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fluentmoviequoter · 8 months ago

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Hiding Hugs (5+1)

Pairing: Dominique Luca x shy!fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: 5 times you find refuge in Luca's arms, and the 1(st) time you show him why.

Warnings: fluff, banter/teasing

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

A/N: @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses I hope you like it!! Thanks for talking about Luca with me💞

When your team members on 20-David squad found out that you were shy, that was the last moment of peace you experienced. Since then, they have all found ways to push you, like it’s the highlight of their days, and it seems like there’s some challenge you aren’t aware of to see who can make you the shyest, fastest. Luckily, you’ve found the perfect place to hide, a refuge from their unrelenting attempts to make you shy. And even better, he always welcomes your hiding hugs.

1. You hug Luca to hide when Hondo and Street tease you about getting a date.

“Girl, I’m running out of contacts,” Hondo murmurs as he scrolls on his phone. “How do you feel about single fathers?”

“Sounds better than you,” you reply, quiet enough that Hondo can’t hear it.

“Ooh, are we setting you up again?” Street asks, smiling as he enters the locker room. “Since the last time went so well?”

“Then why are you still trying?” you inquire softly.

“Because it’s fun,” Street answers.

“Because,” Hondo begins, shaking his head at Street, “you deserve someone who makes you happy.”

You shake your head just before Hondo gasps.

“I found him! I found your perfect date,” he cheers.

“No, no, no, you can’t say that until I vet him,” Street argues, clapping his fingers against his palm to ask for Hondo’s phone.

“Tell me they wouldn’t be great together, pretty boy!”

You watch as Street takes Hondo’s phone. His eyes widen in shock or appreciation - you aren't sure which - before he smiles.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say it, but I think you’ve done it, Hondo.”

You shake your head, an enthusiastic argument of No, you haven’t, Hondo. Street, however, extends the phone so you can see the picture.

“He’s not a cop, so don’t worry,” Hondo begins. “He’s brainy, shy like you. You’ll be perfect.”

“Hondo,” you plead weakly.

“I’ll text him.”

As Hondo begins typing a message on his phone, Street asks you questions about your past relationships. You're growing shyer with each syllable, and you’re desperate to get out of the uncondoned date Hondo is currently procuring for you. So, you stand up and walk out of the locker room.

“No, hey, listen,” Hondo calls, taking long steps to catch up to you. “He’s a little hesitant, too, so there’s no pressure for this to be perfect. Ask anything about him to prep, I’ll help you out. He’s from Vegas.”

“Luca!” you call.

Luca spins on his heel in the hallway, and when he turns to face you, you crash into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you hug him tightly and hide your face against his chest.

“Oh, no,” Street says behind you. “You’re going to have to get used to hugging someone else if this date is going to go well.”

“What date?” Luca asks, gently rubbing your back.

“We set her up,” Street answers happily.

“I set her up. Street just approved,” Hondo interjects. “You will, too.”

You shake your head against Luca, and he clicks his tongue.

“Sounds like the only person whose opinion matters doesn’t agree.”

“But-“

“Lay off, Hondo.”

Street smiles, and Luca quickly adds, “You too, Streeter. She told you the last time to stop setting her up.”

“That makes it sound like we’ve succeeded before,” Hondo laments.

“Boys,” Hicks greets as he passes. “Don’t make me write this up.”

“We’re good, boss,” Luca assures, his hand steady and comforting against your back.

Street and Hondo return the way you came, failing to be discreet as they discuss how perfect your date could have been.

“Thanks, Luca,” you murmur against him, squeezing his waist before you step back.

“Anytime,” Luca promises. “And no one Hondo picks will be ‘perfect.’"

2. You hug Luca to hide when he takes you for a test drive in the hills.

“I need a favor,” Luca says in the locker room.

“Sure,” you answer, closing your locker. “What’s up?”

“I just put the finishing touches on my Impala. The restoration is complete, or should be… I need to take it for a test drive and don’t want to do it alone.”

“You’re inviting me on a ride-along?” you ask excitedly.

“Think you’re up for it?”

You nod as you pull your backpack onto your shoulder. Luca chuckles before he tosses you his keys to gather his things.

In the hills overlooking Los Angeles, Luca pulls the pristine Chevy Impala into a paved overlook area. He exits the car to check everything, and you slide out of the passenger seat to look at the view while he works.

“Everything okay?” you inquire, standing beside Luca as you watch him work under the hood of the car.

“Looks like it,” Luca answers before he straightens.

“She’s beautiful. You did a really good job with this one, Luca.”

“Thank you. It was more time intensive than I anticipated, but everything seems to have turned out well.”

You nod, and when Luca closes the hood and turns toward you, you press your lips together and turn toward smoggy Los Angeles beneath you. Luca takes a few steps to close the distance between you, and the shyness you felt when his attention moved to you multiplies. There are only a few inches between your arm and Luca’s, so when you turn toward him, it only takes a step to enter his arms.

“Sorry,” you say against his shirt.

Luca chuckles as his arms wrap around you, and you smile at the knowledge that Luca will always welcome you warmly, no matter how shy you are. Even if it’s because of him.

3. You hug Luca to hide when a raid nearly goes wrong.

“LAPD!” you yell. “On the ground now!”

“20-David, movement on the two-side,” Hondo radios.

“On your knees,” you repeat, gesturing down with your gun.

The man before you hesitates then grits his teeth and raises his arms over his head.

“Dining room, south wall!” he yells suddenly.

“Bathroom, window!” the other suspect calls.

Before you can wonder what they’re communicating, gunshots fill the house. You dive to the floor as your team talks over one another on the radio, trying to find the source of the gunfire. You roll onto your back and notice the ceiling shake quickly before the gunshots begin in a different area of the house.

“They’re in the attic!” you radio. “I’ll find access. Hondo, suspect 1 rabbited toward you.”

“Copy that,” Hondo replies. “I’ll worry about the rabbit; you get our shooter. Everyone alright?”

“30-David, all clear. Suspect 2 in custody,” Deacon replies.

“26-David, good here,” Street agrees.

“25-David, bathroom’s looking worse for wear, but I’m good,” Tan says.

“Luca?” Hondo asks.

You lift your gun and turn on the flashlight as you step onto a ceiling rafter.

“Luca, talk to me,” Hondo implores.

“LAPD,” someone says. “Put your weapon down.”

You turn to the right, and your flashlight illuminates a man standing mere feet from you. The bullet holes below you are fresh, the dust still rising from his attempt to kill you and your teammates. Luckily, he left his gun on the other side of the rafter he was standing on.

Pointing your gun at his chest, you reply, “That’s my line. Take two steps toward me and get on your knees.”

He does as you instruct, though he threatens you the entire time. After you have him in cuffs, you press the talk button on your radio and ask, “Luca?”

“Clear,” Luca replies. “I got the rabbit.”

You sigh in relief and have to stop yourself from pushing the shooter through the attic access opening.

"Luca!" you yell when he rounds Black Betty.

He opens his mouth to apologize for worrying everyone, but you crash into his arms, throwing your arms over his shoulders as you hug him. This hug is different than the rest, it’s relief and a need to feel him after being so worried for him.

“Ah, so radio silence is all it takes,” Tan teases behind you. “Here I was thinking that you had to do something dashing like save the day, climb the tower.”

Your hug then melts into the feeling that Luca has grown used to. You’re using him to hide your face and be a buffer between yourself and the rest of the team. The hug before, the new feeling, is something that Luca thinks he could get used to. Without the near-death scare, of course.

4. You hug Luca to hide when Lynch asks a personal question.

“It’s not a shotgun house,” you state, leaning on your elbows to examine the blueprints before you. “There has to be another egress route.”

“There’s only one window,” Luca hums, tapping the side wall on the paper. “This isn’t even rated for fire safety, there’s no way it’s accurate. The city would’ve tagged this blueprint before it got near records.”

“Commander Hicks!” Lynch calls outside the situation room, where you and Luca are working together. “Question for you before the IA investigation next week.”

“Sure,” Hicks answers, but you can imagine the sigh he releases.

“How long has 20 squad had interpersonal relationships?”

“Uh…”

“Romantic, I mean?”

“They don’t.”

You look up at Luca, who shrugs. “I never know what she’s talking about,” he says before pointing to another window.

“You’re kidding, right?” Lynch counters. “You mean to tell me Luca isn’t…”

Luca furrows his brows but looks at you to await what Lynch will say next. You’re both surprised when she says your name and leaves it there.

“They- they aren’t together,” Hicks answers. “Not like that.”

Luca smiles at you, and you recognize the smile. He’s about to start joking, teasing you, but you shake your head. Hiding your smile, you lean forward and tuck your face against his shoulder.

Luca laughs against you as he pulls you into a proper hug.

“Maybe she has a point,” he teases quietly. “We might as well just get married after all these hugs.”

You press your face farther into his chest, and Luca apologizes before he cheers, “There’s got to be a basement!”

5. You hug Luca to hide when he compliments you.

“Then,” Luca explains, stepping slowly to demonstrate the offensive move he’s showing you. “You’re going to swing a rear elbow, but step into it. Getting distance is part of the goal, but the power you get behind the hit gets you another leg up.”

“So, I step into it, swing a rear elbow, and come back to my guard?” you clarify. “All in one step?”

“Two if you move back to the start, but, preferably, yes.”

You nod, move through the motions slowly, then step back. As you step forward, you bring your hand alongside your face, pushing your elbow up defensively, then twist and step back. After completing the movement, you look to Luca for feedback.

“That was perfect!” he cheers. “You did it on the first try!”

Luca raises his hand, and you awkwardly high-five him. He steps closer to you, going through the movements one more time.

“Wanna try it in a mini-sparring round?” Luca offers.

You shrug, which Luca takes as a yes. When he raises his guard and steps forward to start the sparring round, you match his stance, then slip away from his first jab before you try the new elbow move he taught you.

