Masterlist

when lana del rey said, "open me up; tell me you like it. fuck me to death. love me until i love myself," and when olivie blake wrote, "gideon felt unopened and raw, like he’d cracked his chest in two and presented the evidence for nico’s evaluation," and when micah nemerever wrote, "he wanted to break julian’s body open and move inside it alongside him, rib cages interlaced around a single heart."

the ocean's daughter

victoria de angelis x fem!reader

synopsis: while on holiday in italy, an encounter derails your life enough to make you pack up on a whim and move to the very city in which you first saw her — the ocean's daughter.

warnings: swearing; alcohol consumption; drowning as a metaphor; my terrible attempts at roman dialect & italian; mild, fade-to-black smut (please dni if this makes you uncomfortable, or is not the kind of content you signed up for :))

word count: 5.7k

a/n: after a brief (okay, so, nine months) lapse in writing for måneskin, i am back!! i hope you can forgive my lack of interaction with you all, as my first year of university was a busy one. please take this fic as an apology and an attempt to wheedle my way back into your hearts <3

⭒

The problem with beautiful people in foreign countries is that there is absolutely no way you might ever run into them again, even by pure coincidence. 

But you couldn’t get her out of your head. 

Walking along the shoreline as the sun set over an unnamed beach on the Italian Riviera coastline, the light turning her skin and her hair to gold, the whole world forgotten as she reached out a hand to touch the waves which crested at her side, as though the ocean were walking with her. Everything was golden at this time of day, but nothing shone like her. 

And oh, how she delighted in the life about her, as though this day, and every day hence, were the best of her life. 

It was not an unnamed beach on the Italian Riviera coastline because you could not remember its name, or had never known it, but simply because it was so small a stretch between the colourful buildings hiking up the cliff face that no one had thought to name it. 

You thought of it now as her beach, the woman you’d seen, illuminated in sunlight like it loved her too much to let her go, if even for a moment. 

La sua spiaggia. 

You hadn’t spoken Italian, until you’d come back from Italy and enrolled in Elementary Italian at the public university close to where you lived. 

You couldn’t get her out of your head — the way she’d laughed, made her way along the shore and sung as though she was speaking to the water, its rush and flow, a tempest contained within each wave. 

Now you were in class every Wednesday night, repeating sentences and sounding as stupid as could be, but you forewent every shade of embarrassment for determination, and never had you been so fixated on anything in your life, to gain understanding of the language in which this woman had spoken. Because it seemed to you that the waves had composed their melody in the image of her voice, and you wanted to know how to speak like that, to be the waves beneath her fingertips. 

You knew you sounded crazy, and possibly were crazy, but for some unfathomable reason, you didn’t care. 

You couldn’t get her out of your head, and so be it. You were happier for it, the memory of her flirting with the sun, the sun blushing deep in the evening sky. And who could have blamed the sun? You would have blushed too.

When the night grew dark earlier in winter, you curled up on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around you, and watched Italian movies without subtitles. 

Most of the films were dramas, often romantic, because these were the most easily accessible in any language. 

In summer, you sat outside in the garden and drank wine, listening to a radio that played Italian music. 

Most of the music was mellow, but occasionally, the host announced some sort of rock band, and amidst the quiet calm of traditional ballads, you relished the uncomplicated anger and infatuation of the rock music. There was something accessible to that, too. Something universal and simple. 

It was the simplicity you appreciated, perhaps mostly because there was little of it in learning a new language. That which is sparse is precious, like the sunlight in her hair at the end of the day. Like the moments in which she had been in your life, so quickly gone, like a dream grasped at in waking. 

Had she ever been there at all?

She had. You held onto that memory like a lifeline. 

Every day, it got you up in the morning. Silly, for something so small to have an impact so great, and yet, it did. 

There she was, in your mind, every time you thought you could no longer take what the world threw at you. Smiling, the sun setting on the water. 

Dancing, the ocean’s daughter. 

⭒

A year down the line, and you were back aboard a plane. You’d bought your ticket and packed your bags and were heading back to Italy, this time for good. 

Each day, you’d spent hours learning, practising, perfecting, but one could only go so far in a classroom setting. All the people you knew who spoke more than one language had said the same thing, the same thing that your teachers had said: the best way to learn was through immersion. 

You’d spoken at length with your work superiors, and they had verified that it was no trouble for you to work remotely. Having nothing you would miss too much in your homeland, you’d decided it was time for a change, and a new start, at that. 

What better way to start anew than to cast yourself into the abyss of the unknown, off to a place you’d never lived, to speak a language you’d only just learnt to speak? 

To find a woman you didn’t know, for but her laughter and her golden hair.

At this thought, you laughed a little yourself. In part, you recognised the madness of your endeavour. But mostly, your vision was too foolishly rose-tinted, with dreams that dallied only just out of your reach, and you thought that if only you could reach them, all would be right. 

Such was the nature of a dreaming heart, a hopeful mind. Had you been a character of Greek myth, it would have been your Achilles’ heel. 

The city lights glittered outside of your window.

⭒

You collapsed on your bed with a heavy sigh. It was of tiredness, it was content. 

Beyond the window, the black sand beaches of Cinque Terre shimmered in the setting sun, the town alight with the fiery light of evening. The turquoise ocean turned tangerine in the fading day, and you thought almost that you could hear the water lapping against the rocky edges of the cliff face upon which the village was built.

Riomaggiore. 

Built up like biscuit tins in a hundred different colours, abundant in boats constructed for fishing and places meant for sitting and looking out over the wide world. There was a quiet age in the winding streets, lined with plants and people, buildings as old as time. 

It smelt of salt and bread, lemon and olives and basil, of the best pesto you’d ever tasted — at the bar tucked away beneath residential balconies, between stone-paved streets — of wine and sea air. It prickled on your lips.

 With those thoughts lingering in your head, you decided it was time for dinner, and got up from the bed to change. 

Afterall, it was almost nine o’clock, and therefore the perfect time to eat. 

⭒

You ended up at a quaint little place with wicker chairs and wooden tables, crowded beneath parasols that remained up in the evening as much as in the day. Amongst these parasols were strung warm paper lanterns which made all beneath them glow, continuing the endless sunshine of summer into the night. 

Having been shown to a little table in a corner, with a view of the darkening ocean, you ordered a glass of wine in Italian clearly more fluent than the waiter had expected. 

“Parli molto bene l'italiano,” he complimented you. He then proceeded to ask, in a conversational manner, where you were from and what brought you here, to which you answered with continued fluency, and he replied again how good the accent was with which you spoke. 

 You carried a companionable conversation with the waiter for a handful of minutes, until he apologised for not yet having brought you your wine, and also for having other tables to attend. 

He brought your wine after a short interval, along with a small decanter of water, and a basket of bread with oil and balsamico. 

With this acquired, you sat back in your chair and contemplated the menu. It was written entirely in Italian, indicative of a restaurant not much frequented by tourists. You were pleased to realise you had no trouble reading it. 

After a while, however, you began to struggle. Not because you didn’t understand the words on the card before you, but because you felt the tingling sensation of someone’s eyes on you. 

Tilting the booklet slowly, you peered over the top of it in what you hoped was a surreptitious manner. 

But when your eyes fell upon the other pair in question, you all but dropped the menu to the ground. 

Because leaned back in a wicker chair only two tables away, sunglasses perched atop her blonde hair beneath the cover of the table parasol, was the one person you’d come here hoping, beyond all reckless and silly hope, to see in the first place. 

The ocean’s daughter canted her head, and tipped a finger against her lips. 

“I know you,” she said, in careful English.

You sputtered, “Pardon?”

She smiled enigmatically, with a soft-curving mouth and gently crinkling eyes that were lit in a way that betrayed mischief, or some secret knowledge. 

“I know you,” she repeated. “You were on the beach, last time I was here.”

You blinked, searching for something to say. Anything, to respond vaguely in the affirmative, without giving away exactly how much you had thought about this golden stranger since you last had seen her. “You don’t live here?”

“Not in Riomaggiore, no.” She smiled again. “I’m from Rome. But you’re not from here, either.”

You laughed. “What gave it away?”

She was drinking Peroni from a bottle, and at your question, she picked this up, stood, and swept over to your table. She sat down in the chair across from you. 

“There,” she said. “Now we don’t have to shout at each other.”

Mildly surprised at her coming to sit down with you, and with your question still hanging in the air, you stared at her. 

“Just a good guess, is all,” she answered finally, lifting a shoulder. “And, you answered naturally in English.” She reached out her hand. “I’m Victoria.”

You shook her hand and gave her your name. Her skin was soft, a blushy pink. Her eyes churned with the colour of the waves that had danced beneath her fingertips a year ago.

“Well, Y/N, what brings you to Riomaggiore for the second summer in a row?”

“I could ask you the same,” you countered. 

Victoria leaned back again. She had a curious look in her eyes that you couldn’t place. 

“I asked you first,” she said wryly, folding her arms. The strength in her grace was not lost on you; doubtless, her arms were strong. 

Mirroring her action of earlier, you sipped your drink. So went the saying, ‘imitation is the highest form of flattery,’ but not only that: you knew that mirror neurons had a direct link to the brain chemistry involved in romance. 

You’d pushed the first pawn across the chess board. The next move was hers. 

“For the pesto,” you replied. 

She laughed succinctly. “And here I’d thought you’d come here for the same reason as me.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Which was?”

The corner of her mouth turned up slowly. “To find you, of course.” 

She lifted the glass bottle to her lips. Her eyes did not leave yours.

Oh she’d moved her piece all right. 

You looked out over the sea so as to not look at her, to not reveal how her words had affected you. But of course, in the sea, you saw her. 

Abruptly, the waiter returned, saving you from making a response. He seemed surprised that there were two patrons where before there had only been one, but he took it in stride and asked whether you’d had time to consider the menu. 

You nodded, but it was Victoria who spoke first. 

“Avremo la pasta al pesto, per favore.” 

The waiter looked between you, “Entrambi?” Were you ordering the same thing?

Victoria looked at you, in askance. 

You squared your shoulders. “Certo,” you told the waiter.

“Bene,” he said, and informed you that it would not be a long wait. Then he left. 

You turned to Victoria. “How did you recognise me? I was just sitting on the beach.”

“You were staring at me.”

Recalling that day, there had been many people staring at her. You told her as much. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “but none so beautiful as you. I would have noticed you anywhere.”

You baulked at this. Victoria was the kind of person people noticed. You were not. 

“You’re a little intimidating, you know,” she said, to which you frowned. “I think that’s why you think people don’t notice you.” 

Then, as though privy to your thoughts, she expanded upon her own. She seemed to have a knack for reading you. 

“You think people don’t notice you, because they don’t necessarily talk to you. But I think they don’t talk to you, because they are intimidated. I could not imagine not noticing you.”

You felt a little light-headed at her words, an unfathomable thrill washing over you like a tide. “Then you are the first person brave enough to speak.”

Victoria’s eyes glinted puckishly. “I take pride in that.”

The sun sank farther in the sky, turning the water red and rouging Victoria’s cheeks till tiny freckles stood out beneath her eyes, over her nose, upon her lower lip. She smiled coyly, and you realised you were staring again. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled with a half-laugh. 

“No,” she shook her head. “Look at me all you like.” A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, and she pushed the fringe from out her eyes. You nearly reached over to do it for her. 

“Makes me feel warm,” she said quietly, like a confession. 

Paradoxically, there were goose bumps raised along her arms.

“You look cold to me,” you responded. 

She wrinkled her nose. “Sea air, sun going down, no suffocating heat like Rome in the summer.”

Standing, you shrugged off your cardigan and side-stepped the table, reaching her side. She watched you move in silence.

“May I?” you asked, holding out the cardigan. 

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Nodded. 

You sank halfway into a crouch, and draped the garment over her shoulders, pulling the edges around her to meet at her throat. 

Suddenly, time had slowed to a dripping treacle, and you were hyper aware of her eyes tracking your movements, eyelashes low on her cheeks, of the rise and fall of her chest, breath suddenly shallow. There was a slight flush to her skin, though it was golden, touched by sunlight. Those faint freckles on her face traced a speckled path down her neck, over her collarbone and farther still, past where the open collar of her shirt fluttered over her breasts — only just hidden by the white cotton fabric. 

“My eyes are up here, cuore,” she said smugly, and the clichedness of the line shattered your trance as the fever of embarrassment rose beneath your skin.

“Yes, I — ”

“Pasta al pesto per due?”

You started at the voice of the waiter, practically falling into your chair as you stepped back to your side of the table. 

Victoria seemed unfazed. “Sì, grazie mille,” she smiled up at him. 

The waiter smiled tightly as he set down the plates. “Parmigiano?” 

“No, grazie,” you said, wanting him simply to leave as soon as possible and spare you further embarrassment. 

“Più vino? Birra?”

“No, no, grazie.” You did not want more wine. You wanted him to leave. Now.

Victoria was leaned back in her chair again, still beaming. “Prenderò un'altra birra, per favore.”

“Certo,” said the waiter, and left, equally as fast as you’d wished him to. 

You were leaning your forehead on the palm of your hand, still reeling from the embarrassment of the waiter witnessing your fawning over Victoria. 

But you took a breath and composed yourself, picking up your fork for something to do with your hands. 

“So, tell me about Rome,” you inquired of Victoria, without looking up from your food. 

But she gave a little laugh, and before you knew it, her hands were over yours. 

You looked up. 

“Not like that, cara.” She took your hand, and stabbed the trofie — pasta pieces wound into long, tight coils — properly. “And when it’s spaghetti or linguine, you twist, no spoon.”

She let go of your hands, but you felt the warmth of them still. You could scarcely remember how to breathe with the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. 

She picked up her own fork and speared the pasta. 

“You can call me Vic, if you like,” she said. Then, “Rome. Hot, this time of year. Lots of tourists.”

