dxrlingluv

[dxrlingluv]

Hi…

[dxrlingluv]

Hi! Saw your asks were open and wanted to request

I loved the modern skeptic reader with the big 3, can I ask for that same prompt but with apollo, hermes, dionysus and aeolus please? Love your works btw!!

You’re joking

A/N : Too lazy to post. Sorry, chat. Thank you roseinbloom for requesting this! Original idea is from here.

WARNING : GN!Reader. Scenarios. Includes Hermes, Apollo, Dionysus, and Aeolus (individually).

Word Count : 3.6k

HERMES

The coffee shop hummed with the usual morning rush, a symphony of clinking mugs, the hiss of the espresso machine, and hushed conversations. Y/N was buried in their laptop, nursing a lukewarm latte, trying to meet a looming deadline. Their brow was furrowed in concentration, completely oblivious to the world around them, until a sudden, almost imperceptible whoosh of air preceded a figure sliding into the chair opposite them.

He had a mischievous glint in his eyes, a smile that could charm the socks off a statue, and an energy that seemed to vibrate through the air, making the very molecules around him buzz. He was dressed in a surprisingly stylish track suit, complete with sleek, almost futuristic-looking sneakers.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice a smooth, rapid-fire melody, not really waiting for an answer as he set down a ridiculously oversized messenger bag that looked far too light for its size. "Every other table is a fortress of solitude, and frankly, I'm feeling rather social. Plus, I saw you wrestling with that spreadsheet, and I'm a sucker for a good challenge."

Y/N blinked, startled out of their coding trance. They looked up, a little taken aback by his sheer audacity and the sudden invasion of their personal space. "Uh, sure, I guess," Y/N managed, trying to process the blur of his arrival.

"Excellent!" he declared, already pulling out a sleek, impossibly thin tablet and a stylus. "The name's Mercury. And you are?" He extended a hand, and his grip was surprisingly firm, almost electric.

"Just... Y/N," Y/N replied, a small smile tugging at their lips despite themselves. He was undeniably charming, if a bit much. His eyes seemed to dart everywhere at once, taking in every detail of the coffee shop, the street outside, and even the tiny, almost invisible tear in Y/N's sleeve.

Mercury, as he called himself, was a whirlwind of anecdotes and observations. He talked about his "delivery job" that took him all over the world in impossibly short times – "One minute I'm in Tokyo, the next I'm delivering a very important document to a remote village in the Andes! Time zones are a nightmare, but you get used to it." He then segued into his "side hustle" as a tech guru who could fix any device with a flick of his wrist – "Oh, your Wi-Fi's acting up? Probably just needs a little... nudge. I've got a trick for that. Trust me, I'm practically the patron saint of lost signals." And then his "hobby" of mediating disputes between... well, he just said "difficult individuals," with a knowing smirk. "You wouldn't believe the squabbles I have to sort out. It's like herding cats, but with more shouting and occasional lightning bolts."

Y/N found themselves laughing more than they had all week. His stories were outlandish, yet he told them with such conviction and a twinkle in his eye that Y/N couldn't help but be entertained. He had an answer for everything, and his logic, while convoluted, somehow made sense in his rapid-fire delivery.

"You know," he said, leaning back with a grin, a stray lock of golden-brown hair falling across his forehead, "sometimes I feel like I'm just a glorified messenger. But someone's got to keep things moving, right? The world would grind to a halt without me. Imagine the chaos! Packages stuck, messages undelivered, deals falling through... it's a nightmare scenario."

Y/N chuckled, taking a sip of their now-cold latte. "Sounds like a lot of pressure for one guy. You must be really important. Like, the CEO of Global Logistics and Tech Support."

He winked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "More important than you know, Y/N. I'm practically indispensable. I'm the reason your packages arrive on time, your internet connects without a hitch, and sometimes, even why you find that last, perfect parking spot right when you need it. It's all about flow, you see. I ensure the flow."

Y/N rolled their eyes playfully, a genuine smile now firmly in place. "Right, and I'm the Queen of England. You're just a very efficient delivery driver with an overactive imagination and a caffeine addiction."

Mercury threw his head back and laughed, a genuine, booming sound that turned a few heads at nearby tables. He clapped his hands together, a sound like two small thunderclaps. "Oh, Y/N, if only you knew. I am the messenger. The divine messenger, to be precise. Hermes, at your service. And yes, sometimes I do have winged sandals, though they're more for special occasions these days. Too much attention, you know."

Y/N stared at him, their smile slowly fading, replaced by a look of utter disbelief. A beat of silence hung in the air, broken only by the gentle hum of the coffee shop. Then, Y/N burst out laughing, a loud, uncontrolled peal that made more heads turn. "Hermes? Seriously? What, did you just step out of a mythology textbook? And winged sandals? Next you'll tell me you hang out with Zeus and ride a chariot made of clouds!"

He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "Wouldn't you like to know? Zeus is quite the character, let me tell you. Always stirring up trouble."

Y/N just shook their head, still chuckling, trying to catch their breath. "You're hilarious, Mercury. A real character. You should try stand-up comedy. But seriously, what's your actual job? Are you a performance artist? A method actor?"

He sighed dramatically, a playful pout on his lips, though his eyes still danced with mirth. "And here I thought I was being so subtle. The truth is often stranger than fiction, Y/N. Fine, you win. For now. But don't come crying to me when your next online order gets lost in the ether, or your phone decides to spontaneously combust."

Y/N just grinned, shaking their head. "Deal. Now, about that coffee... you buying? You did invite yourself to my table, after all."

He snapped his fingers, a small, almost imperceptible gust of wind rustling the papers on Y/N's laptop. "Consider it done. Anything for my darling. Perhaps one day, you'll see the light. Or rather, the speed."

APOLLO

The open mic night was in full swing at "The Muse's Den," a dimly lit, slightly sticky-floored venue known for its eclectic mix of performers. Y/N was regretting their decision to attend. The poetry was... earnest, the comedy was... trying, and the music was... well, let's just say it was an experience in experimental noise. Y/N was nursing a flat soda, mentally preparing their polite applause, when a man stepped onto the small stage, bathed in the dim, smoky spotlight.

He had a shock of golden hair that seemed to catch the light even in the gloom, eyes that sparkled with an almost unnatural, crystalline light, and a well-worn acoustic guitar that looked like it had seen better days, yet somehow felt ancient and revered in his hands. He wore a simple, white linen shirt that seemed to glow faintly.

He strummed a few chords, and the entire room seemed to quiet, as if the very air held its breath. His voice, when it came, was pure liquid gold, rich and resonant, filling the space with a melody that was both ancient and utterly modern, like sunlight breaking through clouds. He sang about sunsets and starlight, about the quiet power of art, about the beauty of the human spirit, and the fleeting nature of joy. His lyrics were profound, his delivery flawless, and his presence commanded attention without being overbearing. Y/N found themselves completely captivated, forgetting their lukewarm soda and the awkward silence that had plagued the previous acts. It was like listening to the sun itself sing.

After his set, which earned him a thunderous standing ovation and shouts for an encore, he gracefully bowed and then, to Y/N's surprise, found them at the bar. "Enjoy the show?" he asked, his voice just as captivating up close, a warm, golden timbre that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.

"More than I expected, honestly," Y/N admitted, a blush creeping up their neck. "You're incredible. Seriously, where did you learn to sing like that? What's your name?"

"Just Leo," he said, offering a dazzling smile that seemed to brighten the entire bar. "And you're Y/N." He seemed to know Y/N's name without them telling him, which was a little unsettling but also... intriguing. Y/N wondered if they'd been introduced by a mutual friend, but couldn't recall.

Y/N spent the next hour talking to Leo, and he was utterly fascinating. He spoke about his "passion for healing," which involved volunteering at a local clinic, claiming he had a "knack for knowing what ails people, even before they say it." He then moved on to his "love for the arts," which included not just music, but painting, poetry, and even sculpting. He mentioned a strange "side gig" where he sometimes helped people "find their path" or "see the future," which he dismissed as just being good at reading patterns and human nature. "It's all about observation, Y/N," he'd said with a knowing look. "And a little intuition." He even mentioned a knack for "foretelling the weather," which he dismissed as just being good at reading atmospheric pressure and cloud formations.

"Sometimes," he mused, gazing into his drink, the ice clinking softly, "I feel like I'm meant for something more. Like I have a purpose beyond just... being Leo. A grander calling, perhaps. It's a heavy burden, but a beautiful one."

Y/N nodded, understanding the sentiment. "I think everyone feels that way sometimes. Like there's a bigger picture we're missing, or a destiny we haven't quite found yet."

He looked at Y/N, his eyes intense, seeming to peer right into their soul. "Oh, there's a bigger picture, Y/N. And I'm a pretty significant part of it. I bring light, healing, and inspiration to the world. I guide the sun across the sky, you know, ensuring the days turn into nights and the crops grow. It's a full-time job, really."

Y/N blinked, a slow, incredulous smile spreading across their face. "You guide the sun? Wow, Leo, that's quite the job description. So, you're like, a celestial traffic controller? Or maybe a very dedicated astrophysicist with a flair for the dramatic?"

He chuckled, a warm, melodious sound that resonated deep within Y/N's chest. "Something like that, but far more ancient and far less reliant on technology. I am Apollo, god of the sun, music, healing, and prophecy. And yes, sometimes I do ride a magnificent chariot pulled by fiery steeds."

Y/N burst out laughing, a genuine, hearty laugh that made their shoulders shake and drew a few curious glances. "Apollo? Seriously? You're telling me you're a Greek god? And here I thought you were just a really talented musician with a flair for the dramatic and maybe a slight delusion of grandeur." Y/N wiped a tear from their eye, still chuckling. "That's a good one, Leo. You almost had me there for a second."

He sighed, a hint of amusement in his voice, but also a touch of weary resignation. "The skepticism is strong with this one. But it's true, Y/N. I've been doing this for millennia. The sun doesn't just 'rise' on its own, you know."

Y/N shook their head, still grinning. "Okay, 'Leo,' you're good. Really good. You've got the whole mysterious, ancient vibe down. But I think you've had a few too many of those fancy craft beers. Let's get you some water, or maybe a taxi home."

He just smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. "Perhaps. But remember this night, Y/N. You met a god, and you laughed in his face. It's not every day that happens."

"And I'd do it again," Y/N retorted, still grinning. "Now, tell me, do you have any more of those amazing songs? Because 'celestial traffic controller' or not, your music is divine."

DIONYSUS

The underground club, "The Bacchanal," pulsed with the relentless beat of the music, a kaleidoscope of strobing lights and bodies moving in sync, a heady mix of sweat and cheap perfume. Y/N was trying to navigate the crowded dance floor, feeling a little out of place amidst the uninhibited revelry, when a hand suddenly grabbed their arm, pulling them into the swirling vortex of dancers.

Y/N spun around, ready to apologize or scold, and came face to face with a man who seemed to embody the very spirit of the club. He had wild, dark curls that framed a face alight with an almost unhinged, joyous energy. His eyes sparkled with an intoxicating mirth, and his laugh, when it came, was a booming, infectious sound that cut through the thumping bass.

"You look like you need to loosen up!" he shouted over the music, his voice surprisingly clear and resonant, almost as if the sound waves parted for him. "Come on, Y/N, let's dance! The night is young, and inhibitions are for squares!"

Before Y/N could protest, he pulled them deeper into the swirling mass of people, his energy utterly contagious. He moved with a primal grace, his movements fluid and uninhibited, a dance that seemed to predate modern choreography. Y/N found themselves laughing and dancing along, forgetting their self-consciousness and inhibitions, caught up in his magnetic aura.

His name was Dion, and he was a force of nature. He talked about his "family vineyard" that produced the most exquisite, mind-altering wines – "It's not just grapes, Y/N, it's... an experience. A journey for the soul!" He spoke of his "travels" to remote villages where he taught people how to "celebrate life" and "embrace the wildness within," often involving impromptu festivals and a lot of very good wine. He even mentioned an "unusual talent" for making everyone feel completely at ease, dissolving their worries and bringing out their true selves. He seemed to embody pure, unadulterated joy, a living, breathing party.

"Life's too short to be serious all the time, right?" he yelled, spinning Y/N around, his grin wide and carefree. "You gotta embrace the madness, the ecstasy! Let go! Feel the rhythm, feel the freedom!"

Y/N grinned back, breathless from the dancing and the sheer force of his personality. "You're definitely one of a kind, Dion. I've never met anyone quite like you."

He winked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, I am. I bring the party, the revelry, the unbridled passion. I am the spirit of liberation, the one who frees you from your worries, who lets you taste true joy. I ignite the spark of life!"

Y/N laughed, shaking their head. "Sounds like you should be a life coach, or maybe a cult leader. You've got a real knack for getting people to let loose."

He threw his head back, a booming laugh echoing through the club, momentarily overpowering the music. "Something like that, but much, much older. And with a lot more grapes involved, and a few more... interesting followers. I am Dionysus, god of wine, revelry, madness, and ecstasy. And yes, sometimes I have maenads, but they're mostly chill these days."

Y/N stopped dancing, staring at him, their laughter dying in their throat. The strobing lights of the club seemed to swirl around him, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N almost believed him. His eyes held an ancient wisdom, and his presence seemed to fill the entire space. Then, Y/N scoffed, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up. "Dionysus? Seriously? Are you on something, Dion? Or did you just have a little too much of your 'family vineyard's' finest? Because you're sounding a little... unhinged."

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes, completely unoffended. "A little of both, perhaps. The wine is divine, after all. But the truth remains, Y/N. I am the god of the vine, the one who brings joy and chaos in equal measure. I am the spirit of freedom."

Y/N shook their head, a wide, amused smile still playing on their lips. "You're absolutely insane, Dion. But in the best possible way. You're the most entertaining person I've met all year. Come on, let's get another drink. You can tell me more about your 'divine' family and your 'maenads'."

He clapped his hands together, his eyes gleaming. "Now you're talking! To madness and beyond! And trust me, my family gatherings are legendary." He pulled Y/N back into the dance, the music seeming to swell around them, and for a moment, Y/N felt truly free.

AEOLUS

The annual city kite festival was a vibrant spectacle, the sky a shifting canvas of colorful, soaring creations, from intricate dragons to whimsical cartoon characters. Y/N was struggling with their own flimsy, store-bought kite, which seemed determined to nosedive into the nearest puddle despite Y/N's most frantic efforts. The wind, or lack thereof, was proving to be a formidable adversary.

