last drop all battered and bruised. her prosthetic dangling from her arm in ruined wires while she tried her best to steady herself as she walked in.

instinctively, you rushed to her side and examined her state “sevika, oh my god.”

she groaned “it’s not a big de-“

“like hell it is,” you reprimanded as you told thieram to fetch the first aid kit and inform silco of sevika’s condition.

she was against it but you simply silenced her, pulling up a chair as you pushed her down “you need to be more careful.” you said.

“stop fussing over me, I’m built for these kinds of things. it’s my job.”

“just because it’s your job doesn’t mean you have to be so reckless! you’re more than just silco’s killing machine. you can’t keep putting your life on the line like this.”

sevika remained silent before soft laughter bubbled out of her, making you raise an eyebrow.

“I guess this makes us even.”

“what?”

“from when you got hit by jinx’s bullets,” she said as realization dawned on you “I guess we’re even now.“

you rolled your eyes at that “I’m not doing this because I owe it to you. you’re more than just my co-worker.”

she eyed you, curious “what am I then?”

there was a moment of silence as you knelt down in front of her, staring at the uneven lines of the wooden floorboards, refusing to meet her eye.

“a friend, if you’d let me,” you muttered.

she hummed, leaning against her seat “I don’t do much of those,”

you snickered “you don’t do much of anything really,”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you realized your mistake but decided to keep it going anyways.

“you’re too guarded. you keep your circle too tight, and I haven’t really seen you out with anyone. romantically, I mean.”

you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut, but you couldn’t help it.

she was silent for a minute “I didn’t know you kept tabs on whether or not I date.”

you scoffed, although it sounded unconvincing “I do not.”

then there was that god awful smirk on her face again, eating away at you as she cocked her head to the side.

“sure you don’t, princess.“

your mind immediately went haywire because oh god, did she know?

on one hand, you weren’t exactly subtle. even thieram would tease you about it. noticing the way you’d sneak glances at sevika whenever she strolled through the bar and you’d hear him let out a snort from behind the counter.

“take a picture, it’d last longer.” he’d joke while you flipped him off.

but judging by the way she teased you about the idea, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that felt a bit hopeful that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

because if there was, it wouldn’t hurt to try and seize the opportunity.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

when silco suggested the group had a day off and to use the bar to their liking for one night as compensation for a successful mission, you were elated. for a number of reasons.

because this is it. this is the moment that you’ve been waiting for, to finally make a move and to squash your fantasies once and for all.

you’re aware about wanting to keep your feelings at bay and to never let sevika know about them, but as the days flew by it was getting harder and harder to stay silent.

especially since the night you tended to her injuries and how she reacted at the idea of you taking an interest in her, and how she didn’t seemed fazed by it, if anything, she seemed intrigued.

it was worth a shot, because it’s better to say you tried than not at all.

so on the night of the party, you went out of your way to doll yourself up for once. your days were normally mundane and your job was tedious enough as it, so you never saw a reason to dress up. living in the under city, going out partying and sleeping with people was scarcely something you ever thought about.

but that doesn’t mean you never anticipated it, and so you went digging under your closet for the handful of dresses you’ve stolen from a couple of boutiques in topside. something you kept for special occasions and this was one of them.

you settled for a black halter dress that stopped below your thighs and also accentuated your cleavage, along with a pair of sheer dark tights that allowed you space to move around freely.

you rummaged through your drawers and pulled out a couple of broken makeup pallets, likely expired, but you didn’t really care as you meticulously dabbed silver eyeshadow on yourself and applied some red lipstick.

you inspected yourself on your mirror and let out an approving hum. you looked nice. you didn’t really consider yourself drop dead gorgeous but when you made some effort to make yourself presentable, the pay-off was worth it.

your chest swelled with hope thinking maybe this will be the day sevika sees you, really sees you. not just as a co-worker, friend, but someone worthy to replace the girls at the gardens with…

with that, you slipped on your combat boots and strode out of your apartment building, walking through the streets of zaun and not minding the lewd comments thrown your way by the men passing by you.

you showed up at the last drop and one of the bouncers, after taking a good look at you, opened the door for you while shooting you a sly grin.

perhaps you’ve outdone yourself, or maybe the people around you just weren’t used to seeing you all dressed up but either way, their reactions stroked your ego. all that’s left now was to just find sevika.

you made your way up to the bar where thieram was busy serving drinks, and he didn’t recognize you at first until you called out to him.

he blinked as he said your name “damn, is it really you?” he chuckled “you look great.”

“thanks,” you said, smiling “I never had the chance to wear something like this before but since silco is in a good mood…”

“and it suits you. everyone’s eyeing you like a piece of meat, I don’t know if you can tell.”

“yeah, well. they don’t matter,” you looked around “where’s sevika, by the way?”

because she was the only one that mattered.

she was the reason why you even showed up looking like this, why you got out of your comfort zone even though these types of settings weren’t your thing, but you tried, because you wanted to prove yourself to her.

thieram turned to the side and pointed to his left “she arrived about an hour ago.”

you stood up and were about make your way towards her when the sight that greeted you quickly stopped you dead in your tracks, all previous excitement dying as you sunk to the nearest stool.

because there, in her usual booth, sat sevika with not one, but two girls cozied up against her sides while one of them was practically sitting on her lap, and the other was kissing along her neck while a cigarillo was dangling from her mouth. making more room for them to grind against her as she whispered in one of their ears, causing the girl to giggle as she grabbed sevika’s jaw and connected their lips.

you took a step back as your chest begun to feel heavy, while the room suddenly felt ten times more crowded as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you because of course, this just had to happen.

how dare you think you had a chance when she went out of her way to bring two of babette’s girls to this blasted party when she already visits them on a regular basis? how dare you think you ever stood a chance against these girls, with their pristine clothing, nicely styled hair and perfect bodies?

you wanted the world to swallow you whole.

“hey, you okay?” thieram asked as your breathing became shallow.

you nodded, harshly swiping the tears that threatened to spill at the corners of your eyes as you walked back to the exit.

“y-yeah, I’m just-“

in your stupor, you didn’t even realize a man was behind you not until you bumped into him, causing him to spill his drink and cuss you out as you started apologizing, creating a commotion.

“I’m so sorry!” you said, your cheeks heating up as you looked around the room before your eyes landed on her again.

but this time, sevika was staring straight at you.

swallowing nervously, you pushed past the sea of people and made your way out of the bar, not even bothering to say goodbye to thieram as you busted through the doors of the back exit, breathing heavily as you slid against the wall of the bar, with your hands on your knees and your tears ruining your makeup.

you should’ve known this was a mistake. you mentally scolded yourself over and over because who were you fooling when you thought sevika would spare a glance your way? even if you dolled yourself up, in the end sevika had countless of women to choose from, and you were never going to be an option. no matter how hard you tried.

stewing in self-pity, you wiped away at your cheeks and stood back up, planning to just head back home and forget the night even happened when the doors of the bar suddenly burst open, making you jump as you whipped around, and your breath hitched when you were met with sevika’s steely grey eyes.

she assessed your frenzied state, staring just a bit longer at your attire, scanning your legs up to your thighs until it stopped at your chest, which was heaving erratically, drawing attention to your cleavage.

“leaving so soon?” she quipped, not hiding the shameful way she was ogling at you “especially when you look this pretty?”

biting your tongue, you tried so hard not to let her words get to you. no. this is what she does, she butters you up and makes you think you have a chance then she turns around and makes you feel like utter shit. this is what she does and you’re not going to sit around making an idiot out of yourself.

“I’m just not feeling good is all.” you said as you attempted to walk past her.

but you were immediately stopped when she grabbed your arm, though her touch was gentle “let me walk you home. it’s not safe especially when you’re out here dressed like that.”

you couldn’t stop yourself, you were filled with so much unnecessary bitterness that as soon as those words left her mouth, you could only scoff before ripping away your arm, causing her to look at you with her eyebrow raised.

“I can handle myself, just go back to those girls that were all over you. it seemed like you were having a great time with them anyways.” you spat, attempting to bristle past her.

however, you gasped when she not only blocked your path but abruptly pushed your body against the wall of the building. not too harsh but with enough force to make you look up at her in compliance.

she towered over your smaller form and took your chin using her prosthetic hand, her metal fingers making you shiver as her breath mingled with your own.

“what’s with the attitude?”

“just let me go-“

“the fuck I will,” she cut you off, her tone harsh “now, I’ll ask again, what’s with the attitude? you’re never like this.”

you clenched your jaw “never like what? you don’t even know me enough to make assumptions of how I normally act.”

“like a bitch is what I’m saying,” she said through her teeth “seriously, what crawled up your ass? you show up looking like this and you can’t even be bothered to stick around let alone have a drink,”

“why should I?” you shook your head “you looked too busy anyways. just forget it and go back to those-“

“what’s with you and the girls I brough-“

“because why waste your time on me?” the dam finally broke, and all your thoughts came flooding out as sevika blinked at you, dumbfounded “you never give me the time of the day even though we’ve been working for so long, and it had to take me getting injured for you to even strike up a conversation with me. you’re always at the gardens and I know it’s none of my business what you do with your time but just…”

you looked to your feet, regret washing in “just forget it. it’s so stupid.”

however, her grip on you only tightened “no, you’re right. it is none of your business, that’s why I want to know why you’re acting this way. I’m not a mind reader, princess. you can’t expect me to know what you want and you haven’t really made it easy either. you think I wanted to wait that long to approach you? talking goes both ways. and you avoiding me so much in the past hasn’t really given me the chance to get to know you. fuck, I even thought…”

you waited for her to finish as she faced away from you “thought what?” you said, your voice merely a whisper.

she sighed as she pressed her body closer to you “I thought you didn’t like me. you never a spoke a word to me but I’ve always noticed you. you’re so good at your job but you only kept to yourself. I just thought you found me and the others too vulgar. I get it. we’re different. but then you had a drink with me and you seemed genuinely interested…”

you inhaled sharply “I was, and still am.”

“then what’s the matter? why are you acting like you’re disgusted with me all of a sudden?”

“it’s not you! it’s just…” you let out a shaky breath “it’s just hard to be around you because I’ve always noticed you too. I was just intimidated but I’ve admired your work ethic, just everything about you really, so much that I even… god, it’s embarrassing.”

“no,” she pulled you closer “tell me,”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, looking away “it’s silly.”

she lifted her flesh hand and pushed away the strands of hair that fell over your face. leaning closer that you felt her lips brush against your cheek.

“you got a little crush on me is what you’re saying?” her mouth quirked into a teasing grin as you groaned, trying to push her away.

“you’re such an ass…” you muttered as her hands slowly maneuvered down to your thighs, and suddenly, she was lifting you by her arms and against the wall as you squealed.

her nose nudged your jaw, leaving a soft kiss underneath and your hands found purchase on her strong shoulders.

“you should’ve told me sooner…” she purred, her voice deep and enticing “it would’ve saved me a hell lot of money from visiting the gardens when I could’ve had you all this time.”

you weren’t given the chance to speak when she suddenly captured your lips in a fervent kiss, making you gasp as she lets out a growl hearing your needy whines.

eventually, you surrendered to it, moving in sync with the frenzied way she was kissing you. almost as if she was just as desperate for this as you were.

you rolled your hips against her torso and sevika lets out a chuckle at your urgency, taking your legs as she wrapped them around her waist.

she took the ends of your dress and pulled them up, tearing your tights down and you let out a whine “s-sev… we’re outside-“

“then let them hear,” her breathing was staggered from all the movement “I’ve waited for this for so long.“

you bit your lip “yeah?”

she nodded, slipping your tights off your legs and discarding them to the side “if you think whatever feelings you’ve had for me was one-sided, you thought wrong.” she kissed your lips with bruising force and you could only moan against her mouth “ever since I laid eyes on silco’s pretty little informant, you’ve always been on my mind.”

her fingers felt down your covered cunt, and you writhed against her palm as she pushed past the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them off, teasing you as your slick met her calloused fingers, making her head spin “you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, princess?” she asked softly.

you nodded as you begun soaking her palm with your juices, riding her fingers and she parted your folds, thumbing at your clit before she slid one finger in, feeling at your gummy walls before adding a second finger and soon, she was scissoring them in you as your forehead dropped to her shoulder.

jostling in her hold as your body shook, she curled her fingers and started a slow pace that got you moaning her name, and she nodded at your desperate sounds “yeah, that’s it, baby. let everybody know how much you needed this.”

she bent her head down and nipped at your jaw while you humped her scarred hand in earnest “you should’ve fucking told me sooner. do you know how much torture it was to see you walk around the office, all pretty and shy, and not wanting to make a move because I thought you didn’t like me? when all this time your tight little pussy has been weeping for me to fill it.”

you cried out, getting closer to that awaited peak especially when she starts to piston her thick fingers inside you at a maddening speed “I needed this so much, sev. fuck.” you admitted, completely lack of shame.

“I know, baby. now that I know how much you’ve needed this I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” she said and you opened your tear stained eyes to look at her.

“do I feel better than the girls you’ve had before?” you whispered and she nodded, an urgency to it as if she wanted to drill it inside your head that she means every word.

“fuck yeah, baby. I can’t wait to have you in every way that I like. on my tongue, around my fingers…” you let out the most obscene moan at her words “and my cock.”

your orgasm tore through you like a punch to the gut, your mouth falling open into a guttural cry as you creamed against her fingers while she kept curling them inside you, already feeling overstimulated while she talked you through it.

“that’s it…” she said in awe “you feel so good, baby.”

she slowly pulled her fingers out of you and you whined at the loss. but your eyes widened when suddenly sevika planted your wobbly legs down onto the ground and knelt down in front of you and started lapping away at your soaked pussy, her pupils blown wide as she began cleaning you up.

once she was done, she stood up and helped you into your underwear, breathing heavily before connecting her lips with yours. you melted as you tasted yourself on her tongue and the kiss was warmer, gentler this time.

she pulled away, leaning her forehead against yours “let me take you out?”

it took a while for your mind to process her words, still fuzzy from the aftermath of your orgasm but once it sunk in, you could only chuckle as you smiled up at her.

“usually you’d ask that first then try to have sex with me in an alley…”

there was a playful glint in her eyes “what can I say, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

you hummed, cupping her face as you drew her in for another kiss.

“yeah, me neither.”

[heliosunny]

Hear me out: mydei falling hard for reader after reader saved him and being his beaming star. Mydei slowly going the yan route and being obsessed at reader because who could be more worthy to stand by their side except him who reader has extended their hand to?

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

When you found him, his body lay crumpled against the jagged rocks, blood seeping into the cracks. His armor was shattered, and his breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps. A monster attack, perhaps— or an ambush. Whatever the cause, he had been left for dead.

But you couldn’t just leave him.

Gently, you knelt beside him, pressing your fingers to his pulse. Faint but steady. Relief washed over you, followed by urgency. You couldn’t carry him far in this state, so you did the only thing you could—you stayed. Tending to his wounds, keeping him warm, whispering reassurances to an unconscious stranger.

Days passed before he woke.

His eyes, dulled by pain and confusion, flickered open. They roamed the unfamiliar surroundings before settling on you, and something in them softened.

“Who…” His voice cracked. “Who are you?”

“A traveler. I found you injured and decided to help.”

He blinked, struggling to sit up before wincing in pain. His fingers curled weakly against the fabric of the blanket you’d wrapped around him. “I… don’t remember anything.”

You had expected that. The head wound he’d sustained was severe, and it was a miracle he had survived.

“That’s alright” you said gently. “Just rest. You’re safe now.”

Days turned to weeks. His strength returned, but his memories did not. Each morning, he woke with his eyes seeking only you. Each night, he fell asleep listening to your voice, as though it were the only tether he had to this world. He clung to you, never straying far, always watching, always following.

“You saved me” he whispered one evening, his fingers ghosting over yours. “No one else did.”

“I was just in the right place at the right time.”

But he shook his head. “No. It had to be you.”

You noticed it a few days after he had woken up.

A small, ornate pendant tucked beneath the tattered remains of his clothes. You hadn’t given it much thought at first—just another piece of jewelry, perhaps—but when you turned it over in your fingers, you saw the intricate insignia etched onto the surface. It was not just any trinket. This was a crest. A symbol of some importance.

“You had this with you when I found you” you told him, showing him the pendant. “Do you recognize it?”

He took it carefully, his fingers brushing against yours before settling on the cool metal. His brows furrowed as he stared at it, “No… but it feels familiar.”

That was something.

You took it upon yourself to investigate. If he had been attacked, if someone had left him for dead, there had to be a reason. And if he had come from somewhere important enough to carry a crest like this, someone out there might be looking for him.

It wasn’t easy tracking down the origin of the insignia, but after asking a few merchants and showing it to travelers passing through, you finally got a lead. A noble house. A powerful one.

When you returned to him that night, you found him staring at the pendant as if willing it to give him answers. His grip tightened the moment he saw you. “Did you find something?”

“I think so. There’s a noble house that uses this crest. If you came from there—”

“No.” His response was immediate. His eyes bore into you, the desperation in them unmistakable. “I don’t want to go back.”

“But if they’re your family—”

“You’re my family. You’re the one who found me. The one who stayed.”

You sighed, watching as he clutched the pendant like a lifeline.

“I’m just a stranger,” you said softly. “I found you, yes, but that doesn’t mean you belong with me. If this noble house is truly your home, then you deserve to know.”

His jaw tensed, his fingers tightening around the pendant. For a moment, you thought he would refuse. But then, reluctantly, he nodded. “…If you say so.”

You led him back.

The noble estate wasn’t far from where you had been staying. Grand, towering, but the moment you arrived, something felt… off. The people who greeted him were all smiles, their voices laced with relief. “Young Master, you’ve returned! We feared the worst!”

But their eyes told a different story.

You noticed how their gazes flickered, scanning him like he was a puzzle missing its most crucial pieces. Their warmth was surface-level, forced. And though they welcomed him with open arms, their words carried an eerie weight.

“You must be tired. Rest now, we will take care of everything.”

You excused yourself quickly, saying you had a place to return to, but in truth, you lingered. The estate was vast, but your temporary lodging was close enough to overhear hushed conversations in the night. And what you heard chilled you.

“He doesn’t remember anything?” A voice—sharp, laced with amusement.

“No. It’s like he’s been wiped clean.”

“Not surprising. He was never the strongest. Without his memory, he’s even more useless.”

“And easier to deal with,” another voice chimed in, colder than the rest. “The game is still ongoing. One less contender makes things simpler.”

A game. A cruel, bloodstained battle between siblings, and Mydei—before, he had been able to survive it. But now? Now, he was lost, vulnerable. He had no idea of the danger he was in.

You gritted your teeth. That accident—was it truly an accident? Or was it their doing?

The realization settled like a stone in your chest. You couldn’t just leave him here.

He wouldn’t survive. Not like this.

You couldn’t just walk away. Not when you knew the truth. Not when he was in danger. So you did what you had to—you found a way in.

Disguising yourself wasn’t difficult. The estate was grand, but like any noble house, it needed servants to run smoothly. You took on the guise of one, slipping through the halls unnoticed, watching over Mydei from the shadows.

He wasn’t faring well.

His so-called family treated him with courtesy in public, but behind closed doors, their true nature bled through. They ignored him at best, undermined him at worst. Servants whispered behind his back, while his siblings watched him like vultures waiting for a corpse to rot.

Still, he tried. He struggled to regain some semblance of control, to remember who he was. But without his memories, he was stumbling in the dark. And no one was there to guide him.

No one except you.

You found ways to help—small, subtle things. Placing a knife just within his reach when someone tried to corner him. Leaving behind old journal pages you had stolen from his quarters, hoping to jog his memory. Whispering warnings when danger lurked too close.

At first, he didn’t notice.

Then he started to suspect.

Late one night, as you were preparing to slip away after another act of sabotage against his enemies, a firm hand grabbed your wrist. You froze, heart hammering as you turned to meet his gaze.

“I knew it” he breathed, eyes wide with something between relief and disbelief. “You—why are you here?”

You hesitated. Telling him the truth was dangerous. But lying to him? That felt even worse.

“…I couldn’t leave you” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “They want you dead, Mydei.”

“I—” He staggered back, gripping his head as a sharp pain lanced through him. Then, as if something had finally cracked open within him, his body trembled.

Memories—fragmented, hazy, but unmistakable—flooded back.

The battles. The betrayals. The bloodshed.

And you. You, standing in the light, offering him your hand. When his eyes lifted to yours again, they were no longer clouded with confusion.

“You came back for me,” he murmured, stepping closer, his fingers curling around your wrist. “You stayed.”

He remembered now.

And he wasn’t going to let you go.

“You stayed” he repeated, “Even when you knew what I was.”

“You heard them. You knew what they planned to do to me. You knew what kind of world I come from. Yet you still came back for me.”

This was a different Mydei. The man before you was not the helpless one you had saved. He had survived in a world where power meant everything, where hesitation was death. And now that he had remembered? He was embracing it once more.

“I should thank you” he murmured, lifting your hand and brushing his lips over your knuckles. “Not just for saving me, but for reminding me that I have something worth keeping.”

“Mydei—”

“Listen.”

“You saved me. That means you are mine.”

“This place is nothing but a den of vipers” he continued, his voice calm, “I won’t waste my time playing their little games anymore.”

“So let’s make a deal.”

“What… kind of deal?”

“You stay by my side.” His fingers traced down to your collarbone, “You keep helping me, just as you have been.”

“And in return?”

“I’ll make sure you never have to worry about anyone else ever again.” His smile widened, “No more threats. No more enemies.”

But you weren’t ready for this.

So you did the only thing you could.

You forced a shaky smile, lifted your hand, and clasped his in a firm shake. “I’ll… think about it”

“Good.”

The moment his fingers left yours, you turned and ran.

You didn’t dare look back.

The Mydei you had cared for, the one who had clung to you with quiet desperation, was gone. In his place was a man who had remembered exactly who he was—a ruthless survivor, a predator who had lived through cruelty and now embraced it like an old friend.

And yet, as you fled through the halls, one thought nagged at you.

He let you go.

He could have stopped you.

But he didn’t.

Because he had something more important to do.

You had overheard the whispers. The plots. The disdain his so-called family held for him. And now that he had regained his memories, there was no doubt in your mind—they would pay for what they did to him.

You didn’t stop running until you were far from the main estate, your breath ragged, heart hammering against your ribs. You found an empty corridor, pressed yourself against the cold stone wall, and tried to collect your thoughts.

A distant sound echoed through the halls—the sharp clang of metal, the unmistakable shouts of panic. The purge had begun.

You swallowed hard, hands trembling as you clenched them into fists. Mydei wasn’t hesitating anymore. Now that his memories had returned, he wouldn’t let his enemies walk away unscathed.

The people who had left him for dead, the ones who had scorned him, plotted against him—he would make sure they suffered.

And once he was done with them?

His attention would turn back to you.

A sickening realization settled in your chest. You weren’t just someone who had saved him anymore. You had become something far more important in his eyes. His savior. His only ally.

You had to leave.

You turned sharply and began moving, sticking to the shadows as you made your way toward the outer edges of the estate. Your mind raced.

Another scream rang out in the distance, quickly cut off. You forced yourself not to flinch. If you let fear control you now, you’d never make it out.

“Leaving so soon?”

There he was.

Standing in the moonlight, his silhouette framed against the darkened estate, his clothes stained with fresh crimson.

Mydei smiled.

“I was hoping you’d wait for me.”

“It’s only natural to leave” you said, watching him carefully. “I’m no more than a wanderer. I never belonged here in the first place.”

Mydei tilted his head, as if amused by the excuse. He didn’t move closer, but the weight of his gaze made it feel as though he had.