“Yes!” he cheers with a laugh. “Amazing! One more time.”

Luca steps forward to go again, but you slide your arms under his and hug him.

“What are you-“ Luca begins. He chuckles when he realizes you are no longer sparring, and he doesn’t need to wrestle you off this time. Luca’s compliments made you shy, and the proximity of being in the ring with him made his arms the only refuge.

+1. You hug Luca to hide when all you can think about is kissing him.

“Shut up! No, she didn’t!” Tan exclaims.

“She did!” Street assures, nodding quickly. “100%, on my Ducati, the girl whose name was on the warrant stopped me on the way to the raid and asked if I’d give her a ride in the shop.”

“The LBC, huh?” Deacon asks sarcastically.

“Oh, please, like you’ve never been flirted with on duty,” Street argues. “Everyone here has been.”

“No argument here, my man, but you are the only one who likes it,” Hondo replies with a smile. “Most of us just move on, we don’t brag about it, playboy.”

Street rolls his eyes, and Luca chuckles as he stands. “Anyone need anything?”

Various declines and expressions of gratitude sound, and you stand as you quietly offer to help Luca clear the table. He accepts, and Tan and Street compare stories about women who flirt with them while in uniform. Hondo shakes his head and asks Deacon about Annie and the kids before their conversations are muted as you enter the kitchen behind Luca.

“Thanks for dinner,” you tell him as you place dishes in the sink. “When are you taking the food truck out again?”

“Car show next weekend,” Luca answers.

Luca continues talking about the food truck menu and the car show he’s attending, but you can’t think of anything except how much you want to kiss him. How long you’ve wanted to kiss him.

After years of working with him, falling for him, and being safe with him, you’re sure that Luca is everything you want. Now, you can’t even pay attention to what he’s saying because your mind is racing with thoughts of him and what you could be. If only you weren’t so shy.

“You good?” Luca asks when he notices you’ve stopped moving and haven’t spoken since your initial question.

You slowly shake your head, and Luca opens his arms, inviting you into a hiding hug because he thinks you’ve grown shy. Despite not being precisely what you want, you hug him.

You’re halfway there, you realize while Luca rubs your back comfortingly. You pull back suddenly when you find the confidence you’re looking for. Luca prepares to ask what’s wrong, his brows pinching as you move forward again.

In a second, the perfect hug you were in turns into the kiss you’ve been craving and needing desperately for years. With your hands on your shoulders, you kiss Luca, and everything else fades away. You’re not shy now, not worried about anything or anyone, just wholly involved in this moment with Luca.

When your lips hit Luca’s, he freezes. It’s only a millisecond before he recovers and wraps his arms around your waist to return the kiss.

“Hey Luca, get lost on the way-“ Street jokes as he enters the kitchen. He slides to a stop when he sees you and Luca, frozen as he watches you for several seconds. When he finds his voice again, Street yells, “Hondo!”

You whine shyly as you move back, and when you hear Hondo’s rushed footsteps past Street yelling for Deacon and Tan, you find refuge where you always do. In Luca’s arms.

#dominique luca x fem!reader #dominique luca x reader #dominique luca #luca x reader #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #hanna writes✯

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the-joy-of-knowledge · 5 months ago

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How to expand your vocabulary (in an enjoyable way).

Self-Awareness

If you find yourself struggling to find the appropriate words to express yourself ,then you need to learn more words. If you are reading this article or you find the title interesting, then you are closer than you thought. You are simply self aware. Self awareness is the first step to muster the courage to pursue the art of language and communication. It dawned on me that I was verbally malnourished when I could barely find the words to describe the character I read in a novel. "So what was he like?" My curious friends will ask and all I could say was "he had a troubled childhood and it was evident in his lack of self-control." The sound of that description even troubled me. I knew there was more to his character, but I restricted by my literary scarcity. I still struggle with this but I am making daily efforts to improve. This article will be prescriptive and descriptive.

Execution

Read books, I mean read actively. I read books and I atke pride in it but I am a severely passive reader. I barely engage with the story, the character, or the author's attempt to challenge my prejudice or affinity for the character. My reading goal was to read as many books as possible, quantity over quality. By quality, I mean quality of my reading, not the books per se. Now, I read differently (and I only started this a month ago), I read prudently, making stops anytime I encounter an unfamiliar word. I include that in my vocabulary list on my Notes app. after about 10 words or so. I immediately find each words synonyms, two per word; one easy, one difficult. For example, Decrepit (derelict, neglected).

Use Chat GPT to create sentences for you in different context and practice with that.

3. Find ways to include your new learned words in your own way. If you work a 9-5, it may be helpful to customize your prompt to business/professional context, to be more applicable to you. But most importantly, create your own sentence structure. If you have a meeting, prep for it by using the words your learned, take notes as a guide to help you effectively convey your ideas. I learned "impetuously" recently and during a meeting with my manager she asked me to access myself based on my strength and weaknesses. I responded with "I tend to impetuously accept projects without understanding the deliverables and I end up being overwhelmed with the expectations." My point it make sure you use the context of your everyday life. If you are a humanities major, you might approach this differently.

4. Make it enjoyable. Think of each new word as a specific dollar amount. Then create a "verbal bank," the more words your learn the richer you become. Ecah word for me is valued at $50. I earn $25 extra if I can use it effectively in a conversation. It you learn 10 new words a week, you have made yourself $500. Deposit that into your verbal bank!

5. Record yourself saying this words. Try to actively recall them but through a conversation. Do 1-minute tests. Record yourself describing your day, giving a presentation etc Notice with words flow naturally, if you like go back to your vocabulary list and test yourself. by creating sentences.

6. Expand your reading. Well, I did say to read books and I would suggest to go beyond. Read articles (very well written ones) and when not reading, actively listen to podcasts and pay attention to how the host convey their ideas. You would notice that good writing or speech is not necessarily peppered with difficult words. Good writers is simple to understand because the authors make diffiuclt topics or esoteric topics digestible.

Emulatate & Practise

You simply just have to emulate. Copy the style & syntax of people you admire or respect for their speech or writing. Keep practising. It is a choice to improve or not. Don't hold yourself back. I am practising by writing as well and I have barely scratched the surface and I am sure you can tell by my writing. It is not sophisticated but I do hope to improve and you can to.

Excite yourself

You will come to find yourself smiling when you read a text with words no longer foreign to you. Words that were once distant and strange will eventually become a part of you. That is the best feeling ever, it's exciting.

#self improvement #self love #growth #mindfulness #self development #education #emotional intelligence #self worth #self control #students #classy #smart wom #smart #book club #books #bookworm #reading #books and reading #self discipline

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mediocre-shark-tales · 5 days ago

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Mental Healing with the Race

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Hey Guys, I just wanted to say I am still super sorry with every chapter that takes longer than I used to be to get them out. I asm currently in the middle of the last 2 weeks of college, so lots of studying and prep for our huge Final Projects or Tests. On top of that my FSAE team and I are prepping to leave for the Big Competition three weeks from now. However, I do not want any of my chapters to lack in the love and work that I put in to writing them. So I will do my best to try and get them out more regularly, but I will not post anything early or with any less love than the last one. So should they continue to take longer please remember this. No one has said anything about this but I still want to make sure that everyone knows I am not done with this story, just a little busy right now. With that said please enjoy...

The gym lights flicker on just before sunrise, humming low above my head like they’re still waking up, too. My hoodie is heavy with sleep and my shoulder twinges the second I shrug it off, revealing the newer, thinner brace beneath. It’s progress — less restrictive, easier to hide under my clothes — but it also means I’m out of excuses. The world thinks I’m still resting. But rest never made me stronger.

I roll out my mat in the same corner of the performance room as always. Familiar. Quiet. Grounded. Axel lays just a few feet away, head on his paws, eyes tracking my every move like he knows this day is going to be rough.

Because it is.

Today is cardio and strength. And no cast means full-arm weight again. It’s the first real milestone — a make-or-break kind of day.

I sit on the mat for a moment, my back pressed against the cool wall. My fingers find the scar on my forearm, tracing it absentmindedly. A reminder.

The crash didn’t defeat me.

"Alright, warrior,” Diego calls, stepping into the room and clapping his hands once. He’s grinning, but there’s a crease between his brows — the one that always shows up when he’s worried about me. “Scale of 1 to 10. Pain?”

I crack a tired smirk. “About a 4. Maybe a 5 when I raise my arm too fast.”

He raises a brow. “And how much of that are you downplaying to look cool in front of us?” Slightly nodding towards Axel.

I glance over at my dog, who immediately perks up like he knows he’s being talked about. “A solid 60 percent.”

Diego laughs, but he kneels down next to me, softer now. “Y/N, you’ve made insane progress. But we’re still building up. You don’t have to prove anything today.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” I say, even though it’s a lie. “I’m just trying to… feel strong again.”

He doesn’t challenge me. Just gives a nod and offers his hand to help me up. “Okay. Let’s do this. But the moment I see that shoulder falter or your breath get shaky, we’re pausing. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The warm-up is fine. Easy even. Jogging laps around the indoor track with Axel trailing behind me like a shadow. My lungs are steadier than they’ve been in weeks. I feel… almost like myself.

Then we shift to shoulder presses.

“Let’s start light,” Diego says, passing me the small dumbbells — the baby ones, I tease in my head. I hate how small they feel in my hands.

“Come on,” I mutter to myself, planting my feet. “You’ve done this a thousand times before. Hell, you used to double this weight for warm-ups.”

“That was before your bones tried to throw a party and forgot to invite safety,” Nico pipes in from the corner where he’s leaning against a table, flipping through my training notes. “Let’s not reenact the crash scene here, yeah?”

I shoot him a look but secretly, I’m glad he’s here. He grounds me. Keeps me from letting the fire inside burn too hot, too fast.

