Demeter didn’t like humans. She tolerated them, the way one might tolerate a mildly annoying houseplant—something you water because it exists, not because you care. Sure, they grew her crops, sang her praises, occasionally painted her in flattering colors. Bare minimum, really.

Honestly, she had campaigned for their extinction during Ragnarok. Pitched it to the council like a bored intern in a strategy meeting: “What if—just hear me out—we wiped them out?” But of course, they survived. Typical.

So when she found herself strolling through some forgettable little human town (dusty, loud, too many smells), she wasn’t exactly expecting to find you.

And gods above, were you a problem.

Because you? You weren’t just some regular mortal. No. You were a cosmic glitch. A celestial-level mistake. No human had a right to look like that. You were all soft curves and glowing eyes and that stupid little smile like you had secrets and tea to spill. Demeter stared at you for two seconds and immediately decided you had to be some sort of undercover nymph—or a divine prank sent by Aphrodite herself.

For days—no, weeks—she lurked like a lovesick cryptid. Watching you. Memorizing your routines. Taking notes like a stalker with a Pinterest board. Pastels suit you. You hate loud coffee drinkers. You prefer books with tragic endings. Perfect. Demeter had never once been this interested in another lifeform, let alone one that bled when scraped.

And today? Today was the day. Time for her totally casual, not-creepy-at-all “accidental” meet-cute. The plan was foolproof: bump shoulders, offer an apology, let her divine hotness do the rest. Maybe toss in a witty line or two, depending on how your eyes looked in the sunlight.

So naturally, it went to hell.

You fell. Hard. On your ass. Twisted your ankle, let out the most devastatingly pained noise she’s ever heard, and looked up at her with those watery eyes like she just kicked a kitten. Fantastic.

Now she was carrying you bridal-style through the town like some Greek drama queen, and the worst part? She already knew where you lived. Yep. Full-blown creep mode unlocked.

She gently set you in your chair, trying not to panic. Or sweat. Or accidentally crush you with her immortal arms.

Your ankle was definitely bruised, maybe a little swollen. Perfect. That’s exactly how every goddess wants their first crush encounter to go: bodily injury and unsolicited home entry.

Demeter knelt down, fingers twitching, pretending she wasn’t freaking out internally. She pressed her thumb against your ankle, gently rubbing over the discolored skin with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, her voice smooth but just slightly too high-pitched. “Is it bad? It seems- fine?”

And then she looked up at you.

And yeah, okay. From this angle? You were devastating. That soft gaze, the way your lashes curled, how your mouth twitched with the start of a smile. Absolute nightmare.

Gods help her. She was so screwed.