“I saved you” you continued, keeping your tone even. “That’s enough for me. You have your memories now, your strength. You should settle. Surviving in a family like this… it’s already exhausting, isn’t it?”

“Settle?”

“You really think I’m the type to settle?”

“You don’t have to keep fighting anymore. You’ve won.”

“You think this was about winning?” Mydei murmured. “About just… surviving?” His fingers trailed against the hilt of his weapon, still stained from the night’s work. “No. This was about getting rid of obstacles.”

“Then you don’t need me here anymore.”

“You’re wrong. You’re the only one who reached for me when I had nothing” he murmured. “The only one who stayed. That makes you mine more than anyone else here.”

“Mydei—”

“I’ll let you go.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You want to leave, don’t you?” He said “Fine. Go. Run as far as you like.”

“You… mean it?”

“Of course. But I’ll find you again. You can run, but in the end, you’ll see it too.”

“See what?”

“That no one is more worthy to stand beside you than me.”

-----

Rumors spread like wildfire.

Whispers carried from town to town, tales of a noble house that had drowned in blood overnight. Servants who fled spoke of screams that echoed through the grand halls, of bodies left to rot where they fell. The once-mighty family was no more—only one remained.

The lone survivor. The victor.

Those who dared approach the estate after the massacre told stories of its transformation. The walls, once pristine, were streaked with dried crimson. The grand halls were silent, save for the occasional, eerie creak of a door left ajar. The air reeked of iron and death. Corpses had been left untouched for days, a warning to those who thought to interfere.

Some claimed that Mydei had executed them all himself, his blade carving through flesh without hesitation. Others believed he had simply watched, allowing his enemies to tear each other apart before delivering the final blow.

It didn’t matter which was true. The result was the same.

A house once filled with rivalry, deception, and cruelty had been emptied—purified. And at the center of it all stood the man who had orchestrated it.

You heard the rumors, of course.

But you didn’t linger on them. You had left that place behind. The bloodshed wasn’t yours to worry about.

You convinced yourself of that.

But Mydei hadn’t forgotten you.

With his newfound influence, he set his sights on something far more personal.

You had called yourself a wanderer, someone who did not belong to any one place.

So he devised a way to lure wanderers to him.

At first, it was subtle—news spreading of a noble who welcomed travelers, offering shelter, food, and protection within his domain. Stories were spun of a man who had risen above the cruelty of his past, who sought to create something different. A sanctuary for those with nowhere else to go.

It was a lie dressed in warmth, bait laid out with careful precision.

Some came out of curiosity. Others out of desperation.

And those who entered his grasp never truly left.

Because the moment you stepped inside his domain, you ceased to be a wanderer.

You had been traveling for a while, putting distance between yourself and the blood-soaked estate you left behind. The rumors reached your ears, but you told yourself they weren’t your concern.

Or so you thought.

It wasn’t until you ran into an old companion on the road that doubt began to creep in.

They spotted you first, calling out your name with excitement. You hadn’t seen them in ages, and the warmth of a familiar face eased something in your chest. But as you caught up, their words took a turn you hadn’t expected.

“I finally found a place to settle down” they said, smiling. “A safe haven. You wouldn’t believe it, but Mydei is the one who made it.”

“Mydei?”

“Yeah! He’s completely different from what the rumors say.” They laughed. “People make him sound like some bloodthirsty warlord, but he’s nothing like that. He’s strong, yeah, but fair. He looks out for people like us— drifters, those without a home.”

“And… you trust him?”

“Of course.” They gave you a curious look. “Why wouldn’t I? You should come see for yourself. He’d be happy to see you.”

You told yourself that Mydei was violent, dangerous. But what if—what if it wasn’t as simple as that? You had seen how his family treated him. Surviving in that environment had required cruelty.

Maybe he wasn’t a monster. Maybe he had only done what was necessary.

And now, he had built something better.

Did you really owe it to yourself to keep running from a ghost of the past?

Or was it time to see for yourself what he had become?

Your friend was a skilled hunter, always had been. They carried their latest catch—a freshly hunted deer—over their shoulder with ease, chatting away about how they planned to share the meat at the settlement Mydei had built.

You followed them, your cloak drawn tightly around you, hood casting a shadow over your face. It was better this way. If Mydei truly didn’t recognize you, you could slip in and out unnoticed, just another traveler passing through.

The settlement itself was… not what you expected.

It was thriving.

People moved about with ease, trading goods, chatting, tending to their daily work. There was no fear in their eyes, no signs of oppression. Children ran through the streets laughing. A group of fighters sparred in the courtyard, refining their skills under the watchful eyes of experienced mentors.

It felt normal.

And at the center of it all stood him.

He was speaking with a group of people, his posture relaxed, his voice calm. No bloodstained clothes, no blade in hand—just a leader among his people, guiding them.

You swallowed hard, gripping your cloak a little tighter.

Your companion led you around, showing you different parts of the settlement. They introduced you to others, spoke about how safe it was, how Mydei ensured no one went hungry, how he took in those with nowhere else to go.

Could this really be him?

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You had seen enough. It was time to leave. But just as you turned to slip away, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“You.”

Mydei stood just a few feet away, his golden eyes locked onto you.

“…I know you.”

Your hood still covered most of your face, but it didn’t matter.

He had recognized you.

The moment stretched unbearably long—then he moved. Before you could react, his hand grasped your wrist.

“Let go.”

“You came back.”

“I didn’t come for you” you said, keeping your voice steady. “I was passing through.”

“Passing through? So you expect me to believe that fate just conveniently led you here? To me?”

“You ran from me” he murmured, tilting his head as he studied you. “Yet here you are. Tell me…Did you miss me?”

You clenched your jaw, yanking your arm free at last. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No, I suppose you don’t.” He straightened, “But it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

Your friend, sensing the tension, hesitated before speaking. “You two… know each other?”

“We do” he said “And we have unfinished business.”

“We have nothing to discuss.”

“I disagree. Come with me.”

You hesitated.

“You’re causing a scene” he added, “Unless you’d rather continue this conversation with an audience?”

“Hey, if this is a bad time—” Your hunter friend tried to get in between.

“I’ll return them shortly”

“Fine.” You said.

He led you through the settlement, past bustling market stalls and well-armed guards who gave him nods of respect.

Eventually, you found yourself in a quieter part of the settlement—inside what looked like his personal quarters. The door shut behind you.

“So? What do you want?”

Mydei leaned back against the desk, crossing his own arms “That’s my question to you,” he said. “Why are you here?”

You scoffed. “I already told you—I was passing through. Not everything revolves around you, Mydei.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe” you shot back. “I saved your life, and this is how you treat me? Grabbing me, dragging me away, demanding answers as if I owe you something?”

“You did save me.” His voice was quieter now.

“That’s why I can’t let you go.” His golden eyes locked onto yours. “Do you think I could forget that? Do you think I want to?”

“You’re acting like I belong to you just because of that.”

“I’m not acting.”

You shook your head. “That’s not how this works. I didn’t save you so you could claim me.”

“I never asked you to save me” he murmured, pushing off the desk and stepping closer. “Yet you did.”

His hand lifted, hovering near your face for just a moment before he let it drop.

“And now, you expect me to just… let you walk away?” His smile was faint, but his eyes told a different story. “That’s cruel, don’t you think?”

Your hands curled into fists, anger boiling over.

“You don’t get to twist this on me” you snapped. “I saved your life because it was the right thing to do. That doesn’t mean I owe you my existence.”

You turned on your heel, making for the door.

“Please” Mydei’s voice rang out—low, almost desperate. “Don’t leave.”

“You can do anything to me,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly. “Hate me, punish me, curse me—but don’t go.”

Something in you wavered.

That voice, that vulnerability—it was just like the Mydei you had first saved. The one who had clung to you like a lost child, who had looked at you as if you were the only light in his world. The one who, despite everything, had needed you.

Was this still him?

Slowly, you turned, and the moment your eyes met his, something shifted.

His expression had changed.

Gone was the pleading, fragile look. In its place was something else entirely.

“Oh?” His voice was smooth now. “So you do like that side of me.”

Realization hit you like a crashing wave.

The moment he saw your hesitation, your concern, he had turned it against you.

You took a step back. “You—”

“I wondered” Mydei mused, tilting his head. “You always looked at me differently when I was weak. When I was the one needing you.”

He took a slow step forward, his smirk deepening. “Did it make you feel important?” His voice was silk laced with something dangerous. “Knowing I depended on you?”

“That’s not—”

“But the moment I changed—became stronger, took control—you hated it.” His eyes studied you, as if unraveling every thought in your head. “Did you only like me when I was fragile?”

“That’s not true.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Isn’t it?”

You hated the way he was looking at you now—like he had figured you out.

----

You had only been traveling for a day when disaster struck.

It happened so fast.

One moment, you were walking alongside your companion, the two of you chatting idly. The next—

The ground beneath you gave way after a sharp snap.

You barely had time to react before your body plunged downward, a concealed pit lined with jagged spikes waiting below. Your instincts screamed—twisting midair, you barely managed to avoid being skewered outright.

But pain still erupted in your side as a sharpened point grazed deep, slicing through cloth and flesh alike.

You hit the bottom hard, the breath knocked from your lungs. Blood soaked into your clothes. Above you, your companion leaned over the edge of the pit, their expression twisted into something that sent a chill down your spine.

Mockery.

"Ah… damn," they mused, lips curling. "That looked like it hurt."

You forced yourself to push up on shaking arms, ignoring the pain searing through your side.

"You know, I always wondered how someone like you got by on your own. Guess you’re not as lucky as you thought, huh?"

"You…"

“Oh, don’t give me that look.” They sighed, stretching lazily. “Do you have any idea how much he was willing to pay for this?”

He?

This wasn’t an accident.

This was a setup.

And before you could even begin to process it—

Another figure stepped into view.

Boots hitting the ground softly. A shadow against the waning light above.

"Tsk. What a mess."

Mydei.

“I told them to be careful with you,” he murmured, gaze trailing lazily over your wound. "Seems they got a little too eager."

"You know how it is. Accidents happen."

"Mm." Mydei tilted his head, as if contemplating something.

"Good thing I’m here to save you, then."

Pain pulsed through your side, but it was nothing compared to the ice-cold dread seeping into your veins.

Mydei was still crouched at the edge of the pit.

Your so-called friend, still standing beside him, let out a short laugh. “Well, I’ve held up my end of the deal.” they said, dusting off their hands. “So? My payment?”

Mydei sighed, almost lazily. “Ah. Yes. About that…”

And then, with a sudden, fluid motion—

His dagger flashed.

Your companion staggered, their eyes wide, hands flying to their throat—where crimson spilled between their fingers.

You froze, horror locking your limbs in place.

They tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling noise. They collapsed to their knees, fingers clawing uselessly at the ground—at Mydei’s boot.

“Greedy little thing” he murmured.

And then—he kicked them. Their body tumbled forward—right into the pit.

You barely had time to react before they landed beside you with a sickening thud.

Dead.

Your entire body trembled.

Slowly, you forced yourself to look up.

Mydei was still there, watching you. His blade gleamed with fresh blood, his expression unreadable.

“Now,” he said, “that’s one problem taken care of.”

His gaze drifted down to you, lingering on your wound.

“All that’s left,” he murmured, “is you.”

You barely had time to react before he leapt down, landing gracefully beside you. He knelt, completely unfazed by the corpse only inches away.

“You’re hurt” he observed softly, as if this was some tragic twist of fate and not a consequence of his actions.

You flinched as he pressed against the wound, sharp pain lancing through your body.

He shushed you.

"Don't struggle," he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

You drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain dulling your senses, but never fully fading.

Every time your eyes fluttered open, he was there.

Sitting beside your bed. Watching.

The dim glow of a lantern cast long shadows across the room, flickering against the walls. The scent of herbs and faint traces of blood lingered in the air. Your body ached, but it was warm—wrapped in thick blankets, bandages tightly wound around your wound.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets. Despite the haze clouding your mind, you could still feel him.

Sitting so close.

His presence was suffocating.

“Feel any better?”

You forced your eyes open fully.

Mydei sat beside you, his golden gaze fixed solely on you. His clothes were different now—clean, unblemished by blood.

“You should rest” he murmured, reaching forward. His fingers brushed against your forehead, checking for a fever.

“You…” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You did this.”

Mydei’s eyes softened, as if your accusation hurt him.

“I saved you.”

“You set me up.”

“I had to” he said simply. “You wouldn’t have come back otherwise.”

“You killed them,” you breathed, “Right in front of me.”

“They were useless to me.”

“You—”

He leaned forward before you could finish, his hand shifting to gently cradle the side of your face.

“You can hate me all you want. You can be afraid.”

His thumb traced along your cheek, “But you’re here now.”

“And I’m never letting you go again.”

---

He had fallen asleep beside you.

It was your chance.

Carefully, painfully, you shifted beneath the covers. Your wound throbbed with every movement, but you gritted your teeth, swallowing down the pain.

Your hands trembled as you lifted the blanket. Slowly, carefully, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet touching the cold wooden floor.

One step.

Another.

You barely made it past the bed when pain exploded in your leg as your bandages were yanked, forcing you backward. A startled gasp escaped your lips as you lost balance, falling back onto the bed.

A strong arm coiled around your waist in an instant, pulling you flush against something firm and solid.

You barely processed what had happened before his voice, low and drowsy, rumbled against your ear.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A shiver crawled up your spine. His body, warm and unyielding, pressed against yours, his breath ghosting over the side of your neck.

“You—You were asleep.”

“I was.” His fingers traced along the bandages he had wrapped around your leg, deliberately pressing down just enough to make you wince. “Until you decided to leave me behind.”

“Let me go.”

He exhaled, his hold tightening just slightly.

"After everything I've done for you? After I saved you?"

Your nails dug into the sheets. "You trapped me."

He hummed, as if considering your words.

"I brought you back where you belong."

His fingers curled against your thigh, his warmth seeping into your skin, his presence completely swallowing you whole. A sharp gasp tore from your lips as teeth sank into the soft skin of your inner thigh.

Your body jerked instinctively, your hands flying to his head, fingers tangling in his hair in a desperate attempt to stop him.

“Mydei—!”

He didn’t flinch. If anything, he pressed closer, his breath hot against your skin, his grip on your injured leg firm. His tongue flicked over the fresh mark, soothing where he’d bitten down.

"You can hate me all you want," he murmured against your thigh.

He tilted his head up slightly, "And yet…" His fingers trailed along your bandaged leg, slow, deliberate. "You're still here."

You gritted your teeth, gripping his hair tighter, forcing his head back—forcing him to stop.

The intensity in his gaze dulled in a sudden, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable. His shoulders sagged, his grip loosening as if suddenly realizing what he was doing.

"...I don't want you to leave" he murmured, voice quieter now. "I don't want to be alone again."

A pang of hesitation struck you.

It was so easy for him to do this—to slip between dangerous and desperate, between predator and lost, abandoned prey.

And the worst part?

It was working.

Your grip on his hair loosened.

“You saved me” he whispered. “No one else did. No one else ever would have.”

For a moment, just a moment, you saw him again. The wounded man you had once found. The one who clung to you, eyes filled with quiet desperation. The one you had saved.

Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, trembled.

He had you right where he wanted.

Mydei’s fingers curled around yours, his grip firm yet gentle, as if sealing an unspoken vow. “Only you are worthy to stay by my side,” he murmured, “No one else can get in the way.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, at the stark contrast between how delicately he held you—and the blood still drying under his nails.

For a moment, you thought about strangling him. About ending this madness right here and now.

Instead—

Your palm cracked against his cheek. You slapped him. His head snapped slightly to the side from the force, but he didn’t react—didn’t flinch.

“That” you seethed, voice trembling with controlled fury, “was for lying to me. For setting a trap. For using me.”

His cheek flushed red from the slap, yet his lips curled ever so slightly—amused.

But before he could speak—before he could weave another sickeningly sweet excuse—

You grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in.

Your lips crashed against his, fierce, demanding, stealing the breath right out of him.

Mydei inhaled sharply, his body tensing for the briefest moment before melting into you, his hand instantly finding the back of your head, ready to deepen the kiss, to take, to consume—

But just as quickly, you ripped yourself away.

He let out a breathless sound, eyes dark with longing, his fingers twitching, as if resisting the urge to pull you back.

"And that—" you exhaled "was for deceiving me with your little act."

“You,” he murmured, reaching for you again, but stopping just short, as if savoring the space between you, “have no idea how much people fear me.” His golden eyes gleamed. “No one dares to lay a hand on me like you do.”

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked.

He let out a sharp breath, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

"You forget," you hissed, "I was the one who saved you." You leaned in, so close that your words ghosted over his lips. “I am not like normal people.”

His hands lifted, brushing against your waist, wanting—needing to hold you in place.

“And that—” he whispered, eyes lidded, lips curving—“is exactly why no one else is suitable to stay by my side but you.”

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Sugar”

No Outbreak!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

Based on a request I got on my DMs

Summary: You return to your hometown to care for your ailing father and your brother with special needs, leaving behind your bakery—and your dreams. Overwhelmed and alone, you find unexpected comfort in your neighbor, Joel Miller

WC: 7k

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), fingering, undisclosed age gap, undisclosed illness mention, stress, references to behaviors commonly associated with ASD.

The screen door creaked the same way it did when you were a kid — rusted, unchanging, stuck in the same soft whimper it made when your mom was alive. It groaned under your hand as you pushed it open, the sound like an old ghost stretching its bones.

You were coming home with tired eyes and a back that ached from early mornings spent kneading dough. You had your name on the window of a tiny bakery four hours away, a reputation for sourdough that could make grown men cry. People used to line up before the sun came up. You’d smile, tuck flour-dusted hair behind your ear, hand over something warm and sweet and know, just for a second, that you were good at something. Needed. Steady.

But now, all of that had to be left behind.

Your father had taken a fall—nothing life-threatening, just enough to leave him limping, bitter, and suddenly in need of help. And then there was Caleb—your younger brother, your heart. Nonverbal, sweet, and sensitive to noise and touch, Caleb needed structure, softness, predictability. You didn’t trust anyone else to give him that. You couldn’t. So you packed up, closed the bakery temporarily—you told yourself—and came back.

You wiped your hands on your apron and nudged the oven door closed. Muffins. Your brother’s favorite. Blueberry, if you could swing it. The kitchen was too small and too hot, the ceiling fan rattling like it might fall down any second, and your hands were cracked from too much soap and not enough sleep, but at least baking made you feel useful. Like something still worked when everything else didn’t.

Later that day, you walked outside to look for your brother and glanced over just in time to catch a tall, broad man in jeans and a gray T-shirt looking your way. Arms crossed, one brow cocked. He nodded once.

You gave a half-smile, a shy tilt of your chin.

That was all.

You had enough to carry without adding neighbors.

…

It wasn’t long before you met him properly. Joel Miller.

He introduced himself a week later while helping you lift a sack of potting soil out of your trunk. You’d been starting a garden in the back—tomatoes, squash, something about it reminded you of home before everything cracked. Hoping the rhythm of planting, watering, tending might calm your nerves. Joel had said something about the soil being too clay-heavy and offered to help you mix in peat moss. He was quiet, observant. Lived alone with his daughter, Sarah—bright, friendly, called you “ma’am” with a little grin.

…

Joel Miller doesn’t mean to spy.

But when his truck rumbles into the driveway around 6PM each night, there’s always that moment where he glances across the fence and sees you. Bent over, carrying groceries inside, or pushing a wheelchair ramp into place. Once, he watched you chase your brother barefoot down the yard, laughing even though you were out of breath, even though your smile looked like it might crack in half from exhaustion.

He’s got a good eye for people. Years of working construction will do that to a man—you learn how to read a room by the way someone holds their shoulders. Yours? Always tense. Drawn up around your ears like armor. Always trying not to show how heavy it is.

He noticed the way your hands trembled by 10 a.m., the way you always carried two bags of groceries and never asked for help. He watched you gently calm Caleb when the trash trucks rolled by and overwhelmed him with noise. The way your voice changed—soft, steady, full of practiced comfort. He saw you clean up after your father, even when the old man snarled, humiliated by dependence, too proud to say thank you. He heard you mutter it’s okay, it’s okay, when you thought no one was listening.

He watched you wear yourself down to threads.

All for people who didn’t know how to say how much they needed you. Who probably didn’t even know how tired you were.

And Joel saw the cracks in your armor.

The nights when your lights stayed on too long. The way you sat on the porch after Caleb had gone to bed, face in your hands, shoulders trembling just a little too hard to be blamed on a breeze. He didn’t say anything. But he stayed on his side of the fence, porch light still glowing, just in case you looked up and needed someone to wave at. Just in case you needed to know you weren’t invisible.

He doesn’t say much. Not at first.

Just nods at you over the fence line, a muttered, “Evenin’,” as he wipes sweat off his neck. Sometimes he leaves an extra bundle of firewood near your steps. Pretends it just fell off the truck.

But Joel notices. Everything.

And he’s starting to realize—he can’t stop.

One Thursday, the heat finally breaks.

The air is thick and wet, but at least it’s moving, the storm that rolled through the night before cracked the sky in half and left the streets smelling like dust and ozone. You’re carrying too many bags of groceries for your arms to possibly hold, the plastic handles cutting into your fingers, sweat trickling down your spine when you hear a voice behind you — low, familiar, and warm.

“Howdy,” Joel says.

You pause, breath catching, a carton of eggs nearly slipping from your grip.

“Oh, hey…” you say, catching your balance.

“Joel,” he reminds you, offering a small, crooked smile.

“Joel, right.” You give him a polite smile in return, shy, a little breathless.

“You need a hand with that?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for you to answer. His hands are already reaching, already taking the heaviest bags from your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s okay, really,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction — and you don’t protest.

Joel just walks beside you, carrying the load like it’s nothing.

“Never seen you before around here,” he says as you both step onto the cracked walkway to your front door.

“No… I… I left a few years ago,” you say, shifting the bag in your hand. “But I’m back now. Had things to take care of.”

Joel doesn’t press. Just nods.

He steps into the kitchen and sets the bags down gently on the counter, like he belongs there, like this isn’t the first time he’s crossed the threshold of your life.

“Well, if you need help with… anythin’, I’m right next door.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

…

And it starts like that. Small things.

Joel changes the porch light when it burns out. You don’t ask—he just notices, brings his ladder over, and does it without saying a word. He helps you haul a busted dresser from the curb, his hands firm on the edges while you mutter something about termites and too many memories. He lets Caleb sit in his truck while you run to the store—“You like country music, bud?”—and doesn’t blink when Caleb claps too loud at a Willie Nelson song. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stare. Just grins when Caleb taps the dashboard like a drum.

And you?

You bring him pie. You bake too much when you’re anxious, when the world feels too loud and too full of things you can’t fix.

“Peach,” you say shyly, cheeks pink as you hold out the tin wrapped in foil. “Hope it’s not too sweet.”

Joel bites into it right there on his porch, standing barefoot in a white T-shirt that clings just slightly to his chest, sun catching the lines in his face. He groans, low and honest, the sound curling in your stomach.

“You tryin’ to kill me or marry me with this?” he says around a mouthful of pastry.

You choke on a laugh, startled and pink to your ears, trying to hide how much you’re blushing.

He just smiles — slow, warm, real.

Not the polite kind, not the distant one he gives most folks in town.

Just for you.

And suddenly, all those heavy days feel just a little lighter.

It happens on a Saturday night.

You’re sitting on your porch, elbows on your knees, the wood warm beneath your thighs even after sunset. There’s a half-melted glass of water by your side, untouched. Your body hums with exhaustion — not the sharp kind, but the kind that sinks into your bones after a week of taking care of everything and everyone but yourself.

Your eyes are half-closed when his voice rumbles through the quiet.

“You ever take a minute for yourself?”