I managed the first set. My form is shaky on the second. By the third, my shoulder screams. My breath catches.

Diego notices before I say anything. “Stop. Drop ‘em. Right now.”

I obey, lips pressed tight. My pride stings more than my shoulder.

“Sit,” he says, nodding to the bench. “Now tell me what your body’s saying.”

I slump onto the bench, sweat trickling down my spine. “It’s saying I’m not ready.”

He kneels again in front of me, tone low and honest. “No. It’s saying you need time. Which isn’t the same thing.”

Nico steps closer now too, crossing his arms. “You’re not failing by resting, Y/N. That’s the bravest thing you could do right now — listen.”

I exhale shakily, brushing my sleeve across my face. “I just… I don’t want them to worry. The boys. They were scared enough. If they knew I was training again, they’d—”

“—They’d be proud,” Diego finishes for me. “Because you're doing this smart. You're building up again. You’re not throwing yourself into a cockpit half-healed. You’re working for it. Quietly. Strongly.”

I don’t respond right away. Just nod and lean forward, elbows on my knees, eyes on Axel who’s still watching me with that serious, almost human stare.

“Just… don’t tell them yet,” I finally whisper. “Let this be mine a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico says, his voice softer now. “Your story. Your pace.”

“Besides,” Diego adds, grinning again as he hands me a bottle of water, “when you finally show up at the garage again and toss your helmet on like nothing happened, they’re gonna lose their damn minds.”

I chuckle. “I can’t wait to see their faces.”

I pick the dumbbells back up before they can stop me. Not for another full set — just one more press. One more reminder that I can. I lift them once, clean and steady, before lowering them again.

“That’s enough,” Diego says gently. “Today, that’s enough.”

And for once… I believe him. Because I know I’ll be back again tomorrow. And the day after that. I’m not chasing the old me anymore. I’m building someone stronger.

—

I hadn’t realized how much I missed the scent of race fuel and burnt rubber until I stepped through the paddock gates again.

The buzz. The noise. The heartbeat of a track that never really goes quiet.

The second my shoe hit the pavement inside the circuit, it all came rushing back — that itch in my fingers to feel the steering wheel again, the thrum in my chest that didn’t hurt anymore but still pulsed with memory. I wasn't driving today — still under the "you're technically held together with sports tape and medical optimism" clause — but I was here.

That counted for something.

Nico was walking just to my left, sunglasses on, hands in the pockets of his black team jacket, looking every bit like my silent, slightly too-calm bodyguard. Meanwhile, Paul practically bounced beside me on the right, grinning like a rookie who’d been handed keys to a spaceship.

“I swear, I thought you were just a myth,” Paul said, shifting the duffel bag on his shoulder. “They said ‘Ghost will meet with you before FP1’ and I was like, cool, should I also expect a unicorn and a sentient AI?”

My voice changer cracked slightly as I tilted my helmet toward him. “Sentient AI would be less chaotic than most of this team.”

Paul snorted. “And here I thought you were gonna be mysterious and intimidating. You’re… kind of hilarious.” I shrugged beneath my oversized hoodie. “Don’t get comfortable. I bite.”

“That would explain never taking that helmet off.” he said with an exaggerated look of fear. “Let me just go prep for my debut with the racetrack cryptid watching me from the pit wall.”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Your job today is to not crash my car, Aron. It likes being pampered.”

“Anything else I should know?” he asked, just as we turned down the garage hallway.

I smirked under the helmet, then nudged him with my elbow. “Lots. Don’t downshift too hard into turn six — it’ll get twitchy. There’s a subtle bump on the exit of nine, trust your rear to hold but don’t overcorrect. And if you talk back to Diego during the debriefs, I’ll personally short-sheet your bed for the rest of the season.”

Paul stared at me, eyes wide. I tilted my head playfully. “What?” “That was… disturbingly specific. How do you even know about short-sheeting beds?”

“Because I’m creative and mildly vindictive.” Nico coughed — poorly disguised laughter — and muttered, “He learned it from Oscar.”

I pretended not to hear him and turned my attention back to Paul. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll be on the pit wall the whole time, headset on, translating Diego’s feedback into ‘Paul Speech.’ He’s been dying to lecture someone other than me.”

“Oh great, I’m the replacement victim,” Paul said, mock sighing. “But really, thanks. This means a lot, Ghost. Being the reserve is weird — you never know when you’ll actually be used. I thought I’d be invisible.”

I reached up and tapped the visor of my helmet, voice softening through the modulator. “Invisibility doesn’t mean unimportant. You’ve got this.” He smiled then, really smiled. That bright, pure grin that reminded me so much of Jack it almost stung.

“Alright, cool,” he said, straightening his posture like he was trying to match the height of his moment. “Let’s go make you proud.”

“Oh, you’re already halfway there,” I replied. “You didn’t trip coming off the shuttle. That’s one more point than I had on my first day.”

“I knew you were a disaster once,” he laughed.

“Once?” Nico muttered beside us. “That implies improvement.”

“Rude,” I said flatly through the voice changer, flipping him off.

We turned into the garage then, the loud hum of tools and chatter dimming the second we stepped through the threshold. The mechanics looked up, a few nodding in recognition as I passed, others just giving me that respectful kind of glance — Ghost’s back. Even if I wasn’t driving, I was here.

Paul peeled off to go suit up. I took a breath, looking over at my car — technically still mine, even if someone else would be behind the wheel for FP1. It gleamed under the overhead lights, waiting.

My fingers twitched. Soon.

Nico said something, but I didn’t hear him — not really. Because just then, the gravity of being back settled in my chest. Not pain. Not fear. Just this warm, solid weight of home.

And I didn’t even realize how tightly I’d been holding onto that until I let myself feel it again.

—

The hum of the garage had dulled to a low buzz after FP1 wrapped. Tools were put back in drawers, pit boards were stacked, and Paul was somewhere in the back being debriefed, grinning like a kid who’d just aced his first big test.

I stayed where I was on the pit wall, not wanting to really speak to the media or answer questions. I didn’t need to hide here. But, it still gave me that edge of comfort… a thin line between me and the rest of the world. Especially when emotions threatened to press a little too close to the surface.

“You looked good out there,” a voice said behind me — calm, familiar, warm.

I turned slightly, already recognizing Franco’s tone before my eyes landed on him. He gave me a soft nod, leaning his elbows against the barrier beside me, helmet tucked under one arm.

“I wasn’t out there,” I said, the voice changer wrapping my words in static.

He tilted his head, blue eyes sharp and quiet. “Didn’t say you were driving. I said you looked good out there.”

I paused. Then exhaled through my nose and pulled out the mic cord completely, letting it hang from the railing as I leaned forward a bit, matching his posture.

There was a moment of silence before I added, softer, “You know it hurt… at first”

He didn’t interrupt. Just waited.

“It hurt a lot to sit here and not be the one buckling in. To know that the car — my car — was about to be driven without me. And that I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fight it.”

My hands clenched slightly at the memory — the ache in my ribs still faint under the surface, the scar on my arm pulling a little under the hoodie.

“I kept thinking about how many races I might miss… how slow recovery’s felt. How I used to fly in that thing. And now I’m grounded. Watching. Coaching. Like I’m some kind of whisper in the background of my own team. Truly a ghost by name. ”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just reached out and tapped his knuckles lightly against mine — an anchor.

“But…” I said, slowly, breathing in deep. “Then Paul started talking. Asking me questions. Getting excited. Like… full-on spark-in-his-eyes excited. And I realized I could still be part of it. Just from here. From the wall. From the headset.”

I looked down at my gloves, flexing my fingers. “He listens. Like really listens. And seeing him figure things out… watching him light up after his first laps? I don’t know. It felt… right. Not perfect. Not the way I wanted to be here. But right… okay.”

Franco nodded once, voice soft. “You’re still racing. You never stopped.”

I looked at him.

He smiled faintly. “Just because you’re not in the seat doesn’t mean you’re not driving this thing forward. He wouldn’t be out there doing so well without your help. You’re shaping him. You’re shaping this whole team.”

The words hit me harder than I expected.

My throat tightened a little behind the helmet. “I think… for the first time since the crash… I don’t feel broken being here. I feel like I still have a purpose. I want Paul to do well. I want him to prove himself. I want him to have the chances I had. And if I can help him get those… then maybe this isn’t all just pain and waiting.”

Franco reached up then and gently knocked on the side of my helmet. “That’s the champion mindset. And the good teammate mindset.”

He grinned. “Even with the scary voice mod.”

I huffed a laugh. “It’s for dramatic effect.”

“You’re terrifying,” he deadpanned. “Inspiring, but terrifying.”

We both chuckled, the kind of laughter that eases tension like a pressure valve finally letting go.

Then Franco leaned back and said quietly, “It’s okay to feel both, you know. The pain and the pride. You’re allowed to miss it. And you’re allowed to find joy in what you can do right now.”

I swallowed hard, but nodded.

“Thanks,” I said. “For saying that.”

“Always,” he replied, and for the first time that day, I let myself take my helmet off — slowly — and just breathe.

He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t stare. He just offered a genuine smile, no different than the one he gave me when I was Ghost.

“You’ll be back in the car soon,” he said. “But until then? This version of you — the strategist, the leader, the teammate — is just as badass.”

I blinked at him, then smiled.

“Don’t tell Diego or Nico that. It’ll go to their heads, like some mother duckling they might pull me from my seat.”

Franco smirked. “My lips are sealed.” I smiled back before following him back across the pit towards the garage.

—

It was race day when the others finally found me.

Sure, they knew I was here. The media had caught glimpses of "Ghost" in the paddock all weekend, whispers and blurry photos circling online. But catching me for a real conversation? Actually pinning me down? That was a whole different challenge to them.