Y/N sighed in exasperation, their arms aching from trying to coax the stubborn fabric into flight, when a man with windswept, almost perpetually disheveled hair and eyes the color of a stormy, distant sky approached them. He had a quiet intensity about him, and an almost imperceptible hum seemed to emanate from him, like the faint sound of distant wind chimes. He wore a simple, well-worn leather jacket, despite the mild weather.

"Having some trouble there?" he asked, his voice soft but carrying a surprising resonance, like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.

Y/N sighed again, letting the kite string go slack for a moment. "Understatement of the year. This thing hates me. Or maybe the wind hates me. I think it's personal."

He smiled, a gentle, almost wistful expression that softened the intensity in his eyes. "Perhaps it just needs a little guidance. A whisper in the right direction." He reached out a hand, his fingers long and slender, and as his fingertips brushed ever so lightly against the kite string, a sudden, strong, yet perfectly controlled gust of wind caught Y/N's kite, sending it soaring gracefully into the sky. It danced and dipped, then climbed higher and higher, a perfect arc against the blue.

Y/N gasped, utterly stunned, their jaw dropping. "Whoa! How did you do that? That was incredible! It was just... dead still a second ago!"

"Just a knack," he said, his gaze fixed on the now-dancing kite, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I have a way with the air, you could say. It tends to listen to me. My name is Zephyr."

Zephyr, as he introduced himself, was a man of few words, but his presence was powerful and calming, like the eye of a storm. He talked about his "work" in meteorology, predicting storms with uncanny accuracy – "It's all about feeling the currents, sensing the shifts, you know. The models are just a guide." He then spoke of his "hobby" of sailing, claiming he could always find the perfect breeze, even on the calmest days. He even mentioned a "family business" that involved managing global air currents and weather patterns, which he vaguely described as "complicated logistics" and "keeping things balanced."

"The wind," he murmured, watching a distant cloud formation slowly shift shape, "it has a will of its own. It can be fierce, gentle, playful. But it can be guided. Directed. It listens to me. It's like a symphony, and I'm the conductor."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smile playing on their lips. "So you're saying you control the wind? Like, you're a weather wizard? Or maybe you just have a really good app on your phone?"

He turned to Y/N, his expression unreadable for a moment, then a small, genuine smile touched his lips, a rare sight that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Something like that. More ancient than a wizard, and certainly more powerful than an app. I am the keeper of the winds, the one who commands the breezes and the gales. I am Aeolus. And no, I don't have a giant bag of wind, though the myths are rather persistent on that point."

Y/N stared at him, then burst into a fit of giggles, clutching their stomach. "Aeolus? You're telling me you're the Greek god of wind? That's rich! Oh my god, Zephyr, you're hilarious! What, do you have a secret wind tunnel in your backyard? Or do you just stand on a hill and shout at the clouds?"

He looked at Y/N, his expression unreadable for a moment, then his smile widened, a hint of genuine amusement in his eyes. "Not a tunnel, no. And shouting is rarely effective. It's more about... persuasion. But yes, I am he. I've been guiding the winds since before your ancestors learned to sail."

Y/N shook their head, still laughing, tears pricking the corners of their eyes. "You're a riot, Zephyr. A total charmer. You've got a great imagination. But seriously, that kite trick was amazing. You should work for a circus, or maybe become a professional kite flyer. You'd win every competition."

He chuckled softly, a sound like dry leaves rustling. "Perhaps I should. But for now, I'll stick to my current profession. Though, I must admit, it's always entertaining to see the look on a mortal's face when they realize the truth. Or, in your case, when they refuse to believe it."

"Keep dreaming, 'Aeolus'," Y/N said, still grinning, nudging him playfully. "Now, can you make my kite do a loop-de-loop? And maybe spell out my name in the sky?"

He winked, a rare, playful gesture. "For you, Y/N, anything is possible. Just watch the sky."

[dxrlingluv]

Got an ideas for Telemachus x reader (preferably fem reader)

A fluffy one where Y/N cries over a nightmare she had about Telemachus getting killed and chopped up by the suitors (basically hold them down)

I also had a freaky one in mind but nahhh anyways 🫶🏻

Nightmares and Dreams

A/N : Since you didn’t send me your freaky request, I made this one freaky(only in the end tho).

Summary : Y/N wakes from a terrifying nightmare where Ithaca’s suitors plot to kill Telemachus and hurt her. Shaken and afraid, she finds comfort and safety in Telemachus’s arms. Through his love and gentle reassurance, her fear fades, and they share a tender moment that reminds her she’s truly safe with him.

WARNING : graphic language, implied sexual violence (threat), smut, nightmare, threats of murder. Fem!Reader.

Word Count : 3k

The great hall of Ithaca reeked of stale wine and unwashed bodies, a stench as oppressive as the suitors' presence. Y/N watched from the deep shadows of a grand pillar, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. The men, a bloated, insolent horde, sprawled across the palace, their laughter coarse, their eyes constantly roving, their voices grating on her nerves.

Today, however, a different kind of tension crackled in the air. The Queen, her face a mask of weary resolve, had set a challenge: the bow of Odysseus. Whoever could string it, whoever could shoot an arrow clean through twelve axe-heads, would win her hand.

"Whoever can string the old king's bow," Antinous bellowed, his voice cutting through the din like a rusty blade, "And shoot through twelve axes cleanly, will be the new king, sit down at the throne, Penelope as his queen!"

One by one, they tried. Muscles strained, faces reddened, veins bulged, but the mighty bow remained unyielding, a cruel, mocking curve of dark wood in their hands. Hours bled into one another, the sun dipping lower, casting long, impatient shadows across the marble floor. Frustration simmered, then boiled over into a dangerous rage.

"To Hades with this competition! We've wasted half the day!" Antinous roared, flinging the bow down with a frustrated snarl that echoed through the hall. "None of us can string this cursed thing! We don't have the power! This is a trick, a delay! Can't you see we're being played for fools?"

A guttural chorus of agreement rose from the other suitors. Their faces, once flushed with wine, were now contorted with a chilling, predatory anger. Y/N felt a shiver trace down her spine, colder than any winter wind. This wasn't just about the bow anymore. This was something far more sinister.

"This is how they keep us," Antinous snarled, his voice dropping to a menacing growl that sent a fresh wave of terror through Y/N. "This is how they hold us down while the throne gets colder! Hold us down while we slowly rot here! Hold us down while that boy grows bolder! Where in the hell is our pride? Our rage?"

The words echoed, a chilling, venomous mantra. Y/N pressed herself further into the deep shadows, her breath catching in her throat, a silent scream trapped behind her lips. She knew who "the boy" was. Telemachus. Her Telemachus.

"There's a chance for action, here and now!" another suitor, Eurymachus, snarled, slamming his fist on a table, making the goblets jump. "Here and now, we can take control! Here and now, burn it all to ashes! Channel the fire inside your soul!"

Y/N's blood ran cold. This wasn't just talk. This was a plan, festering in the dark corners of their minds, now brought to light.

Antinous's eyes, sharp and predatory, scanned the hall, a cruel glint in their depths. "Haven't you noticed who's missing?" he purred, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Don't you know the prince is not around? I heard he's on some fool's errand, a diplomatic mission, and I heard today he comes back to town, so..."

He paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the air, a suffocating weight. The other suitors leaned in, their expressions eager, their eyes gleaming with a terrifying, bloodthirsty anticipation. Y/N's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum against the silence of her terror.

"I say, we gather near the beaches," Antinous whispered, though his voice carried clearly in the suddenly hushed hall, each word a hammer blow to Y/N's soul. "I say, we wait 'til his ship arrives. Then, when he docks, we breach it! Let us leave now, today we strike and..."

His voice rose, joined by the eager, hungry shouts of the other men, a horrifying chorus. "We'll hold him down 'til the boy stops shakin'! Hold him down while I slit his throat! Hold him down while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith, his very bones! Cut him down into tiny pieces! Throw him down in the great below! When the crown wonders where the prince is, only the ocean and I will know!"

Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a terrified gasp, her body trembling uncontrollably. No. Not Telemachus. Never Telemachus. Her vision blurred, hot tears stinging her eyes. She wanted to scream, to warn him, to run, but her voice was trapped, a silent plea in her throat, her limbs frozen in terror.

Antinous turned, his gaze sweeping over the hall, and for a horrifying moment, his eyes seemed to pierce the shadows, locking onto her hiding place. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, a chilling promise of what was to come.

"And when the deed is done," he purred, his voice dripping with venom, his eyes fixed on her, "The queen will have no one. No one to stop us from breaking her bedroom door. No one to stop us from taking her love and more." He paused, his gaze lingering on Y/N, a cruel, possessive glint in his eyes. "And then, my sweet Y/N, when the boy is gone, and the queen is broken... we'll come for you. You won't have your prince to protect you then. We'll take our fill, and you'll learn what it means to truly serve."

Y/N felt a cold dread seep into her very bones. Her. They meant her, too. They would come for her, just as they planned to come for Telemachus. The thought was a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs, making her vision swim.

"And then we'll," the suitors chanted, their voices a horrifying, guttural chorus, "Hold her down while her gate is open! Hold her down while I get a taste! Hold her down while we share her spoils! I will not let any part go to waste!"

The words twisted into a grotesque parody of a song, a hymn to their depravity. Y/N felt a suffocating pressure, as if the very walls of the palace were closing in on her, crushing her. Hands, unseen but felt, seemed to reach for her, to hold her down, to tear at her clothes. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of fear and malevolent intent, pressing down on her, stealing her breath.

"Here and now, there's a chance for action!" they roared, their faces contorted into monstrous masks, their eyes burning with a terrifying hunger. "Here and now, we can take control! Here and now, burn it down to ashes! Channel the fire inside your soul and—"

The shouts grew louder, closer, a terrifying crescendo. "Hold 'em down, hold 'em down! Hold 'em down, hold 'em down! Hold 'em down, hold 'em down! Channel the fire inside your soul, and—"

Y/N gasped, a strangled, guttural cry tearing from her throat as she shot upright in bed, her body drenched in a cold sweat. The familiar roughspun sheets tangled around her, and the comforting darkness of their bedchamber slowly replaced the oppressive gloom of her nightmare. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage, and her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps. The chilling echoes of the suitors' voices still reverberated in her ears, their leering faces burned behind her eyelids, Antinous's cruel smile a vivid, terrifying image.

"Y/N? My love, what is it?"

Telemachus's voice, thick with sleep, was a sudden, jarring sound, yet a profound relief. He stirred beside her, his hand immediately reaching for her, warm and solid against her trembling arm. She flinched, a residual terror making her pull away instinctively, before she registered his touch, his scent, his presence. It was him. He was here. He was safe.

"Telemachus," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper, raw with fear. Tears, hot and stinging, welled in her eyes and streamed down her temples into her hair, soaking her pillow. "Oh, Telemachus, it was... it was awful. They were... they were going to..."

He pulled her gently into his arms, his strong, familiar scent of sea salt and olive oil enveloping her. He held her close, pressing her head against his chest, his palm stroking the back of her head, then moving to rub soothing circles on her back.

"Shh, my heart. It's alright. You're shaking," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear, a steady anchor in her storm of fear. "Tell me, what was it? A nightmare?"

She clung to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the icy grip of the dream. "The suitors," she sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush, disjointed and desperate. "They were planning... they were going to kill you. On the beach, when you returned. And then... then they were coming for me. For Mother. Antinous... he said he would 'take his fill' of me. He said... he said I wouldn't have you to protect me."

His arms tightened around her, a protective cage. He didn't laugh, didn't dismiss it. He simply held her, letting her fear spill out, absorbing it. His fingers threaded through her damp hair, gently pulling her head back so he could look into her eyes, his own filled with a deep, tender concern, a fierce protectiveness.

"My brave Y/N," he whispered, his thumb brushing away a tear from her cheek. "It was only a dream, my love. Just a terrible, terrible dream. I am here. You are here. We are safe. No one will touch you, not while I draw breath. And no one will touch me either. They are fools, but they are not so bold as to openly attack the prince of Ithaca. Not yet. Not while I stand."

He kissed her forehead, then her eyelids, tasting the salt of her tears. "It's over now. The sun will be up soon. See? Just a dream." He pulled her closer again, rocking her gently. "I'm right here. Always. You are safe. I promise you."

His reassurance, so calm and unwavering, slowly began to chip away at the terror. The phantom hands receded, the chilling chants faded. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, a comforting rhythm that grounded her back to reality. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, chasing away the lingering chill, replacing it with a profound sense of relief.

As her sobs subsided into soft sniffles, she became acutely aware of their bodies pressed together. The thin shift she wore was damp with sweat, clinging to her skin, and his own tunic was rumpled from sleep. The fear, though still a faint echo, was being replaced by a different kind of heat, a familiar ache that began to stir deep within her, a desperate need for affirmation, for life, for him.

She lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. His eyes, usually so bright and full of youthful determination, were now soft, heavy-lidded with concern, yet held a spark of something else, something tender and undeniably hungry.

"Are you truly alright now?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, his gaze never leaving hers.

She nodded, a small, shaky breath escaping her lips. "Yes," she whispered, her voice still a little hoarse, but gaining strength. "Now that you're here. Now that I know you're real."

(Smut starts here so you can leave if you’re not here for that)

A soft, tender smile touched his lips, and he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to hers. It was slow, tender, tasting of comfort and relief, a profound promise of safety that transcended words. Her lips parted slightly, inviting him deeper, and he accepted, his tongue gently tracing the seam before delving inside, exploring the soft warmth within.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more passionate, a desperate affirmation of life and connection after the brush with terror. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, then tangled in his soft, dark hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, as his hand slipped from her jaw to the nape of her neck, tilting her head to deepen the angle of their kiss, claiming her mouth completely.

His other hand, warm and firm, slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine before settling on her hip, pressing her flush against him. She could feel the hard ridge of his arousal against her belly, a comforting weight that chased away the last vestiges of the nightmare, replacing them with a thrilling anticipation. This was real. This was alive. This was him.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged against her lips. His eyes, dark and intense, searched hers, filled with a raw, undeniable desire. "My Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with passion. "Let me show you how safe you are. How real this is. Let me chase away every last shadow."

She didn't need words. Her fingers fumbled with the ties of his tunic, eager to shed the fabric that separated them. He understood, his own hands moving deftly to untie her shift, the soft linen falling away to pool around her waist. The cool night air brushed her skin, quickly replaced by the warmth of his touch as his hands roamed freely over her bare shoulders, down her arms, sending shivers of exquisite pleasure through her.