You laughed, partly because the way she had phrased it was amusing, and partly to diffuse the sudden tension which had come between you just before. “You dislike it that much?”

“No, I was just being realistic. But I suppose you want the sun-soaked boulevards and flowerpots and music.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Victoria nodded. “And there is that too. Rome’s a little bit of both. Isn’t everything?”

“Both optimistic and pessimistic?”

She pointed her fork at you. “Exact.”

“Exactly?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Shut up, I know I’m not fluent in English.”

You swallowed your pasta, waving a hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to seem like I expected that of you. But I also didn’t want to assume that you weren’t fluent just because you’re Italian.”

A strange expression came across Victoria’s face, something between surprise and admiration. 

“Thank you,” she answered laconically, her voice soft as though her gratitude should have been secret. 

Once more lost for words, you could do nothing but nod, and push another pile of trofie onto the tines of your fork. 

The two of you ate quietly for a while — because Victoria suddenly could not look at you, and you still knew not what to say. The wind blew through the cobblestone corridors of Riomaggiore, and stars in the sky began to replace the sparkling of the ocean surface by sunset. You could smell mingled spirits and spices, hear laughter and chatter in a dozen different languages. The chatter was different; the laughter sounded the same in every language. 

Victoria’s fork clattered to her empty plate, momentarily startling you. 

She took a breath. “Do you want to do something crazy?”

You put the last piece of pasta into your mouth, chewed, swallowed, your heart beating fast at the unspoken promise held by her words. “Like what?”

“Like leave, now that we’ve finished eating.”

Your eyes widened, and you lowered your voice. “Victoria, if you saw me, a tourist, leaving a restaurant after finishing dinner, you’d be horrified. This is Italy. You don’t just leave after eating.”

The smile that twisted your insides graced her pink-red lips again. She leaned forward, and your eyes darted involuntarily to her mouth. Her eyes were a thousand different shades of blue.

“Told you it was crazy.”

Then she straightened up again, stuck a hand into her pocket, retrieved a bundle of plastic Euros, placed them on the table beneath a glass, and once more extended her hand to you. 

There was a command in the action, and you obeyed. 

When her hand was in yours again, it felt like sanctity, a warm flush spreading through your body at her innocent touch. 

She drew you up from your chair, and before you knew what was happening, she was holding your hand like the memory of her that had held you enraptured for a year, and you were running through the streets of a seaside village, your footsteps loud, your laughter resonant in your belly, in your chest and your lungs, upon your lips. 

You ran and ran, hand in hand, and if anybody had asked, you wouldn’t have known how to explain the energy which had suddenly made a rollercoaster of your veins. 

The streets wove and turned like a labyrinth, like a web, and all these strings ran in one direction: to the sea. 

It was only when there was sand in between your toes that you realised that you had reached the end of the road. You kicked your shoes off without a thought, as Victoria discarded her borrowed cardigan into the sandy dunes.

And then she was pulling you toward the rushing waves and the dying sun ever and ever closer to the horizon, and the water was sloshing up over your ankles, your calves. 

Another laugh burst forth from your chest, and you turned to splash Victoria. 

She shrieked, because the day had been hot, but the water was still cold, and the difference was jarring. 

When she looked at you, her hair was soaking wet, bangs dripping down her face like the water that had made her makeup run, and somehow, she was even more beautiful now, in what should have been ruin but instead was triumph, like every grain of sand on her hands was residual stardust from her soul, though still was nothing when compared to the light in her eyes. The laughter was still warm in your chest.

She shivered, and your moment of trance shattered like sugar glass. You took her hand this time. 

“Come on,” you said, leading out of the water like she was Venus born of a Botticelli vision. “Let’s go dance this cold away.”

Against your own, her pulse fluttered, and her clammy palm in yours, with its calloused fingertips and short-cut nails, was suddenly the most important thing ever entrusted to you. 

You swallowed, before letting go of her hand to put your shoes back on. She sat down beside you.

“Y-you like to dance?” Her wide eyes were wider beneath the smudged makeup. The devious glint in them was gone as she shivered, the sun nearly gone now. 

I could learn to love anything if I was with you, you thought. It was a dangerous thought, to be told. You dared not speak it aloud. 

You pulled on your cardigan, but only to drag the sleeve down over your wrist and press it carefully under her eyes, blotting away the remnants of mascara. 

Her eyes closed slowly, and you breathed in tandem to the sound of the breaking waves. 

You tugged off your cardigan again, and set it around her shoulders once more before she had the chance to protest. 

When she opened her eyes again, her lips parted too. She might have leaned in, if you hadn’t spoken then. 

“When in Riomaggiore…” you murmured, and were rewarded with her gentle laughter. 

Victoria stood and pulled you up. When you were fully on your feet, she nearly lost her balance, but you caught her arms before she fell to the sand, and instead she fell against your chest. 

Her breath was on your collarbone, laboured — presumably from the adrenaline rush of the ground disappearing from beneath her feet. Her fingers were against your back, curled to keep herself standing. 

Already your thoughts were gone from the beach, from the light still left on its shore, deep now in the midnight dark that would soon follow, fast-forwarded to a fantasy, of her body against yours, every part of her as soft as the skin of her palms, and flushed a pretty pink, her open mouth against your collarbone, your fingers in her hair, her fingers on your back drawing the visceral, unspeakable sounds from your mouth. 

The seaspray brought you back to reality. 

But apparently Victoria’s thoughts had been lost as well, because now it was not her breath on your collarbone, but her lips, and you weren’t dreaming that she was kissing you there. 

Your breath had gone shallow in the space of milliseconds, and her mouth moved up to linger on your neck, your jaw, your cheek. Her arms were wrapped around you, and that open-collared shirt was against your chest, warmth bleeding from her to you. 

Finally you could take it no longer. You took her face in your hands and pressed your mouth to her mouth.

When you kissed her, she tasted of salt and wheat and sugar. Her lips were soft and warm as the summer air, and when your fingers tangled in her hair, her hands were on your elbows and your heart was in your mouth. 

You were kissing a stranger in a foreign land, and you felt as though you’d known her forever, disintegrating in her arms like salt in the sun as her kiss came up to meet you like a wave, and you couldn’t remember the right way to breathe. There was nothing left to your identity for but the memory of what it was to kiss her, and else nothing mattered. You would not have cared, if this ocean’s daughter had drowned you. You would have gone willingly to that watery grave. And had she tried to leave you, you would have traded your soul to have even a moment more of hers.

Because here it was: your heart, exposed in how you held her, how desperately you kissed her. 

How much you adored her, after knowing her so little. 

She angled her head and her teeth bruised your lip as she deepened the kiss, eliciting a gasp from you. You thought she might have laughed — softly, behind your mouth — a quiet, secret laughter meant only for your ears, and new heat surged through you at the thought. 

She was only kissing you, and yet, she was tearing you asunder. Pulling you apart at the seams with only her touch. 

“Vic,” you breathed, and it was all you managed. 

You were staggering back, falling against the sand, and she was pressing evanescent kisses to every square centimetre of your skin, and you’d never felt so alive in your life, with the heat of her body against yours and her pulse against your own like a metronome gone rogue. 

“Fuck dancing,” she murmured, between kisses. “I want you.”

Her words were like an open flame to oxygen, burning inside of you. 

Her lips touched your earlobe. “Do you want me?” she whispered. 

“Yes,” you replied, heart thundering. 

And you had been trying to play down your attraction to her, to hide it so that she wouldn’t see how much everything she did affected you — when she bit her lip and you wished it was your teeth instead of hers, that coy smile she always turned to the ground like she knew exactly what it was doing to you, her long fingers drumming on the table, already in time with your pulse. 

And now there was nothing subtle about it. 

Her hand was in yours, and you were running again, up into the town, pushing her against an alleyway wall to steal a kiss as she asked, 

“Mine or yours?”

“Unless you’re one street over too, then mine is closer.”

Her laughter tickled your lips, seaspray in the wind. “That eager?”

“You kissed me first.”

“Touché,” she whispered, her breath coming sharp and short against your mouth, sticky with her lipstick, warm with her scent, her touch. 

The last of the climb to your rented rooms was a stumble, Victoria pressing messy kisses to your shoulder, into the crook of your elbow, as you fumbled for your keys and tried, impossibly, to keep quiet.

By the time the two of you stumbled through the door, she had unbuttoned your trousers, and had your blouse in her fist. You reached for her and found yourself bare for but your bra and underwear, while Victoria retained only her white shirt and panties. 

You paused. 

Slowly, as her chest rose and fell, she took your hands and guided them to the buttons at the ridge of her breasts, and slowly, you unbuttoned the few remaining, tantalising buttons of her white shirt, letting the garment fall to the ground like a flag. Like surrender.

You stared at her for heartbeats, in awe of how she breathed and obsessed with the way she moved. 

Then, as though she could wait no longer, she crushed you against her and kissed you, sucking your lower lip into your mouth and biting down, evoking from you a desperate whimper, for anything more of her that you could get — all of her, if she would give it to you. 

You drew back from her lips to kiss the rest of her, pushing her into the mattress to press your mouth to every bit of skin you could find. When her fingers found your hair and pulled, your kiss left a bruise on her neck, and then her shoulder, before she pushed you down on the mattress and your thighs apart. 

Her palm was already there for you when you groaned, and you felt her smile of satisfaction against your mouth when her fingers brushed over your clothed folds. 

“God,” she murmured, “you’re so pretty when you know what you want.” 

You managed only a hoarse whisper in return. “Then give it to me.”

She laughed and it tickled your skin, and then your bra was gone as well, and her fingers were curled around the elastic of your underwear. She took too long for your liking, and you pushed her hand, leaving yourself exposed to her mercy and the cool night air.

But she was merciful if nothing else, this ocean’s daughter, and her fingers were inside of you before you could utter another plea. 

Already she needed no guidance, played you like the strings of a harp with a flick of her wrist and those long, gently curling fingers. 

Her eyes never left yours, half-lidded in the same haze you felt cloud your mind when she touched you, when your back arched up from the already untidy sheets, when her other hand travelled up your thigh and your stomach, finding a resting place beneath your breasts as she pushed you into the bed, held you there as you writhed. 

When you came, you pulled her down with you until the moon sank into the sky as well, until the sun dawdled once more on the horizon. 

And perhaps, you thought, this was where the moon and sun went in those small hours of the night when neither could be seen by those still awake on Earth — they were together, entwined in a beautiful, impossible duality of silver and gold, at last unfettered by human imagination. 

⭒

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered Victoria. Remembered her breath as it whispered against your legs, her lips the inside of your thighs. Already, the memories were imprinted upon your mind like whorls of sand, and on your tongue the salt of her demise as she’d gasped beneath your touch with her head tipped back in ecstasy — and god, she had been so unfathomably pretty. Endlessly so.

Now, you reached out to touch her, to sweep the gold strands from the eyes of your very own gold dust woman. But the sheets were empty.

Fear gripped your heart in a sudden vice, that she should have left you with so little, so early, so soon. 

But the light trailed her still in the wake of morning, and as your eyes followed it, you found her outside, leaning against the railing of your balcony, summer-sunshine hair falling down her back, her legs still bare though her upper half was hidden by your cardigan — and oh, how good she looked in your clothes. You wanted to see her like that all the time. 

Slipping out of bed, you took a leaf from her book and tugged on her long white shirt, before pattering out onto the balcony. 

She turned at the sound of your approach, and smiled sleepily. Her hair floated atop her shoulders, over her back and her chest in waterfalling waves, blonde strands twining messily and yet perfectly in what could easily have been sunbeams, returning to her as though she were the very star they had awaited all along.

“Buongiorno,” she murmured. The wide blue sky arced above her head, and the streets below your balcony had begun to crescendo in the sounds of waking, the morning routines of a thousand strangers beneath your feet, the waves washing ever over the shores in their ethereal clockwork.

“Morning,” you replied. It appeared she was only wearing your cardigan and her underwear, and in her shirt and your own underwear, you were no better. Your heart filled with lightness at the thought that she should be so uninhibited in your presence. No one had ever been so easily open with you before. 

She held out a hand as you drew nearer, and you slid your fingers into hers. Before you could react, she pulled you flush against her, wrapping her arms around you and kissing you, ardently but achingly slow like the dawning day, lips tender but her hold on you fierce, as though she could not have let go had she tried. 

Her hand came to rest on your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. 

“I want you to know,” she said breathlessly, “that this is not all I wanted from you. I just couldn’t help myself.” Your pulse quickened, the strings of your heart tying themselves in knots. “I want everything of you, if you want that too.”

A smile found its way to your face, and you wound your fingers through hers. She looked down at your intertwined hands, and you fell apart a little at the fond look on her face. 

“I do.”

Her hands slid to your waist as she came to stand behind you, with her chin leaned on your shoulder and her gaze returned to the view beyond the balcony, though you felt her lips briefly touch the space between your neck and collarbone. 

The daughter of the ocean, in your arms at last.

You knew little about her, still. But summer held many days yet, and when she turned and smiled at you in the sunshine of the new day, you knew that she would give every day to you, if only you asked.

⭒

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A LOVER'S FOLLY

"THEY DIE FOR LOVE —YOU KILL FOR IT."

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PAIRINGS: Astarion & Female Reader

TAGS: 18+ sexual content (eventually), idiots in love, mutual pining, friends to lovers, contains Baldur’s Gate 3 spoilers!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, the Astarion/BG3 brain rot got too much so I had to write a fic about it. Hope you enjoy! :)

MASTERLIST

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PLAYLISTS:

magnificent bastard!

a lover's folly

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CHAPTERS:

bleed you dry

the rogue tax

if thoughts could tease

fear of losing it

painful vulnerabilities

i care for you

where's your patience?*

i'm starving, darling

in unfair hands we're dealt

a foolish lover's offering

guard dog

go slow

deliverance, deliver me

i'll crawl home to her

my love is mine, all mine

*chapter 16 coming soon!