Until a very familiar flash of papaya orange caught me out.

I was tucked away in a quiet corner behind one of the hospitality buildings, sitting on a crate, sipping from a water bottle, my legs stretched out in front of me.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up — only to see a smirking Oscar Piastri standing there, arms crossed.

“Well, look who I finally found," he said, tilting his head at me with a grin. "Thought you were supposed to be taking it easy during your injury. Yet here you are. Hiding like a delinquent.”

I didn’t get a word in before he stepped closer, peering dramatically at me.

“I hope you at least have your brace on under that hoodie," he teased, tugging playfully at the sleeve. "Would hate to have to carry you back to the medical center and explain to the physios why you’re broken again."

I scoffed behind the voice modulator, batting his hand away. "Relax, Mum," I said dryly. "Brace is on. Doctor's orders. I’m being good."

Oscar chuckled, dropping down onto the crate beside me with a quiet oof, bumping his shoulder lightly against mine.

"I dunno if sitting here in your emo corner counts as being good," he quipped. "But it’s good to see you. Missed you, you know."

I smiled — small, hidden — but it was there.

"Missed you too, mate."

We sat there for a beat, the sounds of the paddock — tools clanging, fans yelling, engines roaring in the distance — fading into a quieter hum around us.

"You look good," Oscar said suddenly, voice softer now. "Healthier. Stronger."

"Feel stronger," I admitted, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie. "Still a long way to go. Still can’t race yet. But it’s... better being here. Even if I’m not in the car."

Oscar nodded, watching me with that patient, careful look he only ever used when he dropped the sarcasm.

"I’m proud of you," he said simply.

Before I could say anything back — feeling dangerously close to getting a lump in my throat — another familiar voice floated over to us.

"There you are!"

I turned just in time to see Charles approaching, helmet in one hand, hair a little messy from pulling it off, suit half-zipped down. His face was lit up with relief, though there was a thin line of worry etched between his brows too.

"I have been looking everywhere," Charles said, crouching in front of us, resting his elbows on his knees so we were eye-level. "You are impossible to find sometimes, you know that?"

"Occupational hazard," I joked lightly, voice still crackling with the modulator.

Charles huffed a laugh, but then his gaze softened as he studied me.

"You are really here," he said, almost to himself. "And you are doing well."

"Trying," I said honestly. "It... wasn’t easy at first."

Oscar nodded beside me, nudging my arm. "But she's kicking ass. You should've seen her, Charles. Advising Paul like a damn pro. Ghost engineer era unlocked, I can’t wait to see what they can do during the race together."

Charles smiled — a real, warm smile — and reached out to squeeze my hand where it rested on my knee.

"I am proud of you, mon amie," he said. "More than you know. It takes a lot of strength to be here. To stay when it hurts."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing gently into my chest — not painful, not overwhelming. Just... steadying.

"I needed to be here," I whispered. "For the team. For myself. Even if it’s just helping from the wall. It feels like... I'm still part of it."

"You never stopped being part of it," Oscar said quietly.

Charles nodded, squeezing my hand once more before letting go. "And you never will."

For a moment, the three of us just sat there in the shade, the chaos of race day spinning on without us. It didn’t matter. It could wait.

Because here, hidden behind the noise, tucked into a small, forgotten corner of the paddock, I was reminded that even when I couldn’t drive, even when my body wasn’t at a hundred percent — I wasn’t alone. And that was enough. For now at least.

—

The race was chaotic.

From the second the lights went out, my heart thundered in my chest, the noise of the engines vibrating through the pit wall. I sat perched on a high stool right beside Diego, headset snug over my helmet, live feed on the monitors in front of me.

Paul's voice crackled through the radio — tight, a little anxious. His first F1 race. His first real chance. He'd qualified P14, and while it was a hell of a debut, he wanted more. We all did.

"Focus up, rookie," I murmured into the radio, voice softened by the modulator but still carrying the firmness I knew he'd hear. "Eyes forward. Breathe. You’re better than half the grid out there."

"Copy," Paul answered, clipped but trying to sound calm. I could hear the nerves anyway, layered under every word.

The first few laps were brutal — midfield battles that could turn ugly fast. Paul held steady, sharp and clean even under pressure. But he hesitated at key moments — lifting just a fraction when he could’ve pressed the attack.

"Car ahead is struggling with rears," I said, low and steady in his ear as Diego fed me data. "Watch him out of Turn 7. You’ll have him on exit."

A beat.

"Okay," Paul breathed. "Okay, Ghost. I trust you."

I smiled behind the visor, chest tight with pride.

And sure enough, two laps later, Paul slipped past in a beautifully patient move, climbing to P13.

The race ebbed and flowed, the pit stop cycle throwing chaos into the midfield. Every time Paul's focus wavered, I was there — guiding without overwhelming, steering him without grabbing the wheel.

"Car in front weaving under braking. He’s nervous. You stay clean. He’ll crack first."

"Brake balance forward two clicks. Save your fronts, we’re gonna need 'em later."

"Trust your exit speed. You’re faster in S2. He can’t stop you if you set it up early."

It was like music, almost — this silent, invisible dance we did together, woven between the roar of the engines and the crackle of the radios.

Lap by lap, Paul clawed his way forward. P12. Then P11.

When we hit the final stint, fresher tires on and the car lighter on fuel, Diego leaned toward me, excitement flashing in his eyes.

"One more position," he said into my private channel. "We get points."

I keyed my mic again, calm even though my heart raced like mad.

"Paul. Eyes up. P10 ahead. You are faster. You are faster. Stay close. Pressure him."

Paul’s breathing was heavier now, the strain of the race wearing on him, but he responded instantly. "Copy, Ghost. I’m on it."

I watched, fists clenched, as he chipped away at the gap — lap after lap, tenth by tenth.

Finally, into Turn 4, he made the move — bold, late on the brakes, perfect.

P9.

Inside the points.

The final few laps were a blur of adrenaline, shouting, encouragement.

When the chequered flag waved, Diego practically threw his headset into the air beside me, and I couldn't hold back the yell that ripped from my throat over the radio.

"YES, PAUL! YES! THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT!" I screamed, voice cracking with pride and joy.

Over the team radio, Paul whooped, the pure exhilaration pouring out of him.

"OH MY GOD, THANK YOU, GHOST! THANK YOU!" he shouted, breathless. "I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU!"

"You did that," I said, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt under the helmet. "You kept your head, you fought smart — you earned this, Paul. You earned every bit of it."

He was still yelling and laughing as he pulled the car into parc fermé, tires screeching slightly. The mechanics and engineers around us were clapping, cheering, and I stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed.

He did it. We did it.

I pushed through the crowd toward the car, heart hammering.

Paul barely waited for the car to cool down. As soon as he wrestled himself out of the cockpit, he tore off his steering wheel, slammed it into its mount, and sprinted toward me.

"Ghost!" he shouted, voice hoarse with emotion.

I didn't even have time to react before he threw his arms around me, nearly knocking us both off balance.

Our helmets clashed with a loud crack, making both of us stumble a little, but neither of us cared. Paul clung to me like a lifeline, arms tight around my back, helmet pressed to mine.

I wrapped my arms around him in return, gripping him just as hard, laughing breathlessly even as something in my chest squeezed and ached with pride.

"You absolute legend," I said, voice trembling. "I'm so proud of you, Paul. So, so proud."

He pulled back just a little, enough that our visors almost touched.

"Couldn't have done it without you, Ghost," he said again, voice thick. "You believed in me when I wasn’t sure I could do it."

"I knew it from the start," I said quietly. "You just had to see it for yourself."

For a moment, the noise of the world faded away — the shouting, the music, the celebration. It was just the two of us, standing there in the middle of it all, holding onto each other like it mattered.

And maybe it did.

Maybe it mattered more than either of us could say.

Masterlist

Taglist @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo @reiluvr @mymmyrym @ferrarisstrategy

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 driver!reader

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rootedinrevisions · 6 months ago

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In the Wings: Part 5

SUMMARY: A casual day on set takes an unexpected turn when Glen brings his parents to the hair and makeup trailer. As you bond with them over shared interests and playful conversation, Glen watches with a fond smile, clearly pleased with how well you're getting along. Later, when Glen invites you to join them for lunch, the conversation flows easily, but Glen can’t escape a few embarrassing childhood stories his parents share.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4

WARNINGS: None. Just Fluff in this one!

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

You step into the hair and makeup trailer, the familiar scent of hairspray and cosmetic products already filling the air. It’s early, but the trailer is quiet, the rest of the team having not arrived yet for the day. You move about the space, setting out your tools and products in preparation for Glen’s arrival. He’s due any minute, and though it’s become routine by now, there’s always a flutter of anticipation when you know he’s on his way.

You glance in the mirror, making sure everything is in place, when you hear the door open behind you. But as you turn, ready to greet Glen, you notice he’s not alone. His warm smile spreads as he steps inside, flanked by two familiar faces—his parents, Cyndy and Glen Sr., visiting him on set.

"Hey, hope you don’t mind," Glen says with a grin, motioning toward them. "Thought I’d bring some backup today."

“Not at all,” you smile as you look past him to see where his parents are. Their presence catches you slightly off guard, though not necessarily in a bad way.

He introduces you with a smile. "Mom, Dad, this is the makeup artist I’ve been telling you about," Glen says, gesturing to you.

His mom, Cyndy, smiles warmly as she steps forward. "It’s so nice to finally meet you. Glen has mentioned how great you are."

You exchange greetings, shaking her hand. Glen Sr. gives you a polite nod and a friendly, "Nice to meet you," before sitting on the nearby couch.

As you start prepping Glen's hair, Cyndy sits down nearby and strikes up a conversation. "So, how do you keep up with all these actors? I imagine you’re running around all day trying to keep them camera-ready," she says, laughing lightly.

