Prince Telemachus who’s always been a little afraid to have children. Not that he doesn’t like them, in fact he actually adores their little cute faces. He’s just afraid he’ll have to leave like his father and they’ll have to grow up like he did.
That is until he marries you, his lovely wife and now princess of Ithaca. Odysseus is back and teaching him all the things a father should.
One of the servants has had a baby and while he’s walking with his father and mother to eat breakfast he hears a soft humming. It’s you, holding the servants baby in your arms while she takes a break on a chair.
Its chubby cheeks are pressed against you, tiny fingers tugging at your hair as you coo and calm it from crying. The sight makes him freeze, heart practically beating out of his chest. It’s so overwhelmingly adorable.
To make it worse, Odysseus and Penelope noticed quickly and start their onslaught of comments such as, “She will be a great mother.” “Are you going to give us a little princess or prince soon?” “She’s great with little ones.”
And that moment of seeing you with the cute baby, being such a natural with them, changes his mind entirely.
Yeah, he is definitely ready to be a father if you’re going to be the mother
The way you write Apollo,Hermes and Telemachus is so good.. anyways...
Fem!reader x Hermes.. so basically, reader is one of Apollo's muses and Hermes kinda "steals her away" from his brother & Apollo is VERY pissed that his brother is flirting with one of his muses...
Poetic dilemma
A/N : Thank you so much! Those three are my favorites(and ody). Also… Hermes and Apollo fighting for you and your attention. What a dream, isn’t it? Hermes art is from Zieru, Apollo art is from Gigi!
WARNING : Fem!Muse!Reader, Hermes and Apollo is fighting for the reader.
Word Count : 926
The golden halls of Apollo’s temple usually rang with the harmonious strains of lyres, the rustle of parchment, and the occasional, perfectly timed dramatic monologue from the god himself. Today, though, you were finding it particularly hard to concentrate on anything but the sheer joy radiating from Apollo. He was currently perched on a marble pedestal, mid-recitation of his new ode to… well, himself, mostly.
"And then, with a flourish of celestial light," Apollo boomed, striking a pose, his eyes alight with inspiration, "I, Apollo, the radiant one, did cast my golden gaze upon the slumbering earth, awakening it with my glorious warmth!"
You smiled, genuinely happy to see him so immersed in his art. "Very… illuminating, Apollo! The warmth truly comes through!"
He beamed, soaking in your praise. "Ah, your appreciation! It truly fuels my divine fire!"
Just as he was about to launch into the next stanza, a sudden, soft whoosh of air brushed past you. Before you could even register it, a strong, playful arm wrapped around your waist, and you were lifted clean off your feet. A familiar, mischievous laugh echoed in your ear.
"Time for a change of scenery, little star!" Hermes's voice chirped, and the world outside the temple became a blur of clouds and sky.
You gasped, half in surprise, half in delight. "Hermes! What are you doing?!"
"Rescuing you from… well, just a change of pace!" he declared, soaring through a fluffy cloud bank, his winged sandals a blur. He held you securely, your feet dangling playfully. "Honestly, I just thought you might like a break. Plus," he winked, slowing to a more leisurely glide, "I'm much more fun than listening to him wax poetic about his own sun chariot for the fifth time today. Though, he does make it sound good."
You couldn't help but laugh, the wind whipping through your hair. "He's going to be furious!"
"Oh, he'll get over it," Hermes scoffed, doing a mid-air barrel roll that made you squeal with laughter. "He has, what, a dozen other muses. He won't even notice one is missing. Besides," he winked, "I'm much more fun than listening to him drone on about his own sun chariot for the fifth time today."
Meanwhile, back in the temple, Apollo was still mid-pose. "…and the mortals, awestruck by my unparalleled brilliance, did fall to their knees in… wait a minute." He slowly un-struck his pose. His eyes, which had been closed in dramatic contemplation, snapped open. He looked to his left. Then to his right. His brow furrowed.
"My muse?" he murmured. "Where is my muse?"