I read your recent Levi fic and I absolutely love your writing??? May I request a canon verse Levi fic too? A fic where the reader is Levi's wife and she visits him at the survey corps and a lot of the people are in awe of her and are shocked finding out the husband she's looking for is Levi? Just some funny fluff! Bonus points for the reader being more soft and affectionate in public with him so we have a cute embarrassed Levi LOL tysm!

The Wife

Levi Ackerman x Reader (Mayyybe some Erwin x Reader?)

Summary: : A particularly breathtaking woman has decided to visit, and gossip is strife in the Scouting Legion.

Warnings: SFW / mentions of a miscarriage

Wordcount: 7.1K

Genre: Tooth rotting FLUFF

A/N: EEEKK this took soo long! But thank you for appreciating my scribbles, anon! I try :> Also, I absolutely LIVE for this request, I'm so glad you asked for it <3

Maria's Scribblings MASTERLIST

Depending on who you are, Sundays in the Scouting Legion either meant you get to finally have your once a week visit to go home and see your family, or-- if you’re Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Ymir, Christa, Reiner, and Bertholdt-- you don’t have a family to go home to, and so you get to spend Sundays lazing around and keeping post in the Legion’s base.

But it isn’t all too bad! Sundays can be quite eventful if you’ve got a good eye for entertainment. Because where Eren is glad he’s finally fucking free of that bastard Jean’s neighing, the rest of the newly minted 104th recruits of the Scouting Legion get to keep themselves up to speed in the military’s juicy, juicy gossip.

And if they’re lucky, Sundays would let them see scandal unfold! In fact, Ymir can’t tell you how many stories she’s heard of Officers’ mistresses visiting the compound. Or of Officers whose wives just visited the morning before, visiting their mistresses the afternoon later!

For Commanding Officers specifically, affairs are fairly easy to spot since most of them don’t leave the compound even on Sundays, thanks to their mountains of paperwork. No one’s judging them though; they are only human after all. And there is an understanding amongst Legion soldiers that a few trysts with prostitutes—like Squad Leader Zacharias’ happy excursions with a woman named ‘Babydoll’-- could slide every now and then considering their lifestyle. The job doesn’t exactly allow for many long term attachments.

There’s also the matter of figuring out which soldier is sleeping with who.

Did that Squad Leader’s subordinate just stay in his office all day? Not even coming out once?

Or perhaps, who may be secretly married with kids without telling anyone, including a fellow Scout that they’ve been sleeping with.

Maybe a few civilian girlfriends here and there.

Once, Bertholdt had to gently lead out a weeping woman who’s apparently fallen pregnant, and was telling a Scout that the child was his.

Now, Mikasa didn’t give a rat’s ass about it all.

Eren just does his job with an almost impressive single-mindedness, but he reacts every now and then.

Armin tries not get too caught up in it all, but he often ends up being the one to unravel whatever compelling mystery-scandal they’ve got, because of course he does.

Bertholdt just listens quietly, so quietly you can hear him praying to the goddesses that their superiors don’t catch them. But he’s also the one who would end up telling Connie, Sasha, and Jean everything once they come back the next day.

Reiner gives a snide comment or two, always trying to rationalize things before jumping to conclusions. He’s probably the only person who’s actually actively listening to Ymir.

Christa hisses at Ymir to stop gossiping about their superiors’ sex lives, that it’s not right. All while secretly curious about the gossip, but never admitting to it.

And Ymir? Ymir just laughs at Christa, and proceeds to gossip some more. She loves this shit. Lives for it even.

“Oh loosen up! It’s literally my only form of entertainment these days,” she would say.

But there was one riveting piece of gossip that’s got them all glued to every word Ymir says. Yes, even Mikasa.

“I swear I heard that Captain Levi’s got a secret girlfriend somewhere! A particularly young girlfriend, in fact.”

“We’re all but three weeks in the Scouts and already, you’re starting a smear campaign on the Captain,” Christa admonishes.

“It’s not a smear campaign if it’s true,” Ymir quips back.

"Uh huh, and who’s your ‘reputable’ source this time?” Reiner chimes in, shaking out a fresh load of hay for the horses. The cadets have been tasked to guard the main gate as well as the stables nearby for the day’s expected visitors and soldiers going in and out of the compound.

“I overheard my Squad Leader whisper about it.” Ymir’s smug snicker was all Christa needed to pause what she’s doing.

In fact, it made them all pause. If the Squad Leaders were whispering about it, then it must hold water.

Mikasa was the first to speak, nonchalantly going back to her task, “Well, I wouldn’t put it past an officer who would openly beat up a helpless man on his knees just to prove a point.” Eren responded by muttered that he was fine.

“Right? Besides, Captain Short Stack’s in clear need of a good lay!” Ymir guffawed, piling onto Mikasa’s spite. This time, it was Christa’s turn to chide.

“Don’t talk about the Captain like that! It’s not right, Ymir. We’re going to get into some serious trouble because of this.” And as long as it’s Christa disagreeing with something, you best believe Reiner would take her side straight away.

“Christa’s right,” he says, Ymir rolling her eyes at the way he puffs out his chest in bravado. “There’s no reason for us to gossip like hens. Besides,” Reiner grins mischievously to his friends, “I heard Commander Erwin's wife is coming today.”

“And so?” Bertholdt raises an eyebrow at him.

Reiner takes his closest friend in a clutch around his arm. “And so, I heard she’s a hot piece of ass, Bertie!”

Annoyed, Bertholdt shakes him off. “Call me Bertie one more time, and I’ll tell Jean you’ve been fantasizing over the girls he draws.” A threat which promptly shuts Reiner up with a conceding gesture.

“The Commander’s married?” Christa asks curiously.

“And how hot is the wife exactly?” Eren nudges Reiner. Reiner would’ve given the younger cadet the low down if it weren’t for Mikasa’s death glares trained right on Reiner’s jugular.

“Err… I’ll tell you another time, Eren.”

Waving her hands in the air, Ymir intervenes. “Yeah and who the hell cares about Commander Erwin’s babe of a wife anyways—put your hand down, Reiner.”

“And I thought you were a woman of culture,” Reiner grumbled.

Ignoring the blonde man, Ymir continued excitedly. “The meat gets juicier! Seems like Captain Levi’s young girlfriend was his lieutenant.”

There was a collective gasp.

“No.” It was the first time Armin spoke. Ymir nodded enthusiastically.

“Yup! Before Petra, she was the only girl in the Special Ops Squad. Handpicked by our esteemed Captain, of course.” Ymir looks to her friends conspiratorially, her eyes conveying what was said between the lines.

“A-are you saying she… had an affair with her superior?” Armin could barely say the words. Very dangerous words.

“And it seems like the Captain got his favorite pregnant and so she had to be quietly dismissed and sent away. My Squad Leader even mentioned catching her leaving his office well into the wee hours of the night. Even spotting matching hickeys on them both.” Ymir snorted. “Who would’ve thought, huh? Captain Levi? She must be a fucking bombshell for the Captain to even notice her. Or a saint. Because who the fuck wants to deal with Captain Scrooge McShorty? Never thought I’d see the day when I’d hear a woman is actually interested in that midget. But I suppose a rank adds a few inches, eh?”

All while Ymir was yapping along, the rest of the cadets were quiet.

“…So the Captain has a kid?” Eren could barely wrap his head around what he just heard. It just doesn’t check out to him. Captain Levi, for all his singular tastes and dangerous temper, did not strike Eren as the type to take advantage of his young subordinates.

Ymir frowned. “Well. From what I heard, she miscarried.”

Armin was still, “That’s not why she was sent away w-was she?”

In a snap, Christa shook her head vehemently. “Stop that! How can you say those nasty things about another woman, Ymir?! From what I know, Squad Leader Klaus doesn’t have the best track record either, so who is he to judge?!” Christa’s little face was contorted in loathing now. And she was right. Klaus’s reputation precedes him, and it certainly isn’t a good one.

Mikasa sighs, standing by Christa comfortingly. She was no avid advocate for the Captain, but she can recognize blatant misogyny when she sees it. “True or not, talk like that has no room in our job description. The Captain’s personal affairs is none of our business, and frankly,” Mikasa’s face scrunches up in disgust. “I’d rather not know. Let’s just finish up here before the next wave of visitors arrive.”

It was then that a soldier from outside Legion perimeters hollers to the cadets to open the main gate; a visitor was to stable their horse. Bertholdt and Reiner jog to yank open the gates to let in a rider with a lady riding side-saddle on pillion as his passenger.

A very pregnant lady riding side-saddle on pillion, indeed.

Hurriedly, Reiner helps the woman down the moment he saw her condition, being the biggest of the bunch. Once he sets her down in a graceful sweep, very careful to be gentle, Reiner was immediately struck frozen to his spot.

This very pregnant lady was absolutely gorgeous.

Her beauty was only accentuated by the pretty smile she offered the strong blonde soldier, when she beamed up at him with a, “Thank you, Cadet. Would you terribly mind showing my steward where he can stable the horse, as well as where he can rest with some food and drink?”

While Reiner was slack-jawed and stupid trying to formulate a coherent answer, the woman’s steward dismounted and handed the lady a full-looking wicker basket. Most likely bearing treats and food for whoever she was visiting in the Scouts, judging by the wonderful smell of baked goods coming from it. Quickly, Bertholdt and Eren swoop in.

“I’ll stable the horse for your steward, ma’am. We’ll give him some fresh hay, too,” Bertholdt says, already getting a hold of the horse’s reins. He looks to the steward, “If you’ll just follow me, sir. I’ll show where the refreshments and the nearest inn are after I stable the horse.”

And Eren, also already dumbstruck by their new lovely visitor, immediately offered to carry the woman’s basket for her. With an equally charming smile, she thanks Bertholdt, and gratefully hands Eren the basket—whose face blooms into a blush when she said he was too kind.

“She’s… so beautiful. Like, in an elegant way,” Christa quietly squeaks to Ymir who, just as in awe, distractedly replied with a, “Must be the pregnancy glow hormones.”

But something makes her stop.

The woman had a wedding ring.

This wasn’t just any pretty visitor, this was a very beautiful married woman come to visit the Scouts who—judging by the fine horse and the personal steward—must be connected to somebody high-ranking indeed.

“Psst! Reiner!” Ymir nudges at the still stuttering oaf. Her eyes dart to the lady then back to Reiner.

“That’s the Commander’s wife!”

Before the realization fully sunk into Reiner’s ogling face, Armin and Mikasa quickly jumped into protocol.

“I presume you are here to visit your husband, ma’am?” Mikasa asks courteously.

The woman smiles kindly, “I am.” Already expecting that she would have to be escorted to her husband’s office, immediately follows with, “His office is at the Commander’s Corridor in the North Wing.”

In a wordless look amongst the Cadets, the 104th immediately recognized that this lady was indeed who they thought she was at her reply. After all, who else would she be visiting in the Commander’s Corridor of all places?

“Alright, Cadet Braun and I will just go up to inform him that you’re here so that you won’t have to climb all the way up. We wouldn’t you to strain yourself, ma’am,” Armin says, taking the woman’s pregnancy into consideration. But the woman said otherwise.

“Oh, no need for that! He’s a busy man, I understand. And he probably won’t take kindly to you kids disturbing his work. Besides,” she says with a twinkle on her eye. “I want to surprise my husband, considering he hasn’t seen me in months.” A hand smooths over her large belly, telling the Cadets exactly what she means. At that, Armin and Christa especially smile back at her, saying they completely understand.

“But do allow us to go ahead and alert him that you’re here. It’s protocol, you see,” Armin said apologetically. The woman just nods and says it’s all fine, as Armin taps at Reiner before they begin to jog up to Commander Erwin’s office.

Turning back to the visitor, Mikasa tells her that as is also protocol, the rest of them would have to escort her up; also so that they could assist her in her climb up. Hardworking as always, Eren eagerly nods with the basket in hand; always ready to serve, as the woman agrees. And so, with Mikasa and Eren leading the group, Christa walks by the woman right behind the two, as Ymir walks at the tail-end of the group.

~

As they were walking past the courtyard, Christa looks up to the North Wing—the highest of the livable offices in the base—and then looks worriedly to the woman she and her friends were escorting.

“Ma’am? Are you absolutely sure you can climb up? It’s a lot of stairs to the top of the highest office wing. We wouldn’t want to endanger you.” They’ve reached the bottom of the steps leading up to the Commander’s Corridor, cueing Christa and Ymir to flank the pregnant woman in order to support and assist her up; allowing Christa to hold her hand, while Ymir rest a ready hand at the base of her back.

The woman just laughs indulgently. “Don’t worry Cadet, I’m made of tougher stuff than you think.” She winks at Christa.

“I was once a Scout like you, you know.”

“You were a Scout?!” Ymir gasped in surprise. Mikasa gives her a sharp look for the impolite shock in Ymir’s voice. But the woman didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she humored the question.

“Oh yes, how do you think I met my husband? We were in the same squad when we did,” she smiled.

With wide eyes, Eren swivels and starts going up the steps backwards to exclaim, “Damn, you must be really good!” (An action which Mikasa promptly calls out, jabbing him in the side to make him face front.) For her to be a part of the Commander’s Squad, she must at least be an above average soldier.

The woman just gave a modest shrug, “Well, I was already a veteran when I married. So I suppose I was.”

With thoughtful eyes, Christa asks, “It must have been difficult to leave the Scouts. It’s for a happy occasion of course, but I can’t imagine it was ever easy to readjust to a new life.”

The lady purses her lips playfully, her bright eyes looking up in thought. “Weeell, having to be a Scout is pretty darn difficult, I’d say. Especially when I had to serve at the vanguard before I could become a full-fledged veteran. So setting down a Scout’s mantel was fairly easy.” It was a lighthearted but plainly honest answer. Then her face turned solemn. “But I’d say the hardest part was to leave my husband to it all.”

