underdiscussed passage of the iliad imo is when achilles has learnt of patroclus’ death & he breaks down in tears and says altho’ he knew he himself wouldn’t survive the war he always assumed that patroclus would, & that he would go home to phthia and tell his (achilles’) son stories about his father. that it never entered his head to imagine himself without patroclus, or his son without (some kind of) father figure bc even when achilles himself was gone his son would still have patroclus. like.
albedo x reader | wc: 425 cw: kissing, slightly suggestive, fluff, love confession, established relationship
contains suggestive content. minors dni.
\albedo thoughts…. specifically, thoughts of kissing the star in the hollow of albedo’s throat. it’s sensitive, in a good way, and no experiments can qualify or quantify the way his brain goes fuzzy when your lips brush against that deliciously shivery spot.
he adores your touch— your touch, nobody else's— and one of his favorite ways to pass the time is curled up with you, fingers drawing mindless patterns over your skin. he won’t ever voice his thoughts, but he loves this position best because it gives you easy access to his neck.
he thinks he’s so good at keeping his weak spot a secret (and to anyone else, he’d be right) but to you, he’s an open book. every time you kiss or lick or nip at his little star, his muscles tense, his breaths become more shallow, and he holds you impossibly closer. even more telling is the way he’ll kiss you afterwards, so full of warmth and passion that it makes you dizzy.
one day, he confesses, voice quiet and fragile like first snow.
“i… it feels good when—” he inhales sharply as you gently (always gently) drag your fingers over the base of his throat, teasing the outline of the star with light strokes. “o— oh.you knew all along, didn’t you.”
“knew what?” you ask, pressing a kiss to his star, brushing over it with worshipful adoration. in your defense, it’s not like you mean to interrupt or distract him. he just looks so… so beautiful when he melts under your ministrations.
“you’re a menace,” he says, but his voice is fond, and his eyes are fonder. “you’re so lucky that i lo—”
he pauses, and you jerk back from him, wide-eyed. had he been about to—?
his eyes search your face. your hands tremble ever-so-slightly, and he catches one and presses a kiss to the center of your palm. his eyes flutter shut as he rests there for a moment, and when he opens them again, they’re filled with something akin to determination.
“you’re lucky that i love you.” there is no hesitation in his voice as he brings your hand down to his chest, just a tinge of wonder. with your hand against his chest, you can feel the thrum of elemental energy in place of where a human’s heart would beat. “i love you, my star.”
“iam lucky you love me.” your voice is quiet, and you lean in again to place another soft kiss to his star, smiling against his skin when you feel him shiver. “and i love you, too.”
i know we’ve all been warned that art is the biggest snitch but no one tells you that reading your own writing will make you realize things about yourself that you wouldn’t confess to while being waterboarded
alright dammit now I’m thinking about dean sidling up to cas at the bar with thee biggest grin on his face and his legs shaking as he says “buy you a drink, angel?” and cas turning around and throwing his arms around dean’s neck, hugging him so tight he can barely breath and them both clinging on to each other as everything else moves around them and dean finally letting the tears roll down his cheeks as he repeats “i love you cas i love you I’m here i love you”