A beat of silence. Then, a terrifying, earth-shaking roar. "HERMES!" Apollo’s voice thundered, shaking the very foundations of Olympus. "YOU WINGED SCOUNDREL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY MUSE?!"
Hermes, who had just landed you gently on a particularly soft cloud, winced. "Ah, speak of the devil… or rather, the sun god. He noticed quicker than I thought."
Apollo descended upon you both, radiating pure, unadulterated indignation. His golden hair seemed to crackle with divine fury, and his lyre, usually a symbol of harmony, looked dangerously close to being used as a blunt instrument.
"Hermes! You absolute scoundrel! You snatched Y/N! My inspiration! My lyrical genius! How am I supposed to compose my ode to the perfect shade of dawn without her insightful feedback on the nuances of 'rosy-fingered' versus 'crimson-tipped'?"
Hermes put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer with a cheeky grin. "Oh, lighten up, brother. We were just... on a field trip. For creative enrichment. Very avant-garde."
Apollo's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Hermes's arm. "Field trip? You're flirting with my muse! My property! This is an outrage! Do you know how long it takes to find a muse who truly appreciates the subtle brilliance of a well-placed caesura?"
You smiled, finding Apollo's passion endearing, even when he was this worked up.
Hermes, ever the provocateur, leaned in closer to you, whispering loudly enough for Apollo to hear, "He's just jealous, you know. My charm is simply irresistible."
Apollo gasped, a hand flying to his chest dramatically. "Jealous?! Of you?! The god of petty theft and glorified delivery services?! I am Apollo! God of music, poetry, light, and prophecy! I have no need for jealousy!" He then pointed a trembling finger at Hermes. "Release her at once, you winged hooligan! She has a symphony to inspire!"
You gently extricated yourself from Hermes's grasp, stepping forward with a smile. "Apollo, it's alright. Hermes was just... giving me a change of perspective. But I'm always happy to hear your latest works!"
Apollo softened slightly, though his glare at Hermes remained. "See, Hermes? She's too kind for your thieving ways. Now, Y/N, darling, we must return. I have a particularly challenging rhyme for 'helios' that only you can truly appreciate."
As Apollo began to lead you away, already launching into a new poetic dilemma, Hermes winked over Apollo's shoulder. "I'll be back, little star. And next time, I'm thinking a whirlwind tour of the mortal realm. Much more exciting than listening to him drone on about himself."
Apollo, oblivious, continued his monologue. You just smiled, a secret thrill bubbling inside you. Being Apollo's muse was fulfilling, and seeing him so happy was wonderful. But being the object of Hermes's playful "theft" and the subsequent divine rivalry was undeniably more entertaining. And you knew, with absolute certainty, that Hermes would indeed be back. And Apollo would be just as hilariously furious.
You're betrothed to the prince of Ithaca. His father is lost at sea and 108 suitors are pushing his mother to choose a new king. When one of them insults the queen, a fight breaks loose, and you end up fiercely defending your lover with a determined owl at your side.
The sound of your sandals on the smooth palace floor echoed off the marble walls, the fabric of your chiton that wasn't bunched up in your hands was brushing against your legs while you hurried towards the hall.
The commotion had managed to make its way through the entire building like a breeze of the salty sea air.
Still, the news reached you later than you'd have liked.
Worry and anger twisted in your chest, a feeling like countless arrows piercing your heart. Your lungs were burning, no breath managing to get enough oxygen in your blood.
You had to hurry.
They would eat him alive.
You were well aware of the suitors. The 108 men who'd grown stubborn roots in the palace and refused to leave without getting a chance.
The king had been gone for so long, leaving his throne empty and his family behind. It had been two decades since he sailed off to war.
Not many believed he was even still among the living, instead thinking he was slaving away in his place in the Underworld.
The queen managed to keep the kingdom from ruin for years, ever since her beloved left, and yet they insisted on a new a king, a new man to wear the crown and sit upon the throne.
A new man to take Penelope as his wife.
The moment they showed up at the gates you'd stared at them with disgust, boring into them with your sharp gaze.