She looks to the young and curious eyes around her. “There’s something about leaving your spouse to the perils of being a Scout that’s terrifying. Knowing that while I’m safely cooped up with his child in my belly, he’s still out there risking his life with no guarantee that he’d make it out alive. It kept me up at night. Especially knowing how truly dangerous those perils are because I, myself have experienced them. And I would wonder, who would look out for him now? Because it was I who looked out for him.” Like a spell broken, she shakes her head, and her brilliant smile comes back to light up her face.

“Yet still, if a little bit of fear and bravery is all it takes to spend a life with him, to be the woman who gets to love him forever, then so be it. My husband is a skilled soldier. I trust that he can take care of himself.”

Christa—and secretly, Mikasa—all but swooned and sighed at how romantic their visitor’s words were. Ymir meanwhile, was eager to hear more as the group was nearing the mezzanine.

“How was it? Dating as soldiers, I mean. I can’t imagine it was particularly welcomed that you were dating the Scout’s top-dog,” Ymir says carefully assisting the woman through the last few steps. The woman wiped at the sweat on her forehead with a kerchief, and took a deep breath; the flight of stairs already getting to her. Still, she gave her usual lovely smile to Ymir.

“The relationship was certainly kept under wraps. People have suspected that I’m dating someone, but they never could figure out who.” She chuckled to herself. “I can’t imagine how not, with the many times I locked myself in my husband’s office to help him with late night ‘paperwork’ back then,” she says with air quotes, grinning at the Cadets’ blushing faces in realization of what she meant.

“And when I finally fell pregnant, and the cat was out of the bag, people couldn’t believe who exactly I was dating either, much less that he’s the father of my child. ‘How could someone like him, be with someone like her,’ they would say,” the woman laughed.

Ymir-- who was positively charmed by their visitor’s warmth and bubbly energy-- scoffed in jest. After all, it only made sense for a lovely woman to fall in love with an equally lovely man.

“Please, you’re a perfect match for Commander Erwin!”

~

Meanwhile, walking along the Commander’s Corridor, Armin and Bertholdt—who joined them on the way after he finished his errand— had the unfortunate opportunity to spend the walk to Commander Erwin’s office listening to Reiner gush about how beautiful that pregnant visitor they just had was.

“The Commander’s one damn lucky bloke!” Reiner moans, a hand rubbing his face.

“Well what did you expect? Have you seen the Commander? Of course he’d have a gorgeous wife,” Bertholdt replies blandly, already tired of Reiner’s constant groaning.

“And maybe it’s best not to lust after the Commander’s pregnant wife, Reiner,” Armin reminds nervously, eyes darting around in case anyone were to hear Reiner adulations.

Reiner sighed, “You’re right. Besides, if I were husband to a woman like that, I’d make sure to get her pregnant. I’d go absolutely feral, I’d tell ya!” Reiner smirks, elbowing a wincing and a grossed out Armin and Bertholdt.

“Shut up Rei, I don’t want that image in my head,” Bertholdt deadpans.

“Okay be quiet now, we’re here.” Armin says, as the three stop in front of the Commander’s door.

Bertholdt went ahead and gave three respectful knocks.

Oddly enough, instead of the usual prompt reply of their usually prompt Commander, the cadets heard a series of muffled shuffling and a few bangs on wood. Then finally, came Erwin Smith’s—albeit slightly strained—baritone.

“Come in!”

Armin could’ve sworn he heard giggling after the Commander’s reply, but Bertholdt turned the knob and swung the door open nonetheless.

To their surprise, they found the Commander with none other than Petra Ral in his office.

“Is it just me or did we interrupt something?” Armin discreetly whispers to Reiner, eyeing the slightly disheveled appearance of their Commander as well as the hurriedly awkward way Petra is combing down her ginger hair.

“Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday, Sir. But we’d thought to let you know that you’re wife is here,” Bertholdt announces with a firm salute.

At his words, both the Commander and Petra look to each other with a funny look on their faces.

Confused, Erwin cocks a thick eyebrow. “I’m sorry, who?”

Back at the doorway, the three Cadets blink back. “Err… your wife, Sir?”

It was then that the boys heard a brisk tap on the still-open door behind them.

They pivot to see Squad Leader Miche by the door, smirking at them, and an utterly amused twinkle in his green eyes.

“Sorry to break it ‘ya, boys. But the Commander’s already with his wife,” Miche winked at a peeved Commander Erwin and the blushing ginger girl right beside him. Miche then gives the couple a woman’s name, telling them that she’s here. (He must’ve smelled her in the premises before anyone even had to tell him.)

Extremely puzzled, Reiner looks from the entertained look on the Squad Leader, to his Commander, and now apparently, to his Commander’s wife.

“Then who’s…?”

Before Reiner could finish, Miche simply threw his head back in a fit of laughter, as him and his newest piece of gossip to tell Hange, went on their merry way.

~

At the mezzanine, the woman stops.

“Commander Erwin?”

The woman blinked at the Cadets who have also stopped walking, looking back at her in confusion now.

She then turns to Ymir with a bewildered look on her face.

“Erwin isn’t my husband.”

“What? Then who are you here to—“

“Lieutenant Ackerman!”

At the sound of that unmistakable screech, the pregnant woman whirls and shrieks back.

“Hange!”

Excitedly, the bespectacled scientist ran over to the woman and gave her the tightest—but careful—of hugs. Immediately, Hange started fawning over her old friend.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mrs. Ackerman herself,” Hange says cheekily, as she went to hold her laughing friend’s hands. “Oh, look at you! Oh my goodness, you’re so big!” She exclaims giddily, gently rubbing the pregnant lieutenant’s belly.

Meanwhile, Christa stammers quietly. “D-did she just say… Lieutenant?”

“…Ackerman?!” Eren added, mouth open.

“Hell no.” Ymir gaped. There was no fucking way.

Beaming prettily, you giggled at Hange. “Well, I’m already at my third trimester!” You took a breath, and held Hange’s forearms. “It’s so good to see you again, Hange. I hope Levi didn’t sass you too much while I was gone.”

“Puh-lease! I’d say it’s Levi who’s had his hands full with me and my shenanigans since you’ve been gone,” Hange chuckles teasingly. She then tilts her head towards Eren and sighs dramatically, “I wouldn’t say the same about Jaeger over there, though.”

Now addressing Eren, Hange tells the Cadet, “Thank your lucky stars, Eren! You’re about to have a helluva stress-free weekend now that Levi’s wife is here!”

Still shocked, Eren just nods absently.

“Well, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’re here to see your Captain?” Hange loops her arms around the woman’s cheerfully. “I’ll take you to him! Let’s pass by Erwin and Petra along the way, I’m sure they’ve missed you.”

And off you two strolled, across the mezzanine and up the last flights of stairs onto the Commander’s Corridor, four flummoxed Cadets trailing behind you.

~

Reiner, Bertholdt, and Armin’s bafflement was broken by Petra’s squeal at the mention the woman’s name.

“She’s here?!”

Petra then flies out her husband’s office, the boys quickly getting out of her way. At the sight of her best friend at the end of the corridor, she calls out her name and goes, “About time you visited!”

Lieutenant Ackerman hugs Petra back, and soon enough, the three women were already thrilling about the Lieutenant’s pregnancy. Compliments on how glowing she looked, questions about how far along she was, how she was faring with the pregnancy, and if she had a clue about the baby’s gender flew about in giggles and sighs.

In a moment, Commander Erwin himself has followed Petra out to also engulf his subordinate-turned-good-friend in a warm hug.

~

At the side, Eren was still carrying your wicker basket. When he and the girls finally met up with Reiner, Bertholdt and Armin by the Commander’s office, Eren nudges Reiner sharply.

“She isn’t the Commander’s wife!”

“So we’re finding out,” Reiner grits out. Eren gives out some really painful jabs.

~

“Is it just me, or did your eyebrows get bushier, Erwin?” you tease.

“Shut up.” Erwin quips back, still hugging you. He looks down at you, smiling fondly, and feigning annoyance in his voice. “You’re lucky I missed you.”

When you finally separated, Erwin held your shoulders gently as he glanced to the flight of stairs you just traversed. “How are you and the baby? The stairs didn’t exhaust you too much did they?”

“We’re fine, and the stairs were nothing, don’t worry. I wasn’t handpicked by Humanity’s Strongest himself for nothing, you know,” You beam up at Erwin who was already nodding in relief.

“Good. Levi would kill me if I allowed you to get strained.”

You roll your eyes, “Levi fusses over me whether or not I get strained. But guess what, Commander,” you had a delicious sparkle in your eye.

“I made cake.”

And like a little kid, Erwin Smith gives a small pump of his fist; he’s always been a terrible sweet tooth. While Hange whoops in joy.

Petra looks to the new recruits who were watching the odd scene before them. It isn’t everyday they see their commanding officers act so ecstatic and carefree, after all. Incredibly far from the usual strict fashion their superiors would carry themselves. Commander Erwin, especially.

Smiling, Petra addresses the Cadets, “Look sharp, Cadets. You’re looking at one of the most exceptional sharpshooters in the three Walls! Graduated first in her class and everything. Even precedes me to the Special Ops Squad!”

“And the Scouting Legion’s finest Lieutenant,” Erwin added proudly, to which you only chuckled bashfully at, lightly swatting at his arm.

“But you kids can call her Lieutenant Ackerman,” Hange shrugged, grinning. Knowing exactly how Reiner, Bertholdt, and Armin would take the new information, despite her nonchalance.

And Bertholdt’s answer delivered just the reaction Hange anticipated.

“Wait. Did you just say--?”

“OI YOU RAT BASTARDS!”

Then like the rumbling thunder of an approaching storm, came Captain Levi Ackerman, stomping in with a smirking Miche just behind him.

And absolutely furious.

“What in the actual fuck made you brats think that letting my pregnant wife climb up the stairs was all fine and dandy?! I swear to sweet Sina’s shit, if something happened to—“

But something makes Levi stop in his tracks.

It was you. And oh, what a sight were you to behold.

The last time he saw you, your baby bump was only just showing. But in that moment, when you made that graceful turn of yours to peek up at him through your eyelashes, a playful smile dancing on your lips, Levi was convinced he must have married a goddess. A faerie woman who has quite utterly entranced him in a spell. A nymph who’s sly smile holds many a delicious promise to a simple man like him.

You looked absolutely divine with your full belly. And his wonderstruck burns deeper at the thought that it was his child that your beautiful body was growing; it elicits something primal in him. His wonderfully gorgeous wife was pregnant with his child, and Levi’s entire being ached to be near her. Ached to protect her and their baby; to provide them with everything their hearts desired.

Then Levi Ackerman quickens his pace to a sprint until finally, you were in his arms, safe and sound…

Until finally, he had you wrapped up in a kiss.

Furtively, Hange whispers to Ymir with a grin, “She’s always been the only who could calm him down.”

~

Once Levi was satisfied that he’s kissed his wife enough, he looked to you with warm eyes—warm eyes that no one else would see otherwise, if it weren’t for your presence smiling glowingly back at him.

His hands, so strong and calloused, wavered at your belly; hesitant that they might hurt the precious treasure within. Patiently, your soft hands took Levi’s hard ones—hands that have seen so much violence—and held them against the swell of your belly.

“It’s okay, Levi. Hold your baby.”

He held you so tenderly, so lovingly.

“Next time, don’t take the stairs. I’ll be coming down to you, no matter the time of day. ” Levi admonishes in a low voice, gunmetal eyes serious.

You just giggled at what the Cadets would think to be a fairly intimidating face, “You worry too much, darling. As if you haven’t trained me to be tough as nails.”

It could be nothing else but sorcery, the Cadets think. Absolute witchcraft! How in the world could this tiny woman turn the Captain’s temper up on its head just like that? They were like a tableau of the sun and the moon come together—a bright and bubbly girl, with a cold and aloof Captain. And much like the sun and the moon, one’s lightheartedness bounces off the other.

Now, Ymir understood why the Scouts couldn’t believe who she was dating back then. She couldn’t believe her eyes even as she watched Humanity’s Strongest himself envelop the woman in an embrace! But hey, Ymir was at least right with two things—Captain Levi’s lover is indeed both an angel and a bombshell of a woman.

Suddenly, Levi’s soft expression turns sour.

“I’ve also been filled in by Miche, you brats.” Levi’s menacing eyes flash to the Cadets that have accompanied his wife. A look which has promptly frozen the soldiers into attention.

“What kind of dimwit-loving maggot ate at your brains for you lot to think to bring her to Erwin’s office, huh?”

Briefly, Levi wondered if it was a breach of military decorum to smack these nitwits up the head for assuming his lovely wife was Erwin’s and not his.

The Cadets only stood frozen, not daring to say a word. The Captain certainly wasn’t a man whose anger they wanted to incite; even accidentally.

“Hey, hey, Levi, please,” you speak up, cupping your jealous (and adorable) husband’s cheek to make him face back to you, treating him once again to your tinkling laugh. “It’s my fault, I didn’t exactly introduce myself properly. Besides, it’s for the best. We both know that once you’ve got in me in your clutches, who knows when you’ll let me see Erwin and Petra anymore?”

And with your magic touch, the Captain visibly calms down. A little embarrassed (and blushing) that’s he’s been so easily rendered love-struck by his wife’s laughter, Levi sighs. He reaches to stroke the luscious locks of your hair, “And for good reason.”

Levi glares up at his blonde friend’s grinning face.

“He’s gonna finish up all the cake.”

~

Once the Cadets have been dismissed, you distribute the quaintly packaged boxes of cake to the Smiths, Hange, and Miche. Before you and Levi left for his office, Hange tells you to drop by her lab before leaving so that she can do a check-up on you.

“I know you have a good midwife and doctor back home, but you can never be too sure, eh? I also want to make sure you’re okay enough for the travel back.” She says to you and Levi, something you very much appreciated. You thanked her as Levi, after putting some serious thought into it, begrudgingly promised to bring you over despite the fact that it would leave him with even less time with you.