You blink and sit up, startled. Joel’s leaning on the fence like he’s been there a while, two sweating bottles of beer in hand, the porch light catching on the edge of his smile.

“Sorry?” you ask, caught off guard.

“I said,” he smirks faintly, “Do you ever rest?”

You glance at him, then down the street like you’re looking for a way out of the question. “It’s not really about me.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of that. It’s too familiar. He’s heard it too many times—from women who carry the weight of the whole damn world on their shoulders and call it love. From people who forget they’re allowed to need.

“I see you,” he says, and his voice is lower now, softer. His eyes flick over your face, your slumped shoulders, your tired mouth. “Always runnin’ around. Cookin’. Haulin’ things. You look tired.”

You open your mouth. Then close it.

Something in your throat tightens.

Joel scratches his jaw, like maybe he regrets saying it. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just… if you ever need a hand with somethin’. I’m around.”

You nod. A small, barely-there smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Thanks.”

He steps up to the porch with one of the beers extended toward you.

You take it. You’re not much of a drinker — never have been — but tonight, the cold glass feels like kindness. Like relief.

“Can I sit?” he asks.

“You brought me a beer,” you say with a weak laugh. “It’d be kinda rude if I just kicked you off.”

Joel chuckles and climbs the steps with that familiar grunt, the kind men his age make without realizing it. He leaves a respectful bit of space between you as he lowers himself down beside you. The wood creaks under his weight. He hands you the bottle. You take a sip, and the beer is sharp and cold and exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

He doesn’t say anything for a while.

You don’t need him to. That’s the thing about Joel, he doesn’t talk to fill silence. He lets it stretch, lets it breathe.

“I used to sit out here every night,” you say eventually, eyes fixed on the dark yard. “Back in high school. Pretend I didn’t live in this house. Pretend I was anywhere else.”

Joel nods, slow and thoughtful, his gaze on the distance like he’s seeing it too.

“It’s hard,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Coming back. They don’t mean to… but they pull at me. All day, every day. I feel like I’ve been running on empty for months.”

You let out a shaky breath, the truth bleeding out of you like water through cupped hands.

“I know I’m strong. I’m not helpless. But God, Joel… sometimes I just want someone to tell me I don’t have to be so damn strong all the time.”

Your voice cracks on the end of it. You bring the bottle to your lips to hide the way your eyes burn.

Joel doesn’t speak right away.

Then, slowly, he shifts behind you. Closer. The boards groan under his weight.

“Here,” he says, voice low and rough by your ear. “Lemme see your shoulders.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re wound so tight I can hear your muscles beggin’ for mercy. Just let me help a little.”

You hesitate. But something inside you cracks. Not loud. Just a quiet fracture — a tired, trembling thing that gives way.

You nod. Set the bottle down.

Joel’s hands are large. Warm. Calloused from years of work. He starts slow, thumbs pressing gently into the stiff muscles behind your collarbones, and you suck in a sharp breath at the pressure.

“You carry it all right here,” he murmurs, his voice low, a kind of reverent hush. “All of it. Like if you let go, the whole world’s gonna fall apart.”

Your throat works around a swallow. “Feels like it might.”

He doesn’t rush. His hands move in steady circles, drawing out knots like they’re made of memory.

“Let it fall, then,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to hold everythin’ alone.”

Your eyes sting. You close them, head dropping forward slightly. The weight of his hands, his words, his presence — it grounds you. In a way you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

…

Later, Joel sits alone on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers laced.

The house is quiet. Sarah’s gone for the weekend with her uncle, and the stillness makes everything louder.

He hadn’t meant for it to go that far.

The massage — hell, it wasn’t even a massage. Just a gesture. A small kindness. A way of saying: I see you.

But the truth is, when his hands touched your skin, something in him shifted. Something broke loose. It wasn’t lust, not exactly. It wasn’t clean, or easy. It was older than that. Deeper. Lonelier.

He hadn’t expected the way your skin would feel — soft and warm beneath his palms, like something fragile trying hard not to break. He hadn’t expected the sound you made — that little sigh, that barely-there release, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected the way it would wreck him.

And then you’d leaned back. Not even thinking. Just trusting.

And that had been the end of him.

Now the bedroom feels too quiet. Too honest.

He knows what this is. Knows what it could turn into if he let it.

But he also knows what the mirror shows him every damn day. The years. The scars. The cracks that never healed right.

You? You still had time. A whole stretch of road ahead. And Joel… Joel had already walked through fire and come out carrying ash.

But still, he can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at him tonight. Like maybe you didn’t care about the years, or the scars, or the weight.

Like maybe you just wanted someone to sit with you in the dark and say, you don’t have to be strong right now. I’ve got you.

And God help him.

Because he wanted to be that person for you.

More than anything.

One evening, you were sitting on the porch steps again, your head bent over a cold cup of tea, fingers curled around the mug like it might hold you together.

The sun had gone down an hour ago, but you hadn’t moved. Not since your father slammed the screen door and disappeared down the hall, grumbling about the cable being out, blaming the weather, the neighbors, you, whatever he could throw his anger at without having to face himself. Caleb was inside, stacking soup cans like building blocks, humming under his breath. Happy, for now.

But you looked like you were trying not to cry.

You missed your old life, missed baking, you could almost smell the scent of fresh dough, yeast rising sweetly in the air, mingling with the rich, buttery aroma of pastries just pulled from the oven.

Baking had always been your escape, your way of shaping comfort and joy out of simple ingredients. There was something sacred about the quiet hum of the ovens, the soft clatter of mixing bowls, and the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time a batch of peach pies came out golden and perfect—just like Joel had said.

Your jaw was tight. Your shoulders hunched. The porch light painted shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago.

“Hey there, sugar.”

Joel’s voice was low, careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. But it did. You looked up, eyes wide, smiling and blushing at the pet name—Sugar. There was something about the way he said that word that sounded both sweet and incredibly hot at the same time.

He stood at the edge of your yard in a flannel shirt and worn work boots, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands stuffed into his pockets. Like he’d just stepped off a shift. Like maybe he’d been watching for a while and only just worked up the nerve to speak.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

You blinked. Shook your head without thinking.

“I was thinkin’ of makin’ chili,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “Sarah’s got a sleepover. Too much for one.” A pause. “Come over if you want.”

Your stomach growled before you could answer. You hadn’t eaten more than half a sandwich all day. Maybe less.

Your voice came out small. “Okay.”

He nodded once, slow, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon then, sugar.”

You stood. Left your mug behind. And followed him across the lawn like it was the easiest decision in the world—though something about it made your chest ache. Like the gesture was too kind. Like it might undo you.

It was the first time in weeks someone had taken care of you.

Joel’s house smelled like cumin and garlic and something deep and rich simmering on the stove. It wrapped around you like a blanket the second you stepped inside. There was warmth here, not just from the food, but from the space itself.

Lived-in.

A coat hung over the back of a chair. Sarah’s sneakers kicked off beside the door. A half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. A photo of the two of them smiling under a Ferris wheel, framed and proud on the mantle.

It was a home.

You lingered in the entryway, awkward, hands clasped like a kid at someone else’s birthday party. Unsure if you should sit, take your shoes off, or run back outside and cry behind the steering wheel of your truck.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”

You swallowed. Nodded. Your shoes stayed on.

“It ain’t much,” he added, already pulling bowls from a cabinet, “but the chili’s good. I promise.”

You sat at the kitchen table with your spine stiff, hands in your lap. Watched him move like he’d done this a hundred times—grabbing spoons, stirring the pot. There was a rhythm to him. Something grounding.

He ladled two bowls full, steam curling into the air. Grabbed a spoon. Then paused.

“Cheese or no cheese?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He looked up. “I always ask Sarah. She says yes. I say no. Figure I better ask you too.”

And that—that—made you laugh. Soft. Unbidden. Like a cracked window letting in the breeze.

“Cheese,” you said. “Please.”

He gave a small nod, grating sharp cheddar with slow, even strokes. Slid your bowl across the table. Then sat opposite you.

You ate in silence. But it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. You were too hungry to pretend you weren’t. And the chili—God—the chili was perfect. Spicy, earthy, just sweet enough to settle something hollow inside you. You scraped your bowl clean.

Joel looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just sat with you. Not pushing. Not prying.

It didn’t feel like judgment. It felt like patience.

Eventually, you broke the silence. Because the warmth in your stomach had spread to your chest. Because you were full for the first time in days and it made your guard slip.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

Your voice was quiet. Barely more than a breath. The spoon stilled in your hand.

Joel didn’t speak.

“My dad… he’s not a bad man. Just… proud. Stubborn. And Caleb, he—he’s good. He’s sweet. But it’s all the time, you know? Like my brain never shuts off. And I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the first tear hit your wrist. You wiped it away fast, ashamed.

“I used to run this bakery,” you said, voice breaking around the memory. “My own place. I’d wake up at 3 a.m., roll dough, bake till noon. And I loved it. Every part of it. But I gave it up to come back here. I keep telling myself it’s temporary, but… I don’t know anymore.”

You looked down at your hands, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. I just… I guess I needed to say it out loud.”

Joel leaned back slowly in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. He didn’t look away.

“You’re doin’ everything for everyone else,” he said, low and even. “And no one’s doin’ a damn thing for you.”

The truth of it hit like a gut-punch. You stared at him, stunned, not because it was harsh, but because it was true.

“You ain’t weak for bein’ tired,” he added, voice quieter now. “You’re human.”

You blinked fast. Tried to breathe around the lump in your throat.

“Sometimes I think about just packing Caleb up and leaving. Taking him back with me. Starting fresh. But that would mean leaving my dad behind.”

Joel frowned, jaw tightening. “And what about you? When do you get to matter?”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

And then he did something you didn’t expect.

He reached across the table. Covered your hand with his. His palm was big, warm, rough—like everything he’d ever built still lived in the skin of him.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to carry it all,” he said, softer now. “Not by yourself.”

Your shoulders trembled. You nodded once. Fast. Because if you opened your mouth, you’d sob, and you couldn’t bear to fall apart in front of someone who had been nothing but kind.

But something inside you shifted.

Maybe it was the warmth of his hand. Or the way he didn’t fill the silence with empty words.

Maybe it was the first time in months someone looked at you—really looked at you—and didn’t expect anything in return.

Maybe it was the first time you believed someone might stay.

You still remember the first time you kissed him.

The porch had gone dark again—that same damn fixture that chewed through bulbs like candy, flickering out after barely a week, and you were up on a shaky old stool, arms stretched, fingers fumbling with the new bulb as dusk slipped toward dark.

You were just tightening the last turn when the stool wobbled—a sharp, treacherous lurch of one leg off the uneven wooden plank.

“Shit—”

Your breath caught, heart leaping into your throat.

And then strong hands caught you.

Warm. Steady. Unmistakably Joel.

One arm braced firm around your waist, the other coming up beneath your thigh to guide you gently down. You didn’t fall—you landed against him, your feet scrambling awkwardly to the porch floor, your whole body pressed to the solid wall of his chest.

“Careful, sugar,” he muttered, breath hot at your ear, voice rough and close and a little too soft for your thudding heart. “You tryna give me a heart attack?”

You let out a breathless laugh, more surprise than humor, your hand still clinging to his shoulder. Your face tipped up automatically, and the porch light, freshly fixed, cast a glow over both of you. Warm. Intimate. Like a spotlight on something neither of you had dared name.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, quieter than you meant. Maybe because he was still holding you. Maybe because you didn’t want him to stop.

Joel didn’t let go. His hands lingered low at your waist, thumbs just brushing the edge of skin beneath your hoodie.

“Still,” he said, voice steady but heavy, like he was trying not to say more. “Lemme do this kinda thing next time.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He hadn’t shaved. His shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his chest from yard work, and the ends of his hair curled slightly where it stuck to the sides of his face. But it was his eyes that got you—soft, warm, focused entirely on you, like you were fragile and rare and he didn’t want to break anything.

And suddenly, the lightbulb didn’t matter at all.

You climbed down slowly, but your hand, deliberately or not, brushed against his chest on the way down. And neither of you moved.

It was a moment suspended in air. Like standing at the edge of something tall and dangerous and beautiful. A quiet hum beneath your skin.

Joel’s voice dropped, barely audible. “I been tryin’ not to look at you like this.”

Your breath hitched. “Like what?”

He reached up—so gently, so slowly it felt like your body moved before your brain caught up—and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. His thumb skimmed your cheekbone, a soft drag that made your whole face warm.

“Like I want you.”

Time cracked open.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because you did, you wanted him, had wanted him for weeks. Longer, maybe. Longer than you were ready to admit.

The kiss, when it came, wasn’t fire—it was smoke. Slow and curling and inevitable. His lips brushed yours once, tentative, like he didn’t believe you’d let him. But when you leaned in, just a little, he deepened it, his hand sliding into your hair, the other anchoring you to his chest like he needed to feel all of you at once.

Your hands found his shirt, fingers curling into damp cotton, needing to hold on to something, anything.

His arms came around you fully then, pulling you in until you could feel every line of him—broad chest, firm stomach, the barely restrained tension coiled beneath his skin. The kiss shifted, turned warmer, messier, like a need finally slipping through the cracks.

You broke away just to breathe, lips still brushing his.

“Joel…” your voice was a gasp, a question, a plea.

He kissed you again, slower now, like he was savoring something he’d been denying himself for a long time.

His hand drifted lower, beneath your hoodie, callused palm sliding across the bare skin of your waist. You shivered—not from cold, but from the sheer tenderness of it.

He groaned low into your mouth, the sound tugging at something deep inside you. You pressed closer, hands sliding up beneath his shirt, seeking skin. His breath stuttered. His hips shifted—just slightly—but enough that you felt him, hard against you.

And then—he stopped.

Abrupt. Breathless.

His forehead stayed pressed to yours as he sucked in air like he was drowning.

“Shit.”

You blinked, disoriented. “What—what is it?”

Joel’s hands were still on your waist, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. His eyes squeezed shut as he pulled back just enough to see you.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, voice tight and raw.

You froze. The words hit like a slap. “Oh.”

He saw it—the flicker of hurt in your eyes—and rushed to speak.

“It’s not you, sugar,” he said quickly. “Jesus, it ain’t you. It’s just—” He stepped back fully, ran both hands down his face like it hurt. “I don’t wanna start somethin’ with you just to make your life more complicated. You are too young f’me, and you already got so much on your shoulders, and I—fuck, I care about you too much to be one more thing you gotta manage.”

Your heart twisted in your chest. “Joel…”

He looked at you like it broke him. “You’re…” He shook his head. “You’re incredible. And I want this. I do. But you deserve somethin’ else. Somethin’ that’s not me.”

You stood still, the air between you suddenly cooler. But you understood.

This wasn’t rejection. It was protection. Restraint sharpened by care.

And that, somehow, made it ache even more.

Because he meant it. And you believed him.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

But it made you trust him more.

It was past nine when you showed up at his door.

No call. No warning. Just you—hoodie zipped halfway, face pale, eyes dull from the weight of the day. You didn’t even knock properly. Just a soft, hesitant tap of your knuckles, like you weren’t sure you deserved to be there.

Joel opened the door in a T-shirt and sweats, hair mussed, a faint line of exhaustion on his brow. His eyes widened, not in surprise exactly, more like fear. Like he thought this might be a dream.

“Hey,” you breathed. Barely audible. Fragile. “You alone?”

He nodded. Didn’t ask a single question. Just stepped back silently, let you pass, and shut the door with a quiet finality that felt like safety.

You stood there in his dim entryway, fingers twitching at your sides, tension radiating off you like static.

And then—you cracked.

“It was a bad day,” you whispered, like admitting it made it real.

Joel didn’t move. Just listened.

“My dad fell again. Caleb lost it in the store because they moved the cereal aisle and I didn’t know. He screamed and sobbed while people stared like he was a fucking exhibit.” Your voice broke, trembling. “I cried in the car after. Not because of them. Not even because of him. Because I didn’t know what cereal he wanted.”

You let out a laugh that was more of a sob—wet, broken, raw.

Joel’s face—God, the way it fell when he saw you hurting like that—was almost too much to look at.

“I haven’t had one goddamn second to myself, Joel. Not to bake. Not to read. Not even to shower without someone banging on the fucking door needing something. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired.”

Your breath caught, and you looked up at him, eyes wide, glassy.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

And that was it. The unraveling. The surrender.

Joel stepped forward so quietly you didn’t hear it, just felt it. His presence. Solid. Grounding.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I need you,” you whispered. “And I know we aren’t… anything. Not really. But I need the way you look at me like I’m not some empty shell holding everyone else’s bullshit together. I need you.”

That shattered him.

He gathered you into his arms like he couldn’t stop himself, like the second he felt your body hit his, he knew he wouldn’t survive letting go. You collapsed into him with a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a sigh—just something deep and painful and desperate.

He didn’t say much. Just held you. Tight. Warm. Real.

“I’m here, sugar,” he murmured, mouth against your hair. “Right here.”

You nodded against his chest, shivering in his arms. “I don’t wanna do this alone anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Joel said thickly. “Lemme help. Lemme be here f’you.”

Your eyes lifted to his, swollen and rimmed with tears. “Even if it’s messy?”

His thumb brushed your cheek, slow and careful. “Especially then.”

And when he kissed you—fuck, there was no going back. No restraint. No apologies. Just need. His mouth slotted over yours with aching tenderness, but his grip on your waist was possessive, like he needed to feel your bones under his palms, needed to know you were real.

He kissed you until your lungs burned, until your body arched into him without thinking, until you couldn’t remember why you were crying in the first place.

A rough, needy sound escaped his throat—low, primal, like he was holding something back and failing.

Then he walked you backward, lips never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the couch. You gasped when you dropped onto the cushions. He followed—a heavy, hot presence between your thighs, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly up beneath your hoodie.

“I tried to stay away,” he rasped, mouth brushing your throat. “Told myself you had enough goin’ on… that I was too damn old, too broken for you.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, voice trembling. “Joel—”

“But then you show up at my door,” he growled, “and all I can think was how fuckin’ stupid I was for leavin’ that night on your porch with your lips still warm on mine.”

He tugged your hoodie up, his hands reverent, like he was peeling back something sacred. You let him. Raised your arms. Gave him permission. Gave him you.

And when he looked down at you—bare under the soft glow of the lamp—you saw it in his eyes.

Worship. Hunger. Need.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re fuckin’ divine, sugar.”

You pulled him down, crushed your mouth to his, wanting more. Needing more.

His hand dipped past your waistband, calloused fingers skimming hot and slow over bare skin. You whimpered against his mouth—a needy, broken little sound—and he swallowed it whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “Say the word, baby. I’ll pull back.”

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Please… don’t stop.”

That was it. That was all it took.

Joel groaned—a filthy, desperate sound—and kissed you harder. Rougher. His hand slipped lower, fingers dipping into your slick heat, and the moan you let out damn near broke him in two.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he rasped. “You come over here wantin’ me like this, baby?”

You nodded, hips grinding shamelessly against his palm. “Needed this. Needed you.”

Two fingers pushed inside —slow, steady— filling you with a stretch that made your eyes flutter shut. He curled them just right, and your back arched, thighs trembling as your breath stuttered out in ragged little gasps.

His fingers worked you open, pressing deep, curling, teasing your walls. The wet, obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the room, only broken by the soft, strangled cries you kept trying—and failing—to hold back.

Each stroke was deliberate, meant to pull every sound out of you. He didn’t just want you wet, he wanted you trembling, messy, ruined for anyone else.

“Please, Joel,” you gasped, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “Don’t stop—feels s-so good—”

“Tonight is all about you. About making you feel good, just like you deserve. You work so hard… let me give this to you.” His voice was low, reverent, like prayer—like worship—and every word seemed to sink into your skin like heat.

He watched every twitch, every gasp, like it fed something primal in him. His thumb dragged over your clit, a single, devastating swipe, and your whole body jolted, your hips bucked helplessly. A strangled sob ripping from your throat as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You did. And the way he held your gaze—steady, reverent, hungry—made your whole body tighten with want.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he murmured as he kissed down your chest, then your belly, pausing to mouth gently at the soft skin above your hip. “How you’d feel. How you’d taste. How you’d fall apart if someone just… took their time.”

You whimpered, breath shaking. “Joel…”

“Gonna take care of you, sugar. Gonna make you feel worshiped.”

Then he moved, sliding down between your thighs, kissing over your belly, your hip, his beard scraping your sensitive skin in the best way.

He spread your legs with steady hands, thumbs grazing your inner thighs like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something sacred.

“You smell like fuckin’ heaven,” he growled. “Bet you taste even sweeter than that peach pie you make.”

His breath ghosted over your skin, so hot it made you squirm, your thighs instinctively trying to close—until he spread them open again with a low, possessive growl.

“You deserve to be worshipped, sugar. Deserve someone who sees nothing but you, someone who lives to make you feel good.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Hot, wet, devastating.

You gasped when his tongue met you, soft and slow at first, just a gentle press, then firmer, deeper. He groaned like he could live off the way you tasted. Like he needed it—your slick, your heat, the way you melted under his tongue.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, steady, while his mouth worked—kisses, licks, teasing sucks that made your hips jerk before he calmed you with a firm hand to your belly.

“Easy now, sugar,” he muttered, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision. “Let me take my time with you.”

That tongue was sin itself—warm, deliberate, unforgiving. Every flick felt like it rewired your nerves. Every slow drag had you twitching, clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

His tongue licked a slow stripe through your folds, then circled your clit until your back arched and your fingers clawed at the cushions.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t give you a single breath to recover.

You were panting, whining, rutting up against his face without shame. He didn’t even blink, just held you wider, lower, like he wanted to drown in it.

He fucked you with his mouth like he meant to memorize every twitch of your body, every whimper, every desperate moan that spilled out of you.

His mouth worked in tandem with his fingers—two thick digits fucking deep, curling just right, pressing to that spot that made your toes curl.

Every push dragged another broken sound from your throat, and the slick, wet squelch of your body around him only made him growl harder.

“Lemme feel you fall apart, sweetheart,” he groaned into you. “Lemme drink you in.”

You sobbed. Literally sobbed. The pleasure was too much, too deep, like he’d reached inside and touched something you didn’t know you were allowed to feel.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he rasped. “Look how good you take it. Like you were made for this. Made to be loved like this.”

His fingers pumped faster, his tongue relentless, and you were unraveling so fast you couldn’t even think. All you could do was feel the rhythm of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, the drag of his beard catching slick against your thighs.

He sucked your clit harder, just once, and your whole body seized. A tremor ran through your thighs like a live wire.

You couldn’t speak. Only moan, high and breathy, fingers threading into his hair, hips lifting into his mouth before he pinned them again with a low, warning growl.

“Uh-uh. Lemme. Lemme have this.”

And when you came—it was loud, wild, wet—a cry tearing from your throat as your whole body spasmed under his mouth. He held you through it, murmuring your name like a prayer, even as you trembled and gasped, your body giving out beneath his hands.

Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop—licking through your release like he’d earned it, like it was his right.

Joel moaned like he was coming too, grinding against the couch, keeping his tongue on you, licking you through the aftershocks while you trembled, boneless and wrecked.

When he pulled back, his beard was slick with you, lips swollen, eyes dark and wrecked.

But he didn’t reach for himself. Didn’t demand more. He just hovered over you, brushing hair back from your face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw, thumb tracing your thigh.

You nodded, dazed. “No one’s ever… no one’s ever made me feel like that.”

Joel leaned in, kissed your forehead. “That’s the only way I know how to touch you now.”

You looked up at him—face flushed, eyes glassy—and whispered, “Can I have you now?”

He stilled. Blinked.

You reached for him. “Please. I want to feel you. All of you.”