None of them were fit to lead, let alone rule an entire kingdom.
The queen stalled and stalled, the hope of her husband's return heavy on her heart.
However, the suitors soon grew impatient. Causing havoc within the walls of the palace, pounding on Penelope's doors, threatening bloodshed if she didn't choose a new king.
And now, your betrothed, the prince of Ithaca, was caught in the middle of it all because he was cursed with a heart too big for his body.
When you turned the corner of the hallway, you were met with a sight that made your heart shatter and wrath boil in your veins.
The suitors had circled Telemachus, leaving him trapped with no way out while Antinous stood over him, broad shoulders throwing shadows on the face of your beloved.
He was beaten and bloodied, heaving while trying to fight back.
Although a small, proud smile cracked on your face when you saw some of the men limping or nursing their bruised eyes.
Even Antinous was left with crimson streaks dripping from his mouth, staining his teeth. Your feet were carrying you further in their direction, a mindless action.
Panic struck you when Antinous raised his hand to deliver another blow.
Without thinking, you called out to him, rage tinting your voice accompanied by the angry grinding of your teeth.
"Antinous!" You yelled, a scowl on your face as you forced your way through the ocean of suitors.
"Get away from him!"
The giant man lowered his hand with a deep chuckle and turned to face you with a smirk that made the previously boiling blood to freeze.
"If it isn't the little princess. Come to save your prince, have you? I swear it's the other way around."
The grin that sat on his face, his bloodstained teeth exposed, made bile rise up your throat.
The men chuckled, making Telemachus' head fall forward in shame.
You payed them no mind, rushing to your lover.
Giving Antinous a look that could kill, you kneeled down next to Telemachus and cupped his face, a worried crease forming between your brows while you gently brushed your thumb over the blooming bruise on his cheek to soothe it.
"Look at you.. you're bleeding!" You gasped, quickly using your chiton to wipe away the blood on his face.
"I'm fine, I promise."
Telemachus gave you an unconvincing smile, followed by a wince. The worried look on your face tugged at his heart.
You looked like you were about to cry, and he hated to think that he was the reason.
"You're not fine. You're bruised and-and what if you broke a bone? How did this even happen? They knew there'd be consequences if they-"
the words just spilled out of you, the concern for your lover was something you could no longer contain.
He cupped your cheek and smiled weakly.
"My love, please. I assure you, I'm alright-"
He was cut off by Antinous, a scoff falling from his split lips. You scowled again and rose from your knees, a panicked expression appearing on your beloved's face.
"No, don't-"
Telemachus grasped at your hand, only for you to gently tug it from his grip as you approached Antinous.
Only when you made your way over to the grinning man did you notice a big owl circling the suitors, flying high towards the tall ceiling.
You spared it a glance, noting the magnificent coloring of its feathers and the bright eyes filled with something you could only describe as a sense of justice.
Not once had you see such determination in an animal, but it managed to put your mind at ease a little.
"You filthy dog! Who do you think you are?! He is your prince, whether you like it or not. And you have no right-" you snarled, raising your hand to point a finger at him.
He quickly caught your wrist in his fierce grip, a deep frown sitting on his face.
Antinous glanced at Telemachus, who was holding his aching side trying to pull himself off the ground, before averting his eyes back to you.
"He doesn't look very princely to me."
The smirk he sported was enough to make the fire in your chest spread even more.
"You-" you sneered only to be interrupted by Antinous again.
"What? Hm? What will you do?"
"Stop." Telemachus heaved, supporting himself on a marble pillar.
You didn't let yourself be intimidated by him and rivaled him with a look just as sharp.
"There's a special place in Tarturus for you, Antinous. If he'd even allow it." You spoke quietly but firmly, feeling satisfaction bloom in your heart at his reaction.
Antinous scowled, tightening his grip around your wrist.
"He," he began, "is dead."
You smirked, a scoff making its way past your lips.
"You better pray to the gods. Lady Tyche is not on your side. You'll be lucky enough if he even grants you a way to the Underworld. I hope you have enough gold on hand. Because the only way you're getting across the Styx is in pieces." You spat at him, venom dripping from your tongue.