With an arm around your waist and a hand resting securely on your hip, Levi takes your wicker basket, and leads you to his office at the other end of the corridor. At the back of his mind, Levi knew that news of his wife would spread like wildfire now that the new recruits have met you. But he didn’t mind, because all he wanted was some much needed alone time with his wife.

Even now, on the way to his office, aides and squad leaders have already taken notice of you and the way he was holding you. Stares—both curious and disbelieving—followed them as these poor Scouts wrapped their heads around the fact that their fearsome Captain was being tender to a woman.

A woman who was delightedly telling him about the special carrot cake she made him—his favorite. As well as the artisan jasmine and ginseng teas you got him from Wall Sina. You even brought Levi’s favorite cleaning wax!

But when Levi finally had you behind his office door, all these treats were effectively forgotten. Because in a single husky order from your Captain, he’s got you melting like putty beneath his hands. Moaning his name and whimpering for him to come closer, to kiss you deeper.

And Levi, happily obliged.

~

The next morning when you woke up, your husband was nowhere to be seen. That didn’t alarm you though, knowing full well that as Captain, he often had a full schedule and has always liked to start his day early. So he’s probably somewhere working out, or overseeing training if he wasn’t in his office doing early morning paperwork.

And then something heavenly hits you. Something deliciously heavenly, to be exact.

You heard your stomach rumble, as the smell of butter, maple syrup, and freshly roasted nuts rouse you from bed and into your maternity clothes. With the morning dew still hanging in the air, you waddle across the courtyard to reach the mess hall where all the food you were craving was, when you heard a horse’s familiar neigh.

Looking up, you find Levi looking every inch the battle hero he was, as he gracefully rode on his great steed, Midnight, whom he’s slowed to trot and then finally to a halt beside you.

“Good morning, Captain,” you greet your husband cheekily.

“Good morning, why are you up so early?” Levi asks, thin eyebrows crunched together in concern. You haven’t even done up your hair yet.

Shyly, you bit your lip, and shrugged. “I got hungry.”

At that, Levi’s eyes widened in realization. Already mentally kicking himself that of course his pregnant wife would be craving for some food. He hasn’t lived with you for so long that he’s forgotten to ensure that you had breakfast by your bedside once you woke up.

‘Duh Levi, you dumbass,’ he thinks to himself

Quickly, he swings himself off his horse, and while firmly holding the reins, goes to you. He cups your face with an earnest and apologetic look in his face.

“I’m sorry, darling. I should’ve brought you up some food, you shouldn’t have had to come down.”

You give him a peck, “Shh, it’s alright. You wouldn’t have known which one I was craving for anyways. And exercise is good for pregnant women, Levi.”

Levi looks back to you softly. “Okay,” he concedes. “But you have to kiss me again.”

And so you did.

Passionately. Devotedly.

~

It would have been unmistakable to those who witnessed you and your Captain kiss as to exactly who you were to him. Especially once they’ve noticed your matching wedding rings and your very pregnant condition. And it was nice, you think, to finally be able to wear your heart on your sleeve around the man you love; free and unafraid of judgment after years of secret rendezvous and feigning innocence.

It was certainly a thrill for a young woman like you to have unexpectedly attracted the interest of her handsome, older, Captain. And not just any Captain, Humanity’s Strongest, no less! The flirting behind closed doors, heated gazes across rooms, the innuendos, and the whispered promises; it was all as if your life has turned into a novel.

But you and Levi prefer this—to love unrestricted, and for Levi especially, to care fuck all who saw him kissing his lovely wife.

Yet still, when Levi lead you to the mess hall where many Scouts were already having their early morning breakfast at, you once again felt like the foolish young lieutenant that’s gotten herself pregnant, and even worse, has lost the baby. The stares and whispers following you both as you entered the hall took you back to time where stares and whispers felt like a weapon against you. And for a while, walking into the mess hall was like walking into a battlefield with the way you had to hold your nerves together, and desperately tried not to freeze up.

You felt well and truly disgraced back then. There was no denying the quiet but stifling judgement of seemingly all seeing eyes that trailed the girl who dared let Levi Ackerman fall in love with her. Who dared be as careless as to lose their esteemed Captain’s baby, on top of pretty much being branded as a whore.

Of course, Captain Levi promptly and adamantly married you after you miscarried and were safe enough. Levi was the one who convinced you to at least take a break, if not to retire completely, from being a Scout in order for you to safely have your pregnancies. It would kill him, Levi said, if anything bad happened to you while on the job. And he’d be damned if he’d let even a sliver of a chance where you or your baby could get hurt. Not again.

And so while your ordeal as the Scouting Legion’s newest scandal has long since been a bad memory now, you still couldn’t help but anxiously and unconsciously walk a half step behind your husband in order to hide yourself behind him.

Noticing this, Levi takes your hand, and gives it a firm and reassuring kiss.

I’m right here, it said. You’re safe.

But the dread would soon dissipate, as Levi carefully lead you to a table where his squad was already beaming up at you in greeting, morning coffee in their hands.

“Lieutenant! Good morning!” calls out Eld. He was always a morning person.

“I knew you were here! The Captain hasn’t rang us for paperwork all night!” Oluo jibes good-naturedly.

“How’s the mini-Captain going along?” Gunther added smiling, referring to your big baby bump.

“You mean mini-Lieutenant,” Levi says to his squad pointedly. He’s always hoped for a girl. You once joked to him that he only wanted a girl because he wanted to be able to kick their daughter’s future boyfriends’ asses. Levi scoffed at you then, “No shit.”

You just rolled your eyes, “The baby is going along well, Gunther. Healthy and strong just like their father.”

At that, Levi kisses the top of your head tenderly. He then looks to his men, “She’s too good to me.”

Gunther and Oluo chuckle fondly while Eld just raises his coffee cup in salute, “Cheers to that, sir.”

Once you’re settled, Levi asks you quietly, “Will you be alright? I’ll just go and get your food for you.”

You smile up at your indulgent husband, “Yes, I’ll be alright. I’m sure Oluo’s itching to share me the latest gossip, anyways.” You then proceeded to tell Levi what you want to have. “I want the potatoes with lots of butter, okay?” You all but gave Levi your best puppy dog eyes, knowing that he’d protest at you wanting unhealthy food.

Alas, the Captain sighs in defeat. He can’t say no to what his pregnant wife wants. Especially when she looks at him like that. “Alright, fine. For the baby.”

You beam up and give him another peck, “Thank you, darling.” And off Captain Levi went, with you watching the confident strides of his retreating form.

“Who would have thought, huh?” Eld’s voice breaks your reverie. “That our very own Captain and Lieutenant would be married. With a baby on the way, no less!”

“Yeah,” Oluo chimes in. “Who would have thought-- our lovely Lieutenant and our err… less than lovely Captain,” he says patronizingly. Oluo, perhaps more than anyone, would agree that Levi is an exceptional man. But even he could recognize the funny little couple you and Levi made.

You pointed at him, looking past Gunther’s arm which was pouring you a cup of coffee. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

Soon enough, Oluo and Gunther started telling you the buzz now that the new recruits have met you. Apparently, the cadets have been convinced that Levi was dating Petra. So you were quite a surprise to them. Eld even tells you how some of the recruits that haven’t met you yesterday—Connie, Jean, and Sasha, he said their names were—even walked up to this table this morning with very determined faces, asking if it was all true.

And with that, you and your old squad just laughed, feeling very much at home with the company.

~

Levi decided not to comment on the knowing smirks that the cooks met him with as he requested for extra portions for his wife. Levi knew he was sight to behold— their formidable Captain, gathering as much food as he can for his pregnant wife.

Levi’s used to it all now, the surprised looks and the gaping stares of soldiers at the sight of his undeniably dazzling wife. He’s also used to the confused looks of eyes darting between him, then to his wife, and then back to him, as if the bastards were trying to compute fucking rocket science. And he gets it. Even he has to pinch himself sometimes that this isn’t all a dream; that he’s actually married to the most riveting woman in the Legion.

But as he walked back, tray of all your favorite food in hand, the sight of you laughing with a hand contentedly resting on your belly was all a man like him needed to be satisfied that you’re real. You’re here, you’re real, and you’re his.

Once he’s sat back down beside you, he can’t help but kiss your temple again.

“Eat up,” he says, and it nearly fucking kills him the way your eyes lit up at the sight of the food.

Fucking adorable.

There was once a time Levi was convinced that he would never be one to have a family. That things like that just aren’t meant for men like him. But seeing you happily doing your little dance at how delicious you thought the food was (a truly very funny sight, considering this is Scouting Legion Mess Hall food.) He wonders what other preconceptions Levi had that you, and now your new baby, would be shattering for him.

After all, it was his own little miracle that you chose to love him at all. And at that, Levi has to agree with everyone else—

Who would have thought, indeed.

A/N: I had so much fun with this one, as usual. Maybe too much fun. I guess I'm incapable of writing short fics huh? Also, my inbox has been filling up, and I'm thinking back on writing The Wingman and The Paramour again so I'll be closing requests.

But hey, if you have any thoughts and questions, do hmu! My ask box is always open, and I love talking to you guys. Far better than talking to myself, I'd say. lol.

Edit: Requests Re-opened! HERE are the rules!

Petals In The Wind

Pairing: Writer!Jin x Botanist! Namjoon

Genre: Fluff| Very light angst | Smut

Word Count: 6.3k

Prompt: Cherry Blossoms

Rating: 18+ (bc of the smut, thats about it)

Summary:  Jin, a young writer in Seoul has always had problems writing in the Spring. He can’t seem to find any inspiration, even in the season where many others write of love and flowers in bloom. Everything changes when he meets a young, handsome aspiring botanist named Namjoon.

A/N: @kimlinebiased Hey honey! This is your gift uwu. Also I know the prompt was Cherry Blossoms but I suppose I got a little carried away with the plum blossoms too, huh? Please enjoy and let me know what you think c’:

AO3 Link

Kim Seokjin never considered Spring to be one of his favorite seasons. It rained too much for his liking and despite the fact that it gave him ample opportunities to flourish and write, the artist found that the very concept of Spring was overrated and overused. Jin believed there weren’t many things that could inspire him to actually finish his work in Spring, and that the season would just be a dead zone of sorts as far as his writing went.

Until that day.

Keep reading

SO, MAFIA AU (AKA a good excuse to draw Yuri and Victor in a uniform/suit) Officer Katsuki and mafia boss Nikiforov! WILL DEF DRAW MORE OF THIS, I AM EXCITE NEXT

Astarion’s Hair: A Comic

Edit: there is now a part 2

(Edited to increase text size for readability)

𝒜𝓊𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝐼𝓃 𝒩𝒶𝓋𝓎

Oscar thought he wouldn't have to deal with anything similar to Alpine-Gate ever again. He was wrong.

Oscar Piastri x Horner!Reader

-> Everything Goes Wrong (pt1) -> Oscar breaks up with his girlfriend and McLaren start treating him like Daniel, but then he meets someone new. posted: 3 Feb 2024

-> A Storm Is Brewing (pt2) -> Mark gives the Go-Ahead for possible negotiations with Red Bull, McLaren pull an Alpine, and Oscar makes a decision. posted: 5 Feb 2024

-> The Build Up (pt3) -> In a large bowl mix Contract Negotiations with two parts Announcements and three parts Life Updates, let cook for an hour and while it's still hot, sprinkle some jealousy and betrayal over the top as a nice garnish. posted: 12 Feb 2024

-> Pre-season Bonding (pt4) -> Where teams are announced, dinners are held and Oscar finds himself surrounded by people who are determined to help him on his way to greatness. posted: 3 Mar 2024

-> Get This Party Started (pt5) -> The season starts and it's a relatively calm affair, until it's not. Some things can be predicted while others show up like an unwanted Force Ghost from Star Wars. posted: 29 Mar 2024

-> Down Time Down Under (pt6) -> Oscar finds that having a crush having less than platonic feelings for your boss's only adult daughter is apparently free real estate for some of F1's biggest gossips posted: 10 May 2024

-> Shift Happens (pt7) -> Miami and Imola bring new challenges to the grid. Challenges such as finally initiating the romance part of your potential relationship- oh and being on the podium with your ex-teammate too. posted: 19 May 2024

-> Warning Sainz (pt8) -> Monaco, Canada and Spain oh my! Oscar decides to continue his quest for world domination (claiming home races) and prove that he's the best boyfriend his ex ever lost. posted: 23 June 2024

-> Baby Got Track (pt9) -> Adding two more GPs to his list of home races, Oscar realises that he's A-OK with having half his bags packed with things that aren't his. posted: 10 July 2024

-> Silly Goose Extraordinaire (pt10) -> When Y/n isn't there for two races, Oscar discovers that he's far more attached than he thought he was. At least it's almost the mid-year break! posted: 5 Aug 2024

-> Red Bull Gives You Wins (pt11) -> Mid-year break brings a lot of strong emotions, but there's only one thing that could make them even more intense... posted: 6 Mar 2025 (I'm so sorry)

-> Simply Lovely (pt12) (pending) -> posted:

-> Big Ric Energy (pt13) -> posted:

-> Red Bull School Of Racing (pt14) -> posted:

-> 1st's The Worst, 2nd's The Best (pt15) -> posted:

-> We Shenan'd Once, Let's Shenanigan (pt16) -> posted:

This is an Ongoing Series!

(Hades) Gods x Shade! Reader

No matter how much you try, mortality will always catch up to those who are not of gods. Even the most blinded of them learn this eventually. You take your death with grace, choosing to go and explore this new world as soon as Lord Hades permits you to go, impressed by how little you complain and demand. You are one of the brighter parts of his day (night?).

You drift along, catching certain snippets of other Shade’s conversations as you wander aimlessly. You notice a crack in the wall; deciding to muster up your courage, you slip through it to find yourself in the glowing green torches of Tartarus. With what little you have, you hold it close to your translucent body and push forward.