He pushed her gently onto her back, his body following, hovering over her. The moonlight, filtering through the open window, cast a silver glow on his strong shoulders, the defined lines of his chest, the taut muscles of his abdomen. He was magnificent, a beacon of strength and safety, and he was hers.

His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She arched into his touch, her fingers digging into the firm flesh of his biceps, urging him closer. He found the sensitive hollow of her throat, then the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck, and she moaned, a soft, helpless sound, her body already anticipating his next move.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered against her skin, his voice rough with desire, his words a balm to her soul. "So perfect. So utterly mine."

His kisses continued their descent, over her collarbones, to the soft swell of her breasts. His tongue flicked out, teasing, before he took one aching peak into his mouth, suckling gently, drawing a gasp from her. A wave of pure sensation washed over her, and her hips instinctively lifted, seeking more, craving his touch. He responded, his hand sliding between her thighs, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, making her gasp again, a delicious tremor running through her.

She whimpered, her body trembling not from fear, but from a burgeoning, desperate need. He moved lower, his hand finding the damp heat between her legs, his fingers gently parting her, his thumb circling, teasing, bringing her closer and closer to the edge of a precipice.

"Telemachus," she pleaded, her voice breathless, her body arching desperately, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with passion, a triumphant glint in their depths. "Soon, my love. So very soon. Let me make you forget."

With a swift, practiced movement, he shed his own tunic and breeches, revealing his magnificent body. He was all lean muscle and youthful power, honed by the sea and the sword, a testament to his strength. He positioned himself between her legs, his hard arousal pressing against her entrance, a hot, insistent promise.

She reached for him, her hands guiding him, eager for the release, the profound connection that would banish the nightmare forever. He met her gaze, a silent question passing between them, and she answered with a fervent nod, her eyes shining with desire and trust.

He entered her slowly, carefully, allowing her body to adjust to his fullness, to the glorious invasion. A soft sigh of pure pleasure escaped her lips as he filled her, stretching her, completing her, making her feel whole again. He paused, letting them both savor the moment, their bodies perfectly aligned, breathing as one.

Then, he began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that quickly picked up pace, becoming a powerful, urgent dance. Each thrust was a powerful affirmation, a forceful expulsion of the nightmare's lingering shadows. He moved with a primal grace, his body a testament to his strength and passion, his love. She met his every movement, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer, desperate for more.

Her cries mingled with his grunts, a symphony of pleasure that filled the quiet room. The bed creaked beneath them, a testament to their fervent movements, their desperate need. Her nails raked lightly down his back, leaving faint red marks, a testament to her complete abandon, her surrender to him. The world narrowed to their entwined bodies, the friction, the heat, the exquisite tension building between them, spiraling higher and higher.

He pressed his lips to her ear, whispering words of love and devotion, promising her safety and pleasure, over and over again. "My Y/N... always safe... always mine... I will never let them touch you... never..."

The build-up was intense, a relentless climb towards the peak. Her body convulsed around him, her muscles clenching, as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure crashed over her, shattering the last remnants of fear. She cried out his name, her voice hoarse with ecstasy, her body arching into his.

He followed moments later, a deep groan tearing from his chest as he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering with release. He collapsed onto her, heavy and sated, his breath hot against her skin, his weight a comforting anchor.

They lay there for a long time, entangled, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths slowly evening out. The first faint rays of dawn began to peek through the open window, painting the room in soft hues of grey and rose, chasing away the last of the night's darkness.

Telemachus shifted, pulling the sheet up over them, then wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her close against his side. He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering, a silent promise.

"No more nightmares, my love," he murmured, his voice thick with contentment and a deep, abiding love. "Only dreams of us. Only peace. You are safe, my heart. Always."

She snuggled deeper into his embrace, feeling utterly safe, utterly cherished. The horrors of the dream were gone, replaced by the comforting reality of his arms around her, the lingering warmth of their shared passion, the profound sense of belonging. She knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her soul, that with him, she was truly safe.

[dxrlingluv]

May i request a TelemachusxMale!Reader? He's a merchant, dark red-head with freckles, green eyes, a pet crow and scars! For personality, maybe have him begin sarcastic and flirty?

To my wonderful Anonymous requester and to all of my dedicated followers (or whoever is reading this) –

Thank you so much for your super creative request! I truly appreciate the vivid details you put into that character; it sounds really intriguing!

I wanted to take a moment to clarify my fanfic policy, which I might not have made totally clear before on this account.

While your request didn't explicitly use the term 'OC,' when a 'Reader' is described with so many specific and unique attributes, it functions like an original character. My usual free content here focuses on true 'x Reader' stories, where the 'Reader' is generally left open so you can easily imagine yourself in the story.

Creating and developing an entirely new, detailed original character like the one you described, and then fully integrating them into a story, requires a significant amount of dedicated time and creative effort.

Because of this, I only take on 'x OC requests as commissioned work (Which, I again, might not have mentioned anywhere). This allows me to dedicate the necessary time to bring those unique OCs to life in a detailed and satisfying way.

So, to my anonymous requester, if you have ideas for Telemachus (or other greek myth characters!) in an 'x Reader' format, please don't hesitate to send them! And to all my followers, keep those ideas coming! I love hearing and doing them.

Thanks so much for understanding everyone!

[dxrlingluv]

NEED A TELEMACHUS X DOMINANT reader SO BAD👅👅👅👅👅👅👅 perchance the said reader is a female guardian of the palace.. And mayhaps they're Telemachus' only trustworthy friend 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

You were a prince

A/N : Ya’ll don’t know how much I wanted to hug the life out of Telemachus in Epic: The Musical. He deserves so much.

WARNING : Smut, 18+, Dominant!Reader, Fem!Reader, Top!Reader, p in v.

Word Count : 1.9k

The air in the great hall of Ithaca was thick with the stench of arrogance. It smelled of spilled wine, roasted meat going cold, and the cloying perfume of men who believed themselves kings. From your position near the main entryway, you watched it all, your hand resting on the hilt of the bronze sword at your hip. Your face was a mask of placid neutrality, a skill you had perfected over ten long years. As the only female guardian in the palace—a position you inherited from your father who had sailed with Odysseus—that mask was your most essential piece of armor.

Your eyes, however, were fixed on one person. Telemachus.

He stood near the central hearth, the firelight catching the fine, noble lines of his face, a face so much like his father's, yet still holding the softness of youth. He was trying to reason with Antinous, his voice low and steady, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip he had on the wine cup in his hand. Antinous, all swagger and sneering condescension, laughed in his face, turning to the other suitors to share the 'joke.' A wave of brutish laughter followed.

You saw the flash of fury in Telemachus's eyes, the humiliation that washed over him like a blush of shame. He held his ground for another moment, a prince in his own home with no power, before turning on his heel and stalking from the hall, his jaw set like stone.

His eyes met yours for a fraction of a second as he passed. It was a look you knew intimately. It was a cry for help, a desperate plea, and a silent command all in one. Later.

You held your post for another hour, your gaze sweeping the room, your presence a silent, steady warning that even in this den of wolves, some part of the old kingdom still stood guard. When another guard came to relieve you, you nodded curtly and began your final patrol. Your route, however, took a slight detour, one not found on any official palace roster. It led you to the prince's chambers.

You slipped inside without a sound, closing the heavy oak door behind you. He was there, as you knew he would be, pacing the length of the room like a caged lion. The wine cup lay shattered in the hearth. The moment he saw you, the mask of princely composure he wore for the world dissolved, and the raw, frustrated young man was left in its place.

"He laughed at me, Y/N," he began, his voice tight with rage. He wasn't speaking to a guard; he was speaking to his only friend. "In my own home, he stood there and mocked me. They all did. They eat my father's livestock, they try to force themselves on my mother, and I... I can do nothing. I am nothing." He finally stopped pacing and drove his fist into the stone wall, a sharp crack echoing in the room. He barely seemed to feel it.

You didn't move. You didn't offer empty platitudes or words of comfort. You simply stood, your presence a silent anchor in his storm, and you let him rage. You let him vent all the poison he was forced to swallow every single day. This was the first part of your ritual, the first service you offered him. You were the vessel for his fury.

When his anger was spent, it left a vacuum, and a deep, weary sorrow filled it. He turned to you, his shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with a pain so profound it made your heart ache. His bravado was gone, leaving only a vulnerable boy drowning under the weight of a king's crown that wasn't yet his.

"I can't do this anymore," he whispered, his voice breaking. "They are going to devour us, and I am not strong enough to stop them."

This was your cue. You moved then, crossing the room until you stood before him. You reached out and took his hand, the one he had struck the wall with, and gently uncurled his fingers. His knuckles were already swelling, split and bleeding.

"You are strong enough," you said, your voice low and firm, a stark contrast to his broken whisper. The tone of a friend was gone, replaced by the tone of something else, something deeper. The tone of his commander. His savior. "You carry this whole house on your shoulders. But you are not meant to carry it every hour of every day. Not tonight."

You led him to the edge of his bed and pushed him down gently until he was sitting. You knelt before him, your calloused fingers working at the leather laces of his sandals.

"Tonight," you continued, your eyes fixed on your task, "you will put it all down. The anger. The fear. The weight of your father's name. You will give it all to me. I will hold it for you until morning."

He looked down at you, his breathing shaky. He was the prince, and you were his guard, yet in this room, the dynamic was inverted. Here, he was not your master. You were his. It was the only way he could find release.

You removed his sandals and looked up, your gaze locking with his. "Take off your tunic."

It was a soft command, but a command nonetheless. He obeyed without hesitation, pulling the fine linen garment over his head. His chest was lean but well-defined, the body of a young man caught between boyhood and the warrior he was destined to become.

"Good," you murmured your approval. You rose to your feet and stood over him. "Lie back."

He did, stretching out on the bed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was surrendering his power to you, the only person in the world he trusted enough to be this vulnerable with.

"Close your eyes," you commanded. You watched him obey, his long lashes dark against his pale skin. You took a moment to just look at him, this beautiful, burdened boy. Your heart swelled with a fierce, protective love that was painful in its intensity.

You straddled his hips, your weight settling onto him. You leaned down, your lips hovering just above his. "Tonight, you are not a prince. You are not the son of Odysseus. You are just mine. Do you understand, Telemachus?"

"Yes," he breathed, the word a prayer.

You kissed him then, a slow, deep kiss of possession. You took control, your tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting his sorrow and his relief. His hands, which had been fisted, opened and came up to grip your waist, holding on to you as if you were the only solid thing in his world.

You broke the kiss and began your slow, meticulous worship. Your hands roamed his body, learning the tense lines of his muscles, the frantic beating of his heart. You whispered praises against his skin, telling him how strong he was, how brave. But you also whispered commands, telling him to breathe, to relax, to let go.

Your mouth trailed down his chest, over the flat plane of his stomach. He gasped when you reached the waistband of his trousers, his hips twitching in anticipation.

"Patience," you chided gently, your voice a low purr. You undid the laces and pushed the fabric down, freeing his erection. He was hard and hot, throbbing with a desperate need. You took him in your hand, your grip firm and sure. He moaned, his eyes still squeezed shut.

"Look at me," you commanded.

His eyes fluttered open, dazed and pleading.

"I want you to watch," you said, your voice leaving no room for argument. You lowered your head and took him into your mouth, your gaze locked with his.

His back arched, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. You took him slowly, your movements deliberate and teasing. You showed him what it felt like to be powerless in the hands of someone who adored him, to have his pleasure be entirely out of his control. He was so used to powerlessness being a source of pain; you were determined to make it his salvation.

You brought him to the edge again and again, pulling back each time he was about to come, ignoring his choked pleas. You were teaching him to let go, to trust in you completely. Finally, when he was trembling and panting your name like a mantra, you moved up, positioning yourself over him.

You lowered yourself onto his cock, taking him inside you with a slow, deliberate movement that made you both hiss in pleasure. You were hot and tight around him, and he was so full inside you. He tried to thrust up, to take the lead, but you placed your hands on his chest and held him down.

"No," you whispered. "I move. You just feel."

You began to ride him with a slow, grinding rhythm, your eyes never leaving his. You watched his face as you moved, saw the tension melt away, replaced by pure, unadulterated pleasure. This was your gift to him. You took the reins of his body so he could let go of the reins of his life, if only for a few stolen hours.

"You're so good for me," he rasped, his hands now gripping the sheets. "So good."

"I know," you said, leaning down to kiss him deeply. "Let go for me, Telemachus. Come apart. I'll put you back together."

That was all he needed. Your permission to shatter. As you picked up the pace, riding him with a fierce, loving intensity, his control finally broke. His eyes rolled back, and he cried out your name, a raw, ragged sound of pure release. His orgasm ripped through him, a violent, shuddering wave that was more than just physical. It was the release of a week's worth of fear, a month of anger, a lifetime of pressure.

His release triggered your own, a hot, tight wave that pulsed in time with his. You collapsed onto his chest, your breathing ragged, your body slick with sweat. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

For a long time, you just lay there, your heartbeats slowing in unison. His arms were wrapped around you, holding on with a desperate strength. The dominant and the submissive were gone, leaving only two friends, two lovers, finding solace in the dark.

"Thank you," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and sleep.

You kissed the top of his head. "You faced them today. You were a prince. Tonight, you rested." You tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. "And tomorrow, you will face them again. And I will be there, right where you can see me."

You had to leave before the first hint of dawn, before the palace began to stir. You dressed in silence and slipped from his room, every muscle in your body humming with a pleasant ache.

You took up your new post, just outside the prince's chambers. When a bleary-eyed servant passed, you gave him a curt, dismissive nod. You were the guardian of the palace, a stoic, unreadable figure of authority. No one would ever know that you had spent the night guarding the prince's heart, and that his strength tomorrow would be born from the beautiful, perfect way he had surrendered to you tonight.

[dxrlingluv]

Hi Hi! I love your work!

I was wondering if maybe you could do a Hermes x reader where apollo (or whoever you want) is reader’s mentor and hermes is like 😻 and tries to court them and their mentor helps hermes out?

oki byebye!!!

He’s got a crush

A/N : Thank you so much! I appreciate your kind words. Thank you for requesting this! I’ll probably take a break from writing Hermes and focus on other characters too.

Summary : An artistic mortal catches the eye of a very lively and persistent divine figure, who attempts to win them over with a series of grand gestures and wild adventures. Their quiet, wise mentor, another divine being, offers subtle guidance and a little help along the way, leading to a charming and heartfelt connection.