“You don’t gotta ask me twice,” he rasped. “But I need to hear you say it again. Need to know you want this.”

“I do,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his. “I want you. Not just tonight. Not just because I’m tired or broken. I want you because it’s you, Joel.”

His control shattered.

He kissed you again, rougher this time, like he’d been holding back and finally let himself feel how badly he needed you. His body pressed down over yours, the heat of him unmistakable through the fabric still between you.

He tore his shirt off in one motion, sweatpants shoved down to his thighs, cock heavy and thick, flushed dark with need. It slapped against his stomach, leaking already, pulsing with need like it was aching to be inside you.

You opened for him, no hesitation. Just yes—in every movement, every breath, every inch of skin you offered.

Joel braced over you, gaze locked to yours.

“Still okay?”

You nodded, chest heaving. “Need you inside me.”

He lined up and pushed in—slow, careful, so fucking deep—and you gasped, arching, clutching at him as he filled you inch by aching inch. Thick, hot, unrelenting, he opened you up with the kind of stretch that made your whole body seize.

The stretch burned in the most perfect way, your walls gripping him tight, pulsing around him like your body didn’t want to let him go. Your cunt clenched like it already knew who he was, like it belonged to him.

You’d never felt anything like it.

Like being claimed. Possessed. Worshiped.

He bottomed out with a broken moan, hips pressed flush to yours, like he never wanted to leave.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. “You feel like—fuck—like I’ve been waitin’ for this my whole fuckin’ life.”

He stayed there for a second, buried so deep you could feel the throb of his cock against your cervix, like he was trying to become a part of you.

“F-fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, voice catching in your throat as he sank in deeper, stretching you open with agonizing, delicious slowness. “S-so big.”

“Can you take it, sugar?,” he growled, voice rough and ragged against your ear. “I want you to feel good.”

A helpless sob spilled from your lip. “I-I am,” you gasped, barely able to breathe.

He thrust deep and slow, grinding his hips with every roll, letting you feel all of him, every thick, perfect inch. His cock dragged against your walls just right, pulling wet, slick sounds from your body that had him groaning like he was losing his mind.

Your nails dug into his back, mouth parted in soft, breathless cries.

The drag of him was obscene, slick and hot and thick, your body clenching tight around him every time he pulled back.

You were soaking him—dripping down his length, soaking the base of his cock, the couch beneath you a mess of heat and sweat and need.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped.

“Never,” he promised. “Not with you.”

Joel groaned like it hurt, like being inside you was too much, too good. “You feel—Christ, sugar, you feel like heaven.”

His thrusts turned rough, frantic, filthy—skin slapping, couch creaking, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest as he fucked you like he meant it. His balls slapped against your ass with every stroke, the wet, messy sound of him slamming into you filling the room.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, hips grinding into yours. “So fuckin’ tight, sugar… can’t believe I waited this long—”

You clung to him, breath coming in soft, desperate moans. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back to pull him even deeper, faster.

“Joel,” you gasped, “I want it—want you all the way. Please, don’t stop—”

He kissed you hard, swallowing your plea with a growl as he drove into you faster, deeper, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“Not stoppin’. Can’t. Not when you’re takin’ me so good—fuck—look at you.”

“I’m close,” you whimpered. “Joel—please—” You were trembling, cunt fluttering around him, desperate for release.

You cried out, hands scrambling to grip his forearms, needing something—anything—to anchor you while he drove into you with slow, punishing thrusts. Each one landed deeper, harder, until it felt like he was carved into your core.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide and desperate. “Look at me. Want you to see me when I cum inside you.”

You did. You looked at him and it was all it took for your second orgasm to explode inside your body, ripping through you like a fucking firestorm, your whole body locking around him, crying out his name like it was the only word you remembered.

And when he came, he let out a deep, broken moan, thrusting hard, grinding into you with everything he had—his seed spilling deep inside you, filling you, claiming you. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, every spurt making your walls flutter, milking him for everything he had.

“Fuck… fuck, baby…” His voice went ragged, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking with every pulse as he emptied himself inside you like he meant it.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him through it, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

You felt full. Claimed. Loved, even if neither of you had said the words yet.

He stayed there for a moment—still inside you, skin against skin—like he couldn’t bear to leave that closeness.

He kissed your temple, murmured your name low and warm. And then, quieter still: “You don’t gotta carry everything by yourself anymore.”

Your breath hitched, and he pulled you closer.

“You hear me, sugar? You don’t have to be strong for everybody all the time. Not with me.” His lips pressed against your hairline, voice like gravel wrapped in honey. “I’m here now. I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re gonna figure it out. Together.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just wrapped your arms around his broad back and held on like your life depended on it.

And maybe it did.

Joel’s hand stroked slow, soothing patterns across your spine. “You got me, sugar. All of me. Always.”

And in his arms, for the first time in too long, you believed it.

A/N: Thank you to the person who requested this for your patience. I loved the idea and hope it meets your expectations🫶🏻

Thank you too to everyone reading this for supporting my work and for your nice words🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[fear-is-truth]

THE 5 LOVE LANGUAGES 𝔵 JASON TODD

ⓘ love language : a person's characteristic means of expressing and experiencing love. note. got covid so i wrote the majority of this in bed lol

❝ ACTS OF SERVICE ❞ ⸻⸻⸻⸻ ⸻ ﹒

jason’s dominant expression of attachment is through action, often coded as protection. now he doesn’t articulate affection directly, but his decisions (frequently violent, morally ambiguous, or self-endangering) reveal an ingrained instinct to shield others. from early adolescence, he understood that love, if it meant anything, had to be proven with action.

under bruce, he learned to channel this drive into something more structured: protect the innocent, follow through, serve justice. jason internalised that, but filtered it through his own experiences. his ethic of care was shaped by loss, abandonment, and death. to jason, if you care about someone, you fucking do something about it. after the lazarus pit, this trait only intensified; he became more militant about protecting people he saw as his responsibility. this goes without saying that he’ll kill for you—has, and will again. notably, he may reject help from others, perceiving self-reliance as a survival mechanism. when he allows others to assist him, it signifies a very deep trust.

❝ PHYSICAL TOUCH ❞ ⸻⸻⸻⸻ ⸻

complicated. pre-trauma (pre-death), anecdotal evidence suggests jason was physically affectionate. post-resurrection though, physical touch may trigger hypervigilance or dissociation. he’s not exactly avoidant. on some deeper level, he wants it, craves it, even. but only on his terms and without surprise. if he’s letting you touch him, he’s already made a conscious choice. contact tends to trigger fight-or-flight unless it’s from someone he’s mentally filed as “safe.” even then, it takes time because he needs to assess the intent and pattern first. you’ve learned not to startle jason. when you do reach for him, he won’t always meet you halfway, but he won’t stop you either. sometimes, he’ll even lean into it, let your hand cradle his jaw or your knee press lightly against his under the table. when initiated by him, physical touch is always intentional and super rare.

❝ WORDS OF AFFIRMATION ❞ ⸻ ⸻⸻⸻

he generally distrusts verbal assurances. years of emotional inconsistency, perceived abandonment, and betrayal have rendered language hollow in his worldview. when someone tries to express affection verbally, his first instinct is suspicion. compliments may be deflected or mocked. and when he does offer verbal affection, it’s often oblique—dry humor, begrudging respect, dark jokes. moments of direct affirmation are intensely vulnerable and often framed through anger or defiance (e.g., “i never stopped caring, that’s the problem”). receiving affirmation may cause him visible discomfort, though it still registers.

❝ RECEIVING GIFTS❞ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

selective, but significant. the paperback you tracked down (the out-of-print edition he’d mentioned only once, in passing.) the gloves you left folded on the counter after noticing the ones he wore were splitting at the seams. jason doesn’t view objects as inherently meaningful—he doesn’t assign value to things, only to the intent behind them. he’s not effusive in return. most of what he gives is pragmatic, given without ceremony or explanation. a stun gun mysteriously appears in your bag after he walked you home one night. a second helmet on his motorbike. his hoodie folded on your bed because he’s seen you shiver in the mornings and doesn’t want you to have to ask.

when it isn’t strictly practical, it still has function. a dog-eared copy of the latest novel he read—left on your nightstand, filled with underline passages and margin notes that read like he’s talking directly to you. his gifts are silent acknowledgments: i see you. you matter to me.

❝ QUALITY TIME ❞ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

jason’s used to solitude. silence doesn’t unsettle him—it’s the baseline. you people either stick around or they don’t. most don’t. being around him isn’t easy, he’s aware of that too. if you choose to stay near him, you’re exposing yourself to his volatility, the sharp edge that never fully dulled. it’s not an easy choice to make.

he doesn’t require conversation. half the time, jason prefers the silence. he’s comfortable with proximity without pressure (e.g., watching crappy TV, eating takeout on a fire escape etc.)

the more time you spend with jason consistently, the more he lets down the armor. not all at once of course; but in increments. when he starts talking unprompted—thoughts he normally keeps to himself, tidbits of his past.

 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ꕀ

[kumikuzushi-kun]

HIS NOCTUARY𓆝 𓆟

Telemachus x Fem! reader 𓆞

WARNING(S) : Harassment, Disturbing acts performed by the suitors, Reader is hinted to have mommy issues, a few inaccuracies to the Odyssey, slight intimacy

Word count : 14k (forgive me, i got carried away)

a/n: part 2 coming soon!

ART CREDITS GOES TO GIGI IN YOUTUBE ( @gigizetz in Tumblr! )

𐔌 When Telemachus turned thirteen, that was when his father’s absence start to weigh. The Trojan War had long ended, yet Odysseus had not returned. Around the same time, the number of workers in the palace began to dwindle—some retiring, others quietly leaving as the palace began to shift.

That was when you and your mother arrived at the palace. The queen was in need of a personal handmaid, and your mother, having served as a handmaid in a neighboring kingdom, was sent to Ithaca. She was a trusted woman—regarded as one of the most loyal workers in her homeland—so it didn’t take long before Queen Penelope came to see her the same way.

Along side your mother—was you, you looked around the same age as Telemachus though he never officially met you. It was quite a turn for Telemachus to have another person his age in the palace walls however it only ever remained as that. Just another presence that worked for his family.

In rare events, Telemachus would ran into you while you're helping your mother or the other handmaidens. You stood professional despite you being the same age, it was clear that you were more mentally mature than the prince, heck probably more sensible than any other teen in Ithaca.

𐔌 One time, Telemachus was walking back to his room when he passed by you. Though you were looking out through the open window at the view, you immediately sensed his presence and turned to acknowledge him.

"Good day, your highness. The sky seems to be in a good mood today, isn't it?" That was the first time you'd ever spoken to him beyond simply greeting him by title.

The young prince wasn’t exactly used to speaking with girls his age, so an awkward chuckle escaped his lips as he stepped a little closer to you. “It quite is,” Telemachus replied, his voice slightly uncertain.

You looked out towards the sky "The sky has been gloomy nowadays.. It's nice to see the sun shining more often" You said, he glanced up at the sky then back at you. "Yeah.. It has been awhile since the weather was this calm" He said. "It's quite beautiful, if you look into it"

You visually agreed as you gave a soft smile, "..Do you prefer it like this?" Telemachus asked almost too awkwardly.

“I do,” you answered honestly. “The garden’s easier to work in when it’s not soaked with rain. Besides, the sunlight brings the colors out. It makes things feel a little more alive… even if just for a while.”

He raised a brow, a little surprised. “You tend the queen’s garden?”

“Sometimes,” you said. “Other times, I’m just the one who passes through it delivering things. But I know it better than most—it’s beautiful there, especially with this weather”

Telemachus looked at you curiously, you noticed and only let out a chuckle.

A few seconds of silence were occupied between you two—as he followed your gaze and landed on the palace's garden, and you did not lie—the garden was indeed beautiful with the sun's grasp.

He thought you were about to say something more, your lips just beginning to move, but your eyes flicked to the corner, catching sight of something—or someone.

Before you could continue, you stopped yourself and quickly excused yourself with a slight bow. Curious, Telemachus turned in the direction you left and saw your mother standing a short distance away, wearing an unreadable expression. The two of you greeted the prince one last time before walking off together in silence.

That was probably the last time you made small talk with Telemachus—you didn’t completely brush him off, still greeting him with a soft smile whenever he was around, but there was a quiet distance that formed between the two of you. One he couldn’t quite name, as there was no word in the dictionary existed for it. Still, he noticed. He noticed how you always looked like you had something to say, but held your composure. He didn’t do anything about it—maybe because he barely knew you, or maybe because he assumed you prioritize your duties over forming any friendship.

However he would be lying, if he says it didn't bother him completely.

𐔌 When Telemachus was sixteen, murmurs of concern began to stir among the people of Ithaca. Even though Queen Penelope managed the kingdom just fine, the prolonged absence of a king was becoming harder to ignore. That was when a few suitors began to appear at the palace—coming not out of loyalty, but in hopes of claiming the throne through Penelope’s hand.

Telemachus could smell their dirty intentions from a mile away, and more than anything, he wanted them gone. He hated how easily they assumed his father was dead, as if his memory could be buried so simply. Thankfully, his mother was no fool—Penelope remained clever, holding off every suitor with such grace and patience.

Time passed, and the number of suitors grew—eventually even gaining a leader among them, as if they ever needed one, when all they did was abuse the hospitality of their home. They demanded a new king, insisted the queen to choose a new husband already. Telemachus begged his mother not to lose hope. Fortunately, she was just as cunning as his father and came up with a plan to keep the suitors at bay.

"Today I will begin to weave a shroud for my lost husband, if he is not seen in Ithaca before I finish, I will choose one of you to take his place beside me"

"I will send for maidens to help you" One of the suitors pointed out.

𐔌 A year passed and the presence of the suitors affected not only the queen and Telemachus, but also everyone who served in the palace. You were no exception. Despite holding no grace in your blood, your features carried them all, your presence was warm that drew eyes—an unspoken beauty that didn’t beg for attention, It was the kind of presence that carried itself with dignity, not vanity. Unfortunately, that was enough to catch the notice of the suitors themselves.

"Girl," You could feel their eyes land on you as you tried your best not to take notice, focusing instead on your chores. Unfortunately, you had been tasked with sending something to the kitchen—and that path meant passing by the suitors. You mentally prepared yourself as you stepped forward, keeping your chin up, doing all you could to ignore the lingering stares that followed your every step.

Your attempt to ignore the call quickly backfired when suddenly your arm was harshly tugged by force—it caused you to let out a yelp—immediately stepping back when you saw one of them drawing closer. "Are you deaf in one ear or are we playing pretend?" A mischievous tone of voice rang in the crowd.

You immediately knew who's voice it was—as your face immediately turned sickened.

Eurymachus stood infront of you, his taller figure casting a shadow into you however your glare was no invisible.

"Why are you such in a rush? hmm? you don't have to act like you don't like the attention" Cheers and chuckles of men followed.

"You're interrupting my work, Eurymachus. If you have a shred of decency, you and and the others will move and let me do my job." You spat back—keeping your composure straight, a grin plastering on the man's face causing a churn in your stomach. "Aww, so dedicated, aren’t we? Of course you are—you’re the daughter of the queen’s precious head handmaiden, right? Always so eager" He mocks—stepping closer.

Instead of backing away or showing even a hint of fear, you stepped closer, narrowing your glare at the man. “Instead of insulting my mother, I suggest you to keep your mouth shut. The queen wouldn’t be too pleased to hear such a foul tongue from one of her guests.” Though your words dripped with venom, your eyes held only boredom, and your posture remained calm, unshaken. The way you looked at Eurymachus—as if he was no one to fear—only made his ego swell, stung by the quiet defiance.

The room fell silent at your remark. You turned your back on him, taking a step—only for Eurymachus to seize a fistful of your hair, yanking you back towards him with brutal force. A sharp cry escaped your lips as pain arched through your scalp. You clawed at his hand, but his grip only tightened, making it worse.

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?!” he snarled. “Don’t forget—you’re just a maid here! the youngest!, you little tramp!" He yelled at your face.

"Since you talk shit with that pretty mouth of yours, why don't we use it for more useful things, yeah?" Eurymachus looked around, asking for validation as the men all around nodded—disgustingly agreeing.

He tugged your hair more as you fought the tears of pain. Eurymachus grin widen.

"Let go of her, in this instant!" Another voice had joined in the chine, everyone in the room Including you, turned to its direction seeing no other than the young wolf himself. An awkward silence followed but then Eurymachus let out a chuckle and his men of pigs pathetically followed.

His laughter rang as he released your hair with a harsh shove. The force of his grip—and the sudden release—disrupted your once-neat bun, sending strands down in disarray. You stumbled back, but quickly regained your footing, eyes locked on Eurymachus as he turned his attention towards the eighteen year old prince

He walked toward Telemachus, who stood in the doorway. Though fear might’ve churned in his chest, his face held firm—brave. Telemachus had happened to pass by when the suitors' unusually loud cheers reached his ears—tones too rowdy, too mocking. Curious, he paused by the door. But it wasn’t until he heard your voice, strained and unmistakable, followed by Eurymachus’s cruel mockery, that something in him snapped. He didn’t think—he moved.

His eyes immediately found you. Disheveled. Hurt. And his face changed.

“Is the young prince trying to cosplay a hero now? Run along back to your mommy’s chambers while we borrow one of your precious maids. Can’t blame us, can we? Your mother’s been taking her sweet time choosing.”

Telemachus jaw clenched but did not flinch as he glared back. “This is my father’s hall,” he said. “And until he returns, my mother rules it. You forget yourselves. No one here—maid or not—is yours to touch, command, or mock." He spat back—his eyes meeting yours.

"Touch (name) again and you will regret it" He said, stepping closer.

You in the other hand, was quite in shock, you sensed more troubles if you simply just stand there.

Eurymachus fell silent for a moment, though the flicker of a thought passed through his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed…” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard—before suddenly grabbing Telemachus by the collar of his chiton and yanking him forward. The room tensed. Not with fear or shame but with a smile.

“Eurymachus, stop this at once! He’s the prince—you have no right to lay a hand on him!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the heavy air. Without hesitation, you shoved past the suitors, forcing your way toward them,

“Your father isn’t here, boy—he’s nowhere. Dead!" He shouts, Telemachus clenched his fists tighly. Eurymachus whispered, "You don't have to be so greedy.. we can always take turns with her"

Before anyone could react, the prince stepped forward and drove his fist into Eurymachus’s jaw. The force sent the man stumbling back, stunned. Silence followed.

It was the first time Telemachus had ever thrown a punch—and succeeded. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Eurymachus recovered with a snarl and lunged, but before the blow could land, you threw yourself in front of Telemachus, gripping his arm and pulling him back. A ring of shouts exploded from the suitors, feeding off the tension like a pack wolves.

Then the doors slammed open.

“That is enough!” a voice commanded. All eyes turned to the entrance—Penelope stood tall, flanked by guards and, trailing behind, your mother. The queen’s gaze flicked to you, then to her son.

You bowed. “Your Highness, forgive the disturbance. I was only fulfilling my duties. The guests chose to interfere.”

Penelope’s stare hardened, especially as Eurymachus stepped forward, smirking. “Don’t scold the boy, my lady. Maybe he’s just trying to learn how a real man rules a house in his father’s absence.”

Few dared to laugh. Penelope ignored him. “Why are you here, son?” she asked.

Telemachus finally lifted his head. “They were mistreating (name).”

He glanced your way—quick, but meaningful. Eurymachus scoffed and walked off, dragging some of the suitors with him.

A quiet hand landed on your shoulder. Your mother. Her eyes avoided yours.

“I apologize for the inconvenience (name) may have caused, my queen,” she said. Inconvenience. The word stung more than you expected. You bit the inside of your cheek—hard enough that you nearly tasted blood. You could feel it. The way her fingers tensed ever so slightly on your shoulder, the way she refused to meet your eyes. You really should’ve taken laundry duty today, at least clothes don't glare.

"It’s not her fault, by any means. I’m glad both of you stood up for yourselves," Penelope said, glancing between you and Telemachus with a faint, approving smile.

But you barely heard. You only bowed, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Telemachus noticed—how tightly your lips pressed, how closed off you looked.

He hadn’t realized he was still watching until you turned to leave. Your eyes met, just for a second, before the door closed behind you.

“Thank you, my prince,” you said—and then you were gone. The words lingered, quiet as the slam of a heart too full.

The moment you closed the door, your eyes settled on your mother’s back—posture straight, chin held high, hands placed on either sides of her chiton. You couldn’t see her eyes, but you imagined them blank, yet somehow heavy with sentiment. She paused. "I told you to stay out of trouble, the prince will think of you as a hassle with this." she said, her voice flat and distant. Hassle? You didn’t answer. You’d learned by now that it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t really listen.

𐔌 Word had spread among the servants, and many took it upon themselves to spare you from any chores that meant crossing paths with the suitors—you couldn’t have been more grateful. As for the young prince, he too kept his distance from the suitors more than ever, trying to push the whole ordeal to the back of his mind. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quite forget about you. It had all happened so quickly, yet his thoughts lingered—on your voice, your bravery, the way you stood your ground. That moment clung to him more than he expected.

So much so that Telemachus snapped out of his thoughts, suddenly realizing what he was supposed to be doing. His eyes landed on the scroll sitting untouched on his desk—the one he was meant to deliver to his mother. Panic hit him as he noticed the fading sunlight; the deadline had passed hours ago. He shot up from his seat, hastily rolling the scrolls and rushing out of his room. As he moved quickly through the halls, he mentally scolded himself—he'd been so caught up thinking about you that he hadn’t even realized he collided with someone’s shoulder.

"I'm sorry—" His words cut off as he realized it was you. Telemachus’ eyes widened, a small smile forming on his lips without him noticing. Recognizing the voice before the face—your eyes widened too, but not in the same way as his. "(Name)! Hello—" he started, a bit breathless.

"Excuse me for bumping into you, sire. I need to deliver this urgently," you interrupted with a quick bow. His smile faded into a thin line, blinking at the sudden change in tone. "Oh… yes, you’re excused," he said. You gave a short nod before walking off, leaving the young prince in the hall, scrolls in hand.

He quietly watches you disappear, as he reluctantly walks away himself—reasoning your skeptical hurry as important.

𐔌 "Good morning, (name)," Telemachus greeted one early morning as he entered the kitchen. The suitors were still asleep, and for once, both of your worries felt lighter. Still, you flinched at the sound of his voice, your hands pausing mid-task as you looked over at the prince.

"Your Highness! Uh—good day also. What are you doing—"

"Can I help with anything?" he asked, stepping closer to the counter you were working on. You gripped the edges a little tighter as he neared, your mother words reminding you. "Uh—no! It's no problem, sir, uhm..." you trailed off, clearly avoiding his gaze. "Actually, I think I'm needed in the courtyard this time. Please excuse me."

With a quick bow and a wipe of your hands on your chiton, you hurried off. Telemachus opened his mouth to say something more, but you were already gone. Your rushed steps still in the air.

Did he say something wrong? He wondered—maybe you were just busy. Still, the way your voice tightened and your hands clenched the counter… it left a quiet thought in his chest, though he said nothing and moved on with his day.

𐔌 While walking the palace halls, Penelope and Telemachus paused at an open window. Below, the garden bloomed—olive trees winding along the walls, vines heavy with green. The two spoke softly, their conversation slow and warm, until Telemachus’s gaze drifted downward.

You were there, moving quietly beside your mother, watering can in hand. He watched as you poured water carefully over each plant, steady and focused. “Telemachus?” Penelope’s voice brought him back. She followed his line of sight.

You felt eyes on you. Glancing up, your breath caught—there they were, the prince and queen above. You quickly looked away, heart thudding. “Too much water,” your mother said dryly. You mumbled an apology, hands trembling slightly as you resumed your work.