You’re quick to notice the large glowing ball with an oddly familiar symbol floating in the middle of it. You take your time circling it, feeling compelled to touch it. When you do, a beam of light comes slicing through the dreary air to reveal a mighty god who stares down at you at your shocked form...

Zues

Cause of Death: Lightning Strike

Zues is confused when he sees you. He’s even more confused when you start screaming at him, waving your hands about and threatening to fight him yourself.

“You fucker! You killed me!”

He raises a brow. “I think I’d remember if I killed you.” You flipped up your middle finger at him and his eyebrows drew into an angry v. “How rude! I am the God of Gods-”

“I don’t care!”

Zagreus had to high tail it to you before Zues tried to smite you (possibly a second time).

Suffice to say you hoped you’d never bump into that boon again. And you didn’t. No, the God of Gods and Lightning himself decided that he’d have to make a house call himself (Hades was not pleased when a bolt of lightning came crashing down and left a scorched black ring in the carpet).

He picks you out quickly and you try to zoom out of the lobby until he catches you by the back of your robe and then you’re swinging and yelling profanities at him. He’s kinda amused now instead of angry- you’re just so weak and tiny compared to him. It’s hysterical- ow! Did you just bite him?

After you and Zues finish your little “spitting match”- Hades kicks Zeus out and you're forced to hang out in Tartarus for a bit (“but I’m just a simple fisherfolk! I can’t fight anything!” You cry, Hades does not spare you a look as you're dragged out by Meg).

You think maybe that’s the end until you’re approached by a… a squirrel? You almost punt it when his voice spills out as he shoots into a long prattle about how much of a jerk Hades was and how he couldn’t handle someone as grandiose as him appearing before him. Threatened him as a god or something- you were busy trying to figure out how you were going to kill this guy and make sure he stayed dead.

Turns out, after the two of you chattered (argued) a bit about whether or not he actually killed you, Zeus had some neat stories about the gods.

While you were interested in his children’s and brothers’ and sisters’ stories, he was interested in your stories of the mundane. A simple fisherfolk? That was a word? You just fished and traded? Amazing! Tell him more!

After this particular interaction between the two of you, Zeus really ended liking you. Maybe a little too much, but, aw well, it wasn’t everyday a mortal soul had the balls to argue with him for something he doesn’t remember doing (he probably did. Probably. Most likely). He swore that he’d come and see you everyday as he sat on your shoulder as a squirrel, going on and on about how you should feel blessed to be praised by one such as he. You were about to throw him until a giant hand came out and grabbed him (seemed you drifted too close to Lord Hades’ desk), the hulking god flinging him out of a portal.

He continues to pop up and bother you and, to be honest, he’s kinda growing on you. Also, I’m gonna be frank and lay it out that, if he likes you enough, he’s probs gonna want to smash, especially if you lean more towards the feminine side (he’s fucking AWFUL). It’s up to you if you wanna indulge that or not, I don’t recommend it, but you can if you really want to.

We’re going with the option you don’t smash- he’ll be salty at you for a whole ass day before he comes back the one after that as a rat (Hades kept finding out his forms that he used to sneak in so it was an ever constant menagerie of appearances to keep up the disguise) and is like: “I thought you would miss me too much so I came back before you could even complain.”

Zag likes to watch the two of you interact because he finds it absolutely fascinating. It’s like watching… He doesn’t know what it’s like but he’s having a blast as you roast his uncle to bits. It really helps him out when he’s feeling a bit down after failing getting out one too many times.

When you first get Zeus an Ambrosia, he thinks it’s poison and then he gets all prideful because of course you would give him an offering, he was the strongest of all the gods! Him and him alone!

“Silly, mortal, you cannot poison me! I am a god.”

You squint your eyes at him before you huff and pull the bottle closer to you. “Fine, whatever, I’ll just give it to Zagreus- or better yet, Hades if you don’t want it.”

“No! No! I want it! Give it to me! It’s mine!”

During this time, he’s actually experiencing some purer emotions in life- he’s genuinely giddy that you got him the Ambrosia and asks how you got it. You hold up a makeshift fishing rod and grin at him, telling him you snatched it from some nasty shades before you wandered back down to Tartarus.

His gift to you is a little lightning pin that, when you're in danger, will send a nasty bolt of lightning down on your enemies. You wonder what good it’ll do since you’re dead already, but shrug and accept it, thinking that he looks years younger and friendler when his smile isn’t packed full of ego and pride.

Poseidon

Cause of Death: Drowning

Poseidon, Lord of the Oceans, Earthquakes, and many other things, is simply- how do you say? Amused? It’s the best way to describe it at least. Of course he was mostly surprised when he appeared expecting the Little Hades to be waiting for him just to meet a Little Shade in his place.

“Why, hello there, Little Shade! You wouldn’t happen to know where the Little Hades is, would you?”

You shake your head, he doesn’t miss the way you nervously play with your hands, drifting back as some of his droplets float close to you.

He laughs at your simple reply. “Shy one aren’t you?” He leans closer to you, squinting and running a hand through his beard while he hummed.

You fight the urge to take a step back, the smell of salt water making your stomach churn.

His eyes flutter shut as he takes a deep breath. He takes a moment before he opens his eyes again and a look of understanding flashes across his eyes. “You drowned. Didn’t you?”

You stare up at him, eyes round and glassy. You nod.

Before your conversation can go any further, Zagreus comes running through the window, surprised to see his Uncle talking to a Shade (you look so scared- he hopes that you aren’t being bullied). You’re quick to take your leave bowing to both and passing the boon to the Prince before you scurry away into the cover of the other Shades.

He hums to himself, a cryptid smile on his face as his eyes follow after you. Such a strange little thing you were- he wouldn’t mind seeing you again.

It takes a bit, but he does happen to see you again, by peaking through a fountain in a fountain room in the Underworld. He spies you trying to poke at the water that he happened to choose, but jumping back each time. You face scrunched up into one of pure frustration. He asks if you’re doing alright there, Little Shade? Causing you to flash out of existence for a moment before settling back down and looking into the pool with wide eyes. Posiedon almost busts a gut with how hard he’s laughing and you huff telling him that it wasn’t funny.

He says otherwise, but asks what you’re doing. When your face bursts into a large blush you mumble something that he doesn’t quite catch and he’s left with more questions than answers as you take the chance to phase out of the chamber when Zag walks in and steals his Uncle’s attention for a split second. He furrows his brow before asking his nephew about you, which Zag, surprisingly, supplies rather quickly, seeing as the two of you talk a lot: apparently you’re deathly afraid of water after you were thrown into the ocean by your supposed best friend. The memories of the waves crushing you deeper and deeper beneath them sticking with you even in death. So, you were trying to curb that phobia. Posiedon nods, letting the words sink in before he offers the Little Hades a thumbs up and says he’ll help with that.

The next time you see the god, he’s eager to call you over and explain that he’s figured out what you were doing last time and offers to let you mess with some of the drops of water that follow him wherever he goes. You stare at them, eyebrows furrowed and looking just as sick as a shade could look. Yet, you still nod your head and hold out a shaky hand. He smiles at you, praising you for your courage and flicks one towards you; it floats gently before it rests serenely on your palm, allowing you to feel the cool sensation of the droplet. You marvel at it, still shaking with an anxiety before you nod. He pulls it away, it shoots back to rest next to his head and you thank him for going out of his way to help you and ease your fears.

He remarks that you should fear the water out of respect: it’s unpredictable, terrifying in it’s own right- vast and, seemingly, never ending, what could possibly be more terrifying than the unknown, hm? He continues to say that you should also hold onto a bit of bravery at the very least, for untold treasures come from there for those who look.

After that conversation, Poseidon makes it a habit of having you hold onto his droplets of water, making them slightly bigger each time for you to get used to them.

By the time you’re able to touch them freely without experiencing crippling fear- the droplets are almost the size of you. Poseidon praises you the more you grow out of your fear.

You do eventually open up to him about how you died and he never tells you that he already knew. Just allows you to talk in a soft voice as you recall it. It’s a nice bonding experience for the both of you and Posideon decides that you’re his favorite Shade and he’ll treasure you for as long as you exist.

The first time you get him a bottle of Ambrosia, you come to him shivering and sopping wet. He’s confused and concerned as he hovers to you.

“What happened to you, Little Shade? Are you alright?”

It takes you a moment to be able to speak. “I- I found a bottle of Ambrosia. I thought-” you take a deep breath, holding out the bottle with both hands- “I thought you’d like it.”

It’s one of his prized possessions now, he takes little sips of it once in a while, but other than that it remains as one of his most precious memories. He’s very attached to you at this point and you’ll forever have his blessing. His gift to you, aside from the undying loyalty, is a shell necklace, if you ever need him- you only need to whisper his name to it and he’ll appear in an instant.

Athena

Cause of Death: Exhaustion

Athena had been prepared to meet with Zagreus- not a curious shade staring back up at her with all the relevance of one of her worshippers.

“What business do you have with me?”

She raises her brow at your gobsmacked expression, watching as you screw your face up before bowing. “Apologies, m’lady, I only happened to bump into your…” you look at where it glows, furrowing your eyebrow, “your orb?”

“Boon.”

You nod your head in understanding before bowing your head again. “Again, my sincerest apologies.”

Luckily, she didn’t smite you, instead asking the question of how you were even talking to her. Getting a shrug from you, you say that maybe it’s because you worshipped her (unofficially, you were never able to make it up to her shrine much to your disappointment) when you were alive- maybe a deeper bond is there compared to someone who had never prayed to her for her protection and guidance.

When she hears this, she’s very interested, pressing you to elaborate further when the Young Prince comes jogging out of the glowing window, waving to you. You slink away, passing the boon to him and bowing to her once again before you disappear into the mass of Shades that choose to wander their new home as well.

After the conversation, you had caught the Goddess’ attention, planting a desire in her to see you again. Even going as far as to write a letter to ask her uncle for a council with you after a week passed of her placing her boon in Tartarus so that maybe you would drift too close to it once again. But each time only the little prince would find them (which she was fine with, but it still left such an unflattering taste of defeat on her tongue each time it wasn’t you). She figured it would be a moot point to send the letter, but it was worth a try.

But she decided to place her boon down once more before she sent it out. Just to try. And this time it worked.

You were the one she saw and she was absolutely delighted- not that she showed it, choosing to keep her stoic and sharp expression. You greet her in a similar way before: awed before bowing your head to her. You continue to go on about how you're happy to see her again and, despite how little you had been buried with, you hoped that she would take this- a broken sword, despite the worn hilt and the deep scars the littered what was left of the flat of the balde; it was still polished (at least what was left of it)- as a proper offering to her for all she had done in your life- even if it truly wasn’t all her doings.

She takes the sword in her hand, holding it high, her eyes shining as she studies it: truly, it was a warrior’s blade. She watches as the history and memories flash in the smooth iron. She remarks that it is a remarkable offering, but she cannot accept it. It feels wrong taking a weapon of a warrior such as yourself.

You smile as her, shaking your head, urging her to take it, for you didn’t need that blade in this afterlife. You had already fought your battles, killing the man who you had been battling with and quelling the rage that had followed you since you were a child for revenge. Eventually, dying from the strain of the fight with a feeling of contentedness.

Athena raises her brow, remarking how that sounded more along the lines of Ares rather than her.

You nod, but say that you couldn’t help but desire her help for she was the goddess attached to your favorite animal. She had to fight the urge to laugh, a shaky smile slipping through as she nods at you. Such a silly thing you are. She decides that she’ll take the sword as a reminder of you, no matter where you should go now. She also decides that you were forming a rather soft cradle in her heart.

After this, she is quick to ask Zagreus about you every chance she gets- not that he minds too much, he tells her about how you’ve been helping him train and you’ve even told him about your life when you were alive (“a general, can you believe that? They’re so young!” Zagreus says as he shows her the new move you taught him). She’s only the slightest bit miffed at hearing that you and Achilles have begun to form a sweet friendship. She’s pleased to hear that his father has been trying to barter with you to get you into Elysium, though she’s a tad confused on the reason you refuse to.

She asks you about it one day and you say that it would take longer to see her and you would prefer to avoid that. It was the only time the goddess has ever had to fight down a blush.

When you get her a bottle of Ambrosia, she’s in pure awe at the huge bottle.

“How did you get one this big?”

You lean against the new sword you managed to get your hands on- something simple and obviously used- you offer her a lopsided grin. “Well, not just any Ambrosia would work, so I decided to try my luck with Lord Theseus and, The Great Bull, Asterius. Took me a couple of tries but I managed to beat them and snag it.”

Athena smiles warmly at it, telling you that she’ll treasure it and think of you every time she takes a drink of it. She realizes in that moment just how important you had become to her, never feeling this… soft for a mortal soul in her life. Her gift to you is a shield and a new sword: the shield bares her symbol of an owl while the sword was ornate with a divine glow. She promises that no matter what they’ll protect you and so will she, you only need to call out her name.

Aphrodite

Cause of Death: A Broken Heart

When the Goddess of Love first sees you- she thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous (of course not as gorgeous as her). The sad look in your eye and the slight frown that rests on your lips makes her almost fall in love right then and there.

“Hello, little one- do you know where the little godling is?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, Lady Aphrodite. I know not where he is.”

She raises her brows, a smile on her face. “How did you know I was Aphrodite, my dear?”

You look up at her, a sudden glint in your eyes has her yearning to see it once again. “No one else could be so breathtaking, my Lady.”

Oh. Oh, she likes you.

She chooses to chatter away with you- despite you mostly listening, adding little things here and there, she feels a strange sense of fullness, like she just ate a full and warm meal for the first time in a very long time, by the time Zagreus arrives. You bid your farewell and she can’t help but follow you with her gaze as your transparent form blends in with the other Shades.