You smile, nodding as you work through Glen's hair. "Yeah, it can get a little crazy, especially when the weather isn’t cooperating. But, I’ve been doing this long enough that I can manage a few stubborn heads of hair."

Cyndy chuckles and nods. "You sound just like me trying to wrangle Glen’s hair when he was younger. He had the curliest hair when he was younger. Honestly, his curls were a challenge. I learned so much about products just trying to keep it from looking like a bird’s nest!"

You can’t help but laugh, glancing at Glen through the mirror as you apply a little styling cream to his hair.

"I can imagine. He does have a head of hair that keeps me busy," you say, playfully teasing.

Glen raises an eyebrow in mock offense. "Hey, I thought we were on the same team here," he says with a grin.

His mom rolls her eyes affectionately, clearly used to this kind of banter. "He’s always been fussy about his hair," she says, leaning closer to you. "You know, he used to let his sisters test makeup and skincare products on him.”

Glen Sr., who has been quietly observing, throws in a comment. "Yeah, Glen's always been particular about how he looks—don’t let him fool you. I’ve never seen anyone take so long to get ready for prom. He was taking this really cute girl he liked and he must have fixed his hair twenty times before she showed up."

Glen groans in mock embarrassment while you laugh with Cyndy and Glen Sr. It’s so easy and natural, and you start to feel completely at ease around his parents. The friendly dynamic between them makes it feel as though you’ve known them much longer than a few minutes. As you finish up Glen’s hair and makeup, you catch a glimpse of him in the mirror, watching the exchange with a soft smile.

"Alright, I think you’re good to go," you say, stepping back to inspect your work.

Glen stands and turns to his mom. "What do you think?" he asks, gesturing to his styled hair.

Cyndy nods approvingly. "I think you’re in good hands."

He meets your eyes for a moment, and there’s something unspoken but meaningful in the look he gives you.

"I think so too," he says softly.

As Glen and his parents make their way out, Cyndy pauses by the door, turning back to you. "It was really nice talking to you. Hopefully, we’ll see you again before we leave."

You smile, feeling something like a mix of warmth and nervousness swirl in your chest. "It was great meeting you both."

As they head out and the door closes behind them, you feel the weight of what just happened start to sink in. Glen’s parents. Not just a casual meeting—but a glimpse into the world of someone who’s beginning to feel a lot more significant to you.

A few hours pass, and you move through the rest of the morning on set with a steady pace, trying not to think too much about your earlier interaction with Glen and his parents.

By the time lunch rolls around, you’re back in the trailer, scrolling through the DoorDash app, absentmindedly debating between a sandwich or sushi when your phone buzzes with a text.

Glen: "Hey, do you want to join me and my parents for lunch? We’re heading to this restaurant a few minutes away."

You stare at the message for a moment, feeling a slight flutter in your stomach. Lunch with Glen and his parents? It seems casual enough, but something about the invitation feels… different. After a brief pause, you type back a reply.

You: "Sure, sounds fun. Where should I meet you?"

A few minutes later, you're on your way to the restaurant, mentally preparing yourself to be around Glen’s parents again.

When you walk into the restaurant, you’re met with warm smiles from both Cyndy and Glen Sr. as you approach the table. Glen stands and gives you a small, friendly hug before he pulls out a chair for you, the gesture making you feel even more welcome.

The restaurant itself is laid-back, the kind of place that feels homey and easy, with rustic wood tables and simple decor. As you sit down, the conversation picks up naturally. Glen’s parents are charming, easy to talk to, and it quickly feels less like a formal lunch and more like spending time with friends you’ve known for years.

The conversation is peppered with casual jokes and stories, and soon enough, Glen becomes the focus of a few playful teases.

"So," his dad starts with a knowing grin, "did Glen ever tell you about the time he got stuck trying to climb out of his bedroom window?"

You turn to Glen, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, but he groans, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Dad. Please don't," he says, though you can tell he’s being a good sport about it.

His mom, clearly delighted, jumps in. "He thought it’d be a good idea to sneak out to see a girl when he was sixteen. Climbed out the window but got his foot caught in the gutter. I’ve never heard someone yell 'Mom!' so loud in my life!"

You can’t help but burst into laughter, and Glen, though slightly embarrassed, can’t help but laugh along with everyone else.

"I was young and stupid," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, but there’s a good-natured smile on his face.

Throughout the lunch, you notice little things—how Glen keeps glancing your way when his parents speak to you, as if trying to gauge how you're feeling, or how his hand brushes yours briefly as he passes you the salt. The atmosphere is light and comfortable, yet there's something deeper simmering beneath the surface. It’s the way Glen is with you—always aware of your presence, always making sure you're included.

At one point, his mom turns the conversation toward you. "So, how are you liking it on set? It must be exciting, working on a film like this."

You smile, taking a sip of your water before responding. "It’s been a lot of fun. There’s definitely a lot of running around, but the whole cast and crew have been really great. It doesn’t really feel like work most days."

"I’m glad to hear that," Cyndy says warmly, then leans in slightly, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Glen’s been talking about you a lot, you know. Telling us all about how talented you are."

You glance at Glen, who immediately groans and rubs a hand over his face. "Mom, seriously?" he mutters, clearly embarrassed.

But you find it kind of adorable, the idea that Glen has been talking about you to his parents. You meet his eyes, and there’s a shared moment of understanding—something unspoken yet clear in the way his gaze softens when he looks at you.

You smile, giving Cyndy a grateful look. "Well, I’m flattered."

As lunch wraps up and the four of you head back to set, the dynamic between you and Glen seems to have subtly shifted. There’s more ease, more awareness of each other. Glen walks beside you, his arm brushing against yours as you both chat quietly about the upcoming scenes for the day.

While Glen’s parents walk ahead, you catch him glancing over at you a few times, something tender in his expression, as if he’s just starting to realize something. Maybe it’s the way you got along so well with his mom, or how effortlessly you fit into this part of his life that he usually keeps separate from work. Whatever it is, the thought lingers in his mind, settling deep as he realizes that this—whatever it is between you two—is becoming more important to him.

The conversation between you and Glen is light, but the feeling of something growing between you is undeniable. And as you part ways to get back to work, there’s a weight to the goodbye—a lingering thought that perhaps this connection is becoming more than just casual, more than just friendly. Glen’s smile lingers a little longer, his gaze a little softer, as he watches you walk away.

#Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction

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goodlucksnez · 3 months ago

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The Trials and Tribulation of Telemachus

This started a idea of Tel/emachus trying to battle while sick, and then I just ran with it. And 6.5k words later here we are!

this is a snz fic read at your own discretion

this is 5 chapter so it is broken up! enjoy!!

(also if you do not know theo/clymenus (Theo) is a seer in the odyssey so a lot of people have hc that he is in a relationship with Telemachus)

(Do NOT reblog to non-kink blogs, THANKS!!!!)

Chapter 1

Telemachus’ only thoughts during this moment were why? He stood in line with the other competitors waiting to get prepped for the arena.

‘This was part of the tradition of the games’ Telemachus thought to himself as he saw his spot in line get closer to the changing rooms. He could smell the oil from outside the room.

‘The scent is pleasant enough. A combination of floral scents and there was something else, maybe pine or fir.’ He thinks as he takes another step closer to the curtain.

Telemachus heard a voice call from behind the curtain. He stepped forward a lump in his throat as he pulled the curtain back. The small room was lit by the open windows. There were multiple vases on a table, covered in a fine red tablecloth, but more importantly, he saw the barrel of dust.

He looked for the sound of the voice but could see no one. It was at this moment he felt her by her side.

“Athena.” He whispered.

Athena smiled. Just like his father Telemachus could always sense her presence. She smiled and spoke her voice, melodious and comforting.

“It is finally time. All the training we have been doing is for you. For you to be my champion; to win my games! They will sing your names for years to come. Telemachus prove yourself here and now surrounded by enemies and foes that you are my champion.”

He blushed. She had always been righteous, so focused on his perfection that sometimes she forgot his humanity. As she gathered the oil, she noticed the frown and concern on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Telemachus, not wanting to tell her the truth, lied.

“I don’t want to let you down. You spent so much time and energy training me to be this champion and what if I let you down; what if I lose?”

Athena moved to his side placing a hand on his shoulder. He always had these kinds of thoughts before any big challenge but eventually would pull through.

She spoke. “You’ll be fine. I’ve seen you practicing day and night. You are strong. You’re healthy.”

It was at this moment that Telemachus's body decided to betray him as he felt an itch in the back of his nose. Athena continued to sing his praises he silently hitched trying not to ruin this moment. The sawdust in the air made him feel like he was choking. Every breath he took was igniting the tickle in his nose. As Athena finished her speech and looked down to see her champion, he bent at the waist and sneezed loudly enough to even startle her.

“Ahh’TTSChh’hIIEWW!!”

“Bless you.” She spoke. She had become accustomed to this. Telemachus was not weak in any sense of the word, but he did have a fragile humanity about himself. After a while, Athena had to start carrying tissues and handkerchiefs to target practice with the number of times he sneezed from the hay.

And if he was sick, she had to take him home multiple times over the years. So sneezing wasn’t anything new but as she looked around the room, she didn’t see anything that would cause this. She held him near her, placing her hand on his forehead testing to see if it was warm.

“You’re not getting sick? Because you know how I feel about you working when you were sick?” Her voice took on a stern but parental nature.

“No.” He said as he slowly rose his nose dripping. He pointed over to the barrel. “I think it’s the sawdust that must’ve gotten in my nose.”

She sighed. “Telemachus, I haven’t even begun to cover you yet if you’re reacting like this, just from being near it, how are you going to-”

He put a hand up to stop her. “I am your champion. I can handle a little dust.”

She rolled her eyes and thought in her head. ‘Well, these games certainly got more interesting.’