Still, you kept glancing upward. From above, Penelope’s attention shifted between her son and the scene below. You caught Telemachus looking again. This time, your eyes met—brief, fleeting.

Your mother noticed. She gave your arm a light tap, drawing your attention. Then, with a composed smile, she lifted a hand in greeting. Penelope nodded in return. You followed suit, smiling too—but something about it was off. Too polished. Too faint.

It wasn’t the usual smile he often caught on you. This one looked tired, almost practiced, as you placed the watering can gently on the ground. Maybe it was the contrast—your mother’s expression beaming while yours seemed to just go along with it. You… you looked distant. And you still hadn’t met his gaze again.

His chest tightened. Had he done something? Since the incident, you’d kept your distance—never cold, but never quite open either. Every time he tried to speak, you found a reason to leave. Not angry. Just… guarded. Holding something in.

And somehow, that quiet hurt more than anything else. And for the first time, the young prince began to wonder… did he do something wrong?

𐔌 Telemachus could not sleep that night, the stars and moon hovering the sky—he sighs for the fifth time that night as he pulled himself out his sheets, rubbing his eyes and grabbing a light lantern. He couldn't sleep—so might as well do something productive.

The prince travelled to the palace's library, careful not to make any noise on the way, this part of the palace during the day would often have workers in it as the queen's attendant and scribes would often work their scripts or reports in there.

Telemachus expected the room to be empty and dim—silent, as it usually was at this hour. So imagine the surprise on his face when he sees a source of light glowing from behind one of the tall bookshelves. The prince quietly shut the door behind him, careful not to make a sound, his steps slowing until he was nearly tiptoeing. Who else would be awake so late?

He crept closer, weaving between shelves until he could peer around the corner. And there you were. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small pile of books and scrolls at your side, completely absorbed in the parchment in your hands. The soft light of a lone lantern and the moon’s glow through the high windows illuminated your face. Something about the sight—your quiet focus, the shadows gently swaying on your features—stirred a strange pull in his chest.

"Room for one more?" Your head snapped up at the voice, eyes wide in surprise. The paper in your hand trembled slightly, your fingers loosening their grip. Telemachus stood a few paces away, hands behind his back as he made his presence known. "Prince Telemachus! What are you doing here so late-?" You asked trying to cover up the building tension in your hands.

"I could ask you the same thing" He says, you did not answer. "Do you mind?" He asks again with a small smile.

Your eyes start at him as you look away slowly—gripping the paper. It took a few seconds before you deliberately nodded, shifting slightly, making space among the scrolls without saying a word. That was all the invitation he needed.

His eyes drifted to the scrolls and books spread before you. “Do you always stay up this late?” he asked, voice quiet. "Sometimes" You murmured, keeping your gaze to yourself.

An awkward silence followed, you weren't even reading anything at this point as you were still as a rock. Telemachus turned to you—you tensed, he noticed.

"I didn't expect to see you here" he said softly. "You've been.. hard to find recently" The sound of fire from both of your lanterns crackle.

"I was starting to worry that if I did something to offend you" at that, your attention was piqued.

"You seemed to be distant and tensed lately, you were always calm and open most of the time so I wondered if I was the problem" Your head turning to meet his eyes.

"Your highness-"

"Telemachus, we're practically the same age" He corrects.

You blink, "Prin— Telemachus"

He hummed, "I keep thinking back. If I said something wrong or made you uncomfortable last time, if I did then I'm probably stupid for not noticing" He laughs.

Silence followed.

"Who am I kidding, we were never friends.. this shouldn't bother me so much, I'm sorry" He humors with a laugh that seemed forced.

You didn't say anything about his statement for a moment, your continuing silence caused the prince to turn away—debating if he should just excuse himself.

"..You didn't do anything wrong" You finally said, causing the prince to focus on you.

"In fact, I should be the one saying sorry" You started, "You went out on your way to protect me and I did nothing but to brush you off so harshly" you looked down at your palms.

You let out a heavy sigh, your voice soft with concern. "You even punched Eurymachus… dear gods." Palming your face.

Telemachus only laughs "It was a stupid move but i would do it again, he deserves it" He says leaning down the shelf.

...

"I'm sorry for ignoring you, the truth is..." You hesitantly spoke, "I was told to avoid you"

"What?" The prince furrowed his brows. "By who?" He followed

"Not in the way you think! It’s just… my mother believes she was sent here to Ithaca because her service back home wasn’t good enough. She’s afraid that if we make any wrong move, the queen might do the same thing to us." You trailed,

"She told me from the start not to cause any trouble here in the palace. Then one day, she saw me talking to you and completely flipped—said you might take it the wrong way. So, to be safe, she told me not to interact with you at all."

Telemachus stayed quiet for a moment, processing your words, his gaze softening. He hears you continue "It actually bothered me, because I knew you weren't the one to think like that" the prince continued to listen.

"And.. also because a part of me just wanted to talk, which is silly—you’re a prince after all, but most people around here are either much older or… well, a threat. I just wanted someone my own age."

You pulled your knees to your chest, leaning into the motion as your arms wrapped around them—an action you find comfort in. "But I love my mother," you murmured, voice muffled behind your knees. "Even if she can be a handful sometimes… she’s all I have left. So, I just obliged."

"Is that why.. whenever your mother is around you look extra tense?"

You chuckled, “You notice?” you said, turning to the prince. Telemachus turned his head too—now you were both eye to eye.

“Since I was around thirteen,” he said. “You were kind from the start—always composed, more mature than I ever was. And when the suitors came, you stood your ground for you and your mother… I really admired that.”

"Really?" You tilted your head at the prince.

"I never knew my father, but I’ve always heard he was a great man. That’s why it hurts—seeing how easily the suitors dismiss him and disrespect my family. I want nothing more than to put them in their place... if only I were as strong as he was. But you..you’re brave. You stand up for the people you care about. I wish I could do that, too." Telemachus said, turning his head away

“Who says you aren’t brave, my prince?” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet. He turned to look at you, and you met him with a soft, reassuring smile. “You risk getting beaten every other day just by standing your ground. You’ve held yourself together despite your father’s absence. You’ve been there for your mother, defended her name—and your own, even mine… you stepped in when no one else would.”

Your gaze lingered on him a moment longer. “Maybe you haven’t reached yet the place your father once stood… but I think, if he saw you now, he’d be proud. Proud of the way you carry yourself, of how brave and strong you are—every single day."

Telemachus eyes searched yours, as if trying to find something he couldn’t quite name. His lips parted slightly, then closed again. Your words had sink in.

Both of you continued to stare into each other’s irises as a quiet breeze brushed against you. Neither of you noticed how, with every word shared, you had both unknowingly scooted closer—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now, you sat in silence, closer than you had ever been, with no more words left to fill the space.

"That's..." Telemachus searched for the words, "That's really kind of you to say" He worded out.

You laughed, covering your chuckle with your fingers in a soft, graceful way. Telemachus followed with a quiet laugh of his own, the tension between you both slowly melting away. Just a while ago, neither of you could look into each others eyes—now, you were talking like old friends catching up. The two of you shared stories, small memories, thoughts you had never voiced before, as if making up for all the quiet years spent under the same roof.

Telemachus listened closely, learning things he never knew about you. You spoke of how you taught yourself to draw, how creating art gave you peace, how expressing feelings through sketches felt like breathing—and that beauty was your favorite word. He watched you with growing interest, his pupils quietly widening every time you laughed at something he said—whether it was a passing comment or a joke. There was something in that sound that made him want to hear more.

"You want to be a painter?" He asked curiously. You nodded happily, "Mhm! It's been my dream since I was a kid, that's why I'm here at night, to study color theory, and also i can't do it in the morning"

Telemachus raised his brow at this, "Why so?"

"My mother. As always" You started, "She's training me to become a good handmaiden after she retires, which is a long time by the way!" You playfully rolled your eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, I do love helping people and I definitely love tending-"

"The garden, especially on sunny days," he finished your sentence.

You turned to him, your smile widening into a grin. "You remembered?"

He gave a small shrug, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Maybe."

"But yes," you said, a warmth in your voice, "I love the garden… but I love painting a portrait of it even more."

Without warning, you shifted slightly and reached into the pile beside you, rummaging through your books. Telemachus watched curiously as you pulled out a small stack of parchment—each one softly inked with delicate lines and shapes. Drawings. Sketches of flowers, leaves, moments caught in beauty.

He even caught a glimpse of sketches of faces, though you quickly shuffled them to the bottom of the stack. He swore one of the portraits looked familiar.

You cleared your throat softly, holding up a sheet. "Here's one of the garden," you said, revealing a colored portrait. Telemachus leaned in, his mouth parting slightly in awe as he took in the way the colors blended together, how alive the scene felt.

"This is so good—what the hell?!" he blurted, genuine admiration in his voice. You chuckled at his reaction, watching as he carefully began to look through the rest of your work. With each piece, his awe seemed to grow.

"Is this one unfinished?" he asked, pointing to a painting where only a quarter of the paper had been colored.

"Oh yeah, I ran out of pigment," you admitted with a soft laugh. "And getting new ones here isn’t exactly cheap… plus, I haven’t had the time to go out to the market."

Telemachus watched as you started to fix your stuff, "It's getting late, I should probably go" you announced.

He helped you with some of the scrolls, and soon you both were face to face—the two of you looked at each other sheeply before you cleared your throat.

"It was nice getting to know you.. Telemachus" You said, with a bit of hesitation in saying his name bare.

"It's nice to also get to know, (name)" He replied, with a low breath—he brought his hand in front of you. "Friends?" He said with his lips kissing his teeth.

You stared at his hand for a second then back at him—immediately taking his invitation in yours. "Friends!" You grasped.

The two of you exchanged giggles that night.

Being friends with the prince was something you didn’t expect—especially because it was an order by your mother. However, you learned that this small disobedience—was worth it. You noticed how colors seemed more vivid ever since that day.

Your friendship with Telemachus wasn’t loud, at first it only consisted of shared glances, whispering of each other's name and exchanging constant waving like kids in the park.

Then he started to stop by the garden with obvious excuses, "The queen sent me," "I'm checking the vines," "I'm just passing through"—but you both knew better. When you're the only one working in the garden—he’d offer to carry the watering can or sit beside you, tossing small olives at the wall and missing on purpose, just to hear you laugh.

You recently told him how your nose always get itchy whenever you gathered wildflowers, but that you bore through it anyway. The next morning, you found him waiting by the hill, basket already in hand, ready to help you pick them. A small tug pulled at your heart that day.

You started to notice how Telemachus began doing his scrolls in the palace library more often. He used to prefer the privacy of his own room, but lately, he seemed to want to cross paths with you. There were moments when he’d peek around the shelves, tap the top of your head with a scroll, and whisper, “I win,” before settling beside you to read.

He has a habit of randomly scaring from behind, yelling "Boo!" and laughing at himself.

He tried drawing once, because you asked. The sketch was... awful. But you laughed until your stomach hurt, and he looked so proud of it that you kept it tucked between your books.

Though the friendship became something deeper one late night, the two of you were in your usual spot in the library. It was already dark, and only your lanterns cast a glow over the two of you. You tended to ramble about the details of your sketches, and Telemachus listened, his eyes half-lidded but still focused on you.

Then, in the middle of your words, you felt the weight of his head gently fall to your shoulder.

You paused, startled at first, but when you turned slightly, he was already asleep. His breath was steady, calm. The closeness made your heart thump—but you stayed still, careful not to wake him. You didn’t want to wake him, partly because you were embarrassed… and partly because you kind of liked it.

Your heart stopped when you heard him mumble your name in his sleep, did you hear that right?

Then came your 18th birthday.

Birthdays weren’t exactly something you grew up celebrating. At most, your mother and a few kind handmaidens would quietly greet you when the day came, a soft smile, a gentle hug—and that was enough. You were always grateful they remembered at all.

So imagine your surprise when, early one morning, you stepped out of your room to find a small bundle of color pigments carefully placed by your door. Each one wrapped in cloth, tied with a simple bow.

At first, you assumed the bundle was misplaced—perhaps something meant for someone else—until you noticed a small, neatly folded piece of paper tucked beneath the string. You opened it, and the handwriting was instantly familiar. You’d come to recognize it easily.

Dear (𝒩𝒶𝓂𝑒),

You didn’t mention it was your birthday—figured you wouldn’t. But someone in the staff said a handmaiden turns eighteen today, and I just knew it had to be you.

It’s nothing too grand, but when I saw these, I thought of you immediately. I hope they come in handy... and maybe you’ll let me see what you make with them?

Anyway—happy birthday.

~𝒯𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒸𝒽𝓊𝓈

You stood still for a moment, holding the letter. A small smile crept onto your face. The pigments were ones you hadn’t had in a while—some expensive, some hard to find. He remembered.

You and Telemachus had grown used to meeting in the library, and one late evening—weeks after your birthday—was no different. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes scanned the room, already knowing where to find you. Your back was turned, but without a doubt, he knew it was you. Quietly sneaking up behind, he grabbed your shoulders and “Boo!” with a laugh.

You turned and gave him a look—unfazed, a clear “Hahah, very funny” written across your face.

He grinned as he took a seat beside you.

"I tried looking for you earlier," you added, hands busy with something he hadn’t noticed yet, "but you were nowhere to be found."

"Oh! Sorry about that—I was out for a bit," he said.

You nodded, turning slightly away to focus on what you were doing. Telemachus didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered. He watched the way your hair had loosened, strands falling around your face. Your cheeks were faintly flushed, and something about that made him bite the inside of his lip.

Then, without thinking, his hand moved to tuck a strand behind your ear. You turned your eyes to him just as he blinked, caught in the moment.

"Uh—it was in the way," he mumbled, quickly finishing the gesture. "Sorry."

You only stare at him for a second before cracking a chuckle, Telemachus looks at you as his embarrassment washes away. "I was looking for you earlier because I wanted to give you something" You revealed making him tilt his head.

Then you shift so you can face him properly—your hands behind your back.

"As a thank you"

"Huh? For what?"

"For my birthday last time"

Telemachus' blinks. "You didn't have to"

"Yes but I want too"

"Close your eyes!" You said, "and give me your hand" You added—Telemachus looked at you confused but followed.

He closed his eyes and felt something placed on his palm—for a moment he felt your finger tips touched his.

"You can open them now" You said,

Telemachus peeked open one eye, then blinked fully awake when you brought forward a small clay figure—messy around the edges, a bit lumpy, but unmistakably him. Down to the blue sash, his tousled hair, and the faintest little pout painted on his lips.

He stared. Then blinked again.

"Wait—what—" he stammered, reaching out like it might shatter if he touched it too fast. "Is this… me?"

You nodded proudly. "I used the paints you gave me. Thought it was fitting."

He took it, carefully, like he was receiving some sacred relic from the gods. His ears turned pink. "Why am I… is this how you see me?" He commented

You tilted your head. “Tiny and pouty? Sometimes.”

He let out a loud laugh. “Gods, I love it. He looks like he’s about to cause trouble."

“I was going for princely charm, but that works too.”

Telemachus looked at the doll again, then back at you—his grin stretched wide, but his voice a little softer this time. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” He paused, then gently set the figure beside him. “Except maybe you.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He coughed, suddenly red. “—you because you made the doll!"

You laughed as he buried his face in his hands. "I experimented with clay the other day, this is my first attempt to do something that isn't flower pots" You told him.

"Well you did a great job for a beginner" He joked—earning a slight slap from you, "Excuse you! I've been doing pottery since I was 12!" You hollered.

Telemachus only giggled as he clenched his stomach.

Your shared laughter lingered in those quiet corners of the library that day, soft and light, drifting between the shelves and settling like dust on the edges of old scrolls. It became easy to lose track of time when it was just the two of you—moments folding into each other so naturally that the rest of the world seemed far away. Sometimes you swore the palace looked different. Livelier. Colors warmer. Even the way the wind blew through the halls felt lighter.

But, like most sunny days, it wasn’t meant to stay forever.

It was late morning when you returned from the market, you were asked to fetch some ingredients by your mother, arms filled with your basket and a soft cloth over. You hummed quietly to yourself until you entered the palace.

Before you could even take a step past the main corridor, a pair of handmaidens hurried past, whispering frantically. You stopped them out of instinct, brows furrowing.

“What’s going on?”

One of them glanced at the other, hesitating, then leaned a little closer.

“They say Antonius provoked the young prince during this morning... And he fought back... I don't think it went well.."

The words didn’t register at first—not entirely. You stood there, blinking, as your arms suddenly felt a little heavier.

The halls were quieter. Never in peace—but in tension.

You hurried through the halls, each step making the corridors feel longer, heavier, as you reached the dining hall. The first thing you noticed was the broken table, splintered as if something had been thrown against it—blood staining the wood and dripping onto the floor, enough to make your chest tighten.

Then, in the distance, you saw Antinous and his men laughing. He turned, nose bloodied, wiping it off with the back of his hand. He caught your stare. Your eyes widened. He smirked—slowly licking the blood from his lip in an almost disturbing way.

Your heart dropped. You searched around the room, searching for Telemachus, but he was nowhere in sight. Without a second thought, you turned and hurried through the palace again.

Your heart was pounding through your chest, gripping your fist until your knuckles went white. It was difficult to breathe properly—not when you have no idea where he is—or what had happened. Thoughts kept spinning messily as you almost missed the prince door.

You shouldn’t be in this hallway, especially in broad daylight. You knew staff could pass by any second, their whispers quick to turn into assumptions—worst case, your mother herself might be the one to catch you. But in that moment of distress, none of it mattered. You raised your fist and knocked on the prince’s chamber door—three times.

“Telemachus?!” you called, voice hushed, just loud enough to be heard, not enough to draw attention. You knocked again, faster this time.

The silence after that was sharp, you were about to knock for the last time until, "(name)...?" You could hear him say, so gentle.

“Oh Zeus. Telemachus, are you okay?! I—I heard what happened—are you hurt?!” you stammered, choking on your words, your hand gripping the doorknob. It was unlocked. But still, you waited.

Softly, you heard footsteps approaching from the other side. You bit your bottom lip to steady your shaking breath.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Telemachus. His nose was bloodied, streaks of dried blood smeared across his face and chiton. It wasn’t too bad… but it was enough to almost break you.

Telemachus opened the door wider—quietly inviting you in. You stepped forward, unable to hold yourself back, your movements unsure. Your hands careful to reach for him, He noticed, but before you could pull away, he gently took them in his, steadying you.

"What happened…" you whispered, pulling out a handkerchief you had prepared and bringing it softly to his face. "Antinous" was all he said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

You stood in front of him—noticing the way he kept touching the back of his head. You gently ran your finger through his hair as you touched the back. Eyes widening when you feel a puddle of liquid. "Did you hit your head?!" You asked panicked.

"Yes- but" He stated before taking your forearm away gently— "But please don't panic, It's okay now! I promise, it's dried up blood so technically it doesn't hurt-"

"What do you mean it doesn't hurt?! You're bleeding, you idiot!"

"I know! I know! But seriously! I've met—"

A gust of wind pushed through the balcony curtains. He paused, catching sight of the owl perched just out of reach—watching. But he didn’t say anything about it.

"..I've just been thinking a lot lately," he said instead, voice softer now, more grounded. "About who I am. About who I want to be."

You stayed quiet, listening carefully.

"I want to be more than just… the boy who waits. The boy who watches everything happen around him. I want to be strong. Not for the sake of war or glory—but so that I can protect My mother… you."

The words hung there, gentle but heavy. You blinked, caught off guard.

He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head. "I don’t know. Sometimes I think about him—my father. People have all these stories. All this legend. But for me, he’s just… missing. And maybe that’s why I feel like I have to become something better. Not to replace him, but to at least live up to the name. To become someone that matters."

You saw the flicker in his eyes then.

"Because if he really is out there," he added, more to himself than to you, "I want him to come back and see that I became someone more worthy being proud of."

You didn’t say anything—but your eyes, still furrowed and shining with worry, said enough. Telemachus stiffened, afraid for a moment that he’d overstepped, that maybe he sounded foolish spilling his thoughts like that.

But then you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

His breath hitched. His hands found your waist without thinking, holding you close, cautious but sure. You tucked your face into his shoulder—and that’s when he felt it. The soft shake of your breath. The quiet sob you didn’t try to hide.

The boy was stunned—his heart loud in his chest—but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. This was the first time he’d held you like this. Just how he caught himself wondering what it might feel like to pull you close like this, but he always brushed it away, convincing himself he had no right. But now, it felt like a lucid dream.

"You're such an idiot," you murmured, voice thick. "How many times are you going to throw yourself into trouble before you finally learn? I'm glad you're growing, I really am—but that doesn't mean you get to risk your own blood like this!" Your words cracked near the end, raw and trembling.

He starts to hear you cry, and he couldn’t help but hold you tighter. He had never heard you cry before—not truly. The closest was that one time you had an allergic reaction to a wildflower; your eyes were watery and red, yet you were still laughing through the discomfort. But this… this was different. This time, you were crying because of him. Because he got hurt. Because you were scared. Because you cared.

"Don’t ever get yourself in a fight with the suitors no more! And don't ever scare me that ever again!" you scolded, voice trembling as you clung to him.

“I— I will,” he said, only for your grip to tighten with a sharp pinch to his arm.

“Promise!”

“Yes, yes! Promise!” he chuckled softly, wincing playfully as he lifted one hand in surrender. His smile, though bruised, was real—warm for you.

...

When Telemachus was around nineteen, that’s when Athena began training him. It was unfamiliar at first—awkward—but he adjusted quickly, picking up with every training—rather expected knowing he was the son of Odysseus himself.

Around the same time, his bond with you deepened, especially after the incident. Still, he never told you about his secret mentor as per request from the goddess of wisdom herself.

Mornings were reserved for training, afternoons taken by princely duties, and in the quiet of evening, that’s when he’d see you most. You spent your mornings with your chores, so your moments in the day together were often brief, scattered but the type he'd look forward too. Sometimes he'd help you out with your chores, definitely not cause he wants to spend time with you.

The young prince had just finished sparring with the goddess, day by day he felt more and more motivated—despite his limbs would go sore from training, the taste of improvement was enough to get him up, he can now at least defend himself properly against the suitors! Everyday as he becomes stronger and older, the men too get more impatient, wilder and unsafe.

If he wasn’t so smart, he might’ve picked a fight first this time—just to prove something. But he knew better now. He knew he had a long road ahead before he could win like that, and more than anything, he knew you wouldn’t be pleased if he got himself bruised for pride alone. The thought of you made his lips tug into a quiet smile.

“You did well today, young wolf,” Athena said with a proud smile.

“Thank you, Athena,” Telemachus huffed, catching his breath.

“I suggest you run your bruise under cold water before it darkens. I fear your lover might worry, seeing you all battered again,” she added, almost too casually.

At that, Telemachus perked up, his head snapping toward the goddess with wide eyes. "What..?" he echoed, a faint flush rising. Athena looked back at the prince, her face turning flat.

"Your bruise, ran it into cold water."

"No! The thing after that!"

"Your lover?"

"That!"

"Is she not..?" She asked, her tone leaning into a question.

"(Name)?" He choked, "She's— She's my Friend— Did you think we were lovers?!"

Athena lips were a flat line as he looked down at the flustered prince with a look that says "really?"

"My mistake" Was all she said before she morph into her owl form, setting on a near by branch all while Telemachus continued to look at her with red cheeks. "Wait no! You thought of us of lovers- why?" He asked the goddess of wisdom.

Athena only glared at him in her owl eyes, if she wasn't so nice she would have flown away but unfortunately they see each other everyday so she'd had to deal with it sooner again anyways, "You wear your feelings like a garland, young prince. It’s endearing... and painfully obvious."