Aphrodite is thrilled the next time she runs into you- or rather you run into her boon. She missed the melancholy look in your eyes, she also doesn’t miss the fact that you’ve come bearing gifts this time: an assortment of colorful flowers rests in your arms and you offer it to her. That glint coming and going like a shooting star as she accepts the offering, holding it up to her nose to take in their sweet scent. How sweet were you to hand her something so delicate.

She asks you where you got them and you remark that you made your way up to Elysium. She’s surprised to hear as such- you didn’t seem like the warrior type. You shake your head, your eyes sweeping low. You weren’t a warrior, far from it- a simple florist if anything. You just drifted until you made it up there and plucked some flowers to make bouquets. You mumble that maybe you’ll be more useful in death.

She tilts her head at the comment, beginning to ask until Zagreus is jogging up to the both of you and it was time for you to leave. She’s a tad annoyed, but reminds herself that the little godling didn’t know- simply trying to break out of this dreary place he calls home and see Olympus in all its glory. She’ll just ask next time.

You gave her another bouquet, this one more beautiful than the last, when she gets the chance to ask you her question. Your eyes pool with a mournful look as you gaze up at her, your hand resting over the place where your heart used to beat as you look to the ground. You explain that you were young when you were wed- just as you were young when you died. You were married off to someone you did not love- someone awful, vile, who beat you down daily just to build you back up so they could laugh when they toppled you over once again. You remark about how you could feel yourself dying little by little, your delicate heart bleeding as your want for life began to dwindle away. You grew sick and you would sit by the window day in and day out, staring out and wondering what your life could have been if you were married to someone you loved. A ghost of a smile blooms on your lips as you look up at her, that glint she oh-so loved twinkling in your eye as you say that you did not die in as much loneliness and pain as you could have; having been making a bouquet dedicated just to her love and sweetness: your Lady Aphrodite who you love, ever so much.

She’s shocked when she realizes the tears that drip down her cheeks, her hand coming to caress your cheek (really your head, she was hulking compared to your small form) with her fingertips. She comments that she would accept every bouquet you made and treasure each flower like it was the one you made for her with your last breaths in the living world.

After that interaction, she comes down a lot more, asking Zagreus if he could bring along her darling florist so that she could talk to you. He always obliges, loving to see the two of you chatter about (well, her chatter about, you usually just listened with a smile on your face as you used the flowers you had plucked into flower crowns for him and Lady Aphrodite). You two become a sort of comfort for him when he’s getting frustrated: seeing your usually melancholy demeanor light up as soon as the goddess appears and in turn the goddess becomes something less vain and more gentle as she speaks to you.

At some point, you’ll probably meet Ares himself- the two never that far from each other, also she adores you, so it only makes sense for you to meet him. He’s honestly a tad unimpressed when you first meet, but when he hears about the heart ache you faced he gains a sense of respect for you, remarking that love is a battle in and of itself and you fought valiantly to keep your ability to love freely (Aphrodite might convince you to have a threesome, I’m not gonna lie, she’s attracted to you on a deep level and she has her trysts with Ares- it’s perfect in her eyes. Though she won’t push you if you don’t desire it).

When you first get her Ambrosia, she’s flabbergasted before it turns into worry for how you got it and the potential danger you were in.

She takes the bottle of gold liquid and the flowers that you had so carefully arranged. Her attention, though, is focused on the said bottle of Ambrosia. “My Darling Florist, how did you get this?” Before you can answer she shoots into a flurry of questions. “Are you alright? Did anything catch you? Hurt you? You don’t seem hurt. Oooh-” she puffs her cheeks out, her gaze sharp- “why did you get me this? It’s dangerous!”

You wait for her to calm down. “I apologize for making you worry, but I simply snuck around and grabbed it from some witches- they didn’t even notice me. And I-” you tap your fingers together, a blush blooming across your face as you look away from the goddess and she decides that she craves seeing that expression on you again- “I thought that you deserved it. It’s a much better offering than my silly bouquets.”

Well, aside from the ‘silly bouquets’ comment (which she corrects you on very quickly), she’s absolutely flattered and it might be the final nail in the coffin that has her falling for you, the little shade in front of her. She decides that you hold a piece of her heart in your translucent hands, though she chooses to keep that information to herself.

Her gift to you is a hairpin that matches hers, though if you don’t have enough hair- she says, you can always pin it to your robe. It’s a blatant claim on her part, but it also helps ease the residual heartache that followed you into death. And, hopefully (a personal hope of her), each time you look at it, you’d fall deeper and deeper in love with her as well.

Artemis

Cause of Death: Arrow to the Heart

She’s confused when she sees you, quick to voice her confusion as well. Also depending on if you're more feminine or masculine (and I don’t mean woman or man, I just mean how you present yourself), she will treat you differently depending. So, for now, we’re gonna go with the more “feminine” option:

“Who’re you?”

You bow. “An honor to meet you, Lady Artemis, I seem to have bumped into that orb on accident. Wasn’t sure what it did and the curiosity got the better of me.”

She hums, she perks when she notices your bow. “You’re a hunter?”

You smile, holding it out to her. “Yes, indeed, my Lady- I prayed to you a lot.” You laughed, adding. “Hoped to join your hunters when I was young.”

She’s quite happy to hear that and begins to chatter along with you. For some reason feeling oddly at ease around you. It’s probably because you were a fellow hunter but she simply can’t help the way she grows an odd sort of… adoration? Something like that, she thinks- for you. She almost laments the fact when Zagreus comes to get the boon.

You nod to him, biding your farewell to the Goddess and passing the boon to the Prince. She doesn’t miss how Zagreus’ eyes shine as you walk away. She almost comments on it but bites her tongue, wanting to observe the prince and the dreamy look that drifts over his features, even as you disappear.

The next time the two of you meet, she asks if she can see you in action. You agree and search up ahead to find something to demonstrate your skills on. You’re quick to find a few Numbskulls. She watches as you take a deep breath, your eyes narrowing on your unassuming targets and your footsteps become silent as you skirt closer to them. You nock an arrow, never looking away. Her eyes gleam with thrumming adrenaline at the way the muscles in your arms tense as you draw the string back. The low groan of the wood barely above a whisper as you wait for them to line up. You hold your breath, releasing the arrow- it goes through all three of them, making them break into dust in a consecutive line, a harrowing scream being wretched from them as they fade from existence. You release the breath you were holding and stand, sending a smile to the young goddess whose eyes shine with stars.

She praises you for your amazing skill and sings of your prowess. You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you argued that you were but a simple bow folk in your living life. Nothing more, nothing less.

She begs to differ! That type of skill only belongs to those of her highest ranking huntresses! She continues to gush about you until Zag comes up and, once again, greets the both of you. That dreamy look coming over his face as he looks at you. She watches as you once again disappear into Tartarus, this time though, after you’re gone, she turns to her cousin and shoots into a tangent about why he had never told her about you before and where did you come from? She has to know!

He answers all of her questions to the best of his abilities but there are even some he doesn’t know about, for example: how you died.

Artemis accepts this and decides that she’ll just ask you the next time the two of you meet.

And, true to her word, she does. She asks you point blank and you can’t help but be slightly taken aback. You laugh softly, leaning on your bow as you begin to recount that you were traversing her forest, as you had done many times before, and noticed fresh foot prints of man. You decided that it would be a good idea to look and you found hunters trying to kill her Golden Stag. You had dove in as quickly as you could, shooting one- the arrow sailing in a clean arch through his wrist before he could let loose his arrow. But as you went to nock another arrow- a searing pain in your chest and heart. You looked down to see blood pooling around your robes, dying the olive green of your cloak a wine red. You remember the last thing you saw was the Golden Stag running away. You smiled telling her that you were happy he got away- you don’t know what you’d do if he had been captured despite your effort.

Artemis suddenly remembers that day: her stag rushing to her and urging her to follow him- he bounded through the forest, frantic and panicked. When they got to a clearing, she was quick to notice the blood and the drag marks of a body. Her stag pressed his nose to the ground sniffing at the pool of blood, his eyes watering and bulbous tears slid down his muzzle. It suddenly made sense. You were the one he was mourning for.

She couldn’t help but grab your hands, resting her forehead against the back of them; thanking you for protecting her stag when she couldn’t. You smile at her, bowing your head to her and thanking her for the countless hunts she went on with you. You pull your hands away from her and hold out your bow to her. She asks what you think you're doing in a watery voice and you say it’s an offering. You couldn’t give much when you were alive and you still can’t give much now, but, this bow- it shall treat her right.

She sniffles as she takes it, trying to hold in tears. She vows to treasure it for all of time as she admires the worn wood.

That day, the two of you became closer as comrades, she would actively come down to say hi to you (and encourage Zagreus to take the leap and court you after she learned of his growing affections for you). The two of you would talk about everything you could think of, explaining how your hunting styles differed or how you could set a trap easier. She had realized that she had never felt this carefree with anyone before. She felt like a child. It felt nice.

When you snag her a bottle of Ambrosia- she’s swaddled in a whirlwind of emotions.

“You… You got this for me?” She asks as she takes the bottle of golden liquid.

You nod, that gentle smiling spreading across your face. “Of course. You had helped me so many times- it is only fair, my Lady-”

“Artemis-” she sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles- “call me Artemis, my friend.”

She finds you to be a perfect friend- a breath of fresh air from home. She may not feel any romantic feelings towards you, but she still holds you in a dear place in her heart. Her gift to you is a new bow and quiver that will never run out of arrows. The bow is enchanted and you’ll never have to fear it breaking for it will protect you for as long as you exist- in this realm or another.

Ares

Cause of Death: Blood Loss

When Ares first sees you, he is… well- he’s impressed that you stumbled upon his boon, but at the same time… He’s a tad miffed? That you found it?

At the very least he’s condescending as all hell about it:

“What is this? A little lamb came to beg me for power? How foolish. No matter how hard you struggle you will never be much more than some little shade.”

“Ah, sorry, my Lord! Didn’t mean to bump into it!” You hold up the basket in your translucent arms, “I wanted to see if I could find some new ingredients to bake with! I do oh-so miss it, sir.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

He ends up allowing you to chatter on with him despite his obvious judgement on your, what he calls, “soft mortal hobby” until Zagreus comes to do his daily try of breaking out from the Underworld.

As he watches you drift away (after passing the boon and giving words of good luck to the Prince, who happily takes it), he kinda hopes to see you again

And see you again he does! He literally sees you the next day- night? Whatever, he’s never sure when he drops a boon in there- it’s damn dark-

He’s presented with a basket of treats and your gleeful greeting as you chatter that you found ingredients to make some Baklava and you thought that, maybe, he’d like to try it?

He smiles- cruel and sharp- and asks if you truly think that this is a fit offering for a god such as himself?

You shrug, saying he doesn’t have to eat it if he doesn’t want to

He laughs and takes it and you two are off chattering again: him regaling you with his war stories and you of the ingredients you had (somehow) found down here until Zag shows up, once again, the boon is passed to him (this time along with a slice of the delicious, warm Baklava. Which, he’s confused on what it is but he finds out very quickly that it’s his favorite treat).

The two of you talk a lot, which Ares is pleasantly surprised about, usually he’s the scorn of everyone- not that he cares, it causes conflict and he likes that. But you’re so calm and sweet that he just can’t get a rise out of you. Which, on one hand, pisses him off to no end, but, on the other, it’s such a nice change of pace for him. He’s used to the bloodshed and animosity of battlefields- the iron tinged air that follows after the warriors that traverse those fields. And yet, here you are: a shade that always has a treat for him when you run into him and the smell of warm sweetness wafting after you.

So when he learned exactly how you died- he was absolutely floored.

“How did you die, little baker?” He asked one day, fiddling with his knife, tilting it discreetly so that your reflection was in it.

“Oh!” You smiled sheepishly, glancing away from him and placing the bag of flour (how did you even get that? He’d have to ask you next) back into your basket. “Well- you see, I bled out.”

He raised his eyebrow, suddenly very interested. “How? You’re so…” he tilted his head and flipped his knife so that the blade pointed at him and the hilt pointed at you, he poked your arm with said hilt. “Soft.”

“Well…”

You explain that you had a little brother who had a nasty habit of getting into trouble- he was a good person, just made foolish choices- and this time, it had cost you your life. He had pissed off the wrong person and, well, when the man had attempted to grab your brother when the two of you were out walking the stalls on your break- you did the only thing you could think of: you fought.

Of course it went horribly, you’ve never been in a fight before then and, despite all the work you did with dough, it didn’t help much when the man pulled out a knife and dug it straight into your gut. But, you don’t mind too much- your brother’s alive and well and, from what you understand from asking Lord Hades, he had started to be more aware of himself and who he angered. Which made you super happy and proud of him!

Ares can’t help but feel some sort of pity for you. So much life to be taken so quickly and placed in- wait. Why weren’t you in Elysium?

You’re incredibly confused when Ares suddenly disappears (Aphrodite appearing in his place in the blink of an eye- she greets you happily and asks if you have any of Baklava to share today. You do not but you do have some Loukoumades if she wanted some. She did). You’re even more confused when the Underworld shakes and angry yelling fills the entirety of it for a solid ten minutes before all goes back to normal.

You tell Ares about it the next day and he simply hums. Keeping it to himself that he made a whole scene about you not being in Elysium by popping up and butting heads with Hades, of course he got kicked out. That still doesn’t stop him from sending angry letters that can span anywhere from one word letters (usually containing a curse word) to a 30 page essay on why you should be in Elysium instead of milling about in such unkempt places.

The first time you go out of your way to get him a bottle of Ambrosia is the day that both scares the shit out of him and makes him hate you for giving him mushy feelings.

You came to him in, almost literal, tatters: your greenish, transparent form ripped in places, the few wisps of you following after your torn form like they were tied to a string. You had held it up to him in a basket, a plate of Baklava sitting next to it, along with some other treats. “Lady Aphrodite mentioned that she wanted to try my Baklava, so I made her some! Though the Ambrosia is just for you, my Lord!”