WARNING : GN!Reader, Crushing to ???, Apollo is a great wingman(?).

Word Count : 3.3k

The sun, a molten disc of gold, was just beginning its slow descent over the Aegean, painting the sky in hues of tangerine and rose. You, a promising young mortal sculptor, stood before your latest creation – a marble bust of Hecate, her three faces gazing into the twilight with an unsettling, yet captivating, intensity. Dust motes danced in the last shafts of light filtering through the open arches of your workshop, a converted temple perched on a cliff overlooking the shimmering sea.

"Magnificent, Y/N," a melodious voice purred from behind you, a voice that could coax a nightingale from its nest or lull a storm to slumber. You turned, a smile already gracing your lips. Apollo, radiant even in his more understated mortal guise of a renowned art connoisseur, leaned against a Doric column, a lyre cradled in his arm. He always seemed to carry it, even when not actively playing. "The way you've captured the wisdom and the mystery... truly, a testament to your burgeoning skill."

You bowed your head slightly, a blush rising to your cheeks. "Coming from you, Master Apollo, that means the world. Your guidance has been invaluable."

He chuckled, a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "Guidance, perhaps. But the talent, dear Y/N, that is all yours. You merely needed a steady hand to help you navigate the currents of inspiration." He strode closer, his gaze sweeping over your work. "Though, I must confess, this particular piece seems to resonate with a certain... mercurial energy." He paused, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement. "Speaking of which, I believe you have a visitor."

Just as he finished, a whirlwind of motion swept into the workshop. Hermes, ever the embodiment of speed and mischief, materialized beside you in a flash of shimmering light, his winged sandals barely grazing the marble floor. He was, as always, an explosion of vibrant energy – his chiton a brilliant azure, his caduceus gleaming with an almost playful luminescence. His eyes, the color of a summer sky, sparkled with an irrepressible mirth that always seemed to be directed, in part, at you.

"Y/N! My favorite mortal!" he chirped, his voice a quicksilver melody that always seemed to leave you a little breathless. He didn't just walk, he seemed to dance, a perpetual motion machine of charm and playful exuberance. "And Apollo! Always so... still." He winked at the sun god, who merely raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Hermes then turned his full attention to you, and suddenly, the vast workshop seemed to shrink, the air crackling with his infectious energy. He leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes wide and earnest, though a mischievous glint never truly left them. "I was wondering, darling Y/N, if you would grace me with your presence this evening? There's a new constellation just visible in the northern sky, and I thought we could... observe it. From a very high vantage point." He gestured vaguely upwards, and you had a fleeting vision of being whisked to the very apex of Mount Olympus.

You laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound. Hermes always had a way of making the mundane feel extraordinary. "A new constellation, Hermes? Or just an excuse to fly around and make me dizzy?"

He feigned offense, pressing a hand to his heart dramatically. "Dizzying for me, perhaps, with your unparalleled charm! But no, truly, it's quite magnificent. A celestial swan, gliding across the heavens. And besides," he lowered his voice, though not enough to escape Apollo's acute hearing, "I might have, perhaps, procured some of Hephaestus's finest ambrosia nectar. Just a small flask, of course. For medicinal purposes."

Apollo cleared his throat, a subtle but effective interruption. "Hermes, I believe Y/N has been working tirelessly on this piece. Perhaps they would prefer a restful evening." His tone was mild, but there was an underlying suggestion of protectiveness that wasn't lost on you. Or Hermes.

Hermes pouted, a surprisingly endearing expression on his perpetually cheerful face. "Tireless work requires a tireless reward, Apollo! A little celestial viewing and ambrosia never hurt anyone. Besides," he flashed you a dazzling smile, one that made your stomach do a curious little flip, "I've been meaning to ask Y/N about the intricacies of their latest work. The way the light catches the marble, the delicate curves..." He trailed off, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer than strictly necessary, and your blush deepened.

You found yourself torn. On one hand, Apollo's quiet presence was comforting, his mentorship a constant source of wisdom and stability. On the other, Hermes was a vibrant, chaotic force of nature, and every moment spent with him was an adventure.

Before you could answer, Apollo stepped forward, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Tell you what, Hermes," he said, his voice smooth as polished stone. "Why don't you assist Y/N with their preparations for the viewing? Perhaps help them secure their hair, or ensure their cloak is fastened against the cool night air. I'm sure you, with your... dexterity... would be most helpful." He emphasized the word "dexterity" with a knowing glance at Hermes, who instantly straightened, his eyes gleaming with a newfound purpose.

"An excellent idea, Apollo!" Hermes practically bounced on the balls of his feet. "My hands are famously delicate! And swift! Perfectly suited for... securing accoutrements!" He grinned at you, a mischievous spark in his eyes. "So, Y/N, what do you say? A flight with your favorite messenger god?"

You couldn't help but smile. "Alright, Hermes. But no sudden drops, and no ambrosia before we're safely back on solid ground."

He beamed, victory radiating from him like a sunburst. "My word as a god!"

As Hermes began to fuss over your cloak, adjusting it with a surprising tenderness that belied his usual boisterousness, Apollo watched with a subtle, almost imperceptible, smile. He plucked a soft, melancholic chord on his lyre, the sound echoing softly in the twilight. He knew a thing or two about love, about the sometimes clumsy, sometimes audacious, dance of courtship. And he could see, clear as day, the burgeoning affection in Hermes's eyes, and the intriguing, tentative flicker of something similar in yours.

The flight was, as expected, a dizzying, exhilarating affair. Hermes held you securely, his strength surprising given his lithe frame. You soared above the shimmering Aegean, the world below shrinking into a patchwork of emerald islands and sapphire waters. The wind whipped through your hair, and the stars, when you finally reached their lofty perch on a cloud-wreathed peak, seemed to burn with an impossibly bright fire.

Hermes, true to his word, pointed out the new constellation – a graceful swan, its wings seemingly beating in silent rhythm across the cosmic canvas. He spoke of its mythical origins, weaving tales of gods and heroes with such vivid detail that you could almost see the celestial drama unfolding before your eyes. He was a master storyteller, his words flowing like a clear mountain stream.

After a while, he produced the small flask of ambrosia, its contents glowing faintly in the starlight. You took a tentative sip, and a warmth spread through you, a feeling of pure, unadulterated bliss. It tasted of honey and wildflowers and something indefinable, something ancient and divine.

Hermes, emboldened by the ambrosia and the shared intimacy of the moment, grew more overtly charming. He began to subtly touch your hand as he pointed out stars, his fingers lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. He'd lean closer when he spoke, his breath warm against your ear, sending shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

"You know, Y/N," he said, his voice softer now, less boisterous, "your eyes... they reflect the stars more brightly than any celestial sphere."

You laughed, a little flustered. "Hermes, you flatter me."

"Only speaking the truth," he insisted, his gaze intense, earnest. "You have a light within you, a brilliance that outshines even the sun." He then, with surprising grace, took your hand, his thumb tracing the lines on your palm. "Do you believe in fate, Y/N?"

Before you could answer, a playful gust of wind, suspiciously strong even for a mountaintop, whipped around you, causing Hermes to momentarily lose his footing. He stumbled, pulling you gently off balance. You both ended up laughing, the moment of serious contemplation broken by the sheer absurdity of it. You suspected Apollo's subtle influence at play, a gentle nudge to slow Hermes down.

As you descended, back to your workshop, the world still spinning a little from the ambrosia and the exhilarating flight, Hermes kept a more careful distance, though his eyes never left you. He seemed to be re-strategizing, a new plan already forming in his nimble mind.

The next few days were a delightful, albeit somewhat chaotic, dance of Hermes's increasingly elaborate attempts to court you. He'd appear at the most unexpected moments, always with a grand gesture or a charming proposition.

One morning, as you were meticulously carving details into a new statue of Artemis, he arrived with a bouquet of flowers – not just any flowers, but rare blossoms from the Elysian Fields, their petals shimmering with an ethereal glow.

"For the most beautiful artist," he declared, bowing dramatically, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Each petal whispers a secret of my admiration."

You took the bouquet, inhaling their sweet, otherworldly fragrance. "They're exquisite, Hermes. But you shouldn't have gone to such trouble."

"Trouble?" he scoffed playfully. "For you, Y/N, no effort is too great. I would cross Tartarus itself on stilts if it meant bringing a smile to your face."

Later that day, Apollo found him attempting to "assist" you by holding your carving tools, though his restless energy meant he kept nearly dropping them or enthusiastically, but inaccurately, suggesting where you should make your next cut.

"Hermes," Apollo said, his voice laced with amusement, "perhaps Y/N would benefit more from your swift feet delivering a fresh supply of marble. This piece requires a steady hand, not a restless spirit."

Hermes, ever obliging when it came to your needs (and Apollo's subtle suggestions), zoomed off, returning in mere seconds with a pristine block of Parian marble, still cool from the earth. He even, to your surprise, helped you position it, his strength a surprising asset.

Another time, he orchestrated a surprise picnic on the beach, complete with ambrosia-laced pastries and nectar that tasted of liquid sunshine. He even brought a pair of sea-nymphs to serenade you with their enchanting songs. The nymphs, however, seemed more interested in Hermes's playful banter than their music, giggling and splashing him with water.

Apollo, who had "coincidentally" been strolling by the beach, observed the scene with a wry smile. He waited until Hermes was momentarily distracted by a particularly boisterous nymph, then quietly approached you.

"He's certainly persistent, isn't he?" Apollo remarked, his gaze following Hermes with a hint of paternal fondness.

You chuckled. "He certainly is. It's... a lot."

"Indeed," Apollo agreed, his eyes thoughtful. "Hermes, for all his exuberance, can be surprisingly earnest when something truly captures his attention. And you, Y/N, have certainly captured it." He paused, then offered a piece of advice, his voice soft and thoughtful. "Hermes thrives on spontaneity and adventure. He enjoys the chase. Perhaps, a little challenge, a little mystery, might only further ignite his interest."

You looked at him, intrigued. "A challenge?"

Apollo merely smiled, a knowing glint in his golden eyes. "Consider it a creative endeavor. After all, art is not always about direct creation, but sometimes about inspiring it in others."

Inspired by Apollo's subtle guidance, you began to play along with Hermes's antics, but with a touch more playful evasion. You'd agree to his grand outings, but then playfully insist on a "detour" to a remote, obscure temple you wished to sketch, knowing his boundless curiosity would be piqued. You'd listen to his elaborate tales, but then challenge him to a riddle or a game of strategy, knowing he loved a mental sparring match.

One evening, he arrived at your workshop, looking unusually flustered. He held a small, intricately carved wooden box, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Y/N," he began, "I... I acquired this from a rather tenacious satyr. He said it contains a secret, but only those with a truly artistic spirit can unlock it." He then proceeded to fumble with the box, trying various combinations, his usual grace replaced by an adorable clumsiness.

You watched, a smile playing on your lips. This was a perfect opportunity. "Hermes," you said, "perhaps the secret isn't in a physical lock, but in a riddle."

His eyes lit up. "A riddle? Excellent! Tell me, Y/N, what is it?"

You thought for a moment, then recited, "I have cities, but no houses; forests, but no trees; and water, but no fish. What am I?"

Hermes's brow furrowed in concentration. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself, his fingers drumming against the wooden box. He even tried to subtly peep at the box's contents, convinced there was a clue within.

Just as he was about to give up, a familiar melodious voice drifted into the workshop. "A map, Hermes. It's a map." Apollo, as usual, had seemingly materialized out of thin air, a small, knowing smile on his face.

Hermes slapped his forehead. "Of course! A map! Blast it, Apollo, you always spoil my fun!"

Apollo merely chuckled. "Some mysteries are meant to be shared, Hermes. And some, perhaps, are better solved with a little collaborative spirit." He winked at you. "Wouldn't you agree, Y/N?"

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Indeed, Master Apollo."

Hermes, though initially annoyed, quickly brightened. "Well, then, Y/N! Since Apollo has so graciously provided the answer, we must now embark on an adventure! A quest to find the hidden treasure on this map!" He opened the box with a triumphant flourish, revealing an ancient, unfurled parchment.

The "treasure hunt" led you on a whirlwind tour of forgotten groves, sun-drenched ruins, and whispering caves. Hermes, in his element, was a boisterous, enthusiastic guide, his energy infectious. He'd point out ancient carvings, tell whimsical tales of mischievous spirits, and even, on occasion, perform impromptu aerial acrobatics that left you laughing breathlessly.

You discovered that his boisterousness was a shield, a way to mask a surprising vulnerability. He was genuinely interested in your thoughts, your opinions on art and life. He would listen intently, his bright eyes softening, as you spoke of your inspirations and your dreams. He'd even, occasionally, let slip a quieter, more profound thought about the nature of time or the fleeting beauty of mortal life, moments that revealed a depth beneath the playful facade.

One afternoon, you found yourselves in a secluded grotto, bathed in the soft, iridescent glow of phosphorescent moss. The "treasure" turned out to be a simple, but exquisitely crafted, silver locket, its surface intricately engraved with the image of a winged sandal.

Hermes, for once, was silent, his gaze fixed on the locket. He then looked at you, his usual playful expression replaced by a look of profound sincerity.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a low, steady murmur, "this... this locket is a symbol. A symbol of my... my desire to be with you, wherever your path may lead. To share in your adventures, to witness your brilliance, to simply... be by your side." He took a hesitant step closer, his hand reaching out, then pulling back. "I know I'm not always the most... grounded of gods. But with you, Y/N, I feel... rooted. And utterly, completely, captivated."

You were breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs. This was Hermes, the capricious messenger of the gods, laid bare.

Just then, a ray of sunlight, impossibly bright, pierced through a small opening in the grotto's ceiling, illuminating Apollo, who stood at the entrance, a gentle smile on his face. He seemed to have orchestrated this perfect moment, the timing uncanny.

"Hermes," Apollo said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, "it seems your heart has finally found its true north." He then turned to you, his eyes warm and encouraging. "And Y/N, true artistry, I believe, lies not just in what you create, but in the connections you forge, the beauty you inspire in others."

Hermes, emboldened by Apollo's unspoken blessing, took another step towards you. He gently took the locket, and with a surprisingly steady hand, fastened it around your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

"Y/N," he said again, his voice hoarse with emotion, "I... I adore you. More than the stars, more than the fastest wind, more than all the treasures of Olympus." He leaned in, his gaze searching yours, and then, slowly, tentatively, he kissed you.