He recovered sniffing wetly as he approached the table with the oil. He grabbed the oil and slowly started applying it carefully trying not to stain his armor. It felt nice, but he had always questioned this part of the games.

“Why do we do this? I mean wouldn’t it be more effective if we just were wearing armor or helmets while,” he pauses, and his breath began to hitch. “Why do we do this?” He sneezed, harshly again.

“Ahh’TSCHhh’HIHh’uh!”

“Bless you. We do this to protect yourself. While your armor protects your most vital organs. The sun can damage you.” She continued. “It also protects against rashes and burns.”

He rubbed his nose on his wrist before continuing.

“I don’t think covering oneself in oil-” he paused as he hitched, but soon his breath went back to normal, and he sniffed. “And using brick dust and sawdust is a good measure to combat the sun.”

“Well, when you come up with a better idea, be sure to bring it to the god's attention. I’m sure Helios would love to have a chat with you.”

He sniffed urgently and his gaze started to become unfocused. She had seen this look on him multiple times throughout their years of training and fighting together. She walked over, grabbing the discarded handkerchief, that he had just thrown on the ground, quickly covering his nose as his breath came to a crescendo.

“Hut’SCHH’ihh! n’TSHCHH’hihehh! TScHHZHHHtT!!”

She caught the sneezes in the handkerchief and instructed him to blow his nose. She found that that seemed to be the only thing to calm his fits. Otherwise, he’ll be sneezing for hours.

He always blushed every time Athena took care of him like a little kid. He wanted to prove himself to her. Not be treated like a small child. Hell, he was old enough to go to war and fight in these games. He was old enough to blow his damn nose. Even so, a small part of him enjoyed that she was always there to take care of him.

He smiled. “Thank you, Athena. We should probably get this going, the sooner it’s over the better.”

She nodded. “I’ll try not to get your face.” She grabbed the bucket sawdust spilling over the sides onto the ground, creating a small plume of dust that sifted into the air.

Telemachus took a deep breath and held it waiting for this to be over. She slowly applied the dust covering to his arms, then his chest, and lastly his back. She thought to herself ‘he’s doing a pretty good job holding his breath. He might survive this.’

Reassurance failed when he exhaled and took a deep breath. Immediately she knew this wasn’t going to end well. His body became rigid, tears sprung to his eyes and his nose twitched. He brought a hand up to rub at it, but she smacked it away.

“Don’t think about it. Your hand is covered in dust. You need to wait for it to dry before you can touch your face.”

He nodded, unable to form words for fear, and once he opened his mouth he would start sneezing. His nose began to run, as well as his eyes, tears streaming down his face. He opened one eye cautiously before immediately sucking in a deep breath and bending forward at the waist, harshly sneezing.

“Huh… TZSCHHH’ihh!”

Athena was going to bless him, but another deep inhale made her wait. He sneezed harshly again his whole body being thrown forward. He took a few steps and caught himself on the table in the room. He leaned on it, panting, his nose dripping, causing small droplets to fall on the oak table.

She went to the other side of the table, lifting his chin with her hand and surveying the damage. His nose was an absolute mess, dripping onto his upper lip. His eyes streaming. The worst part was he didn’t look like he was done. His face contorted and he scrunched up his nose, trying to scratch, at the itch that wouldn’t go away.

She pressed the handkerchief to his nose and waited. Not before long his breath became erratic, and he sneezed wetly, destroying the handkerchief within three sneezes.

“Ulchh… Ah’TschhHHH’uh! Hh’ahtSchHHuh! ‘TscHHHuhHh!!”

She wiped his nose gently for him as he slowly began to regain his breath. She waited a moment before speaking.

“Is it safe now to bless you?” she asked.

He replied, his voice was thick with congestion. “I think so. I don’t know if my nose could take anymore.”

“I’m surprised you’re still standing after that display. I would’ve wanted to sit down.” He looks at her. His eyes were red around the edges and his mouth parted, indicating he couldn’t breathe through his nose. “I don’t have time to sit if you have forgotten I must prepare for combat.”

Suddenly images crossed her mind. The arena field, sounds of metal clashing, splitting of wood, and a scream. Red flashed in her mind. She felt her heart quicken, and she looked down at Telemachus.

“Are you sure you don’t want to withdraw? There is always next year. No one would be mad if you did... I can’t see you get hurt.” She stammered.

Telemachus straightened and sniffed deeply. “I can prove myself here and now Athena. I will prove to everyone I am not weak. I am strong. I can be your champion.” Before she could say another word. He threw his cape around his shoulders and turned and fled through the curtains.

Athena could only pray that he would survive.

Chapter 2

Telemachus heart pounded in his chest, matching the beating of the drums. He held his sword in his hand and his shield strapped to his other arm. He slowly approached the entry to the arena. The wooden door that separated the hallway to the outside world was all that stood between him and his destiny. The horns blared and Telemachus swung the door open and stepped out into the arena.

As his eyes adjusted to the sun he surveyed the landscape around him. A simple baren patch of earth with various obstacles in the way. A few barrels, one overturned cart.

‘A good place to get a height advantage’ he thought to himself. Then Telemachus saw something that made his heart sink. Bales of hay neatly stacked. Now being in a farming village, he was no stranger to hay. It was a wildly used material. Both as food and for building.

However, Telemachus was not a fan of it. From a young age when he interacted with hay he found himself with itchy eyes and his nose would run. As he matured he made a point of avoiding the substance all together. But since it was wildly used in construction that was not always possible.

He stepped into the stadium with his footsteps silenced by the roar of the crowd. His eyes locked on the other side. His opponent was tall and muscular. His hair was black and slicked back into a ponytail. He branded a sword and shield and moved to his place in the center. One shared look. That was all it took to know he was wildly outmatched. The crowd chanted around them. ‘Nikoloas’. The name of his opponent. Telemachus shut out the distraction of the crowd, and the world contracted to one twenty-five-foot circle and one cloakless man with a sword two sword-lengths away from him.

He dropped into a light crouch and stood motionless, just waiting. His sword was still. Every movement, every breath and shift and toss of wind about Nikolaos became a thing to watch, an indication of where the next attack would come, where his next attack should strike. Where his target was going be in the next instant of battle. Only the tiny part of the world they inhabited at this moment mattered. Nikolaos was pacing, his sword already in restless motion, in stark contrast to him as he traced roving loops with the point and entirely ignored the noise and people around them in order to focus solely upon him.

They had already agreed there would be no rituals, no salutes or gestures before they started--battle began when one of them chose to attack, which allowed for the unpredictability of combat. It could begin now, or after five minutes of feints, or in the middle of conversation, if one of them decided to start talking at some point. Which would have been an enticing option, if it weren't for the fact that Telemachus nose was threatening to run.

Nikolaos stepped forward, blade swinging in a mock offense, an experimental probe into motion. Telemachus launched straight into the attack. Left, right--he twisted away, jumped back, closed in for the attack again and then reversed once more. Simply avoiding Nikolaos's quick parry, he slipped in on his other side for a feint, and as he dodged the attack and responded he took his downswing on his angled blade, sending it skidding away. Amidst wild shouting from the onlookers, they both backed off, breathless and scowling grimly at each other. First engagement, first flurry of blows, and both had played it relatively safe. This fight would go on until one of them scored a disabling blow--at this rate, it would last until sundown. Someone yelled a comment to this effect, and neither of them acknowledged it, although Telemachus grimaced fully at Nikolaos. He intended to win this fight if it took him until sundown. Nikolaos swung his sword in a small flourish opposite him.

Nikolaos prowled sideways and attacked, pounding at his guards. Telemachus warded him off with tight defenses, went on the counter-offensive the moment he had an opening, then disengaged and backed off. He was shifting around him, forwards and backwards and sideways, always in motion, his sword weaving in a near-random pattern and his shifting gaze scanning for openings as he turned in place to match his orbit.

The moving sword was a distraction and a deflection tactic nearly useless in pitched battle, but excellent for masking intentions in single-combat. It could even be slightly hypnotizing on occasion. The reverse tactic, of course, was simply to wait, poised, sword angled in a basic defense position, and remain as motionless and ready as possible, and that was what Telemachus had chosen to do.

It was more difficult; the energy and adrenaline generated during battle ensured that standing still was the last thing anyone wanted to do, but it could also be subtle, confusing, and frankly vicious when one did finally explode into action. The attack could come from anywhere, and there could be a lethal amount of backed-up energy in play. Enough energy, actually, to make anyone careless...no doubt Nikolaos, who knew that as well as he did, was already expecting him to overexert himself in the next attack. Telemachus transitioned into a spring as he swung his sword back around for a waist-level attack, and now they were so close together they were beyond effective sword-blade range. His weapon caught Nikolaos's on the hilt as they closed to within arm's reach. And clearly they both wanted the other down more than they were worried about going down themselves. Nikolaos slid his sword down from his hilt, aiming at Telemachus legs. He lunged sideways to avoid it. He drove forward. In the resulting tangle, Nikolaos's sword drove into his left leg, and he trapped his sword hand between his side and his arm, wrenching it in sideways and hacking at his neck. He ducked and rolled into him before he could land a good blow, sending them both to the ground into the hay.

Telemachus rose quickly from the ground trying to brush off the hay that was stuck to him. As he did so Nikolaos attacked. Telemachus barely had time to bring his shield arm up to defend. The blow was strong, and Telemachus bent at the knees. His eyes had become a watery mess and soon he knew he would not be able to see at all. But in the moments before blindness, he did see an opportunity. He gathered all the strength his legs would allow and stood up. Knocking Nikolaos out of the way and swinging his sword around he felt the impact hit and the cry of his opponent. Horned blared and Telemachus sighed before inhaling and bending at the waist.

“Ahh’TscHHHI’Uew! ‘TtschHHUhh! ‘Hah’tSchHHih’hHEWW!!”