He blinked at you, taking the basket in a delicate hold. He turned it this way and that, his chest feeling… warm? He wanted to grimace at the soft warmth that thrummed through his veins, yet it was replaced with a smile as he held up the gold liquid. “Thank you, little Baker.”

It was the first time he felt something so unexplainably soft: so gentle and warm as it settled somewhere between the bottom of his ribcage and the top of his stomach. He listened as you told him how you had gotten it: with Zagreus’ help (you even got to meet Lord Hermes! It was so amazing! He had scoffed at that) he led you to a room with Ambrosia as the prize and, despite the young prince’s worry, you managed to beat the monsters and collect it, mostly, by yourself.

Ares was so flattered, but he couldn’t help the way that your tattered form made him feel a sort of worry. He waved his hands through the wisps of your body before he snapped his fingers and a small blade appeared: a beautifully constructed blade that was an exact replica of his (albeit much, much smaller). He handed it to you, telling you that you should have a proper weapon if you’re going to go out of your way to fight in his name.

Dionysus

Cause of Death: Alcohol Poisoning

Dionysus, unlike many, is incredibly excited to see you sitting there. He adores mortal souls and can’t help but look at them each time Zag chooses his boons and he has the chance to glimpse at their souls (despite his tendency to let them go completely after they die- he can’t help but wonder about them once in a while).

“Why, hello there! What’s a little thing like you doing strolling up to my boon, hm?”

He can’t help but notice the way your eyes are a tad dull, but he writes that off as the dark of Tartarus since it’s gone as fast as he noticed it. You smile up at him, absolutely beaming at the God of drink and madness. “Hello, Lord Dionysus!”

“Oho, you could tell it was me? What gave it away?”

The two of you laugh, diving into a conversation. He offers you a cup of wine and is put off with how long it takes you to decline it. He almost thought you looked absolutely ravenous as you peered into the deep red liquid. He shrugs it off and continues to chatter with you until his favorite Zagman stumbles upon the two of you. He’s quick to say hi to you and even leans down to ask you… something. Dionysus misses it, but still watches the way you stiffly nod before you pass the boon to the prince and scurry off.

He’s tempted to ask about it, but decides that he should probably ask you himself instead of trying to pry. Mortals didn’t take well to people snooping around their private lives, which he could respect.

The next time he sees you though, he relaxes you into a sort of peaceful lull as he chats with you before he drops the question.

You stare blankly at him, that dark look in your eye coming back and making his skin crawl. You suddenly laugh it off waving your hands as you tell him that a god shouldn’t worry about a little ol’ shade like you.

He doesn’t push for an answer but the question still swirls in his mind, even as you toddle off after his Zagman pops up. He decides that he’ll actually ask the Prince this time around.

He asks him point blank and Zag, despite him being hesitant at first, decides to spill how you died. You had been the black sheep of your family, never truly fitting into the carefully set path that they wanted you to follow- so you found solace in drinking from a young age. It had taken the edge off of everything, Zagreus recounted you telling him. It filled you with a warmth you had been missing all your life and you couldn’t help but indulge more and more in it until it slowly became your own personal poison. Dionysus grimaced, for once feeling a sort of queasiness in the pit of his stomach as Zagreus continued on with your story. So, one day, you had drunk yourself into a deep stupor after an awful argument with your parents. But, this time, you never woke up. Instead you woke up floating in the river of blood- the River of Styx.

Dionysus had nodded after the Prince finished the story, playing with the goblet in his hand and swirling the red wine that resides in it. He offers a bitter smile to Zag and bids his farewell (of course leaving a boon of his choice with the lad) popping off back to Olympus.

The next time he runs into you, he asks if you’re feeling alright- if you want to talk. You blink at him, confused at first until realization dawns you. You bite your lip, looking down. He’s quick to assure you that you didn’t have to talk about anything- you two could just have a good time like always. You tell him that you’d like that, not yet ready to face your past. He nods, immediately telling you about an embarrassing story about Ares and how much of a lightweight he was which had you letting out an ugly snort along with your loud cackles.

The god begins to take it upon himself to have you smiling more and maybe remedy those dark clouds that appear in your eyes once in a while. He’s pretty observant despite being piss drunk half the time, it also helps that he’s very intune to your emotions for some odd reason, so he’s quick to pick up on when you feel down or your having something the equivalent to a relapse. He has you drink just a little bit from his goblet since it’s better than quitting cold turkey. And that little bit is always enough to quench your thirst and calm you down. You’ve been needing less and less of it as the days (nights?) pass by.

The first time you get Dionysus Ambrosia is the same day that he almost swears that he’ll marry you. He’s quick to grow emotional with the sheer fact that you went out of your way to get something so special for him, his face almost splitting with how wide of a smile he has on his face.

“You got this for me, man?” He says, holding up the bottle in his hand and inspecting it like it’s a precious jewel. “You know this stuff is hard to come by, super hard.”

You nod, the clouds far from your eyes now. “I had to thank you some way and punching a couple of Shades to get my hands on that was worth it.”

“You punched people for me?”

“Of course.”

He fights the urge to squeal and pops the top off, summoning another cup and pouring some in it. “Here’s to us!” He says as he hands you the cup.

He’s honestly never had so much fun just existing with one person. After that he’s never far from you, one usually not seen without the other around- even despite the Underworld not being Dionysus’ favorite place, he can’t help but be willing to venture down there to see you in person (he’s been trying to convince his wonderful Uncle Hades to let you come up with him to Olympus for a little bit- he’s even got his dad and (other) Uncle in on it. Hades officially hates all of them). His gift to you is a matching goblet that will supply you any beverage of your choice. It also has the double power to protect you from all that wishes to harm you, but you’ll learn that in due time. It’ll be more fun that way, Dionysus muses.

Hermes

Cause of Death: Falling

Usually, Heremes wouldn’t have taken the time of day to chatter mindlessly with a shade. But, it was a different story when that shade summoned him through bumping into his boon- now it’s just interesting!

“Eh? Who’re you? It’s kinda strange for a shade to be here and not my Cos, huh? Did something happen to him? You his stand in or something? That’d be kinda funny because you don’t seem like his stand in- not buff enough or something like that.”

You blink slowly taking in the words of his mile a minute speech as he continues to prattle on. You take a seat in front of the quick mouthed god, getting yourself comfortable as he flutters about and chatters. Not like you minded- he filled in the places where you couldn’t with steady conversation. You nod to some of the quips he makes, just to show you were still listening.

He decides then and there that he likes you a lot and that you should meet Charon. As soon as Zagreus pops up to collect the boon- he grabs the back of your robes and goes zooming off with you in tow. You wave to the panicked prince, allowing yourself to be dragged around. He continues to chatter on and on, only taking a break when he reaches the Boatman (who was not expecting a Shade to be accompanying the God of Messengers). He sets you down, tries to introduce you two to each other- realizes he doesn’t know your name, so you end up telling them your name- and then is quick to say goodbye, after he gives a scroll to Charon, and shoots off.

You end up staying with Charon after learning a bit more about the quiet boatman and Hermes is quite pleased when he realizes that he’d be seeing you around a lot more. He’s quick to flutter about you and chatter for a few quick seconds before zipping off. You wave at him.

The process repeats for a while before he finally takes a moment to really sit with you, Charon having gone to pick up more souls and lead them down the River of Styx. He chatters on aimlessly, asking little questions here and there before he decides to ask the million dollar question: “How did you die?”

You blink slowly as him before murmuring that you fell from a very high place, you head cracking open on the rocks at the bottom and now here you are. He asks why you were messing about on a high place, as that seemed to be something most mortals avoided doing. You explained that there was a kitten stuck in an old root on the ledge and you couldn’t just leave her. So, you crawled onto the branch and put her back onto safe ground, but the root gave way and then you went tumbling to your doom.

Hermes is surprisingly quiet throughout the entire exchange until you reach the end and he says: “you’re a real bleeding heart under all that quiet, huh?” You nod solemnly and he laughs, pulling you into a side hug. How could something with such a fleeting life be so selfless with it? He squeezes you harder before he stands up and bids you farwell, shooting off once again. And, again, you wave as he goes.

He grows attached to you quickly afterwards, bringing you little things that might help make you more comfortable down in the Underworld. Of course Charon is there to keep you company which he’s happy about- and he voices that exact thought to the boatman, who just grumbles out a long: uuuuaagghhh as his reply. He pats his arm and says that he knew he’d get it.

When you manage to get your hands on a bottle of Ambrosia- he’s completely blind sided that he almost trips on his own feet. His face flushing a deep red as he takes the offered bottle.

“How’d- how’d you get this?” His speech is all jumbled and jumpy, though he tries to keep the giddy excitement bubbling in his stomach as bay.

“I saved up my coin,” you said, nodding to Charon who nods back. “And bought it from Charon. I would’ve fought for it, but I’m no warrior.”

A smile splits across his face and the wings on the side of his head flutter. He’s quick to scoop you up and hug you, floating up with you as he does.

Hermes is an absolute giddy mess with your offering, not sure if he should kiss you or simply remain holding you. He had a special place for you before but this just solidifies his adoration for you. His gift to you is a pair of boots with wings on the side of them- an exact replica of his (in your size! Somehow-). He promises that they’ll help you get anywhere you want quickly, also the two of you match! How cute is that?

An assortment of Ghost hcs @lady-necropolis and I created sorry if they’re awkward and poorly written I’ve never done this before

Relationship hcs:

Terzo

Likes seeing his s/o in his clothes, has a very “what’s mine is yours” attitude. Also he thinks it’s hot.

He likes to play with his s/o’s hair when he’s stressed or they’re stressed or whenever he possibly can. And if they have long hair he braids it. @lady-necropolis actually wrote a fic based on this ! It’s really good 🥰.

Very fun to be with because of his confidence and extravagance, definitely brings a shy s/o out of their shell and brings out their best side.

However a lot of his confidence is probably him putting on airs and he will let his s/o see his soft and vulnerable side, probably talks to them about his worries at 2am lol

Copia

Love language is touch, has to be constantly touching his s/o partially bc he’s touch starved and he just likes to check that they’re still there partially for reassurance. He is very fragile ok.

Very needy and requires a lot of reassurance but he is very worth it.

Texts his s/o constantly (as long as they don’t mind, he doesn’t want to be a nuisance)

Very patient and understanding with his s/o and happy to hear about and help with any problems they may have if he can.

Family hcs:

They all know each other inside out, including which buttons to press to annoy each other and how to calm each other down.

Terzo’s love language is “collecting” things from his brothers and s/o he wanders into their room and takes their clothes and little things that remind him of them so he can have little pieces of them wherever he is, they know he does this but they don’t mind.

Because of this he’s happy to share his wardrobe with his s/o and his brothers.

Secondo is the dad. He dads everyone, including terzo even though he’s only 3 months younger. He’s such a dad he even dads primo.

Terzo loves his big brothers but is closer to secondo. He has definitely slipped up and called him dad before, hes even said it in front of Nihil. Nihil didn’t even notice.

Terzo definitely slept in secondos bed a lot when they were younger, they were a comfort for each other.

If you want to hurt terzo you have to go through secondo. He is very protective.

The emeritus brothers adopt copia. Secondo dads him (obviously) and he loves it, he absolutely thrives.

Secondo teaches him swear words. He also taught terzo.

Secondo has definitely berated sister for being a bad mother to copia , he will not stand for this shit. Overhearing this conversation is how copia found out, he didn’t mention it to anyone it was a very stressful realisation for him.

General hcs:

Terzo

Loves baths, loves bath bombs. He smells really really nice.

Has the biggest bed, very luxurious and comfy. His room is also very lavish and fancy, it’s much nicer than copias. Sorry copia.

Doesn’t get angry too often but when he does he literally explodes he is a ball of rage he will break things and yells very very loudly.

Gets pep talks from secondo when he’s feeling self conscious or worrying about something.

You get excellent gossip about him from secondo and primo, they know everything.

Primo

Practically raised secondo as he’s a lot older and Nihil was useless.

Has some really sick vintage band shirts, terzo definitely steals them and wears them.

Knows about copias parentage before copia does. Before anyone does actually (except sister obviously)

literally cannot be lied to, no really one knows why but it’s impossible.

Knows everything about everyone, no one knows how

Secondo

Tall. Ridiculously fucking tall, man is a tree.

Bullies terzo for being small, doesn’t mean to hurt him though because he does love him (secretly)

Only person who knows how much he loves terzo is terzo (and probably primo again, can’t hide things from him)

Will not for the life of him use chapstick. He crusty.

He’s usually quite grumpy but he is absolutely terrifying when angry, if he gets angry run just fucking run.

Only person able to calm him down when he’s raging is terzo. Or his s/o but terzo is really the only one brave enough to try. (He has to hug him while he’s storming around so he has to be very fast and very sneaky)

Only copia has ever seen him cry and it doesn’t happen very often, copia was very young so secondo doesn’t think he remembers. (He does)

Copia

He’s very in touch with his emotions and cries a lot. He literally wears his heart on his sleeve. He had to try very very hard to get it under control after becoming papa because it’s too dangerous to be so open.

Angry cryer, always cries when he’s angry and it frustrates him. It ends up making him cry more and he does not appreciate it.

Chinese is not his favourite food, sister doesn’t know enough about him to know what it is. Hell, he didn’t even know until he went on tour and could fully be himself for the first time and not the person he is at the ministry.

Angst hcs

Terzo was furious when he was fired, had a full on screaming match with sister and Nihil, probably threw something at Nihils head.

He had to be restrained and dragged away by primo and secondo and he was still screaming insults at them in Italian all the way down the hall.

Copia saw it being Nihils right hand man, he probably cried as he was very shocked and stressed and he just doesn’t. Know. What. To. Do. He felt awful seeing terzo like that and being unable to stand up for him. Went to his rooms afterwards and apologised. Lots of tears from both of them.

There are more but my brain is fried rn lmao but if anyone likes these expect future posts !!!