It was a kiss unlike any you had ever experienced. It tasted of ambrosia and starlight, of wild winds and sun-warmed earth. It was playful and passionate, tentative and bold, all at once. It was Hermes, in all his glorious, chaotic, utterly charming essence.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his silken chiton, clutching him close. In that moment, surrounded by the shimmering light of the grotto, with Apollo's benevolent presence as a silent witness, you knew that your life, already filled with art and beauty, was about to become an even grander adventure.

Life with Hermes, as expected, was never dull. He was a constant whirlwind of surprises, grand gestures, and charming declarations. He'd whisk you away on spontaneous trips to distant lands, introducing you to exotic cultures and breathtaking landscapes. He'd bring you rare and wondrous gifts – a quill made from a griffin's feather, a cloak woven from moonbeams, a vase that whispered ancient prophecies when filled with water.

He continued to be your most ardent admirer, praising your every sculpture, every sketch, every stroke of your chisel. He would spend hours in your workshop, not interfering now, but simply watching you work, his eyes filled with a quiet reverence. He learned the rhythm of your creative process, knowing when to offer a silent cup of nectar and when to simply sit in companionable silence.

And Apollo, your steadfast mentor, continued to be a guiding light. He observed Hermes's devoted courtship with a quiet satisfaction, occasionally offering a subtle word of advice to Hermes when he seemed to falter, or a reassuring smile to you when Hermes's exuberance threatened to overwhelm. He became, in a way, the benevolent orchestrator of your blossoming romance, a quiet force ensuring your happiness.

One crisp autumn evening, as you and Hermes sat on the steps of your workshop, watching the last embers of the sunset fade into twilight, Hermes turned to you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice surprisingly soft, "I used to think my greatest joy was in motion, in constant movement, in the thrill of the chase." He paused, then took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "But now... now I find my greatest joy is in stillness. In sitting here with you, watching the world go by, knowing you are by my side."

You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence. "And I, Hermes," you whispered, "used to think my world was complete with just my art. But you... you've painted it with colors I never knew existed."

He chuckled, a low, contented sound. "So, my beautiful artist, what masterpiece shall we create next? A life filled with adventure, laughter, and endless, boundless love?"

You looked up at him, your heart overflowing. "Yes, Hermes. A masterpiece, indeed."

And as the first stars began to prickle through the deepening indigo of the sky, you knew, with absolute certainty, that with Hermes by your side, and Apollo's quiet blessings echoing in the background, your story was just beginning, a long and wondrous epic, etched in the stars, forever.

[dxrlingluv]

can you do a if I suck here with you ( sry if I got the name wrong) part 2 where Hermes leaves

Tuesday, Again

A/N : Thank you so much for 400+ followers! I appreciate all of you, so take this Hermes one-shot as a gift! I tried to make it long since it’s been a week since my last post. Enjoy!

Summary : What begins as an absurd, chaotic Tuesday takes an unexpected turn when an ancient god appears in Y/N’s living room. As two vastly different worlds collide, something tender begins to grow between them—something unspoken, fragile, and dangerous. But gods don’t stay, and mortals don’t wait forever. What follows is a quiet ache, a lingering hope, and the question of whether love can transcend time, duty, and the silence between almosts.

WARNING : Angst with a happy ending. Part two of “If I’m stuck here with you”

Word Count : 2.2k

It had been twenty-nine days since the god of speed and mischief crash-landed into your aggressively normal life.

Twenty-nine days of explaining TikTok slang, of Hermes stealing your hoodies, of late-night ramen and arguments over the ethical implications of pineapple on pizza. Twenty-nine days of soft laughter, of glances that lingered a little too long, of fingertips brushing accidentally across a shared bowl of popcorn. Twenty-nine days of building something between you—something bright, fragile, and terrifyingly undefined.

You tried not to name it.

You tried to call it friendship, even when his hand would linger on your shoulder a beat too long, even when he'd tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear with such care it made your heart ache. Even when he watched you like you were a constellation he'd only just discovered and wasn't quite ready to chart.

And Hermes—Hermes tried too.

Tried to joke it away when your hand brushed his on the couch. Tried to laugh when your head fell onto his shoulder as you drifted off during another Studio Ghibli marathon. He tried to ignore the way his chest tightened every time you smiled at him like he was just a man and not a myth. He tried to forget the ticking clock of his immortality, of what he would have to leave behind.

But the world didn't care about feelings that bloomed quietly in cramped apartments over half-burned toast and shared playlists.

Because on the thirtieth day, the sky split open.

You were both standing in the kitchen, arguing over the last mochi ice cream. He was grinning, trying to charm you into giving it up, and you were pretending not to notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Then the air changed.

It crackled, thick with divine energy. The lights flickered. A hum began to rise, low and ancient, vibrating in your bones.

Hermes went still.

"No," he whispered, the mochi forgotten in his hand.

You followed his gaze to the center of the living room. A golden light pulsed in the air, swirling into the shape of a doorway. It shimmered like a mirage, like the surface of a lake just before a storm.

A voice boomed, not with sound but inside your skull:

"Hermes. Return. Olympus calls."

He backed away from it, shaking his head. "No. Not yet. Not like this."

You stared at him, heart pounding. "Is that... is that how you get back?"

He didn't look at you. "It's not supposed to open. Not until I found the proper way. Not until I was ready."

The light pulsed again, brighter. More insistent.

"You have to go, don't you?" you asked, voice barely a whisper.

Still, he didn't meet your eyes.

And that was when your heart began to splinter.

"Hey," you said, reaching out. Your hand caught his wrist. "Look at me. Please."

He turned slowly.

And the look on his face wrecked you.

Because for all his godhood, all his mischief and wit and speed, he looked like a man who was about to lose something he didn't know he couldn't live without until it was too late.

You opened your mouth.

You were going to say it. The thing you'd bitten back so many times before. That these weeks had meant more to you than they should have. That you liked him. That you didn't want him to go.

But then he smiled.

A soft, broken smile.

And he said, "I'm glad I landed here. With you."

You choked on your words.

And then he was gone.

No flash. No sound.

Just empty air where he had stood. The mochi still on the floor. The hum of your electric kettle filling the silence like a dirge.

You didn't cry right away.

You stared at the doorway until it vanished. You stood in your kitchen and felt like you had been erased too.

When the tears finally came, they were silent. Ugly. They soaked the sleeves of the hoodie he'd worn last. You curled up on the couch where he'd tried ramen for the first time, where he'd fallen asleep beside you, his fingers brushing yours.

You played the playlist you'd made together.

The songs sounded hollow now.

Time passed. Days, then weeks.

And you waited.

You left your window cracked open, just in case. You started keeping a second bowl of ramen warm on Tuesdays, sitting in silence and waiting for a shimmer of gold. You refused to touch the last mochi ice cream in the freezer, telling yourself that maybe he'd want it when he came back.

You told yourself he would.

Because gods could bend time and space. Because maybe he'd just been pulled away too quickly, maybe Olympus would let him return. Maybe he felt the same and he was trying, even now, to get back to you.

You clung to every flicker of light that caught strangely on your windowpane. Every gust of wind that sounded like wingbeats.

And slowly, painfully, you built your days around hope.

But time is cruel.

Hope stretched into habit. Habit twisted into ache.

And as the seasons shifted, so did the air around you. The apartment stayed the same—same cluttered shelves, same ramen-stained mugs, same hoodie folded on the couch. But you didn't laugh as easily anymore. You didn't speak to the empty room like you used to.

You still watched the sky every Tuesday.

But you stopped expecting anything from it.

And yet—you never stopped missing him.

Never stopped feeling that hollow just beneath your ribs.

Never stopped sleeping with the winged sandals tucked in a shoebox under your bed, wrapped in an old band tee he once said smelled like you.

Because maybe, one day, the door would open again.

Maybe this time, you'd both say what you were too scared to say.

And maybe—

Maybe you'd finally stop being just a god and a mortal on opposite ends of a story that never finished being written.

But until then, you whispered his name like a secret into your pillow.

And prayed to a god who already knew what it was to be lost.

It was a year later when you saw him again.

The sky had cracked with thunder at the exact same hour he had left.

You ran outside barefoot, heart a grenade of hope and pain, lungs seizing as you scanned the clouds for something—anything.

There, high above the skyline, you saw a figure.

Not flying. Just watching.

Hermes.

His silhouette was unmistakable. Wings unfurled, gold glinting like memory.

But he didn't move.

Didn't come down.

You stood there in the rain, mouth open, eyes wide, waiting for him to leap down, to smile, to say your name.

But he didn't.

You took a step forward.

He took one back.

His eyes, when they met yours across the wind, were full of something worse than sorrow.

Regret.

Then he was gone.

Gone again.

This time, without a word.

And this time, you did cry. Right there in the street. In front of the neighbors. In front of the sky.

Because now you knew.

He remembered.

He saw you.

He still left.

And some heartbreaks don't come from being forgotten.

Some come from knowing you were remembered, and still not enough.

Somewhere beyond the clouds, Olympus burned gold in twilight.

Hermes sat at the edge of a marble balcony, legs dangling into the sky, watching the mortal world below.

Your world.

In his palm was a crumpled photo you'd printed for him the week before he left—a blurry Polaroid of the two of you laughing in front of a claw machine. He'd tucked it into the folds of his robes and carried it back with him, even when Zeus demanded he drop all mortal trinkets.

He hadn't.

He kept it hidden.

He kept everything hidden.

Because loving you meant remembering you. And remembering you made him slow. Made him fragile. Made him question whether immortality was worth it if it meant lifetimes without your voice.

He had watched you every Tuesday.

He had wanted to return every single time.

But gods have duties. And Olympus is not a place that lets go of its own.

So he did the only thing he could.

He watched you from afar. Knowing he had broken something pure. Something sacred.

And he wondered if perhaps that was the punishment for a god who thought he could ever be human.

Back in your apartment, things slowly changed.

You started saying his name less. You boxed up the hoodie. You touched the sandals less often.

You started painting again. Badly, but it felt right.

You let someone new make you laugh, months later, over iced coffee and shared silence.

But every Tuesday, you still looked up at the sky.

Not to wait.

Just to remember.

Weeks blurred into months, and months circled back into a second year.

You tried. You really did.

You dated a little. You picked up painting. You bought new mugs and stopped saving ramen packets in the drawer "just in case." Your therapist said that was growth. Your friends said that was healing. You said nothing at all, except to yourself, quietly, late at night when the wind passed through the city with a whisper that felt like wingbeats.

Tuesdays still hurt.

But they weren't jagged like before. The pain dulled, grew soft around the edges, like sea glass ground down by time.

You stopped checking the sky every time the thunder cracked. You didn't stock a second bowl of ramen anymore. But still, sometimes, you left your window cracked open. Just a sliver. Just in case.

And far above, in the timeless halls of Olympus, Hermes ached.

He had become quieter. Less mischievous. His travels were mechanical now—deliver this, retrieve that, announce, declare, repeat.

He still carried the Polaroid.

He still saw you sometimes, when he dared. You in your window, or dancing in your socks while you cooked, or laughing with someone else. Someone mortal. Someone not him.

It hurt. It always hurt.

But he told himself he deserved it.

Until the day Zeus summoned him with thunder in his voice and fire in his eyes.

"You have become slow, my son. Distracted."

Hermes bowed. "I am still swift where it matters."

"And yet your gaze lingers where it should not."

Hermes lifted his eyes, tired and burning. "What punishment would you prefer? That I pluck out the part of me that learned to love something beyond this mountaintop?"

Silence fell.

Zeus did not strike him down.

Instead, Hera appeared. And she looked at him long, and she said, simply:

"Go."

Hermes blinked. "What?"

"Leave," Hera said. "If the world below holds your heart, then go to it. See what kind of god you are without Olympus."

"But I—"

"It will not wait forever."

He didn't.

He didn't stop to pack or think or breathe. The world blurred in gold light, wind whipping around him as he descended.

It was a Tuesday.

You had a cup of chamomile tea in your hand and a half-finished painting on your lap. The city was quiet, unusually so. No sirens. No barking dogs. Just the low hum of life, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

You didn't hear the sound at first. Not really. Just felt the air shift. Like a breath inhaled deeply by the sky.

And then the gold light came.

Not violent. Not sudden.

Just warm.

Just... gentle.

You turned slowly. Your mug fell. You didn't even hear it shatter.

He stood there.

Hermes.

In jeans. In the black t-shirt you gave him. In the winged sandals.

And his eyes—his eyes were the same.

You couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

He took one step forward, and then another.

"You remember when I told you I was glad I landed here?"

Your lip trembled. You nodded.

"I never stopped being glad. Not for a second. Not even when I left. Not even when I saw you hurting and knew I couldn't come down."

Your breath hitched. "Then why did you leave?"

"Because gods aren't supposed to fall in love with mortals."

"But... you did?"

He nodded.

And then you were in his arms, and he was real, and warm, and trembling.

"I never said it," you whispered into his chest. "I wanted to. So many times. But I was scared."

"So was I," he murmured. "But not anymore."

You pulled back just enough to look into his face. His cheeks were wet. Yours too.

"Say it," you said.

Hermes smiled, and it was the kind of smile that remakes worlds.

"I love you, Y/N."

The world didn't explode. The sky didn't fall.

But your heart burst open like spring.

You said it back.

Again, and again, and again.

Hermes never returned to Olympus.

Not in the way they expected. He visited. He fulfilled what duties he could. But his home was no longer marble halls and divine thrones.

His home was ramen and art supplies and Tuesday evenings on your rooftop, watching the stars.

The sky still cracked with thunder sometimes. But now, it only made you laugh.

Because love, you learned, was not always a lightning strike.

Sometimes, it was a god with winged shoes who learned how to stay.

And on the third Tuesday of the third year, when he pulled out a small, gold ring and asked if he could spend every mortal moment by your side—you said yes before he finished asking.

No hesitation.

Just love.

At last.

[dxrlingluv]

happy gfs WIFE day to my honey bunch sugar plum crushie wushie bubby cakes baby doll pretty girl lovey dovey cutie patootie wifey sweetie darling puppy eyed adorable beautiful gracious gorgeous astounding immaculate ethereal jaw dropping inspiring wife oddy. 😝💗

Awwww stopppp 😩💗 you're gonna make me melt into a big puddle of blushy wifey goo!! Happy wife day to you too, dreamy sugar muffin snuggle bug sweetie pie love of my LIFE!!!