He dropped the sword and blindly fumbled with the straps of the shield before he felt arms around him. His adrenaline spiked and he resisted. A familiar voice catches his ear over the sound of his own heartbeat and crowd.

“Relax its just me!”

Theoclymenus. Theo was here! Telemachus strained his neck to try to see him, but the effort was futile. The combat had left him drained. He barely had any energy at all. Which is why he wasn’t surprised when he sneezed harshly and didn’t cover.

“Hut’SCHH’ihh! n’TSHCHH’hihehh!....Ahh’TTSChh’hIIEWW!!”

He felt his partner laugh, a comforting sound before he was set down on a hard surface. He ran his hands over the material. It appeared to be wooden. He tried to rub his eyes, but it just made them water more. He whined as his breath began to hitch again. Could this day get any worse he thought to himself.

A moment later he found out it could. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bucket of ice-cold water poured over his head. The shock is instantaneous. Telemachus body tenses up, and a gasp escapes his lips as the freezing water hits his skin. It's a jolt to his body—like an electrifying wake-up call that sent shivers down his spine. His heart races, and for a moment, it's all he could think about.

He sat there shivering but managed to open his eyes. It took a minute for the surrounding area not to be blurry, but he saw he was in some kind of alcove. There were all types of supplies and weapons. He decided this was a chamber for extra supplies for the games. He went to speak but was immediately hit with another bucket of water pouring over himself. He coughed and spat out some water. Shivering as the cold seeped into his bones.

“Theo what in the five rivers of hell are you doing!”

“Trying to not have my boyfriend asphyxiate because he touched a single stalk of hay!”

Telemachus tried to retort back but the exhaustion from the fight and everything caught up to him in a moment and he put his head in his hands and within moments darkness overtook him.

Chapter 3

The first thing Telemachus feels when he regains his consciousness is pain. Everything hurt. Telemachus winced as he felt a sharp pain shoot through his side. His body ached with the memory of the battle fought just hours before. Every muscle protested as he tried to sit up, the bruises and cuts a cruel reminder of the fierce clash.

He took a deep breath, feeling the sting of his injuries with every inhale. The scent of blood and sweat still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the herbs used to dress his wounds. Telemachus hand instinctively went to his side, fingers brushing against the rough bandages that bound his ribs. He could still hear the echoes of clashing swords and the roar of the crowd in his mind.

With a groan, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet meeting the cold, unforgiving floor. The room was silent now, a stark contrast to the chaos of the arena. He glanced around, taking in the sight of his armor, dented and bloodstained, lying in a heap in the corner.

Telemachus knew he couldn't afford to rest for long. He pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. As he moved towards the window, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cracked mirror. The face staring back at him was a sight to behold. His hair was caked in sweat and dirt. His eyes were bloodshot. As he stood in front of the mirror he heard sounds of pottery being moved. He turned quickly to see Theo existing from a small archway. As their eyes met Theo face lit up in a bright smile and he rushed forward wrapping his arms around Telemachus in an embracing hug.

“You scared me! Do not ever do that again!”

Telemachus could hear the pain and longing in Theo's voice. He wanted more than anything to promise him he would be safe. But he was unsure. The creeping suspicion that danger was still coming for him clouded his mind.

Telemachus spoke his voice cracking “My prophet, I wish more than anything I could promise you, but my life is a little bit dangerous!”

Theo hugged him tighter, and Telemachus winced. “Darling you are crushing my lung here!”

Theo realized his grip and he looked up into Telemachus eyes. Telemachus smiled down at him. Theo was the shorter one in their relationship, so it was common for Theo to stand on his toes to see or kiss his face. Telemachus went to speak but his breathing hitched, and he found himself bending forward and sneezing into Theo shoulder.

“Ahh’TTSChh’hIIEWW!!”

Theo jolted at the sudden harsh sneeze in surprise and stammered out. “Bless you.”

Telemachus recovered, sniffling, wetly before responding, his voice thick with congestion.

“Thanks, must be the hay.”

He said he thought it was a convincing lie, but judging from the raised eyebrow from Theo, he didn’t believe it to be such. Theo spoke in a soft but concerned tone. “I think you might be catching a cold. If you haven’t already. I know how hard you’ve been working for this tournament….for these games but you are human. You are immortal you know that right?” Telemachus nodded. Slowly there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind that repeated the word mortal mortal mortal repeatedly. Wiping his nose on his arm, leaving a trail of mess behind he started to respond.

“Theo. I have to win these games she is counting on me.” “I’m sure she would understand. I don’t think she wants you to die.” Telemachus rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to die from a cold. How weak do you think I..” he pauses as his breath begins to hitch. Theo, knowing what’s about to happen reaches up and covers his nose with his hand, catching the sneezes as they rock his body forward.

“Hihh…Hhh’kssSHHhh! HhHuuh..Huhh’tCHSHhh! Eiihh…eiihH’tCHSHhhuu!"

He felt each damp blast spray the inside of his palm, his expression shifting from a grimace to sympathy as Telemachus pulled back with a miserable sounding sniffle.

“Bless you I don’t think you’re weak, but I do think you’re sick. And this” he says, wiping his hands discreetly on his pants. “Shows that. Plus, you said it yourself. Please don’t compete. You won the first challenge that's enough for her.” Telemachus tried to believe him, but after everything he had put forth for this, there was no way he was backing out now. He coughed, wincing as his torso twined in pain. He took a deep breath through his mouth, unable to through his nose, and replied. “I’ll see you at the beach. I’m going to win.”

Without saying another word, he turned, grabbed his helmet and discarded armor in the corner, and left the recovery area stepping out into the sun. He shivered, sending a quick prayer to Athena. Praying for his strength in the upcoming race and started the walk down to the local beach to compete in the swim relay.

The sun hung low over the Ionian Sea, casting a golden hue over the landscape. Telemachus wrapped his arms around his body and made his way slowly down the path towards the beach. His steps were unsteady, each one a battle against the fever that burned within him. The air was filled with the scent of salt and the distant cries of seabirds.

As he reached the edge of the beach, Telemachus paused as his breath began to hitch.

“Don’t —Hh…hhhiihh...Hhhiiihhh! Hhh—“TschH’HIH’HEWW!! ah’TSCHhih’Heww!! ‘Ahh’TSCHhh’HIHh’uh!”

Telemachus wobbled with the force of the sneezes and put his arms out to steady himself. As he took a step he felt her next to him.

“I know what you are going to say” he whispered to the salt air.

Athena smiled. “Telemachus you do not need to do this; you can still win if you don’t compete there are multiple tiers of this-”

He interrupts her. “Athena you never back down from a fight why- ihh…hehH…o-ohh c-come ohh–n “HhNgktsCHH’IHHWw! HhdtsHHIHww!!-iSSCHHhihhww!!…HH! IH!…IIh--'tsschHHiEHHww!”

“Bless, you do not sound well.”

“I am fine Athena I could do this in my sleep,” he said sniffingly before continuing onto the beach.

The sand was warm beneath his feet, and he could feel the energy of the earth seeping into his bones. He walked slowly towards the water's edge, each step a triumph over the weakness that threatened to overwhelm him.

The sea was calm, its surface glittering like a million tiny diamonds. Telemachus knelt and cupped his hands, scooping up the cool, clear water to splash onto his fevered face. The sensation was like a kiss from the gods, a brief respite from his suffering. He sat down on the sand, allowing the waves to lap gently at his feet.

In the distance, he could see the silhouette of a small boat, its sails catching the last rays of the sun. He just had to make it there and back before anyone else. He looked around at the competition. Most were drinking or stretching a few were in silent prayer. As he returned his look to the ocean his nose started burning with the need to sneeze. He ducked his head between his legs and sneezed, a wet and sickly sound, that seemed to echo off the cliffs surrounding the beach. He soon heard a few whispers of health, and he kept his face lowered, embarrassment heating his checks.

Then lined up at the starting line.

Chapter 4 (switching pov to theo)

'Wait Telemachus don’t go' the words barley left his mouth before Telemachus was gone. Theoclymenus stood in both amazement and frustration, still in the recovery chamber. Why couldn’t he just listen to him!

Telemachus was always known for pushing himself. The hypothesis was that he got it from his father. Both men didn’t know when to quit, admirable in some and stubborn in others.

Theoclymenus grabbed a few supplies, packing them in a satchel before heading outside into the bright sun. The path down to the water wasn’t exactly a hard terrain, but Theoclymenus‘s mind wandered, making him walk slower.

What if he got hurt? There was no way he could swim; he could barely stand without wincing! How is he going to accomplish this? Theoclymenus had always been a bit of a worrier. He believed it was due to his ability to be a seer. His father is Polypheides and he comes from a family of seers and prophets.

He continued his trek down the mountain to the beach. He paused when he saw the curly hair of Telemachus at the junction of the beach and the walkway. He was standing looking out into the sea the wind whipping his hair. It was almost peaceful until the lanky brunette sneezed. The sound rebounded off the caves and rocks that surround the small beach. Theoclymenus whispered a small blessing and then two more as he doubled over again.

His heart yearned as he saw the brunette stumble and he protectively reached out a hand to him. But Telemachus shook his head and kept walking leaving sandy footprints in his wake.

Theoclymenus watched as Telemachus joined the others at the starting line. He wasn’t seriously going to consider racing!!

The boat, which was a halfway point was 50 yards and then another 50 yards to get back there was no way he could swim that. He sat with the other spectators, his eyes focused on Telemachus. His heartbeat quickened as he saw Telemachus's body convulse.

At the sound of the horns, he saw him dive into the water, and he felt his heart sink to his stomach. Watching the other swim out was going slower than the others. His movements dragged against the waves that lapped against him. He saw a couple of times he would flip onto his back, probably as a retrieve to let his muscles relax. When he got to the boat, he saw the others hall him up. He was afraid his heart was going to burst watching the scene unfold.