Telemachus opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Feelings? I don’t— I don’t have feelings for her— I mean, I can see why someone would have. (Name)’s sweet, she’s kind and talented and—” He froze mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly. “Oh gods… do I have feelings for her?”

Athena, still perched as an owl, let out a long, tired blink. “You’re so tristful,” she muttered, feathers puffing slightly in exasperation.

"If you're questioning if you have feelings, then more likely you do."

"But what makes you think I do have them?!"

"Telemachus, you held the girl last time with such care, you immediately fell when she cried out your name. You long to see her every day, and unlike other mortals, instead of making your heart race, she makes it steady. At peace. I think it would be reasonable for anyone to assume…”

She paused "Well, that you already know how you feel."

Telemachus tried to carry on with the day, but the realization sat heavy in his chest—warm. He hadn’t accepted it, not fully, but it kept brushing the edges of his thoughts like a tide refusing to recede. His gaze stayed low as he wandered the hallways, hoping movement would loosen the knot in his chest.

Then he passed by the dining hall.

The door was cracked open, just slightly, and he paused without knowing why. The suitors were never up this early—it was the hour when the servers began preparing for the day’s meals. Quietly, curiously, he glanced through the gap.

You were there.

You hadn’t noticed him. You were speaking with another maiden, laughing softly at something she said, the corners of your eyes creased. And somehow, in the calm of morning, with the sunlight filtering in just right, Telemachus forgot how to breathe.

Your eyes shimmered even from afar, reflecting the dawn like polished amber. Your hair caught the golden rays as if the sun had chosen you as its canvas, and your smile—

Gods, that smile.

You looked so alive in that moment. So real. So effortlessly full of light.

In a way you made the ordinary look sacred.

Had you always been this beautiful?

He didn’t move. He only watched for a few more heartbeats, standing still as the morning slipped past him—and with it, any denial that might have still lingered.

Maybe he did like the way you made the palace feel like a home.

He recalled the moments your presence calmed him, the way your fingertips brushed his skin so gently, The nights spent talking until the stars faded, the laughter, the quiet glances—how it all felt like home. He thought of how often he smiled just being beside you, how the world softened when you were near.

This feeling—this need to be near you, to protect you, to simply hear your voice—it wasn’t fleeting. It was steady, sure. Like the way he smiled whenever you were around. Like the way he cherished every second, every glance, every word exchanged between you.

He admired how you gave kindness freely, yet knew when to draw the line. How you protected those you loved. How you always seemed to know what to say, or when to simply sit beside him in silence.

And as those thoughts wove together, one by one, the answer came to him—gentle but certain.

It wasn’t just fondness. It wasn’t just comfort.

He was in love with you.

Gosh he was in love with you

When Telemachus finally came to accept his feelings for you, the prince tried not to make it obvious—key word "tried" he was a little worried because Athena herself stated that it was painfully obvious. Telemachus could not focus, he kept losing focus and drifting his mind to the thought of you. But this time with his feelings aware.

A blush can't be fought back to his face as he tried to eat his lunch with his mother who took notice of his behavior.

"Telemachus?" Penelope called softly, eyeing her son across the table.

He blinked out of his daydream, his spoon hovering above his bowl. "Yes—mother?"

"You've barely touched your lunch," she noted, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly. "And you're smiling into your soup."

Great, now his mother herself is starting to get suspicious, Athena was right—he's so obvious that it actually hurts him.

He quickly straightened, reaching for his cup in a clumsy attempt to ground himself. "Just… thinking."

Penelope watched him over the rim of her cup, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"You know," she began, "when you’re quiet like this, thinking of something you won’t say out loud... you look just like him."

Telemachus looked up, startled. "Father?"

She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Your father used to sit right there, drifting off in thought halfway through a meal." She trailed, with her smile turning sly.

"Though I’m not quite sure he ever blushed the way you are now."

He quickly looked down at his plate. "I'm not blushing."

"Of course not." Penelope set her cup down gently. "But you do carry him in your face, in your silences, your stubborness."

There was a pause. Then, more softly, she added, "You’ve grown so much. I often forget you were just a child when he left."

Telemachus’ smile faded into thoughtfulness.

"How are you, nowadays mother?" He asked, the queen exhaled a heavy breath, "Still weaving the shroud, unweaving on night.." She confessed.

"And the suitors?"

Penelope almost laughs, "Still here. Still getting louder. Bolder. I don’t know how much longer I can keep them at bay. However I'm still hopeful for your father" She tried to keep her tone even - hopeful but her eyes didn’t lie. His mother was tired and Telemachus knew that.

He had always worn it like a shadow—this echo of a man he barely knew. Everyone had stories: how clever he was, how brave, how fierce. But stories weren’t answers. Stories didn’t explain his absence.

Telemachus looked down, hands clenched against the table.

"I can’t keep sitting here, doing nothing." The words escaped before he could stop them.

Penelope’s eyes snapped back to him. "What do you mean?"

"I need to do something" he said, "seek answers"

"where?"

"Anywhere! To Pylos or to Sparta, Menalaus may have news or Nestor too. Someone out there must know if he still lives—or where he fell." He said, eyes filling hope.

She stared at him, her face pale with worry. "Telemachus, no. Please. The seas are no safer than these halls. You don't need to be lost at it too"

"I’ve lived under his name my entire life," Telemachus said. "But I don't know what kind of man he was. Please mother. To find answers, closure."

"I’ve waited long enough," he said. "If I sit still, I’ll rot here just like they want."

Penelope fell quiet.

"You're all I have left, son" she whispered. "The only piece of him I still wake up to. If you go—"

"I’ll come back," Telemachus said quickly, though the words didn’t feel as certain as he wanted them to. He knew the risks, the danger and the uncertainty. Even so he murmured. "I promise."

At that, the queen embraced her son dearly, arms wrapped around him with a quiet desperation she rarely allowed herself to show.

Telemachus stood stiff at first, He hadn't been embraced like this since he was a child—before he understood what absence meant, before the hall grew loud with uninvited voices and the scent of home was soured by strangers. He held her back, carefully, protectively.

He felt like a child again, embracing his mother for love.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered. "It hurts... But I have to know."

Penelope didn't answer—not with words. Her grip tightened for a moment, then loosened with an aching slowness, as she faced her soon again—her eyes water, letting a choked laugh see how grown and determined her son is. How he looks so much like his father.

Telemachus and his mother shared a quiet moment as he attempted to soothe her worry. Though he would be lying if he said it didn't scare him too.

And in that embrace, Telemachus remembered the last time he'd held someone that closely.

You.

The time you threw your arms around him after the skirmish with the suitors, trembling from worry, your forehead tucked to his shoulder. Your hands, warm. Your voice—shaky, angry, gentle—scolding, and yet he had held you back without hesitation, as if that moment had always belonged to you both, as if you two belonged to each other's arms.

He hadn’t realized, then, how precious that would become. How soon he’d be leaving you behind. Just when he had just realized his feelings for you.

Your laugh. Your smile. Your voice—The way you made his name sound softer, The feelings he had only just begun to accept now felt like something he was being forced to walk away from.

He looks up to his mother. Who he'd be also leaving behind. No one to watch over her, no one to stand for her protection. his chest ached—not from fear of the journey ahead, but from the shadow of leaving. He fears what will happen to both his mother and you.

...

"Telemachus?"

You called out, making the said prince snap back to reality. After his talk with his mother, Telemachus had wandered the palace halls, his mind weighed down with the burden of his decision—until he heard your voice. The voice he now realized he never wanted to leave behind.

He turned, breath catching. "(Name)," he said, almost in a whisper. You had just stepped into the hall, but the moment your eyes met his, a smile lit up your face.

"Are you okay? You seem a little down," you asked, your voice laced with quiet concern.

And gods, how he adored that—you always noticed. Always cared.

Telemachus smiled, a little dazed, a little dumbstruck—like someone falling, no, fallen in love. "I'm fine. Just stuck in thought," he said, shrugging it off.

You nodded, though your eyes drifted lower, catching the edge of his exposed shoulder. A faint purple bruise was beginning to bloom along the muscle.

"Is that... a bruise?" You squinted your eyes, "Huh?" The prince asked confusedly looking at his own shoulder. And indeed there was noticeable bruise forming, a few cuts from probably this morning's training. He mentally slapped himself—completely forgetting his mentor's advice.

"May I?" You asked for permission, well there was no point in denying it now so he simply lets you. You carefully traced your hand to his arm—examining the wound. "Oh dear gods...Telemachus, did you get into another fight with those men?" You asked, shooting an eye to him.

"No! It's just from training this morning! You know... sparing.. with myself..?" He explained a little too unsure. You sighed as you let go of his arm. "You need to be more careful, Telemachus. Are you sure you weren't sparing with an animal?" You voiced laced with suspicion.

Yeah, I was sparing with a literal god..

He nodded as you trail back to his wounds. "Well, I can't have you walk around looking beat up, weren't you in lunch with your mother? Surely the queen noticed your form."

"I think, it wasn't as visible earlier.." He replied, "I'm fine (name), this isn't the first time, you know that" His joke gained a look from you as he only laughs.

"I'll tend your wounds in a second, why don't you wait somewhere so I can prepare"

Telemachus nodded—this wasn’t the first time you tended to his bruises, so neither of you thought much of it. "Is it alright if I head to my room first? I need to change," he said, offering a faint smile. You nodded, returning the gesture with a small one of your own before heading off in the opposite direction, assuming that’s where you’d treat his bruises, like usual.

Unfortunately, neither of you clarified. You assumed he'd be waiting in his chambers, while in his mind, he planned to head back after changing. So, when you pushed open the door to his room—unannounced, as you’d done so many times before—you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was, chiton half-tossed over, back turned to you, sun catching the gold along his skin. His muscles tensed at the sound of the door creaking open.

"Sorry—I thought you'd be here already dressed."

Telemachus turned, equally startled. "Oh—no, no, it's alright! I just—I'll be done in a moment."

You quickly averted your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to focus. He was your friend. Your prince. You were here to treat a bruise. Not have your thoughts spiral.

Still, it didn’t stop your heart from thudding louder than it should have.

"Actually… maybe you should keep your top exposed—since I’ll be tending to it," you managed, keeping your voice as steady as possible. A part of you was undeniably flustered; it wasn't every day you saw your closest friend like this. But you reminded yourself—this was routine. You'd tended to his wounds before. It wasn’t supposed to feel different. Just except the fact he's half naked.

Telemachus bit his lips, before clearing your throat, "Right. Of course" He said, trying to be calm cause you were too. Unaware how you're practically dying from being embarrassed.

Sitting at the edge of his bed, shoulder turned toward you, the bruise blooming darker now under the light. Upon seeing his mark, you shook away to begin.

Approaching carefully, you set down the tray beside him, its contents clinking softly. You reached first for the clean, damp cloth, the coolness biting slightly against your fingertips. Without a word, you knelt beside where he sat, your eyes scanning the bruise—a deep, purpling bloom across his shoulder.

You pressed the cloth against it with precision. The moment the cold touched his skin, he tensed just slightly, muscles twitching under your touch.

"Sorry," you said softly, adjusting your pressure, more gentle this time.

Telemachus only hummed, barely reacting, though you could feel his eyes on you. You kept yours trained on the task, determined not to let your fluster show.

"You're being very serious today," he finally murmured, voice low, almost teasing.

You kept your focus. "I'm always serious when you're hurt."

You tried to focus; however, your work did not allow you to, as your eyes wandered. Without his chiton covering him, the young prince was lean, but due to his training and growing years, his body had started to take a more defined shape.

There were subtle lines along his torso, the hints of muscle shaped by sparring and sword work. His skin was tanned, with a few faint bruises and older marks—nothing serious, but they stood out. You looked away quickly, pressing the cloth a little too hard before catching yourself.

"gods, get a hold of yourself!"

You're a professional, you reminded yourself. Even if he is a friend... you're still a professional.

"You've been training too hard lately" You said, as you put away the cloth and started to prepare a salve for his wounds. "It's better than getting bruised from a fight" He said.

"Getting hurt itself is not better" you stated. "You worry too much (name)" Telemachus replied. "Of course I will," You paused briefly. "You may be a prince, but you're also just....you to me. And I care about you" You said, turning to him with the ointment for his wounds.

That was enough to shut the young prince up, as you slowly applied the salve to the various cuts and wounds. This time, your bare hands touched his skin, and Telemachus couldn’t help but shiver slightly. He swallowed hard, eyes quietly watching as you continued, careful and gentle with him.

It didn’t help that he was reminded—this was the same woman he admired. As your fingers moved, a blush crept onto his skin, blooming faintly across his cheeks. He swore he could feel his body grow warmer, though he didn’t know if it was from the salve or simply from you being this close.

"And I think that's it," You concluded, "Please be more careful next time, Telemachus." You told the prince as you whipped your hands through a clean cloth.

He didn’t respond.

You looked up—expecting a nod, maybe a quiet thanks—but instead, he was just staring at you. Eyes soft, a little lost.

You let out a small laugh, trying to break the silence. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he blinked, caught.

"Like you have something to say." You smiled, tilting your head.

You didn't pay as much mind as you cleaned off the tray, you could hear him laugh however Telemachus laughed in worry—reminding of his diplomatic mission.

He didn’t know if he should tell you—considering even his mother was against it. The weight of it sat heavy on his chest, but not heavier than the thought of leaving without saying a word. Of walking away while you were still smiling, unaware, waiting for him?. He wondered if it was better this way—if knowing would only make it harder for you, for him.

His fingers fidgeted against the fabric of his bed. His eyes never left yours. "(Name)," he said finally, voice low, uncertain.

You straightened slightly, sensing the shift in his tone. "Hmm?" You hummed.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then gave a small, lopsided smile. "Thank you. For always patching me up."

A pause. Not a confession. Not yet. But maybe a beginning.

A grin plastered on your lips, "You're always welcome, Telemachus" You beemed.

Yeah. He can't bring himself to tell you

"Athena, what should I doooo..." Telemachus whined the next morning, his feet dragging along the grass as he followed the goddess into the olive grove behind the palace. The sun was shining off the drenched leaves, but Telemachus’ heart felt too heavy to notice the beauty around him. "You’re the only one who agrees with this decision… and you're also aware of the cost of it," he trailed off, his hand raking through his hair.

"My mother… and…" he mumbled.

Athena, still in her human form, walked ahead—then shot him a sharp look over her shoulder.

"You speak as if you have the choice to stay, Telemachus. This isn’t about comfort—it’s about truth. It’s about preparing for what is coming."

He stopped in his tracks, eyes lifting toward the goddess.

"My mother… she’s afraid—afraid I won’t come back. And I fear she may be right. And (name)... gods, (name)... she has no idea. I just figured out what I feel for her, and now I have to leave her—and my mother—here?"

Athena stepped closer, her arms folding as her voice slowly softened, but remained firm.

"You know deep down you must go. You must know what happened to your father—not just for yourself, but for your mother and for Ithaca. The time is coming when luck will no longer protect you."

Telemachus’ lips pressed into a thin line. He knew she was right.

"You said it yourself," she continued, "this place is growing dangerous. Those suitors won’t wait forever. What will you do when they snap—and you’re not ready?"

The goddess’s words landed heavier than he expected. Telemachus felt the ache of them settle in his chest.

"This journey," Athena said, softer now, "will make you ready. I’ll help you. You’ll seek the answers you’ve longed for."

And slowly, Telemachus began to understand. This wasn’t only a search for his father. It was preparation. A storm was brewing in his home—and he needed to be ready before it broke.

"And if they realize I’ve left?" he asked quietly, scared.

"Then let them," Athena said without hesitation. "They’ll see soon enough that you’re no longer a child hiding behind your mother’s grief. You are your father’s son. You just need the chance to become him in your own way."

Telemachus took a slow breath, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease.

"And what about (name)…?" he asked in a whisper, his head bowed.

Athena didn’t answer right away. When she finally spoke, there was a trace of sympathy in her voice.

"If she’s truly who you believe she is, she will understand. And she’ll wait."

The wind passed silently through the olive trees. Then Athena added, almost gently,

"Or… if you find the words too difficult to say—perhaps it’s better not to say anything at all."

Telemachus turned to her, startled. "You mean—leave without telling her?"

"You said it yourself. Your mother is against this. You fear what will happen if she finds out. I understand that. But if you linger too long, doubt will start to drown out your resolve. And if this must be done… delaying it will only make everything harder."

Telemachus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to argue. He wanted to call it cruel. But even as his heart fought it, something in him knew Athena was right. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was wisdom. Or maybe it was the quiet, selfish hope that this would all be over soon.

The sooner he left, the sooner he could return. And maybe—just maybe—when he did, he’d finally have the courage to say what he couldn’t now.

"I guess..." He made up a decision. "We sail as soon as possible."

...

It was a quiet evening—a little too quiet for your liking. The palace was never truly silent, not with 108 men lounging about. Yet tonight, the usual noise were strangely absent.

Curious, you peeked into the main hall. A few men were still awake, but most were drooping in their seats, heads nodding, goblets slipping from loose fingers. Some had already passed out where they sat.

“Odd...” you thought, tilting your head slightly. Still, it wasn’t unheard of. Wine often dulled the edge of their unruly energy.

You turned away, feet light as you walked through the corridor toward Telemachus’ room. Maybe he should know about this—just in case.

A few knocks on his door echoed softly. No answer.

You frowned slightly. “Maybe he’s already asleep?” you murmured to yourself. But... that wasn’t quite like him. Not lately. Now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen him around much at all these past few days. He wasn’t avoiding you—at least, you didn’t think so. Just... missing.

It hadn’t bothered you before. You were busy. He probably was too. But now, standing outside his quiet door, a small nudge of confusion crept in.

After a short pause, you turned and made your way to the library.

Maybe he was there already.

He often found comfort in quiet spaces.

You were hopeful.

Though a wave of despondency quickly humbles you when the eerie silence of the place meets you. You still tried to look around—maybe to soothe yourself, though like you expected, there wasn't any trace of the prince.

A long sigh escaped your mouth as your back rested against the library door. "Maybe tomorrow," you told yourself, deciding to just head to bed early today. You didn't really find any motivation to do anything right now—maybe because your inspiration was nowhere to be seen.

You weren’t really paying attention to your surroundings. For one, you were too deep in your thoughts, and two, you didn’t expect anyone to be around at this time. So you were a bit startled when you bumped into someone.

"My apology—" you quickly said, then blinked in confusion. "Nurse Eurycleia! Good evening," you greeted.

Nurse Eurycleia was the palace nurse. You were in good terms with the old madam, often offering your hand whenever you could, especially as you were also learning the art of healing.

"Nurse Eurycleia?" You called out again when the older woman did not answer.

Brows furrowed, the older woman was not facing you—which you found odd.

You shifted slightly, eyes drifting to where she had come from—the main exit of the palace. Your brows furrowed at the sight. "Nurse Eurycleia, did you go out around this late? That isn’t really safe for you to be outside. May I ask what you were doing there?" you asked softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

As you stepped closer, something under the folds of her peplos caught your eye—a small bundle, oddly shaped, like it had been tucked away in haste. You recognized it as a bag. Your confusion deepened.

The old nurse gave a weak chuckle. "Ah, just gathering something I left earlier. Nothing important, dear."

You narrowed your eyes just slightly, trying not to sound accusing. "Do you happen to know where the young prince is? You had a conversation with him earlier, yes?," you said casually, watching for her reaction.

Eurycleia froze and you immediately knew. Her body still.

"Nurse..?" You blinked.

She didn't speak. Your heart gave a light thud. “You know where he is,” you said, almost in disbelief. “Don’t you?”

Still, she said nothing—but her silence was all the answer you needed. "Where is he?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "What's wrong?"

Eurycleia looked at you then, her face lined with worry. "He… didn’t want you to worry," she said quietly, her voice trembling with guilt.

You stepped back, your breath catching in your throat.

"The young prince went to sail" she finally admitted. "On a diplomatic mission. To Pylos. Then to Sparta."

Your eyes widening as realization struck you harder than lightning. "What..?" You murmured, you couldn't find the words, you had a million questions yet none escaped from your lips.

"The young prince... ordered not to tell anyone but..."

Suddenly, Eurycleia reached out and held your hand, gently, urging you to meet her eyes, while yours were still wide with confusion and dread.

"He may still be out there, (name). I don’t know exactly what you and the young prince share, but I do know this—he did not want to leave without saying anything. I saw it in his eyes, he was torn"

You froze. The weight of her words hit you like a wave—confusion, shock, a swell of emotion you couldn't place. But there was no time to sit in it.

"Go. While there may still be time," she urged.

You didn’t waste a second. With a silent breath of thanks to Eurycleia, you took off—racing out of the palace as your heart pounded faster than your legs could carry you.

Your thoughts were a whirlwind. Why is he going? Does he not understand how dangerous this is? Why didn’t he tell me? A flood of questions tangled in your mind, but none of them slowed your steps.

You didn’t know exactly where he would be—but your instincts pulled you toward the shore.

You prayed—to the gods, to fate, to anyone listening—he couldn't leave. Not like this. You had almost gone to bed tonight never knowing he’d already left the island of Ithaca.

The wind bit cold against your skin, but you didn’t care. You had to find Telemachus.

Then you saw him.

His back was to you at first, feet planted on the shoreline where a single ship was moored. The waves lapped quietly at the sand, and the few men aboard moved like shadows—final preparations nearly done.

He didn’t see you right away. His eyes stared off into the horizon, somewhere far, far away. He looked dazed, torn. A deep frown settled on his lips, like the weight of everything he carried was pressing him down.

You saw him.

"Telemachus," you whispered—too soft, as if your voice might shatter something.

Then louder—your breath catching before it came out.

"Telemachus!"

His body stiffened. Slowly, he turned. His wide eyes met yours. Shock to see you.

"(Name)." He mouthed your name.

Your chest heaved, lungs burning, not just from the run but from the ache building beneath your ribs.

Both of you did not move at first, the distance between you too was filled with tension that if one were to go past it they would feel it.

You two stood facing each other, eyes locked, with the moon high above—glowing behind the other's light, as if the sky bent itself to reflect a single moon for two souls.

You couldn’t hold it. What started as a step turned into a run—unthinking. Telemachus watched, frozen, as you closed the distance. He knew he should have gone sooner to spare you both the pain, it was the safer option.. Right..?

But he didn’t move away.

In fact, he stepped forward too—slowly, deliberately. His fingers reaching out for you, and until he finally caught you.

Though he didn't quite prepare himself, as he fell backwards with you—landing on the soft sand.

His arms were around you now, steady even as his heart pounded. The scent of salt and night air clung to both of you, but neither of you move yet.

Your hands clutched the fabric of his cloak, your brows knit together.

You two slowly rise to sit up on the sand, eyes still into each other. You didn't know what gave you the right to launch yourself to the prince but at that moment, you knew him as your Telemachus.

“Why are you leaving?” you finally asked, your voice breaking halfway through. It wasn’t loud, but it hurt to say. Telemachus looked away, the guilt on his face showing.

“I knew you were on to something…” you murmured, "But I didn’t think that it was a diplomatic mission from across the sea."

He hesitated. “You don’t get it, (name).” You blinked, pain flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” he added, his voice quieter, as if trying not to lose you further. “You wouldn’t get it.”

You stared at him. “Well of course I wouldn’t get it,” you snapped, the edge in your tone cutting sharper than you intended. “You never said anything.”

"I'm sorry.."

"Sorry isn't going to answer this, Telemachus."

Telemachus flinched, eyes darting to meet yours, startled. You rarely ever raised your voice—only when something truly hurt.

It's kind of an irony, because the only time you ever raised your voice was all because of him. When you defended him and now.