If being adorable was a crime, you'd be serving a life sentence with no chance of parole istg. NOW C’MERE and gimme a kiss before I combust from all this cuteness overload.

[dxrlingluv]

*not trying to harass you with fish pictures but here’s some fish fry (Dalmatian Molly babies) they are all from the same…litter? Group at least (14! These are just the ones I could photograph)

Very friendly too and adorable ☺️ (this last picture is a baby guppy from a different litter)

Stop ittt they're literally so tiny I could cry 😭😭 those little Dalmatian Mollys are TOO cute, I can’t believe there’s 14 of them?! That’s not a litter, that’s a whole community. And that yellow guppy at the end?? Adorable. He knows he’s cute too. Thanks for blessing my eyes with this, please do share more!!! (Sorry I’m a sucker for animals)

[dxrlingluv]

HI ODDY!! I have a request 💚 💚 (and i was wondering can I reblog this??)

Can you write an angst to fluff Hermes x reader wherein they get into this huge fight and reader storms off? After that they get injured and go missing then hermes finds them! Then he tends to reader's wounds but he's not being- well- hermes. He's silent; he's serious; he's keeping himself from crying. When he's done taking care of the wounds, there's silence for a few seconds until reader speaks then hermes just cries and apologizes then they make up and they say i love you-

IM SORRY IF THIS ISN'T COHERENT- and please take your time and focus on your studies as well as rest!! (You're the best hermes writer!! ❤❤❤) THANK YOU SO VERY MUCHH 🙇‍♀️💚

And yet, I still ran to You

A/N : Hi, darling! Thank you so much for requesting this beautiful masterpiece. You are always free to reblog any of my stories, there’s no need to ask. I apologize if this comes off as rushed, I tried my best to make it great!

Summary : You and Hermes fight. You storm off. Then you go missing—and when he finally finds you broken and bleeding, he realizes what truly matters.

WARNING : Angst with comfort, emotional breakdown, injuries, bleeding. GN!Reader.

Word Count : 2.1k

The air in your small villa, usually filled with the scent of olive oil lamps and the sound of Hermes' easy laughter, was thick with a bitter silence. The embers in the hearth had died down to a dull, sullen orange, mirroring the dying warmth between you. Hours ago, there had been shared wine and soft whispers. Now, a chasm lay between you, and Hermes stood on the far side of it, his form rigid, his golden eyes clouded over.

"You twist my words," he said, his voice a low, dangerous hum. His caduceus, which often rested against the wall like a common walking stick, was gripped tightly in his hand, the serpents coiled as if sensing his master's agitation.

"Do I?" you countered, wrapping your arms around yourself. It did little to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. "You vanished for five days, Hermes. Five days. Not a whisper on the wind, not a dream, not a single sign. I prayed at your temple until my knees were raw. I thought you were injured... or worse." The final words were a breath of pure fear.

"My duties are not always simple," he retorted, his voice rising with a frustration that echoed the crackle of the dying fire. "I was in the Underworld, delivering a message to the Queen of that realm herself. Do you think she would have looked kindly upon me pausing my vital work to send a reassurance to the mortal world?"

"That is not what I ask, and you know it!" You threw your hands up, the gesture sharp and desperate. "I ask for a moment of foresight! A simple, 'My love, I must journey to a dark place and cannot say when I will return.' Is that so much to ask? To not be left to the mercy of my own terrifying imagination?"

"The paths I walk are fraught with peril you cannot comprehend! I shield you from the details of my life to keep you safe, to keep this place," he gestured around the simple, peaceful room, "a sanctuary, untouched by the horrors I sometimes witness."

"A sanctuary?" Your laugh was a brittle, broken thing. "Or a cage? It feels as though you live a life of cosmic importance, of divine weight, and I am but a footnote in your story. A quiet harbor you visit when the storms of your true life have passed."

The instant the words were spoken, you wished you could snatch them back from the air. The hurt that washed over his features was stark and immediate. His jaw clenched, and the golden freckles scattered across his nose, the ones you loved to count, seemed to stand out against his suddenly pale skin.

"A footnote?" he repeated, his voice hollow with disbelief. "You believe... you believe your place in my life is that of a footnote?"

"Hermes, I..." you stammered, the fire of your anger extinguished by a wave of cold regret. "That's not how I meant it."

"No, I think it is," he said, his voice regaining its edge, but now it was honed with a deep, cutting pain. "If that is how you see the life we have built... then perhaps you are right. Perhaps you would be better off without a god dropping in to disrupt your peace."

The finality in his tone was like a physical blow. Tears pricked your eyes, hot and sharp. "Fine," you choked out, the word tasting of ash and sorrow. "Perhaps I would."

Without another look at him, you spun around, grabbing a simple woolen cloak from its peg by the door. You fled the villa, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind you, its boom echoing the shattering of your own heart.

You ran, with no destination in mind, only the desperate need to escape the suffocating pain in that room. The familiar path leading away from the village dissolved into the untamed wilds, the looming shadows of the ancient forest swallowing you whole. The moon was a sliver in the sky, offering little light. Your mind was a tempest, replaying his wounded expression, your own cruel words echoing back at you. A footnote. How could you have said that to the being who treated you like you were the sun itself?

The anger had long since burned away, leaving only the cold, heavy stone of regret in your gut. He moved between worlds for you, defied convention for you, loved you with a fierce tenderness that was the center of your world. And you had wounded him deeply.

Blinded by tears and lost in thought, your foot snagged on a thick, gnarled root hidden in the darkness. You cried out as you were pitched forward, tumbling down a steep, rocky embankment. Your body scraped against rough bark and sharp stones before a jarring impact with a fallen log brought you to a halt.

Pain, white-hot and absolute, flared from your ankle. Gasping, you pushed yourself into a sitting position. In the faint moonlight, you could see the unnatural angle of your foot and the dark, steady welling of blood from a deep gash on your leg. A wave of dizziness and cold dread washed over you. You were alone, wounded, in a forest filled with things that hunted in the night.

"Hermes," you sobbed into the oppressive darkness, the name a desperate, hopeless prayer.

Hermes remained motionless in the villa long after you had gone. The silence was a living thing, pressing in on him, filled with the echo of your last, terrible words. He sank onto a stool by the cold hearth, his head in his hands, the caduceus lying forgotten on the stone floor. A footnote. Was that how he made you feel? He, who had once rerouted the path of a minor river because its babbling disturbed your sleep? He, who traveled at the speed of thought, but always, always, made his way back to you as if drawn by an unbreakable tether?

The knowledge that he was the cause of your pain was a torment worse than any punishment Zeus could devise. An hour crept by. Then another. The moon rose, casting pale, ghostly light through the open window. A knot of deep unease began to tighten in his chest. You were strong-willed, but you never stayed away for long.

The unease curdled into a cold, sharp fear. He stood, his movements stiff, and called your name into the quiet corners of the villa. The only answer was the whisper of the wind. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses, searching for the warm, bright spark of your soul that was his constant north star. He couldn't find it. It was as if you had been extinguished.

Raw panic, an emotion he rarely felt, clawed at him. He was out the door in a golden streak, a blur against the moonlit landscape. He swept through the sleeping village, a silent, desperate wind. He checked the agora, the temple, the homes of the few friends you kept. Nothing.

His fear honed itself into a terrifying certainty. Something was wrong. He shot into the sky, his divine sight piercing the darkness, scanning the rolling hills and the black expanse of the forest. His mind was a frantic prayer, repeating your name. He pushed his power to its limits, his senses spreading like a net across the land, desperate for the faintest trace of you.

And then, he felt it. A tiny, flickering ember of life, laced with the sharp, metallic tang of pain and fear. It was faint, dangerously so, but it was you.

He moved so fast the air itself seemed to tear. He landed in the forest with a force that shook the trees, his eyes wild as he scanned the treacherous terrain. He followed the pull, the desperate call of his heart to yours, moving through the undergrowth with a speed and grace that was utterly inhuman.

He found you huddled at the base of the embankment, your cloak soaked with dew, your face pale as bone in the moonlight. The sight of you, so small and broken against the massive log, shattered him. For a single, agonizing moment, the Messenger of the Gods could not move, could not breathe, frozen by the sight of his injured love.

He was at your side in the next heartbeat, falling to his knees in the damp earth. "Y/N," he choked out, his voice raw.

You looked up, your eyes wide and glassy. "Hermes."

He said nothing more. His face became a mask of grim, terrible focus. The playful trickster was gone, replaced by a god facing his greatest fear. His jaw was set, his brow furrowed in a way you had never seen. You could see the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control, as if physically holding back a scream of rage or a torrent of grief.

With movements that were frighteningly precise, he began to tend to your wounds. He summoned bandages and salves from the air, his hands working with an unnerving efficiency. He cleaned the gash on your leg, and you could see him flinch as if he felt the sting of it himself, though his expression remained like carved stone. He was not your Hermes. This was a being of immense power, stripped bare of all artifice, his entire focus narrowed to the task of mending what he believed he had broken.

You watched, mesmerized and terrified, as he worked. You could see the tremor in his hands that he was trying so hard to hide. You saw the glisten of tears in his eyes as he concentrated on wrapping your leg, his gaze fixed on the wound, refusing to meet yours. He was holding himself together by the sheer force of his will, and the effort was costing him everything.

After setting and splinting your ankle with a practiced touch, he finally sat back on his heels. The task was done. He stared at his hands, now smeared with your blood and the dark soil, and said nothing. The silence of the forest rushed back in, heavy and absolute.

The sight of his silent, restrained agony was more than you could bear. A sob ripped from your chest, loud and ragged in the stillness. "Hermes, I am so sorry," you wept, the tears finally breaking free. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. You are my whole story. You are my everything. Please... please look at me."

Your broken plea was the thing that finally undid him. His shoulders sagged, and a strangled sound escaped his lips. He looked up, and the control he had maintained shattered into a million pieces. Tears streamed from his beautiful eyes, carving clean paths through the grime on his face.

He lunged forward, gathering you into his arms with exquisite care, burying his face in the curve of your neck. You felt his whole body tremble with the force of his silent, wrenching sobs.

"I thought you were gone," he whispered, his voice thick and broken against your skin. "I could not find you, and I thought... because of my pride, because of a foolish, angry fight... I had lost you. That I had let the darkness take you."

He pulled back just enough to frame your face with his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your tear-stained cheeks. His eyes, raw and red-rimmed, held a love so powerful it felt like the dawn breaking.

"Never think you are a footnote," he said, his voice shaking with the force of his conviction. "You are the heart of the story. You are the home I return to from every dark road and every gilded hall. You are the reason any of it has meaning. Without you, I am just... running."

"I love you," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "I love you so much. I was so afraid, and I used my words as weapons."

"I love you," he answered, the words a sacred vow. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. "And I am sorry. I am sorry I closed you out. I will not hide my burdens from you again. We will face them together."

He sealed the promise with a kiss. It was not the kiss of a god, but of a man who had been given back his entire world. It was tender, deep, and salty with the taste of their shared tears.

When he finally drew back, the faintest hint of his true smile touched his lips, a small sunrise after a long night. "Come," he murmured. "Let’s go home."

He lifted you into his arms as if you weighed nothing, holding you against his chest like the most precious thing in all the cosmos. And as he rose into the silent, waiting sky, carrying you away from the pain and the darkness, you knew with absolute certainty that in his world, you were.

[dxrlingluv]

hiii!! as my favourite hermes writer i would like to see your take on the trope of hermes x circes nymph!reader (forbidden romance maybe???) anyways please take your time getting to this request

Aiaia’s Heart

A/N : This is such a beautiful request, anon. Also thank you so much! I really appreciate being your fav Hermes writer. I am itching to draw the part where Circe told Y/N that she’s proud AHHH!!!

WARNING : Slight angst, forbidden love (it worked out in the end), mentions of past relationship of Hermes and Circe. Fem!Nymph!Reader.

Word Count : 1.4k

You knew every inch of Aiaia like your own skin. The island was your cradle, your sanctuary, your whole world. You were Y/N, an Oread not bound to a single peak but to this island itself, the very stone and root and salt air of it. Circe found you ages ago, a weeping, trembling thing in a mossy grotto, and she took you in. Raised you. Loved you.

The world might call her a monster. A sorceress. A cautionary tale. But to you, she was just... Mom. Her voice was warm honey and smoke. Her loom sang all day long, weaving not just fabric but stories. And in the in-between moments, she taught you which herbs healed, which burned, and which could turn a man into a wolf.

Your days were gentle, quiet, repetitive. You didn't mind. You tended to the garden, collected rare flowers that only bloomed under moonlight, helped with potions that smelled like summer and death. You spoke to the wolves—men turned beasts by Circe's magic—and they watched over you with almost human protectiveness. They knew you were hers.

You were content. Or you told yourself you were.

But sometimes you'd stand on the highest cliff, where the sea stretched out forever, and something would ache. It wasn't sadness. Not exactly. It was more like... curiosity. A hollow that whispered there was more beyond the mist. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see it.

And then one day, something changed.

You were down by the beach, picking through shells, when the air shimmered. At first you thought it was heat, but then it moved, bending the world like water. A figure stepped out of it—graceful, impossible, real.

He was lean, confident, with a crooked smile like he'd just told a joke only he understood. He had wings—on his sandals, and a cap perched on his curls. A staff with twining serpents hung from one hand.

Hermes.

You knew the name. You'd heard it from Circe, always in a clipped tone. Messenger. Trickster. God.

His eyes landed on you, and that grin widened. "Well, hello," he said. "A rare treasure on the shore. I nearly mistook you for a pearl."

Your breath caught. You clutched the shell to your chest, suddenly aware of every inch of your skin, the salt on your lips.

He walked toward you with maddening ease. "You must be one of hers," he added. "I can see it in you. An Oread, right? Though not one I've met before."

You managed a small nod. "Yes."

"I'm Hermes," he said, like he didn't already know you knew. He gave a little bow, theatrical and silly. "I'm here with a message. For the Lady of Aiaia."

Before you could answer, you heard her.

"He knows the way."

You turned, heart sinking. Circe stood at the edge of the trees, her arms crossed, her expression stone. The lion at her side had risen, eyes fixed on the god.

Hermes's smile didn't vanish, but something behind it tightened. "Circe," he said. "Still radiant."

"Still full of poison," she shot back. Her gaze flicked to you—soft for a breath—and then back to him. "Y/N. Come here."

You obeyed, crossing to her side without thinking.

"Say what you came to say," Circe told him. "And leave."