Theoclymenus had not realized he had started to move closer to the water edge until a hand from a guard stopped him. He looked in horror as Telemachus continued and jumped back into the water. Theoclymenus couldn’t help it he calls out to him in a desperate plea.

“Please let me help him. He’s going to die.” He yelled into the wind. The wind took his words, twisting and turning and let it fall upon deaf ears. Others had already finished and were celebrating their victory, but all the noise was drowned out for Theoclymenus.

His eyes focused, his breath coming in short breaths, and then the movement from Telemachus stopped. Without thinking he pushed back past the guard, ignoring how he was gripped from behind, ripping his shawl and wadding into the water. The water was ice cold. The freezing temperature sent shockwaves into his body. He didn’t care; he had to get him he had to save him. As he approached the man who was treading water weakly, he grabbed his arm. He was not a trained athlete and was struggling but he felt so much power in his stroke. And hauled him onto the shore.

Telemachus clung to him, his body trembling with exhaustion and illness. As they reached the beach, Theoclymenus gently laid his head down on the soft sand, his eyes filled with worry.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked, brushing wet strands of hair from his face.

Telemachus nodded weakly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I’m...I’m sorry, Theoclymenus. I thought I could handle it.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice soothing. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you home and take care of you.”

Telemachus nodded and his eyes shut.

Chapter 5

Theo stirs from his slumber, nestled beside his beloved, Telemachus. The warmth of their entwined bodies creates a cocoon of comfort beneath the linen sheets. The cool morning breeze slips through the open window, carrying the fragrance of blooming jasmine and the distant murmur of the Ionian Sea.

Theo's eyelashes flutter open, revealing the soft blue of his eyes as he transitions from dreams to the waking world. He stretches his limbs carefully, mindful, not to disturb Telemachus’ sleep.

With a tender touch, Theo brushes a strand of hair from Telemachus’ face, feeling the warmth of his skin against his fingers. He thinks to himself. ‘He does have a fever.’

His breath is short and seems labored. Theo slowly rises from the bed, careful not to disturb the prince. He makes his way out of the room. He goes to the mason to fill a few pots with water. He dips the pot into the water watching the ripples and his reflection. A sudden scream jolts him. He looks around for the source, but the sound is coming from…the prince's room. The pottery is forgotten as Theo sprints up the stairs his heart pounding. He runs into the room.

Telemachus is sitting straight upright in bed looking around the room franticly. His eyes are stained with tears and choking sobs escape him.

Their eyes meet and Telemachus clutches his chest. “You left me…you left me alone.”

Theo crosses the room in a few strides. Wrapping Telemachus in a protective hug. “No love I did not leave, I will not leave you. You have a fever, you do not know what you are saying.”

Telemachus continued to cry, his broken sobs echoed in the room. Theo rubbed his back whispering small comforts. Eventually, Telemachus’ exhaustion caught up to him and he slumped against Theo. Theo positioned him to lie on his chest. Telemachus' cries lessened and he turned his face into Theo’s chest and mumbled a few words, he did not catch before closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

Telemachus felt a hand running over his back before the pain hit him like a wave from Poseidon. All the soreness from the day prior invaded his senses in an instant and he took a sharp inhale. The hand rubbing his back stopped and a quiet voice spoke. “Just relax, you are okay, you're safe.”

Telemachus opened one eye. It took a few moments for his vision to unblur, and he saw his room. The open window with light shining through. He took a breath in through his mouth, feeling how dry his lips and throat were. The rubbing on his back stopped and he turned his head and found himself looking into the concerned eyes of Theo.

“Hi,” he managed to say. His voice was soft and strained. He tried clearing his throat, but it just made him cough. He felt Theo move from his side and return with a cup. Telemachus grabbed the cup and slowly instructed Telemachus to drink the water. It felt good on his throat, he swallowed and winced slightly before speaking again.

“Theo?”

Theo held his hand and replied, “Yes my love.”

Telemachus looked up at him with a face of acceptance and announced, “I think I have a cold.”

Theo could not help but laugh. He leaned his head so just their forehead was touching. “I know… Athena knows… I am sure the whole town of Ithaca knows.”

Telemachus smiles for a moment before his face and takes on a look of desperation. His eyes dart around before settling on the blanker he is wrapped in. He grabs the corner of it and desperately sneezes into it, causing the corner to become discolored.

“Bless you!”

“You are going to get sick of saying that.” Replied the prince, sniffling wetly.

Theo shook his head and answered. “I haven’t yet, have I?….no I haven’t.”

“Good because” his breath hitches. “I- hehh! I-I hih-HhaHh! I-I am guh- g-gonna-huhhAH—!”

A grin spreads across Theo, and he holds Telemachus closer to his chest. “Hmm? You are gonna…?”

The struggling prince tried to talk. “Sneh-hehheeze!”

“I know love, come on, you can do it,” Theo said encouragingly. Telemachus sometimes needed to be reminded he was human and to let his body do what it needed to.

His chest expands as his lungs draw deep.

“Heh! HEH! HEHHT’CHIEW!”

“Bless you after all these years you still can't cover your mouth can you?” he said eyeing the mess left on his face.

He sniffled. “S-Snf, sorry.”

Theo smiled he pulled a soft handkerchief; cupped Telemachus chin gently and tilted his face up. "Hold still."

Telemachus blinked, surprised but obedient, his lashes fluttering as Theo dabbed carefully at his nose. "Y-you don’t have to do that," he murmured, his cheeks flushing.

"Someone has to," he replied. "You’re like a water hose, and my clothes are in the line of fire." He gave a satisfied hum and placed the very used item on the bed. “And besides this way, I get to look at your cute face.”

Telemachus let out a watery chuckle, only to cut it off with a sharp gasp. Theo barely had time to reach up to cup his hand in front of his face before Telemachus snapped forward with another sneezing fit.

"Hihh…Hhh’kssSHHhh! HhHuuh..Huhh’tCHSHhh! Eiihh…eiihH’tCHSHhhuu!"

“Goodness bless you, wow that water did a number on you?”

Telemachus sighed before speaking. “…to be honest I was sick even before then.” He said sheepishly.

Theo sighed. “I won't yell at you, but I am sure she will.”

“Oh, I am looking forward to it.. oh fuh- hh-! huHd’ESSCHHIEWWw!!!”

Theo waited before saying bless you as he saw Telemachus’ nose still twitching.

hiHH-!hihh’ihH-! HAAASSCHHIUHh-!! Sorry, I- AAAASSCHHIEW!! -…. s’hH’ESSCHHIEWWw!! He collapsed against Theo's chest exhausted.

“Bless you, that feel better?”

“No,” he replied stuffy.

Theo grabbed a new cloth and held it over his nose. “Come on, blow you need to get that stuff out of your head.”

He blew his nose with a loud, gurgling sound, sighing heavily as he crumpled the cloth in his fist.

“We are going to run out of handkerchiefs at this rate,” Theo commented before continuing. “It is okay, I know you are sick, I was probably already doomed at his point anyway to catch this.”

Telemachus rolled his eyes before adjusting his position. “I am not going to sneeze on you.”

“You have in the past.”

Telemachus blushed every shade of red you could imagine before hiding his face on Theo's chest.

“Aww someone speechless?”

Telemachus head snaps forward with messy sneezes, soaking, his chest “ehHTSCHHUH! hiiH- hiih- hiiHGTzsHHuuh! hiiHH'tTSSCHHIEEW! HAHH'ASSCHHHUE!

“Bless you, you done?”

Telemachus shakes his head no before ducking down again with a wet triple.

“hhh-hhd'HIIID'SSCHHI'ue! hhah-haah-HAHh-hHHAH'DZSCHHEEEw! ehHTSCHHUH”

“Bless you! Wow this is a bad cold isn’t it?” Theo said wiping his partner's nose which was already so red and irritated.

Telemachus nods and nuzzles into his chest.

“You need some tea. Will you be okay by yourself for a bit?”

Theo crosses his arms. “I am not going to drown in my fluids.”

Theo sliding off the bed had doubts about that but ruffled his hair before heading down to the kitchens.

He returned in a few minutes to a pathetic display. Telemachus sat upright in bed, hunched over, sniffling.

Theo held out the mug in his hands, tilting it slightly toward Telemachus. “It’s tea,” he explained.

Telemachus huffed weakly, a sound that might have been a laugh if he had the energy for it. With trembling hands, he reached for the mug, his fingers brushing against Theo’s briefly as he took it. He sniffled wetly, his red and swollen nose twitching faintly, but the motion only irritated his sinuses further. His breath hitched once—twice—

Theo knowing he was going to burn himself held onto the cup.

“Sneeze first don’t-”

“HHhh! hh—Hh'IESHHhh! HH’EISHHhh! ISCHHHhh! Hh-ISHHhh! —hhIISSHHhhuhh!"

The sneezes erupted from him in rapid succession, bending him forward until his head nearly rested on his knees. The motion jolted Theo and some of the tea slipped over the sides and burned his hand.

“Spill it. Bless you! Those sound bad.”

Theo sets the cup on the side and climbs back into bed with him. “My love, I am so sorry you feel so awful.”

After a few minutes, Telemachus breaks the silence. “Want to know what the worst part is?.... I cannot kiss you.”

Theo bursts out laughing. “Says who!” and leans down and kisses him on the forehead. “What am I going to do with you!”

“Maybe see our future together,” he smirked.

He laughs “Fever got your brain, just close your eyes love. I will be here.”

-THE END-

#vicwrites #snzfic #snzfucker #my fic writing #sneeze fic #my fic #greek snzology #ep/ic snz #e/pic #Tel/emachus #theo/clymenu #a/thena #i did so much research for this fic so if you have any questions send me a ask.

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