"I had to go. I had to." Telemachus inhaled shakily. "Ithaca won't wait forever. The suitors—they're becoming bolder. My mother can only do so much. And my father… If he’s out there, I have to try."

"I tried to tell you" he said, finally, voice soft, raw. "I really wanted to tell you."

"But how could I? Every time I tried to look at you, I wanted to stay. But I knew I couldn't. I kept thinking maybe… maybe if I just left, it’d be easier." He broke, gripping your fingers gently.

Silence fell again. You felt it in your throat, in your chest, in the way your body refused to pull away from his.

“I would’ve tried to understood, you know,” you said, quieter now. “If you told me. If you trusted me.”

Telemachus grew closer, his voice low. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.“

You kept your eyes at him, your hand still intertwined. Your heart was beating, eyes starting to water.

"I was afraid," Telemachus finally said, his voice trembling like a string pulled too tight.

You blinked.

"I was afraid that if I tell you what I really felt for you... it would've made it harder—for both of us."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Tell me what?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a broken whimper escaped him. His shoulders shook as his head dropped low, forehead pressing to your shoulder, his hands gripping the fabric of your sleeves and your hands like he was afraid you'd vanish.

"That I am in love with you, (Name)."

Your heart stopped. The world fell still—except for the quiet, ragged breaths of the boy in your arms.

"I love you, (name). Maybe I’ve only just come to understand it fully, but the gods know—from the moment we first spoke, I was meant to fall for you."

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say. Your mind went completely blank. Words slipped from your grasp like water through trembling fingers. You were never like this—never speechless, never unsure. But maybe that was because you had never let yourself be this close to something so raw… so real.

You stared at him.

Telemachus, with his tear-streaked face pressed gently against your shoulder, hands clinging to your sides. His confession still echoed in your chest, stirring something terrifying and warm all at once.

You breathed in, slowly.

"If what you said was true, then why leave without saying goodbye?"

"...I thought it would hurt less," he admitted, voice breaking. "For both of us."

You looked at him, truly looked—and then, without thinking, your hand reached up and brushed a thumb across his cheek. "It hurts more," you said quietly, "not knowing."

The space between you felt fragile. Yet somehow, even now, there was comfort in it.

You then started to stroke his head almost pulling him closer, Telemachus hesitantly looked up to you. A chuckle escaped your lips. The same laugh he loves.

"Remember when I told you my mother was worried that talking to you might make you think the wrong thing?" you began, your voice soft. The prince tilted his head, slightly puzzled, but nodded.

"Well... the truth is, long before that, I already liked you," you admitted, eyes dropping for a moment. "Talking to you wasn’t just a coincidence—it was my way of trying to get to know you."

Telemachus' eyes widened, stunned.

"My mother said feelings like that would lead me nowhere. She said, 'Who are you compared to him?' That you'd probably find it strange... or laughable. So I grew up thinking I’d never mean anything to you."

He opened his mouth to speak, but you gently cut in before he could.

"I started to believe, by default, that love just wasn’t meant for me. So imagine how surprised I was... when you said you wanted to be friends."

Telemachus stepped closer, the moonlight catching the hurt and wonder in his expression. His voice broke gently through the silence.

"When I said I wanted to be friends," he said, voice low, "it wasn’t because that was all I wanted. It was because I knew, i wanted to begin somewhere with you."

Your breath caught again,

"From the time we’ve spent together.." He trailed off "You were nothing but more than I ever thought I was allowed to want. And maybe I don’t know exactly what I’m doing—gods know I’m still figuring it all out—but I do know one thing."

He reached for your cheeks, gentle.

"I want whatever this is. Even if it’s uncertain. Even if it’s slow. I want it… with you." He said.

You couldn't help but lean into the warmth of his hand, your heart thudding louder with every inch that closed between you. His touch was tender. Your faces hovered close, breaths mingling in the quiet. Telemachus’ thumb brushed your cheek, then paused as his gaze flicked down—hesitating on your lips.

"May I?" he asked, barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to break the moment.

As you gave a quiet nod, he leaned in—and when your lips met, it was like the world stopped.

His lips were soft, warm, hesitant at first, then a little more certain as you didn’t pull away. You could feel the faint hitch in his breath, the way he carefully pressed in closer, and you welcomed it.

It wasn’t overwhelming. But it was enough to have you melt.

His hand traced the line of your jaw, then settled lightly at your waist, fingers trembling slightly. Your own hands moved instinctively, one curling over his shoulder, the other slipping slowly to the back of his neck.

He pulled away for only a moment, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. Then, without a word, he kissed you again—deliberate this time.

You were getting kind of jazzy by the second, but your body refused to pull away as the kiss deepened.

Telemachus finally broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily. His arms remained around you as he buried his face in your shoulder—hiding, maybe, from how deeply he was blushing.

“Did that just happen…?” you said aloud.

The way he held you tighter made it real. He kissed you. And you kissed him back. A quiet settled between you as your fingers gently combed through his hair.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he murmured, making you glance down at him. “You have no idea.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “I don’t want you to leave either,” you admitted. “But we both know how important this is.” He stilled. Slowly, he pulled back—though his hands still lingered on you.

A part of you wanted to be selfish, to beg him to stay. The sea was no safer than the palace. But you knew better. And you hated how much you understood.

“Don’t make this a goodbye,” you whispered. His eyes lifted to yours, glossy with emotion. “Make it a promise. Promise me you’ll come back safe.” He didn’t speak right away, only nodded—your smile softening as you held onto that small piece of hope.

“I promise to come back to you,” he said. “I'll come to pursue you.” You blinked, heart skipping. “Pursue me?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a shy nod "I want to come back when I can be officially yours. Right now, I’m not the person I want to be yet… but maybe, by then, I’ll be closer to the man I should be—with you."

The confession hung gently in the air between you. You stared at him for a long moment, then smiled—not the polite kind, not the practiced one—but something small and real, like a promise unspoken.

“Then I’ll be right here,” you said, “when that time comes.” Telemachus leaned in again—not for another kiss, but to rest his forehead against yours. You stayed like that, wrapped in the hush of something tender, as the world around you blurred into silence.

Just for this moment, the future didn’t scare you. Because he would carry your words across the sea. And you carry his promise in your chest until the tides brought him home.

You could only pray the gods of Olympus would guide him safely across the sea. Unbeknownst to you, Telemachus offered his own prayer—that you, and his mother, would remain safe within those palace walls.

Neither of you knew what the days ahead would hold. And all that stood between was faith—and hope. But those two aren’t known for handing out happy endings. Not without a price. Not every time.

here is the 14k fic!! part two coming :DDD this was a pain to publish beacuse of how long it is, i had to transfer to my old laptop but im glad its finally done!!

thank you for reading everyone! interactions are greatly appreciated!!

Kumi's m.list

[brawberryz]

⎯⎯ Blind Love

⎯⎯ Jason Todd × Blind! Reader

Note: English is not my first language/ inspired by the manga Veil / M.list

TW / None,i just a little drabble

Snow fell in torrents through the city streets.

The snow painted the streets a white color, giving life to this dead city.

Your footsteps echoed through the cold city streets like a small tinkling sound.

You stood out among all the citizens, having such a charming yet simple style.

Your cane tapped the ground as you walked slowly down the street.

You were supposed to get to your new apartment, but you were lost, and being blind wasn't much help either.

Maybe you should have asked for a guide, but you wanted to be independent.

You grew up your whole life in a very overprotective family because of your disability, which bothered you.

They treated you like you were made of glass, as if you were going to break at some point.

You were tired of so much overprotection, so you decided to move to a new place.

But apparently you overreacted and ended up moving not only to another city but also to another country.

You were so confident in yourself. You didn't even notice you were lost, and someone like you on the streets of Gotham wasn't the best idea.

You were so distracted by your thoughts that your cane collided with someone's foot, causing you to stop dead in your tracks when you heard a small sound of pain as your cane hit the stranger.

"Ah! Excuse me..."

You said embarrassedly, apparently you ended up colliding with a stranger who was sitting on a bench.

It was only your first day here and you'd already messed up. You apologized several times without letting the stranger speak.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't hurt you, right?"

A small, awkward silence formed between the two of you until the stranger deigned to speak first.

"Don't worry, I've taken worse hits."

He said ironically. You just nodded, still embarrassed, but you could feel the man getting up and you could feel his imposing figure in front of you.

It's not that he's shorter, it's just that he was too tall.

"Wow, you're really tall!" You said without thinking about your words. You were someone who tended to say things without thinking, and that sometimes got you into trouble. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, calm down, it's okay."

Jason noticed from your nod. You weren't from this place. It was easy to spot someone new when they'd spent their entire life in this city.

"Hey, do you know this place?"

You asked suddenly, handing her a small piece of paper with all the information she needed written down, but they seemed to have forgotten that you were blind.

"Oh yeah, sure."

Jason took the paper as he read it, but all he could think about was how a person could stay with their eyes closed for so long.

Those doubts, though, were answered after seeing the cane and how you couldn't read something as simple as this paper.

Noticing that so late made him feel like an idiot.

"You should go straight and then turn left. On your right, you'll find your destination."

He said, trying to be as clear as possible. You just nodded happily and then took out your cane again.

"Thank you so much for the help!"

You said before returning with your slow steps. Something in him told him he should follow you and keep you safe.

You were new to Gotham, and your blindness made you easy prey for criminals.

Besides, he was a hero, or a good antihero, but he still had a desire for justice and to protect others, and he couldn't let someone like you walk the streets of Gotham.

"Careful, there's a staircase there!"

He yelled at you from afar when he saw you about to step on a step wrong. You just turned your head and nodded with a small laugh.

"I know, you shouldn't worry."

Your steps were slow but refined as you climbed the stairs. Something in Jason's chest burned every time he sensed something dangerous for you.

He had only met you a few minutes, but he already felt strange.

What the hell was happening to him?

"Are you sure? Is there no one to accompany you, or are you alone?"

He asked curiously, and you just nodded, not paying much attention.

You didn't need anyone's protection. You'd spent your whole life being overprotected, and you didn't need anyone else to worry about you.

"You shouldn't worry. Besides, let me warn you, following me won't get you to Wonderland."

Jason just arched at your sudden comment.

"Do I look like Alice to you?"

You could only let out a small laugh at the man's question.

"Well, maybe a little, but don't be offended, it's my favorite story!"

'She laughed...' That was the only thing Jason could think when he heard your laugh.

"Well, maybe you're right," he said as he approached you. "I almost fell into a hole today. It was an open sewer, and I almost fell in because I was too distracted."

"Ah..." You nodded, surprised but a little curious about the man's story. "Oh! Right, I haven't introduced myself. I'm (Name)!"

You felt like an idiot now. You'd spent a few minutes talking to the man, but you weren't even able to ask his name or introduce yourself properly, where were your manners!

"(Name)..." He said, repeating your name as if he were tasting it in his mouth. "You can call me Jason, Jason Todd."

"Nice name," you said, about to say something, but you were hesitant. You didn't know if you should ask him for help or not. But this was your only chance. "Sorry for asking, but do you know any places where we could get tea?"

After walking all over the city, your thirst and appetite had grown, and you thought a good cup of tea would solve everything.

"Uh, well, I know a place. But it's a bit far from here-"

"Really!"

You interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. He just nodded.

"I don't want to sound annoying, but..." You swallowed before continuing. "Could you take me to that place? I'm new around here, and you know...um."

Jason quickly understood the point. He knew you didn't want to seem useless, but he knew you needed help now.

"Yeah, sure. I hope you don't get bored with my company, though. I'm not one for words."

You shook your head in amusement.

"I don't think so. Your company can't be worse than walking down the street alone."

An inaudible laugh escaped Jason's lips. You were a very direct person.

But now that he had you closer, he noticed something. He felt like he'd seen your face somewhere.

And apparently he was right. You looked like one of those models. He saw your face for the first time when he was patrolling as usual.

Your presence was plastered all over that huge billboard that could easily light up an entire street.

Apparently, you were famous, since he'd seen your face on many posters and magazines, but he decided not to ask and kept his curiosity to himself.

"Could you give me your arm?"

"Uh-"

Before he could say anything, you answered.

"I wouldn't want to hit someone with my cane again, so you could be my guide and my eyes?"

"Oh, of course,"

He said, embarrassed, finally understanding what you meant.

You wrapped your hand around his arm and pressed against him. A small blush appeared on Jason's cheeks.

It was just the cold, right?

The blush didn't mean anything. He was just cold, or was that what he wanted to think?

Anyone who saw the two of you would think you were some kind of married couple.

"Now you'll check for any holes, right?"

You said with a small chuckle, reminding him of that incident he'd told you about.

"Of course, I'll try not to be so distracted this time."

You nodded at his comment.

Jason guided you through the snowy streets, slow steps following you as you could feel the cold breeze hitting your face.

You felt happy because after a long time, you had met someone; besides, he seemed like a nice person.

Maybe leaving home and being independent wasn't so bad.

Because if you hadn't, you would never have met him.

And he would never have met someone like you.

Maybe the two of you meeting was a coincidence or a piece of fate.

Or maybe the two of you were meant to be.

I think you should stop overthinking things. If you keep doing this, you'll most likely get some kind of headache.

The important thing is to live in the future.

And stop looking at the past

Jason is so Aleksander Code

Maybe I'll do a part 2 if I'm not too lazy

[criminalamnesia]

ending 2 for tolerate it! this was my original idea for the ending!

I just wanted to clarify that I’m writing these two endings bc of the feedback I’ve received. The first ending is for those who wanted them to reconcile/make amends, and I wanted to give those readers some closure.

this ending is for those who want reader to be happy without him (which was my original idea lol). anyways I know a lot of people didn’t like ending 1 and that’s okay!! but here’s ending two, I hope you like it better :)

[ also, this takes place in between the time that reader leaves simon/price and the last line of part two! ]

part one here, part two here, ending 1 here

your friend graciously let you live with them for a few months while you got back on your feet.

you went to therapy. stopped crying whenever you thought of him or even his name. started taking care of yourself again.

you move out and find this cute little house. it’s small, cozy. you adore it, and your friend helps you move in.

you make it your own with colors and trinkets and pictures. there’s nothing in that house that serves as a reminder of your time with him. you’d gotten rid of all the pictures, all the gifts he’d bought you before things turned sour.

fuck him. he didn’t deserve to see your growth and your happiness. he didn’t deserve anything from you.

you get used to being on your own again. it’s nice. you don’t worry about a man who is halfway across the world. don’t worry about baking a cake for his return or setting up streamers. don’t worry about how damaged he’ll be when he walks through the door.

you’re happy. you love your job, your home, your friends. you treat yourself to coffee every wednesday afternoon, and that’s when you meet him.

you’ve ordered your coffee and are sitting at one of the cafe’s little tables, scrolling on your phone, when a man clears his throat.

you look up, and he’s got the kindest smile you’ve ever seen.

“hi,” he says, and you give a small smile as you click off your phone.

“um, hi?” you say, a little unsure of why he’s speaking to you.

“not to sound weird or anything,” he begins, and you give a small laugh.

“y’know, whenever someone says that, whatever they say next does tend to sound weird.”

he nods, that smile on his lips growing a smidge wider. “right. so, I guess this will be weird then, huh? but I’ve noticed you here every wednesday, and I just wanted to tell you you’re beautiful.”

you blush. you don’t think a man has ever been so straightforward with you, and although you do think it’s kind of weird, you try to just focus on the compliment.

but your guard is up. you don’t know him.

“oh, thank you. that’s sweet,” you reply, and he’s still looking down at you.

“can I sit?” he asks, which takes you by surprise.

“um, sure? I guess?” you say, and it sounds more like a question than a statement, but he’s sliding into the seat across from you.

he introduces himself, and you tell him your name. he says it’s pretty. you’re starting to think he’s coming on too strong.

but as the two of you begin to talk, you start to realize that’s just who he is. he’s a flirt, a flatterer, but it’s good natured.

it’s easy to talk to him. he keeps the conversation going, and he seems generally interested in what you have to say. it’s a stark difference from your last relationship.

but then he tells you he’s military, and your heart nearly stops.

“oh,” you say, a small frown on your lips.

“that an issue?” he says, and his tone is teasing. he doesn’t know— how could he? but your face says it all.

his brows furrow, and he gets serious for the first time since he’d sat across from you. he starts to reach for your hand, but decides against it. again, the two of you don’t know each other, and he’s aware of that.

“I don’t have a good track record with men in the military,” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood. he can tell something’s wrong, but he doesn’t push. he takes the bait, and you’re grateful. it makes you like him even more.

that’s why you end up talking until the place closes. the employees are practically shooing you out as you and the military man apologize profusely.

you’re on the sidewalk now, and he’s smiling at you. you find yourself smiling back.

“d’you mind if I get your number?” he asks.

as much as you enjoyed talking to him, you’re still unsure. you just recovered from everything that happened— are still recovering. you don’t want to rush into anything. so, you shake your head.

“if you’re serious,” you begin, looking up at him. “I’ll see you on another wednesday.”

he nods, a mischievous smile on his face. “im up to the challenge.”

you give a small laugh, then tell him goodnight. you turn and begin to walk towards your car, and you’re smiling like an idiot.

you don’t want to get you hopes up, but that little naive part of you— a part of you you’d thought was dead and gone— is making you. you try to stamp it back down.

next wednesday, you don’t see him, and you’re a little sad about it. you don’t see him the wednesday after that, either.

you don’t see him for a few months, actually. and after a few weeks, you’ve stopped thinking about him.

but then one wednesday, you’re sitting in that coffee shop, and there he is.

he’s wearing a short sleeve shirt, and you can see fresh cuts and scrapes along his arms. he asks if he can sit, and you oblige, gesturing to the seat across from you.

“sorry for disappearing on you,” he says, and you shake your head. he doesn’t owe you anything. you barely know each other.

“that day we talked, i ended up gettin’ deployed a few days later. didn’t have your number, so…” he trails off with a cheeky smile, and you grin as you roll your eyes.

“so im to blame, hm?” you say, and he nods.

“oh, absolutely.” he’s teasing, and you laugh.

“then let’s amend that.” you hand him your phone and he lights up. he taps his number in quickly before handing the phone back to you. you send him a quick ‘hi’ so your number will pop up in his phone.

“didn’t forget about you, though,” he says, and you blush. this man certainly has a way with words. “that’s why im here. glad to see you’re still a creature of habit.”

“is that a bad thing?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“nah, I don’t think so.”

your phone chimes then. it’s one of your friends, asking you if you can come over. you type a quick reply and start to gather your things.

“leavin’ so soon?” he says, and you give a small nod.

“friend emergency.”

he nods. “understood. well, I’ll see you around then, yeah?” he smiling as he pushes himself out of his chair.

“you do have my number now,” you remind him. “we don’t have to wait on chance encounters.”

he hums in agreement. “that’s true, but I prefer face-to-face, y’know? especially since yours is so pretty.”

“you’re a flirt,” you tell him, but you’re blushing, and he chuckles.

“guilty.”

you bid him goodbye and walk towards the exit, your mind instantly shifting gears to your friend. you don’t think about the military man again until he texts you that night.

‘friend okay?’ he types.

‘all good.’ you respond.

he’s typing back for a good minute. the bubble disappears, then reappears.

‘if there are no more friend crises for the foreseeable future, and im not shipped off to fight bad guys, how about a proper date?’

you smile as you read the message.

‘sure.’ you respond, and he sends back a smiley face.

a first date turns into a second, then a third, then a fourth. they’re spread out over a year because of his job, but you don’t find yourself minding that much. he treats you so much differently than the last man did.

he eventually asks you to be his partner, and you say yes. of course you’re a little hesitant— things with your last military man started off good, too. but you feel like it’s different this time. he’s different.

you don’t know it, but every time he’s deployed, he talks his squad’s ear off about you. tells them you’re the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, and that you’re so funny. tells them he’s gonna ask you to move in with him.

but he never mentioned your name. maybe he forgot, or maybe he just didn’t want to share that piece of you with them.

“you never shut up about this lover of yours,” simon/price says one day while they’re eating in the mess hall. although they’re not in the same squad, they’re friends, and they happen to be on base at the same time. “no way they’re real.”

your man just grins and holds out his phone, showing off his lockscreen. it’s a picture of you with your head thrown back in laughter. he’d taken it on one of your dates.

simon/price’s face darkens almost imperceptibly before he masks it. that’s you. he hadn’t thought about you in ages, but he knows that’s you in that picture. now everything comes rushing back.

your lover doesn’t notice the other man’s expression shift. he doesn’t realize that the man across from him knows you.

you had told him more about the man who broke your heart, but you’d never mentioned his name. you didn’t want to risk him knowing him.

it’s a good thing you’d never mentioned the name, because if your lover knew, he’d punch him in the jaw.

the conversation eventually shifts away from you, and simon/price is grateful. your man is none the wiser.

when he gets back home, he asks you to move in. you tell him no at first. you’re still a little broken. he understands, and doesn’t hold it against you. he takes it in stride, and you’re grateful.

you don’t know how you got so lucky this time. you don’t know how this man, who was so understanding, so kind, so caring, had practically fallen into your lap. maybe it was karma from your last relationship.

the universe crushed you once, and to make up for it, they dropped this man into your life. whatever it was, you were thankful.

the second time he asks you to move in with him, you say yes. he helps you with everything, and the whole time he’s smiling like an idiot. even when you almost drop a shelf on his toe, or when you argue with him about where to hang a picture.

you two end the night eating take out on the couch and watching trashy tv. he decides right then that he’s going to marry you one day.

a few months after you move in, he tells you he wants you to meet his friends.

you’re nervous, but he reassures you it will all be fine. tells you that they’ll love you. so, you get yourself ready and then he’s helping you into his truck, and your leg is shaking the whole way to the bar.

he puts a comforting hand on your knee. gives you a dazzling smile.

“they’ll love you,” he tells you. you nod.

when you get to the crowded bar, he leads you by the hand inside. you’re towed along behind him, so you don’t see his friends until you’re standing right in front of the booth they occupy.

you scan their faces, and you don’t recognize any of them. you’re thankful— a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders. he introduces you to them, and you fit in easily.

the night is going well until your man mentions simon/price’s name. he couldn’t know, you’d never told him. he was telling the story of how simon/price hadn’t believed him when he was talking about you.

the rest of his friends were laughing, but you were tense. he noticed immediately, shoulder nudging yours as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“you okay?” he murmured, and you nodded.

he could tell you were lying, but he didn’t push it. didn’t even bring it up again until the two of you were home.

“how do you know simon/price?” he asked you as you hung your coat up on the rack. you frowned as you turned to face him.

“he was the one I dated before you. the guy who broke my heart. the one I told you about, remember?”

your man goes silent. he’s looking at you, his fists clenched at his sides. he believes you. there’s not a doubt in his mind, even for a second, that you’re not telling the truth.

“I didn’t want to tell you his name,” you admit, taking a step towards him. “in case you knew him. didn’t want to make things complicated.”

he’s still silent, his eyes trained on you as you slowly approach. an expression you can’t name paints his face.

“I understand if you want to end things,” you tell him, and that gets him moving again. he’s shaking his head. “I don’t want to come between you and your friends.”

“fuck him,” he spits, and he reaches his arms out to you. you step into his embrace and take a shaky breath. “fuckin’ bastard. I showed him a picture of you, and he didn’t say anything. I was gonna invite him tonight, but he’s on assignment, and—” he inhales sharply as his hands rest on your back. “and now im gonna break his fucking jaw.”

you push yourself back, your eyes finding your lover’s. you shake your head. “it’s not worth it. besides, don’t make any enemies within your base. you’ve got enough of those already.”

you can tell he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. he nods after a moment. silence fills the room.