Hermes held up his hands, all mock innocence. "As the lady wishes."

But before he vanished, he glanced at you again. And something passed in that look—a spark, a promise, a maybe.

Circe's hand gripped your shoulder, grounding you. "Stay away from him," she said quietly, but with steel. "He's not for you."

You wanted to ask why. But something about the way her voice trembled stopped you.

He didn't leave.

He was supposed to, but somehow the message "took time." Circe was furious for days. You stayed out of the villa, letting her anger cool.

And Hermes? He found you again. Of course he did.

You were picking sage in the high meadow when he just appeared again, leaning on an olive tree like he'd been there all morning.

"Aiaia's little herbalist," he said with a grin. "You make this whole place more beautiful."

You startled, but stayed still. "Lady Circe said not to talk to you."

"She says a lot of things," he replied. "Most of them true, many of them not. I'm not asking for much. Just... tell me about this flower."

So you did.

And that became a thing.

He'd find you—by the spring, in the grotto, near the cliffs. He never went near the villa. But the rest of the island? It became yours.

He brought gifts. Little things. A snowflake that didn't melt. A feather from a bird you'd never seen. A stone the color of the sky at midnight.

You gave him olive crowns and flowers that only bloomed on your island. He listened like your words mattered. Like you mattered.

And eventually, you fell for him.

How could you not?

Circe knew.

You didn't need to say it. She saw it in the way you smiled at nothing. In the way you burned the stew. In the way your heart had drifted.

She tried to keep you close. Gave you chores. Held you longer during spells. Watched you like she was waiting for something to break.

And then she spoke.

"He will leave," she said one evening, not looking up from her loom. "And you will be left behind."

You didn't argue. Not because you agreed. But because you knew it came from pain. You didn't know what had happened between them—but something had.

"He collects people," she said, soft and bitter. "He doesn't stay. And you—" she turned to you then, her eyes wet but fierce—"You are not a souvenir."

The night of the full moon, it all came to a head.

You met Hermes on the cliff, the wind still and the sea silver under the stars. He wove starlight through your hair. Not a trick. Not a seduction. Just... something gentle. Something real.

"I have to go soon," he said, not meeting your eyes. "Zeus is calling. The world doesn't stop turning."

You felt the ache hit before you could speak.

"I will come back," he added quickly. "This isn't goodbye. You're not... just a stop on the road. You're the road now. The reason."

When he kissed you, it wasn't heat or hunger—it was promise. You wanted to believe it. You did.

"I love you," he said.

"I love—"

Then—

“So it’s true.”

Circe's voice cracked like thunder.

You both turned. Her fury was a storm.

"I let you walk this land again, and this is what you do? You touch what isn't yours?"

Hermes stepped in front of you, protective.

"Circe, it's not like that—"

"Not like what?" she snapped. "Not like before? You left me hollow once. I won't let you do it to her."

She was shaking, not with weakness but rage. And grief.

"She's mine," she said. "My daughter. The one thing I did right (imagine the other nymphs hearing this). You don't get to turn her into another forgotten tale."

You couldn't stay silent anymore.

You stepped forward, out of Hermes's shadow, heart pounding. "Stop."

They did.

You looked at Circe first. "I love you. And I know you're scared. But you can't protect me from every fall. I have to live, Mom. You taught me how. Let me." Then you turned to Hermes. "She's not wrong. You left scars. You don't fix that by saying pretty things. You want to be here? Prove it."

The silence after was long and hard.

Hermes stepped toward Circe, quiet and open. "I was careless. I won't pretend otherwise. I hurt you, and I didn't look back. I'm sorry. But I won't hurt her. I swear."

Circe studied him, then you.

Finally, she let out a breath. "You're barred from my home, Hermes. But not from the island. If you come back... it better be with actions, not words."

She turned to you, brushed your cheek. "You've grown," she whispered. "And I'm so proud."

Then she left.

Hermes didn't speak right away. He just looked at you, then smiled—small, real.

"I'll earn it," he said. "I swear."

He kissed your forehead.

Then he vanished with a shimmer and a sigh.

You stayed there for a while, letting the sea breeze cool your flushed face. And then you went home.

The loom was moving again.

Aiaia was quiet. But it wasn't the same song anymore. There was a new note in it now—a quiet hope, still waiting to bloom.

[dxrlingluv]

ahem ahem *hold the mic*

size kink w zeus or Poseidon x short/ fem reader

*drops the mic and run away*

My Little Mortal

A/N : I don’t know how to go about this, but slay. Thank you so much for requesting!

WARNING : Fem!Reader, NSFW / Smut, size kink, size difference, slight dacryphilia, breeding kink (Poseidon), possessive behavior, overstimulation, slight degradation, praise kink, light fear kink (Poseidon), orgasm control / edging (implied), rough sex, mild dub-con tones.

Word Count : 1.7k

ZEUS

You weren't supposed to wander that far up the mountain.

But your curiosity, much like the sudden lightning that cracked overhead, had a habit of striking before your senses caught up.

You'd heard the rumors. That the summit of Mount Olympus—its true summit—was hidden to mortals, cloaked by divine power. You didn't believe it, not really. Not until you stepped through that blinding mist and found yourself face to chest with a man.

No. A god.

"Lost, little one?"

His voice thundered, low and velvety, carrying more power in its roll than the stormclouds brewing behind him. His smile, though, was sharp—playful, hungry. Zeus stood there, tall as the sky, broad as a temple's pillars, and you... you barely reached his ribs.

You should've run. Should've apologized. But you just stared.

"I—I didn't mean to—"

Zeus leaned down, silver curls tumbling forward, his golden eyes glowing like twin suns. His index finger traced your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to crane your neck just to meet his gaze.

"Didn't mean to?" he echoed, amused. "You climbed a divine mountain, walked into my domain uninvited, and dared to look at me like that. Either you're incredibly brave..." His grin widened. "Or you're begging for trouble."

His finger trailed lower, down your throat, pausing over your fluttering pulse.

You swallowed.

"I didn't mean to disturb—"

"Oh, but you did. And now..." He straightened to his full, towering height, looking down at you like you were a curiosity. "You'll have to face the consequences."

Your breath hitched as he extended his hand. Lightning crackled at his fingertips—not threatening, but pulsing with heat. You hesitated. Then, without fully understanding why, you took it.

In a flash, you were no longer on the mountain.

The air changed. The ground beneath you became plush, silken, impossibly soft. You blinked up and realized you were now in a chamber—gilded, glowing, ancient. The clouds floated beneath the marble floor, and stormlight flickered along the walls.

Zeus circled you like a predator, unhurried.

"You're so... small," he murmured, voice thick with interest. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to hold back around creatures like you?"

His hand slid around your waist. His fingers spanned your entire back, the contrast in size sending heat pooling in your core. His palm covered almost your whole torso.

"I won't break," you whispered, unsure where the courage came from.

A beat of silence. Then, a dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Oh, darling. I very much intend to test that theory."

You gasped as your back hit the bed—a bed larger than any you'd ever seen. Zeus hovered above you, the god of thunder himself, every inch of him carved like lightning had shaped him personally. He removed his robe slowly, deliberately, watching your reactions like he was reading your soul.

And when he bared himself to you—massive, overwhelming—you went still.

He was enormous. Divine in every sense. Every part of him radiated power. Including that part.

Zeus noticed the way your legs clenched.

"Too much?" he teased.

You licked your lips, heart pounding. "We'll see."

The first touch was electric—literally. Sparks danced along your skin wherever he kissed, wherever he dragged his tongue. His hands explored every curve of your body, worshipping you with godly reverence and unrelenting need. He whispered about how soft you were, how easily he could pick you up, how irresistible your mortal heat was compared to the cold of Olympus.

When he slid his fingers into you—just two—you arched off the bed, already stretched. Already trembling.

"So tight," he purred. "You'll barely be able to take me."

"Then go slow."

"Oh no, little one," he growled. "You came all this way. Let's see if your mortal body can handle the storm."

And when he finally pressed himself against you, large and pulsing, your fingers dug into his shoulders. The stretch was unbearable. Euphoric. A blend of too much and not enough.

You cried out. He grunted, pressing kisses to your jaw, your collarbone, your breasts.

"That's it. Take me. Let me ruin that tiny body."

Your nails scraped his skin—his glowing, godly skin—and he didn't stop. He moved deep, slow, savoring every trembling gasp, every whimper. Your moans echoed like thunder across the divine walls. His thrusts were careful, but intense, rocking the entire chamber, shaking the clouds themselves.

"You feel me here?" he asked, one massive palm pressing gently against your lower belly.

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes from the pressure.

"Good. That's where I belong."

The pleasure mounted, violent and crackling. His size, his power, the way he overwhelmed your senses—it all built like a storm rolling in.

"Come for me," he whispered, "Come with your god inside you."

And you shattered.

The lightning outside exploded in tandem with your cries, a divine orgasm ripping through you as Zeus held you tightly, possessively. He spilled into you with a roar of satisfaction, like the thunderclap announcing victory.

After, as your body curled against his massive frame, he chuckled into your hair.

"Next time, mortal," he said, voice still rumbling with pleasure, "Don't pretend you got lost. Just come straight to me."

You smiled against his chest, knowing there would be a next time.

POSEIDON

The sea had always called to you.

You didn't know why. You weren't a sailor. You weren't raised by the shore. Yet you found yourself there every week—ankles in the surf, wind in your hair, heart aching with a longing you couldn't name.

It was on the seventh visit that the ocean answered back.

A wave surged suddenly—not crashing, but rising. Towering. Impossible. You stumbled back, eyes wide. The wave shimmered unnaturally, its crest shaped like a hand before it split... and from it emerged a man.

No. A god.

Poseidon.

He stepped onto the shore like he owned it—because he did. The ocean churned behind him, obeying every motion of his bare, salt-kissed skin. He was colossal. Muscles like waves sculpted from stone, his long dark hair dripping seawater onto his broad shoulders. He looked down at you, eyes glowing the color of deep ocean trenches.

"You've been calling me," he said, voice dark and guttural, echoing like a tide in your bones.

You swallowed hard. "I haven't—"

"You have," he growled, stepping closer. The sand trembled under his weight. "Every time you stood at the edge. Every time you begged silently for more. You summoned me."

Your heart thundered. "I didn't mean to."

Poseidon smirked.

"Good. Because now you're mine."

You were in the water before you realized he'd moved—before you could move. The ocean had reached out, cradling you, dragging you under but not drowning you. You weren't cold. You weren't even wet. The sea bent itself to his will—and Poseidon bent you to his.

The chamber you now found yourself in wasn't made of marble or stone. It was made of coral and light, glowing with bioluminescent blues and greens. Pearls dotted the walls, and water moved like curtains around you.

Poseidon stood before you, dripping, divine, and devastatingly large.

You could feel his power rolling off him in waves. It wasn't just divine—it was feral. Ancient. Primordial.

"You're so small," he muttered, lifting you up like you weighed nothing. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open in the air. "So breakable. So... tempting."

He pressed you against the smooth wall of sea glass and let your legs dangle around his waist. His hips slotted between yours naturally, and you gasped at the thickness of him pressing into your soaked core.

You felt dwarfed, tiny, consumed. And gods, you wanted more.

"You're trembling," he whispered, licking along your jaw. "Are you afraid?"

You were.

And aroused.

Poseidon grinned, as if he tasted your fear.

"Good."

When he finally pushed into you—slowly, inch by thick, overwhelming inch—you cried out.

It hurt.

It burned.

But you never wanted him to stop.

"You'll take it," he growled into your throat. "All of it. I'll stretch this mortal cunt until you can only breathe through me."

He filled you too deep. Too wide. His cock throbbed inside you as your muscles clamped tight around him, struggling to adjust. Your back arched against the wall, but he held you firmly in place, one massive hand splayed across your belly.

"Look at that," he murmured, almost proud. "I can see myself through you."

Your eyes rolled back.

"Too much?" he mocked, but his voice softened slightly. He kissed your collarbone, then the top of your breasts. "You'll get used to it."

He pulled back—almost out—then slammed forward.

You screamed.

The ocean outside the coral chamber churned, glowing brighter.

He began to thrust, powerful and slow at first, watching the way your small frame absorbed every punishing roll of his hips. His grip bruised your thighs, his breath turned ragged, and you felt like you were being shattered and remade with each snap of his hips.

"You were made for this," he growled. "Made to be stretched open by a god. Mine. All mine."

You babbled something incoherent—his name, a plea, a moan—your voice wrecked by pleasure.

He bent forward, licking into your mouth like the sea itself was claiming you.

"I'll breed you full of me," he growled. "Mark you from the inside. Fill your tiny womb until it overflows. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Your hands dug into his shoulders. "Yes—please—Poseidon—!"

He fucked you like the tide—unrelenting, rhythmic, rising. Your body barely kept up, and when your orgasm hit, it cracked through your spine like lightning.

But Poseidon wasn't done.

He kept going—harder, deeper, overwhelming—and you felt yourself falling apart again, sobbing his name, your body shaking from the intensity. He chased his own climax with primal abandon, hips stuttering as he spilled into you with a roar that made the entire ocean quake.

When it ended, he held you.

Tight. Possessive. Breathing hard.

Your body trembled in his arms—sore, overstretched, and impossibly full.

He kissed your temple.

"You're mine now," he whispered. "And I'll drown any who touch you."

[dxrlingluv]

chat i miss my wife so much.☹️

this is literally me and oddy guys CANON *ahem ahem*

LITERALLY US — and you know what happens next. *wink*

Sorry chat my lesbian side is showing, and it’s getting wild.

[dxrlingluv]

Please. Fuck me.

A/N : Was requested by an anonymous! I have two versions of this. I was thinking about posting it after this one, but idk… Let me know in the comments if I should post it!

WARNING : Fem!goddess!reader, purely NSFW (18+ only), blowjob (m receiving), riding, dominant!reader, sub!Hermes, marking, begging, overstimulation, power play, divine setting, light possessiveness, praise/degradation mix, aftercare hint.

Word Count : 829

Hermes dropped to one knee the moment he arrived at your temple.

You barely needed to glance over your shoulder to feel his need thrumming in the air like a storm about to break. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, exhaustion clinging to him like dew. He'd been summoned by half the pantheon today—carrying messages, trading secrets, smoothing chaos with that clever tongue of his.

But the second his duties ended, he came straight to you.

"My lady," he said, voice tight with restraint, his gaze cast downward. "I have completed every task. I—" he hesitated, shifting his weight subtly. "I ache. And I can't stop thinking of you."