Antinous bared his teeth, fury blazing in his eyes as he raised his other hand in the air, presumably to strike you.
"Get."
Telemachus' voice boomed through the hall, a scorned look on his face.
"Your hands. Off of her." He sneered, pushing himself away from the pillar.
"Do you want another beating, boy?" The giant man roared, almost crushing your wrist in his hand.
Down came your feathered friend, swooping in with its sharp claws and a chilling screech, successfully tearing open a new scar across Antinous' eye. He cried out and dropped your wrist, clutching his face instead.
The other men quickly drew their swords, swinging at the bird, only to miss and receive a peck from its beak against any vulnerable spot.
The owl evaded the suitors' weapons with such grace and struck back with such vigor that you were almost mesmerized.
"Αγάπη μου." *(my love)
Telemachus' gentle call for you snapped you out of your haze.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, worried Antinous had caused you any harm. You stared at him, your lips parted.
"I... no. No, I'm alright. We should leave." You said hurried, supporting his weight while you dragged him down an opposite corridor.
You spared the suitors and the mysterious owl a last glance, a smirk tugging at your lips at the sight of 108 men being defeated by a bird.
Antinous caught your gaze, and he snarled at you, still holding his eye.
"Next time.." he called out after you, "you're dead."
The threat sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine, but he was quickly put back in line by the owl, who promptly delivered a peck to the top of his head.
With a small smile playing on your face, you led your beloved back to his rooms to take care of his wounds.
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
Back in your chambers, you knelt in front of Telemachus, a worried crease between your brows while you gently held a damp linen cloth to his swollen and split knuckles.
The pure white fabric was stained with the crimson blood of your lover, a sting in your heart.
Telemachus sighed and took your chin in his hand, tilting your head to look him in the eyes.
"Λουλούδι μου, your expression pains me. I'd rather see your heartwarming smile." He spoke with a small grin, hissing when his busted lip reopnend and the blood began pouring once more. *(my flower)
Quickly, you pressed the cloth to his mouth, a deep frown on your face.
"And your state pains me. You-... You could've died. These are vicious, feral men, and as much as I don't doubt your ability to stand your ground, 108 against 1.... the odds weren't on your side." You replied, such sadness in your eyes it made Telemachus' heart ache.
"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if..." you sighed deeply, tears threatening to fall from your lashline while your head fell forward.
His gentle hands cupped your face, the rag in your grasp long forgotten.
"But I'm okay. I promise you, my love, it's barely a scratch." A smile cracked on his face and you couldn't help but chuckle, followed by a sniffle.
"You have a larger heart than all those men combined." You whispered, pressing your palm right above his beating heart.
Telemachus cupped your hand and placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fell shut at the sensation as you melted further into his touch.
"Besides," he broke the silence, a smirk on his lips, "I had help."
He glanced towards his balcony and you followed his line of sight, being met with the owl resting contently on the railing, curiosity in its bright eyes.
"Yes," you chuckled, rising to your feet and walking towards the creature, gently dragging Telemachus behind you by his hand, "your mysterious feathered friend. Care to introduce me?"
"Right. Her name's Ath-"
he was cut off when the owl screeched at him and furiously flapped her wings. He startled and chuckled nervously, clearing his throat.
"I-I meant A... Alena. Yes. Her name's Alena."
If an owl had shoulders and they could sag, this is what you'd imagine it'd look like.
You laughed softly, watching as the bird narrowed her sharp eyes at Telemachus. He swallowed thickly and gave her an awkward smile.
"Well, Thank you." You said sincerely, smiling when the owl bowed her head at you.
What a curious creature.
"We should get you some ointments for those cuts and bruises."
You turned back to your beloved.
"I told you, I'm totally fi- ow."
He winced, holding his side that would undoubtedly bloom with purples and blues come evening. You sighed softly and shook your head at him.
"You're too sweet for your own good sometimes."