“we don’t run in the same circles, usually,” he tells you, his voice quiet. “known each other since enlistment. got assigned to different squads. kept running into each other, though. kept in touch.”

“you can still—” you begin, but he interrupts.

“no, fuck him. I can’t be his friend when he’s treated you like shit. fucker will be lucky if I don’t blacken his fuckin’ eye.”

you don’t say anything. you pull yourself back towards his chest, and he holds you tight.

you don’t say anything, but your heart swells. this man, the one in your arms, is everything that he wasn’t. he doesn’t tolerate you, he celebrates you. loves you unconditionally. communicates and compromises. doesn’t pull away.

that’s why, when he asks you to marry him a month later, you say yes without thinking. because you don’t need to think.

the ceremony is small. friends and family gather and celebrate the two of you. you laugh and dance and drink the night away with the love of your life by your side.

and you don’t think of the man that broke your heart anymore. don’t give him the time of day, because you’ve moved on to something far greater. you’ve moved on to what you deserve.

a few years down the road, when your husband has finally retired, you’re making your way down the road to meet him at the coffee shop that brought you together.

someone calls your name, and your blood runs cold. you know that voice, and although you haven’t thought about who it belongs to in years, you doubt you’ll ever truly forget it.

he’s calling your name from somewhere behind you. you don’t turn around.

instead, you pull open the door of the coffee shop, step inside, and smile when you see your husband sitting at the same table you’d met him at all those years ago.

——————————————————————

author’s note:

ending 2 is finally here! while writing this, I originally pictured the reader getting with Gaz/johnny; however, I wasn’t sure how that would turn out.

how would they still work with simon/price after knowing everything? how would you go so long without hearing about/meeting gaz/johnny’s squad mates?

I didn’t know, and that’s why I scrapped the idea. You can still picture them, though! but I thought it best to have the love interest someone kinda detached from the 141.

anyways, hope you enjoyed :)

[multific]

A Light in the Darkness

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: In need of shelter you find an abandoned castle. Or at least you thought it would be abandoned.

The storm was ruthless, a howling windstorm that tore through the forest and drenched you to the bone.

You’d been travelling to the next village before the weather turned, but now, with no end to the storm in sight, you desperately desired shelter as you shivered.

A flicker of light through the trees caught your eye, and as you got closer a castle came into sight.

It towered above the forest like a sentinel of despair, its rough silhouette framed by flashes of lightning.

Hesitant but with little choice, you made your way to the massive door and knocked, your hand trembling as the sound echoed through the building.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall, lean figure.

The man, if he could be called that, stood in the shadows, his pale skin almost glowing against the darkness. His eyes, sunken but piercing, fixed on you.

“What brings you here?” he rasped, his voice as cold as the wind.

“I... I need shelter,” you stammered, clutching your cloak tighter. “Just until the storm passes.”

He seemed to consider this, his lips curling into something that was neither a smile nor a sneer.

“You would be wise to turn back. This place is not safe for someone like you.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” you said firmly, though your heart pounded in your chest.

With a sigh, he stepped aside.

“Very well. But do not say I didn’t warn you.”

The interior of the castle was just like its exterior, dark, cold, and filled with an eerie silence.

You couldn’t help but shiver as he led you up a couple steps to a small sitting room.

“I’ll find you something dry,” he muttered.

You watched as he walked away before disappearing into the shadows.

As you waited, uneasiness lurked up to you.

Something about him was deeply unsettling, and yet, there was an odd charm to his presence.

When he returned, his demeanour shifted.

He spoke little but watched you intently, his gaze flicking toward you whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

But you were and you noticed.

As the night continued on, his warnings became more insistent.

“You should leave at dawn. This place... it is not meant for you.” he said suddenly, his voice low and urgent.

It held a lot more darkness than before.

His tone was enough to send a shiver down your spine, and as you backed away from him unfortunately for you, your foot caught the edge of a step.

With a cry, you tumbled backward, pain flashing in your ankle as you landed.

He was at your side instantly, his movements unnaturally fast.

“Foolish girl,” he muttered, though there was no malice in his words. He knelt beside you, his long fingers hovering near your injured ankle. “I told you to be careful.”

“I didn’t mean to- You scared me.” you began, but your voice stuttered as pain shot through you.

“Don’t move,” he ordered. “You’ve injured yourself.”

Knowing that you couldn't leave with such an injury, he carried you to a room. It was old and very dusty but it had a bed.

At least you weren't freezing outside.

At least he didn't throw you out.

For the next few days, he tended to you with surprising gentleness. Though he rarely spoke, his actions revealed a quiet care that softened the fear you had felt before.

He brought you meals, ensured the fire never went out and constantly checked on your leg.

You did notice that he disappeared during the day. Locking his room to ensure you won't get in.

But during the night, he came out. As soon as the sun disappeared, you heard his door creak open and his footsteps carried him down the hallway.

As the days turned to weeks, the tension between you changed.

You found yourself drawn to this mysterious man, and he seemed less intent on pushing you away.

One evening, as he sat across from you, his eyes lingered on you longer than usual.

“Why are you so kind to me?” you asked softly as you continued your dinner.

He hesitated, his long fingers curling around the armrest of his chair.

“Because I caused your pain, I scared you,” he admitted. “And because... you remind me of something I thought I had lost.”

“What’s that?” you whispered.

“Light,” he said simply, his voice barely audible.

Your heart ached at his words, and without thinking, you reached out to take his hand. His skin was cold, but he didn’t pull away.

You took that as a good sign.

“You’re not as frightening as you think,” you said, smiling.

“I’ve spent centuries convincing others I am.” he replied. "Now eat up and go to bed." he replied before he stood from the table and left.

He never ate a bite.

In the days that followed, you began to see a warmth in him, one he tried to hide but couldn’t entirely.

He started smiling more, given that his smile was faint and barely noticeable if you blinked at the wrong time.

His eyes also softened with time whenever they met yours.

On the final night of your stay, as you prepared to leave, he stopped you in the doorway while you were packing your bags.

“You don’t have to go,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “This castle has been dark and cold for so long. But since you arrived, it feels... alive.”

"Only the castle? Is that why you want me to stay?" Tears welled in your eyes as you stepped closer to him.

He cupped your face with surprising tenderness, his sharp nails carefully avoiding your skin.

“You’ve given me something I thought I’d never feel again,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “It is not only my castle that needs you. I need you, Love. Will you stay here with me?”

"Yes. I will stay here with you."

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentle and full of emotions.

A kiss that was filled with both said and unsaid words.

From that day on, the castle no longer felt like a place of shadows. Together, you filled it with light, warmth, and love.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief  

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[snowande]

Side quest 2 with isekai Reader that is a healer with a unique way

(male orc x female)

From this story Side quest 1

After done doing your job at the camps, you return to your villages, riding trough the trails with your horse on the way home.

You hear a scream and grunts from the woods, you stop on the trails and put your horse on a leash on to a tree, when you investigate, slowly pushing away the bushes to the voice, and you see, a orc getting jump by a pack of werewolf.

The orc's cries for help are muffled by the sound of his own screams and the werewolves' growls. His arms are wrapped around one of the werewolves, trying to crush it, but there are too many of them. They tear at his flesh, their claws and teeth.

The orc was smaller than a normal orc.

You grab a magic bomb from your bag and throw it at the werewolves. The magic bomb explodes with a blinding flash of light and a deafening roar.

Several werewolves are blinded and howling from the blast. The remaining beasts hesitate for a moment.

The werewolves pack eventually back off and left you with the poor wounded orc, doesn't orcs come in a pack? like the werewolves? you thought to yourself.

But this particular orc seems to be alone, and his injuries are severe. He's bleeding profusely from multiple wounds, and his armor is dented and cracked.

You walk to the injured orc and kneel in front of him "hey, where are your friends?" you softly said to the orc, the orc his eyes sadded. "My pack... left me to die. because I'm the weakest I thought they are my family..." the orc said.

You look at him in pity and feel bad for him, you will not let the poor orc died, bleeding to death, so you ask if the orc can still walk, well you can't pick him up, because he was large than you.

The orc groan in pain as he tries to get up, his movements slow and painful. "I-I can still walk, but not far..." he admits, leaning against a nearby tree for support. "Who are you, human? Why help me?".

"I help you because it's my job as a healer, even if you're an orc, I still help you, not all orcs are bad..." you said as slowly guide him, to a nearby lake, sit him down at the grass and let him lean on a tree.

His breath is uneven and labored. "Humans... you're different... most of them feared us, killed us on sight, But..." he looks at you with dark, thoughtful eyes "You're kind..."

He reaches out with a large, bloody hand and gently touches your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle, considering his size and strength. "Thank you human, My name is Arosh, I owe you my life." He looks at you with gratitude.

Arosh watches as you gently remove his armor, his eyes never leaving yours. He seems to be studying you, trying to understand this kind human who saved his life.

As you work, he notices the way your fingers brush against his skin, and he shivers slightly. "um... Arosh you see... I'm not like how the other healer 'heal' so bear with me alright?' you said to arosh, arosh look at you confused, when suddenly you lean on his bare stomach and lick his wounds.

His breath catching in his throat. He's seen healers before, usually heal with their hands and healing potions. But this... this is something else entirely. "What are you doing? "

As you continue to tend to his wounds with your tongue, Arosh realizes that you're healing your saliva. He watches in awe as his wounds slowly start to knit back together, his skin mending under your care.

"It seems the deeper wound are not healing throughly..." you said while looking at the confused arosh. Arosh looks down at the deep gashes on his chest, He watches as you furrow your brow, studying them intently.

"Welp, the only healing that is strong is this." You said while dropping your pants. His eyes widen at the sight of your naked lower body, his breath catching in his throat.

His eyes wander over your thighs before meeting your gaze again. "What..." he swallows hard "What are you suggesting?" "well you see Arosh, I can heal someone with any liquid that comes out of my body, the strongest liquid is my essences...." you said while blushing.

Arosh's eyes flicker down to your core, understanding dawning on him. He licks his lips, his own body responding to the implication. Despite his injuries, he can feel a growing heat in his loins. "So, you're saying..."

He swallows hard, his mind racing with the implications. "You're saying that if I... if we... you can heal my deeper wounds?" He looks back up at your face, searching for confirmation.

"You mean, if we have intercourse, your... essence... will heal my wounds?" He says the words carefully, testing them out. He's never heard of such a thing, but then again, he's never met a healer like you before.

"n-not yet! we have to do intercourse if the wounds are not healing if drinking my essence doesn't work!" you said.

Arosh nods slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "So... it's a last resort, then. If drinking your essence doesn't heal my wounds, we'll need to have intercourse instead." He pauses, his heart racing at the thought of such an intimate act.

"Yes unfortunately..., right... okay let's heal you now" you said while told him to lay down so it will be easy to work with. Arosh nods, understanding your request. He carefully lies down on his back.

As you hover your body in front of his, Arosh's eyes widen at the sight of your pussy so close to his face. His breath catches in his throat as he feels your warmth against his face.

Palms flat against your hips to keep you steady as he buries his face between your legs. His long, rough tongue laps at your core, drinking in your essence. He makes loud, hungry noises as he laps at your cunt.

"ah! ngh!" you moan, it feels so different... Arosh tongue is bigger than other people, of course it's because he was an orc. Your moans only encourage him further.

He keeps his arm locked around your hips, keeping you pinned in place as he uses his massive tongue to explore your every fold, his broad nose pressing against your clit.

His thumbs to pull your lower lips apart, giving himself full access to your core. Without warning, he plunges his long, thick tongue deep into your pussy, curling it to reach every inch of your inner walls.

His thumbs keep your lips spread wide, holding you open for his oral assault. He begins to move his tongue in and out, mimicking the motion of fucking.

As he continues his relentless tongue-fucking, he brings one of his large hands up to your clit, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling the sensitive nub. The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear. He looks up at you with hungry, crazed eyes.

Growling against your pussy, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh "Going, to make you cum..." His tongue moves faster, deeper, almost brutal in its intensity. The hand pinching your clit moves in time with his tongue thrusts.

"ah! oh! god! I think I'm about to-" you moan while shaking, you never feel felt so much pleasure before. He feels your body tense up, knows you're close to climaxing. he suck your clit, making you squirt.

Catching your essence with his tongue. He moans in pleasure, swallowing every drop. His hands move to your ass, squeezing the flesh as he continues to lap at your pussy, not letting a single drop go to waste.

"d-did it work?" the orc said timidly, you see at his deep wounds it heal a little bit, it means you have to..., his wounds, which are still bleeding but slower now.

"well, I guess we have to do an intercourse then..." you said, He looks up at you, his eyes locked onto yours. He let you crawl into his lap. He slowly lowers his loincloth, revealing his massive, throbbing member.

Position your self on tip of his cock, you lower yourself onto his massive green member, you feel like you're being split in two. He's so large that it hurts, but you know you have to keep going to heal his wounds. He grunts and wraps his thick arms around your waist, pulling you down further.

As you slowly impale yourself on his massive member, then you stop half way, because his dick fill you to the brim, his cock is half inside you, Aros grab your waist and slowly thrusting, letting you get used of his cock.

"Nghh... Haa okay you can move Arosh... " As you give the ok sign, he starts to thrust harder, his massive balls slapping against your ass. Each thrust pushes you further down onto his length, filling you completely.

His muscular body glistens with sweat and blood as he fucks you aggressively, yet careful enough not to hurt you too much.

He keeps thrusting deeper and deeper, you can feel his entire length inside you now, you can feel his huge balls slapping against your backside. He's so deep inside you that it hurts, but it feels good too. He grunts and growls with each thrust.

Without warning, he flips you onto your back His thrusts become more aggressive now, hitting every sensitive spot inside you.

Arosh look down and sees that his deep wounds are healing, and he feel a lot stronger than before? Is it because of your unusual healing?.

He feels invincible now, his wounds are completely healed, and he feels stronger than ever before. He wraps his thick arms around your waist and lifts you up, impaling you on his dick, standing up.

One of his hand tenderly cup your face as he kisses you deeply, while his other hand holding your hip, his thick tongue exploring your mouth while his dick continues to pound into you mercilessly.

His eyes rolling back in his head as he feels his balls tightening, signaling his impending climax. He holds you tighter against him, burying his member as deep as it will go, and unleashes a torrent of thick, hot orc cum deep inside your stretched out pussy.

His cock pulses repeatedly, filling you completely with his thick seed. His powerful arms keep you pinned tight against him as he spills every last drop of his potent cum deep within your core.

His cock remains hard and throbs inside you as he continues to hold you tightly against him, his cum slowly leaking out from your cunt.

Arosh sits down gently, keeping you in his lap, his still hard dick gradually withdraws from your well used hole. He looks down at you tenderly, his rough hands gently stroking your hair "Thank you?." "I-its y/n... Haa" "Thank you y/n..." He pulls you close.

Nuzzling his nose against your neck and inhaling your scent. "You've given me strength and healing. I am in your debt." He kisses your forehead softly, his massive frame trembling with emotion.

Then you drift off to sleep, nestled in the orc's gentle embrace, you feel safe and protected. His warm, musky scent envelops you.

As you sleep, Arosh hold you tight on his hold, Arosh seems doesn't want to let you go. You smell so nice...

He wonder if he can come with you? Even if he came back to his village, would his orc's friends still want him? He can't seems to let you go.

He hope you will bring him!, he will protecting you! And and be a wonderful MATE to you...

Ahh finally done! This one takes a while (´；д；`) - Lumi♡

This picture is from Pinterest Danil Zakablukovskii

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

Tags : @nymphea0 @rainwithoutpain @cinwmoon @sleepydang @xrenka

[beforetimes]

planning a modern/fame timebomb au in my head where jinx is a celebrity recovering from addiction after a public meltdown who's lost contact with most of the people she knew when pre-breakdown/pre-fame. and in completing her recovery program she reaches out to ekko to offer a direct apology for anything she might have said/might have happened in the depths of her addiction, but doesn't hear back from him.

following this she decides to go out and sign up for a program to help at-risk kids like herself—after reflecting in therapy and realizing that a lot of the issues that lead to her being in such a volatile state of mind was because of the lack of support she had in childhood when dealing with losing her family [haven't planned what would work as a stand-in for the powder factory explosion so lets skirt past that for now] she decides that she wants to be that support for other people that she didn't have herself, after spending about a year trying to get better.

basically, she signs up as a volunteer to this big brother/sister-esque outreach program after a few months of anonymously donating to see if she can help someone in person rather than continuing to isolate herself. which is where she meets isha, who immediately imprints on jinx and insists on following her around. and jinx, who is unused to being at the centre of someone's attention without larger expectations that come with her status as a celebrity attached as caveat, starts relaxing by the very nature of her interactions with isha not being as loaded as others. like, this is just a kid! she doesn't know about jinx's issues or how she freaked out and lost it on stage/on a set/made headlines before disappearing from the public eye and ending up here. all isha sees is someone with cool blue hair and nails she wants to try her hand at painting.

after a few months of building a rapport with isha through this community mentor program, jinx accidentally bumps into the last person she really expected to see here—ekko.

ekko is also very surprised to see her here, because the last time he saw her, she was freaking out on him because he wouldn't enable her self-destructive behaviour, their final and most explosive fight resulting in their subsequent falling out where jinx threw a lot of shit back in his face and he did the same and they decided not to contact each other. well, besides jinx's attempt at an apology, but he didn't reply to that.

he sees her here and they both freeze because, like? what do you even do in this situation? they haven't seen each other in a few years at this point, maybe two or three at the most. enough time that it feels so entirely awkward to even try to act like nothing happened while also knowing that it would be equally nerve-grating to try and acknowledge the history between them.

of course, this stand-off is interrupted by isha, who sees jinx frozen in the hall and immediately stomps over to drag her away because they had been working on a painting together that she's been waiting to finish all week.

and jinx eventually relaxes because ekko doesn't say anything and neither does she, even though she wants to know what he's doing here in the first place. but the day ends without any further interactions between the two.

eventually, after asking around, jinx learns that ekko was the one who set the program up a few years prior, a tentative friend in the program telling her that the community didn't really have a lot of resources on hand and that a lot of the program was personally financed by ekko and he did a lot of work to try and uplift the people and community without demanding financial support in return, like most state-funded programs tend to do.

jinx is just, like, in awe of the fact that this childhood friend grew up to do something so great before being overwhelmed with guilt over the fact that she had been so wrapped up in her own world that she hadn't even noticed.

of course, this doesn't really change things because they're still not talking to each other, but weeks pass and jinx feels like they've gotten into a steady pattern of avoiding each other.

what she doesn't know is that ekko has been subtly watching in on her and isha's little hang-out sessions and is just in awe that this girl who had only a few years ago been so unsure of herself and in so much pain had managed to heal to the point of being able to help someone else and make a good positive impact on isha's life in a program he created.

so, after a while, jinx gets a reply on that email she had sent him nearly a year ago where ekko just asks if she wants to meet for lunch. which she replies to, after a lot of back-and-forth, by saying yes absolutely.

and then the romance unfolds further from there, yadda yadda yadda. haven't decided how this will ultimately end or where vi will play a part or anyone else but i thought that the bare bones concept i had in mind was worth posting here.

in my head maybe ekko's second, scar would be a friend who had seen the majority of the fallout and would be warning him away in the background while ekko was sort of caught up in being both happy that jinx seemed to be doing better while also conflicted on whether or not he wanted to forgive her because their last fight was like, super nasty. awful stuff said

maybe if anyone has ideas for how vi / cait / anyone else could be worked in, you can leave that below?? none of this is super set in stone! just rambling. ^_^

[jester-lover]

P4 Relationship Headcanons

Authors Note/ I have read the manga up to the last English translated volume, but I’ll stick to the public school arc characterizations of them for convenience’s sake.

CW/fem! reader but otherwise no physical description , fluff, kindof accurate Victorian courting, a little angst, manga spoilers! I most definitely forgot this arc was getting animated, so I’m late, might be a little OOC, it’s been a few months since I read the manga

Edgar Redmond

Flattery was his main method of gaining your affections: descriptive poems sent to your mailbox, tulips and chocolates left on your doorstep by a mysterious admirer—a carefully held facade that fell apart when Edgar realized just how badly he wanted your affections returned.

While he has always considered himself a free spirit, capable of swiftly moving from one lover to another, he has an epiphany when he realizes he needs exclusivity with you. Edgar has found something beyond flings with you, a woman who can truly make him nervous; make his heart beat against his chest every time you bless him with a glance.

He isn’t always the most touchy lover, but he tends to take your arm in his while the two of you are out together. (He’ll do nothing more, as he doesn’t want rumors to spread around your private relationship.)

Edgar tends to fuss over you a bit, fixing your dresses, brushing his fingers over your coat, and generally keeping your appearance looking tidy; it’s an act of service that displays his affections for you.

Lawrence Bluewer

When I say all of his sisters gang up on him to tease him about his crush on you, I mean it. Lawrence tried his best to keep his love for you a secret, but his yearning glances over his glasses reveal his truth. They encourage him to speak to you, giving him advice about what women like. (Trust me, he needs it.)

Lawrence is a very dedicated man, particularly when it comes to you. He holds up all of the important customs of an exemplary Victorian man and treats you as an equal in all matters.

He’s adamant on listening to your opinion on matters involving the two of you, but he’ll also ask for your opinions on issues in his home and dorm. Your opinion is important to him.

Lawrence is a very intelligent young man; if you ever find yourself struggling with your schoolwork or a matter of principle in your personal life, he’ll help out to the best of his ability.

Call him by any affectionate nickname, and that carefully held stoicism crumbles before you, and a red tint suddenly appears on his pale face. The only time he ever broke his own rules was after the cricket match, when he embraced you tightly in the stands after winning, so much more proud of his victory now that you had seen it.

Herman Greenhill

It feels as if someone has struck him in the heart each time he lays his eyes on you. He can feel the warmth of his skin and the sweating of his palms each time he tries to talk to you without stumbling through his words. Herman is so utterly rigid and awkward around you, it’s completely obvious he’s head over heels.

He’s often flustered around you, even when you’re already courting, as one of his ideals of chivalry and respect is treating ladies kindly. He acts like a strict old man and a shy schoolboy at the same time, wanting your touch so desperately but bashing himself for it.

You will probably have to enact most of the affection between the two of you, sneaking kisses when your chaperone turns away, holding his hand when you walk into a more private corridor of his residence, and cheering loudly at his games. The easiest way to get a reaction from Herman is by showing off your stockings; he’s a sucker for good hosiery.

Despite his proud and sort of arrogant personality, Herman is a shy and careful lover; he remembers all of your favorites and special days, and he loves receiving your praise. Whenever he achieves something, he immediately looks to you, waiting to see what you make of him.

Gregory Violet

You wouldn’t even know of his existence when he first saw you, but he was always there, with a thick black sketchbook filled with drawings of you, going about your daily routine and interacting with others in a way he only wished he could. The sheer amount of yearning he does could put the poets to shame.

You are his muse; even when Gregory is creating something completely irrelevant to you, he’ll remember you; you are so infused with everything he makes. Because he has put you on this goddess-like pedestal, he doesn’t think he deserves you, which is why he’s so surprised when you agree to court him.

Gregory’s affection comes in bursts; some days he’ll be too nervous to look you in the eye, but other times he’s practically joined at your hip. He’s not the most talkative lover, but when his eyes flit through you, examining you closely with a blush stretched across his features, he appreciates you like you are art.

He plays the role of the gentleman in public, keeping his respectful distance, but he often seeks your comfort in the few moments you can sneak alone, laying his head on your lap as you brush through his two-toned hair and rambling uncharacteristically about the struggles of his role. He’s a non-conformist, and he often wished the society you lived in wasn’t so strict, so that you and him could act as wild and free as you did in the leather binding of his sketchbook.