You rose from your carved stone seat, your robes shifting as you approached him, each step echoing through the temple's sacred silence. You could already see the evidence of his want—his trembling fingers, the barely hidden bulge beneath his belt, the pulse fluttering at his throat.

"You're a god," you murmured, circling him. "Yet look at you. Kneeling. Begging. You'd crawl for this, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Gladly. For you."

He didn't resist when you pushed him back onto the temple dais, flat on his back. The marble was cold against his skin, but your gaze set him ablaze. With a flick of your wrist, you summoned his garments to fall away—divine cloth pooling beside him like discarded offerings. His cock was already straining, leaking, desperate.

"Greedy," you murmured, stepping between his legs. "You show up filthy with need and expect to be rewarded?"

"I need you," he said, the words barely a whisper. "Let me feel your mouth, please. Let me serve."

You smiled at that—he didn't even realize how deeply he had submitted. You gripped the base of him, squeezing just enough to make him cry out.

"Be still," you commanded.

And he obeyed.

You lowered your head slowly, your lips brushing the tip of his cock before you took him into your mouth inch by agonizing inch. His gasp rang through the temple, sharp and helpless. You suckled him gently at first, letting your tongue trace divine lines along his shaft, savoring his taste, his reactions.

His thighs tensed. He barely managed not to buck up into you. Your hand pressed firmly on his hip as a warning.

He whimpered. "Please—please, goddess—"

You hollowed your cheeks and swallowed around him.

Hermes writhed, his hands clawing at the stone beside him, desperate for something to hold onto, something to ground him. You could feel how close he was, already trembling at the edge.

When you finally pulled back, his cock slipped from your lips with a wet sound. You wiped your mouth lazily, watching him blink up at you like he'd been thrown into another realm.

"You don't get to come like that," you whispered. "I want to feel you break beneath me."

His breath caught. "Yes. Please."

You climbed atop him, straddling his hips. With one hand, you gripped his jaw, tilting his head back so he had no choice but to look at you—at the goddess who now owned every piece of him.

"I will ride you until your voice is hoarse," you promised. "And when you're nothing but wrecked and marked and trembling, then you'll be allowed to fall apart."

You guided him inside you in one slow thrust. Both of you gasped, but it was Hermes who broke first—his lips parted, eyes fluttering shut, body arching toward yours.

You rode him deliberately, grinding down with each roll of your hips, watching how he strained not to move. His hands hovered near your waist, aching to grab, to thrust, to worship—but he knew better. He belonged to you in this moment. His pleasure, his release, his body—all of it was yours to command.

You dragged your nails down his chest, biting into his neck, shoulder, anything you could reach. Divine skin reddened under your attention. You left teeth marks just below his collarbone, a constellation of bruises scattered along his throat.

"Say it," you growled against his ear. "Who do you belong to?"

"You," he cried. "Only you. Please—let me—please—"

You clenched around him and leaned in, your breath hot against his lips. "Come for me."

He shattered.

His cry echoed off the temple walls as he spilled inside you, his body trembling, every muscle taut. He clung to the edge of sanity, sobbing your name, mouth parted, eyes wide in blissful ruin.

You didn't stop until he was twitching beneath you, begging softly through gasps. When you finally slowed, you looked down at your handiwork: Hermes, the swift-footed god, now breathless and spent, his divine body covered in marks that would not fade for days.

You cupped his cheek gently, thumb brushing his swollen lower lip.

"You did well," you whispered.

And in his dazed, wrecked state, Hermes smiled like he'd just been blessed with the stars themselves.

[dxrlingluv]

HELLO ODDY DEAREST!!I LOVE YOUR WORK SMM💖 i hope you've been well, mwamwaa! Your top fan, aina hereee 😝,, May I request a Jealous!Antinous x Tele's Sister!Reader smut please? :3

it could be likee,, reader and antinous are in a secret relationship after ody comes back home (bro miraculously survives), antinous learns that reader's been getting more suitorsss,, yk something like that 😭 THANK U BB !! 💖

Branded

A/N : Thank you, my love, for requesting this beautiful masterpiece. Also, if it’s not obvious enough, I have no idea how to make up a good title for my stories. If anyone could give advices, I would really appreciate it! Antinous art is from Duvetbox.

WARNING : Smut, slight angst if you squirt. Dom!Antinous.

Word Count : 2.1k

The great hall of Ithaca, once a den of boorish thieves, was a royal court once more. The scent of spilled wine and greasy smoke had been replaced by beeswax, polished wood, and the faint, salty air drifting in from the sea. Your father, Odysseus, sat upon his throne, his presence a heavy, grounding force that had finally brought order to the island. Your brother, Telemachus, stood at his side, no longer a boy but a prince who had earned his place. Your mother, Penelope, was a vision of serene grace, her weaving telling stories of triumph now, not sorrow.

Everything was perfect. A storybook ending.

Except for the ghost who haunted the palace. And the secret you held tight in your heart, a secret that would shatter this perfect picture into a thousand pieces.

Antinous.

He had survived. In a moment of political calculation your father called "mercy," the ringleader of the suitors had been spared the arrow. After a spectacle of begging, groveling, and swearing eternal fealty on the graves of his ancestors, he was allowed to live. But not to leave. He was a prisoner in all but name, confined to the palace grounds, his family's power and wealth holding him in a gilded cage to ensure the loyalty of the other nobles. He was a shadow, a whisper in the corridors, his once-blazing arrogance banked to a cold, watchful ember.

And he was yours.

Your love had been a secret, forbidden bloom even before your father's return, born from stolen glances and whispered words in moonlit gardens. You had seen past the swaggering pride to the fierce, passionate man beneath. In the tense, strange peace of your father's new reign, that love had become a desperate, secret solace. A lifeline.

Today, that lifeline was stretched to its breaking point.

You were seated on a cushioned stool near your mother, the picture of a dutiful princess. Before you stood Philoetius the Younger, a suitor from Zakynthos. He was handsome, obscenely wealthy, and praised for his skill with a chariot. He spoke of his lands, his herds, his devotion to the gods. He was, by all accounts, a perfect match for the daughter of the King of Ithaca. And as he smiled at you, his teeth white and even, you felt nothing but a rising tide of nausea.

Because across the hall, leaning against a marble column half-hidden in shadow, was Antinous.

He was dressed simply, the fine silks and gold he once favored replaced by the plain, dark tunic of a man with no status. But it couldn't hide the coiled power in his frame, the broad set of his shoulders, or the sheer, dangerous intensity of his presence. He wasn't looking at the suitor; he was looking at you. His dark eyes were chips of obsidian, and his handsome face, the face you traced in your dreams, was a mask of such cold, possessive fury that a shiver traced its way down your spine.

He knew. He was watching this man try to court you, and the jealousy radiating from him was a palpable force, a poison that seeped into the very air between you.

You offered the suitor a tight, polite smile, your mind racing. "Your lands sound bountiful, my lord," you murmured, the words tasting like ash. "You honor our house with your visit."

As soon as protocol allowed, you excused yourself, claiming a sudden headache. You didn't dare look in Antinous's direction, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back as you fled the great hall. You didn't go to your chambers. You went to his.

His rooms were small, tucked away in a disused wing of the palace. The cage within the cage. You slipped through the door without knocking, closing it firmly behind you and leaning against the solid wood, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He was waiting for you, standing in the center of the spartan room. He hadn't moved, yet he seemed to fill the entire space with his rage.

"A headache?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, a low rumble that promised violence. "Or did the brilliance of your new admirer simply become too much for you?"

"Antinous, please," you whispered.

"Please what?" He took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. "Please allow you to entertain the next rich lord who comes sniffing at your door? Am I to stand in the shadows and watch you smile at him, fluttering your lashes as he describes the fine sons he will give you?"

"It is not my choice! It is my father's will."

"And you are the dutiful daughter." The words were a sneer. He was in front of you now, close enough for you to feel the heat coming off his body. He braced his hands on the door on either side of your head, trapping you completely. His dark eyes bored into yours, filled with a terrifying mix of jealousy and pain. "Did you like him, Y/n? Did his talk of chariots and herds thrill you? Are you already imagining yourself as his queen?"

"You know I am not," you said, your voice shaking. "I want no one but you."

His expression wavered for a fraction of a second, the cold fury giving way to a raw, desperate vulnerability. That was the truth of it. He had lost everything—his ambition, his pride, his freedom. You were all he had left. The thought of losing you was not just a heartbreak; it was an annihilation.

"Then prove it," he growled, his voice thick with emotion. He lowered his head, his lips crashing down on yours.

This was not one of your gentle, stolen kisses. This was a kiss of pure, desperate possession. It was angry and punishing, his mouth hard and demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You gasped, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. All the frustration, all the jealousy, all the fear he felt was poured into that kiss. And you met it with your own desperation, your hands coming up to tangle in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss only to press his mouth to your neck, his lips hot against your skin. "Mine," he snarled, and you felt the sharp sting of his teeth as he bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a definite, angry mark on the sensitive flesh just below your ear. "You are mine. Not his. Not your father's to give away."

His hands moved from the door to your body, gripping your waist with a bruising force. He spun you around and pressed you face-first against the rough wood of the door, hiking your chiton and peplos up with an impatient rustle of fabric. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered in anticipation.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice a guttural rasp in your ear as his hand splayed across your bottom, squeezing one cheek hard. His other hand worked at the lacing of his own trousers.

"I'm yours," you choked out, your mind already spinning. "Only yours."

"Who do you belong to?" he pressed, his hot breath ghosting across the mark he'd just made on your neck.

"To you. I belong to Antinous."

The sound of his release of breath, a shuddering sigh of satisfaction, was your only warning. You felt the thick, hot head of his cock press against your entrance. He was massive, and in his anger, he seemed even larger. He wasn't using any oil, and you were slick with arousal but tight with a nervous tension. It didn't matter. He wanted to possess you, to fill you so completely there was no room for thoughts of anyone else.

He shoved into you with a single, powerful thrust.

A sharp cry tore from your throat, a sound that was half pain, half exquisite pleasure. He was huge, stretching you, filling you to your very womb. You could feel every thick inch of him inside you. He paused for a moment, letting you feel his complete possession, his body pressed flush against your back, his hand gripping your hip to hold you pinned against the door.

"Feel that?" he whispered hoarsely, his lips against your ear. "That is me. No other man will ever feel this. No other man will ever fill you like this. You were made for me."

Then he began to move.

His thrusts were punishing, a savage rhythm driven by jealousy and fear. He slammed into you again and again, his pace fast and brutal, forcing a choked gasp from you with every deep, powerful stroke. Your head fell forward, your forehead resting against the cool wood of the door as you gave yourself over to the onslaught. This was what he needed—to fuck the thought of any other man out of your head, to brand you with his body, to reclaim you in the most primal way possible.

And gods, you needed it too. You met his desperate rhythm, tilting your hips back to take him even deeper, your own hands pressing against the door for leverage. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours filled the small room, a raw, wet, percussive sound that was utterly obscene.

"Did you smile for him?" he grunted, his pace becoming frantic. "Did you imagine his hands on you?"

"No," you cried out, your voice strained. "Only you, Antinous. Always you!"

Your confession seemed to break something in him. The rhythm of his thrusts changed, the anger bleeding away, replaced by a deep, desperate passion. The movements became slower, deeper, each one a deliberate act of love and possession. He pulled almost all the way out before sinking back into you, stretching you, stroking a secret, sensitive spot deep inside you that he knew better than you did yourself.

"Gods, Y/n," he groaned, burying his face in your hair. "What you do to me."

He reached around with his free hand, his long fingers finding your clit through your damp folds. He began to rub you with a firm, knowing pressure, perfectly in time with his deep, rolling thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. Your vision began to starburst. The feeling of being so completely filled from behind, of his thick cock hitting your cervix with every powerful lurch, combined with the skilled attention of his fingers, was sending you over the edge.

"Antinous, I'm close," you panted, your body trembling violently.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice thick with his own impending release. "Let me feel you fall apart around me."

He sped up his rhythm, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts becoming powerful and driving again. Your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike. Your back arched, your inner muscles clenching violently around his cock, milking him. You screamed his name, a high, keening sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Your climax triggered his own. With a final, deep, guttural roar, he drove into you one last time, his body going rigid as he emptied himself deep inside you, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful, pulsing waves.

For a long moment, he stayed there, buried to the hilt inside you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release. His forehead rested on your shoulder, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear. The rage was gone. All that was left was the man, vulnerable and trembling, clinging to the only good thing in his shattered life.

Slowly, he withdrew from you, the feeling of emptiness almost as profound as the feeling of fullness had been. He turned you around gently, his eyes, now clear of rage, searching your face. He saw the mark on your neck, his own thumb coming up to trace it with a look of regret.

He didn't speak. He simply lifted you into his arms and carried you to his narrow bed, laying you down on the rough-spun sheets. He lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms and legs around you, cocooning you. He held you tightly, as if he was afraid you might vanish.

He buried his face in your hair, his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your head.

"Promise me," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, stripped of all its former arrogance. "Promise me you will not let them give you to another. Promise me you are mine."

You tilted your head back, looking into his dark, desperate eyes. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin.

"I promise," you breathed, and in the quiet of his small, lonely room, it felt like the most sacred vow you could ever make. "I am yours."

[dxrlingluv]

Update!

Hi! It’s me, Oddy. I’d like to announce that from now on, I’ll be choosing requests that interest me first. Of course, I’ll still prioritize the oldest requests, but to avoid getting bored or unmotivated, I’m going to start doing the ones that catch my attention. That’s all—thank you!

[dxrlingluv]

Not a request but the Hermes fic ‘I Will Come Back, Always’ had me giggling in bed and kicking my feet. Absolutely LOVED it! Hermes being serious? Hermes being protective? Hermes showing his sneaky side? PLUCKING A SMALL FEATHER FROM HIS SHOES??

The way you described Apollo’s divinity? The pressure on a mere mortal?? 1000000/10, I hope you continue it or continue writing more for Hermes.

All of your work is amazing but idk this fic stood out to me from all the others (I’ve always been a Hermes simp ever since the Percy Jackson books)

Thank you so much for this absolutely lovely message! It genuinely made me smile. I had such a great time writing that Hermes fic—he’s such a layered character, and I’m thrilled you picked up on all the little details (especially the feather!).

Your excitement means a lot, and—just between us—Hermes might have a bit more story left to tell. Keep an eye out. 😉