You caressed his cheekbone and pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, minding his injuries. He hummed into the kiss, resting his hands on your waist.
Lost in your embrace, the owl made another sound, something closer to the typical hoot, averting your attention to her.
She ruffled her feathers and with a last glance at the both of you she took off into sky. With a content expression you watched her glisten in the afternoon sun.
Telemachus had a bright smile on his face and waved after her, watching as she flew into the sunset, disappearing behind the horizon.
“I look into your eyes and I think back to the son of mine, you’re as old as he was when I left for war…”
Odysseus can’t help but smile as he gazes down to the baby boy cradled in his arms.
He’d spent years trying to get home, trying to see his family again. It had never occurred to him that his family may have grown in his absence.
His son, his boy, Telemachus, had grown into a wonderful man. More than that, a wonderful husband and father.
Odysseus had learned quickly about you, his sons betrothed, as he settled in back home.
He watched as his son reminded him of himself, hopelessly in love and devoted to his wife. A proud feeling swelling in his chest as he reminisced and caught the softness of his son's eyes on you.
His pride only grows as he watches his son become a father. A little baby boy that reminds Odysseus so much of the one he left behind all those years ago.
Odysseus watches his son hold his own boy, watches as he shares his immeasurable joy with you, listens as Penelope tells their grandson stories, and imagines what it must have been like after he’d gone.
Baby Telemachus being rocked to sleep with stories of adventures filling his head, growing and only knowing his father as myth, finding you and falling deeply into love just as his father before him had.
Now Odysseus’s grandson rests in the nursery where his son once laid. Now a grandfather, Odysseus rocks the boy to sleep the same way he had so few times with his own son.
And as he lays him in his crib to rest he’s grateful to not miss this. To be here to watch his son be a part of all the things he couldn’t.
For Telemachus to experience all the firsts with his boy that Odysseus missed with him.
The afternoon sun spilled across the palace courtyard in warm ribbons of gold, turning the pale stone pleasantly hot beneath bare feet and bathing Ithaca in the lazy stillness that only came after a successful harvest. The sea whispered somewhere beyond the cliffs, gulls wheeled overhead, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Odysseus had absolutely nowhere he needed to be.
He intended to enjoy every heartbeat of it.
Stretched comfortably across a woven blanket beneath the shade of an old olive tree, the King of Ithaca rested with his hands folded behind his head, one ankle lazily crossed over the other. The countless scars earned through twenty years of war and wandering gleamed pale beneath the sunlight, no longer marks of survival alone but reminders that he had come home. His eyes drifted shut as the breeze carried the scent of saltwater and wild herbs across the hillside.
Unfortunately for his peaceful afternoon, there was a very important little person who had absolutely no interest in allowing him uninterrupted rest.
His toddler daughter had declared his chest to be the finest seat in all of Greece.
She sat there triumphantly with all the confidence only a two-year-old princess could possess, balanced squarely over his sternum with her tiny legs dangling against his ribs. In both chubby hands she clutched an enormous ripe fig that looked almost comically oversized beside her round little face.
Odysseus cracked one eye open just enough to watch her.
She was concentrating with breathtaking seriousness.
Small brows furrowed.
Tongue peeking out.
Both fists squeezing the fruit with enough determination to conquer kingdoms.
“My clever girl,” he murmured sleepily.
She answered with a proud squeal before taking another enthusiastic bite.
The fig immediately fought back.A stream of deep purple juice burst from the opposite side of the fruit and splattered directly across Odysseus’s cheek.
He blinked.
Another drop landed on the bridge of his nose.Then one rolled dramatically down toward his lips.
The king remained perfectly still for a long moment, as though refusing to acknowledge that he had just been defeated by produce.
Above him, his daughter froze.
She looked down at the sticky trail decorating her father’s face, her enormous eyes widened. “…Oops.”
Odysseus let out the longest, most theatrical sigh Ithaca had heard in years.
“I survived monsters,” he announced gravely to the heavens. “I survived storms sent by Poseidon himself. I escaped Cyclopes, Sirens, Scylla, Charybdis…” His gaze slowly drifted upward toward the tiny culprit perched on his chest. “…Only to be slain by a fig.”
The little girl dissolved into delighted giggles.
Not polite laughter.
Not even sympathetic laughter.
The sort of infectious, wholehearted cackling that only toddlers seemed capable of producing.
She laughed so hard she nearly tipped sideways.
Odysseus reached up automatically, steadying her with one broad hand around her little waist before she could tumble off him.
“There now,” he said, unable to keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Laugh at your old father, will you?”
She answered by patting his sticky cheek.Unfortunately, her tiny palm was now covered in fig juice.The affectionate pat became a slow smear.
Purple streaks spread across his face.
“There,” she declared proudly.
Odysseus stared upward. “…I have been painted.”
His daughter nodded with complete satisfaction, her curls bouncing. “Pretty.”
He barked out a laugh so sudden it startled a pair of sparrows from the nearby branches.
“You hear that?” he called toward the palace. “My own daughter has decided I required decoration.”
From the terrace overlooking the gardens, you looked up from the basket of folded linens resting against your hip. The sight before you nearly made you drop it entirely.
Your husband, The legendary Odysseus, whose name inspired songs throughout the world, lay completely at the mercy of a toddler.
His face was smeared with dark fig juice.
One curl of his hair had somehow become sticky enough to stand slightly upright.
Your daughter sat proudly atop him, still chewing her fruit with the dignity of a queen enjoying a royal feast.
You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.The sound carried easily across the courtyard.
Odysseus opened one eye toward you, wearing the long-suffering expression of a man who knew he had absolutely no allies.
“I was ambushed.”
“I can see that.”
“It was entirely unprovoked.”
Your daughter gasped in outrage around another bite of fig.
“No!”
“Oh?” you asked, hiding another smile.
Odysseus pointed toward the tiny princess balanced on his chest. “She launched the first attack.”
The little girl immediately shook her head so hard that soft curls bounced around her cheeks.
“No.”
“You’ve become a remarkable liar for someone who still asks permission to climb stairs.”
She simply stuffed another bite of fruit into her mouth.
Another splash of juice escaped.Another drop landed squarely on Odysseus’s forehead.
You covered your mouth as laughter escaped again.
He looked skyward in quiet resignation. “I surrender.”
Your daughter beamed.
Apparently believing surrender meant victory, she leaned down and wrapped both sticky little arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug.
The embrace coated his shoulders, beard, and hair with even more purple juice.
Odysseus closed his eyes as though accepting his fate. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “the Cyclops was cleaner.”
Your daughter pulled back just enough to press an impossibly loud kiss against his forehead.
“Mwah!”
His expression melted instantly.
The warrior who had outwitted kings and monsters alike disappeared, replaced by nothing more complicated than a father hopelessly enchanted by his child.
He smiled up at her with all the softness twenty years of hardship had never managed to erase.
“I suppose,” he murmured, brushing a stray curl away from her face with surprising gentleness, “there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than being covered in fruit by the greatest treasure Ithaca has ever given me.”
You crossed the courtyard and lowered yourself beside them, smiling as your daughter immediately leaned toward you, offering the mangled remains of her fig with complete generosity.
“For Mama.”
You accepted the sticky little offering as though it were a priceless gift. “Thank you, my love.”
She settled happily between the two of you, one tiny hand resting against your arm while the other continued clutching what remained of her snack.
Odysseus reached over and intertwined his fingers with yours, the warmth of his calloused hand familiar and comforting.
For a long while, none of you spoke.
There was only the rustling olive leaves overhead, the distant crash of waves against Ithaca’s cliffs, and the contented little sounds your daughter made as she finished her fig atop the safest place in her world, her father’s chest.
Odysseus glanced between the two of you, his smile quiet and full.
After everything he had crossed the seas to reclaim, every battle fought and every god defied, this was the victory he treasured most: an ordinary afternoon beneath the sun, his wife beside him, his daughter sticky with fruit, and a peace no legend could ever surpass.
