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historiaxvanserra · 2 months

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These Violent Delights | Chapter Two

Summary: A High Lords meeting goes awry and you find yourself thrust into the foxes den.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (brief mentions of Azriel x reader)

Word Count: 6.4k

Chapter 1 of These Violent Delights on my Masterlist

The Hewn City’s state rooms are ugly, you think as you stalk the emissary of the Night Court through the winding, narrow corridors of Hewn City. The palatial chambers had been carved into the dark stone of the mountain by the Gods of old; and the high, domed ceilings are held in place by onyx pillars decorated with twisted carvings of beasts and fornicating demi-gods that line the Gothic archways.

Lurid, ill-fated omens, you think.

Harbingers of your undoing.

The emissary appointed with escorting you is adorned in ceremonial robes; a fine damask tunic in a deep indigo silk that is almost iridescent in the artificial light. You fall into step with him as he approaches a set of gilded iron gates. Two armored sentries fall into rank as you cross the threshold of the council chambers and you offer a courteous nod to the sentry as he meets your eye.

The antechamber of The Moonstone Palace is plunged in a suffocating blue-darkness with only the silvers of silver faelight, like artificial stars, to light the faces of the High Lords. The atmosphere is oppressive and the smell of hemlock and moonflowers stain the stagnant air. For a few moments, while you’re lost in thought, the world is silent and still. Feigning peace. But there is no peace. Not here, where the eyes of every High Lord in Prythian are upon you.

Hewn City is a dark mirage. A metropolis of hedonistic desire and vulgar frivolity

It is here in the dark that you find yourself adrift; lost somewhere to the sea of time. You abandon yourself to the tide of memory. The happy recollections of your childhood; to the thought of home. Someplace far from here, where the sunlight touches your skin and the smell of salt from the coast becomes tangled in your unbound hair. Somewhere, in the recesses of your mind, where you know your mothers love and your fathers face is something more than a mere memory.

It occurs to you that this is a home that never existed.

Home had always been burning; the acrid smell of woodsmoke beckons you like a funeral pyre and your salt-cracked lips chafe and bleed in the wake of blistering winds from the violent sea. And that’s the thing about mothers, you and she exist as some wretched mirror or one another; as hatred and guilt.

You’ve been thinking of your mother a lot as of late; something in your dreams, the echoing of a coming storm. A fine line between love and hate. It is something strange and prophetic that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably from your body.

In a flurry of movement against the black you are brought back to the present as you take your place amongst the ranks of the Inner Circle.

The silhouettes of the other High Lords, that had been flickering wildly against the dark stone of the mountain, cease to move. Cease to be, as shadows envelop the room, melting into the darkness as Rhysand glides into the room his violet eyes glinting in the dark. His eyes shine with a cold violence that draws you from thought and the visions of a home long forgotten turn to ashes in your trembling hands. He’s dressed all in black and violet, his tan skin looks pallid in the low light. By his side Feyre’s skin looks as though it is wreathed in starlight against the backdrop of the twilight-- you catch the scent of chamomile and moondust in the air.

It smells like Nyx you think, smiling lightly to yourself at the thought of your nephew.

A tremor of dark power ripples through the air and you feel the shift in the atmosphere when shield after shield locks into place around each High Lord and his retinue of courtiers. The shield that Rhysand had already placed around the Inner Circle; made stronger in response. Night magic glitters in the air like stardust and you swear you can taste it on your tongue. That same cold rage and an essence of icy violence fortifies you against the hostility in the room and you school your expression to remain neutral when you seek out a pair of strange amber eyes in the crowd.

A gentle warmth burns though your chest and your eyes scan the crowd.

Eris Vanserra moves like a predator; resolute and obstinate. Amber eyes burn like fire glow in the dim light and each of his long strides are punctuated by the echo of boot clad feet on the marble. In this light, his face is almost ethereal. Unearthly even. Set in a painfully neutral expression as he slinks through the halls of the city below the mountains of Velaris. Eris Vanserra burns bright against the other Lords of Pryhtian; his copper hair, like burnished gold in the dim lights, and his eyes. Those fucking eyes. Haunting and evocative as he meets your gaze with a feline smirk.

It is a wicked, false thing, that glitters with malice.

He watches you with a wrathful sort of reverence. He is so very lovely, even in the pallid light. Even as his father and brothers flank his sides like a pack of hungry foxes; hungry and baying for blood.

You watch him carefully as Eris takes his seat at the foot of the large black table, he’s careful to make a show of the way he languidly reclines in his chair, rolling his shoulders back and angling his hips in such a way that the whole room is displayed to him at once.

It’s almost voyeuristic in nature.

That summons a storm within you; a violent, lonely, sort of thing, that washes over him with the force of a raging tempest down the scarcely accepted bond and his eyes, glittering and amber in the dying light, finding yours again. For a moment, Eris Vanserra sees himself through your eyes; for the first time in centuries he doesn’t hate the man staring back at him.

By his side Eris’ mother’s skin looks as though it is wreathed in fireglow against the backdrop of the twilight-- you catch her dark glassy eyes and she smiles softly at you. There is a deep sorrow there, in the depths of The Lady of Autumn's eyes, that feel kindred to you.

A shared pain, perhaps.

Turning as Rhysand and Feyre push further into the darkness of the antechamber, you are drawn from thought once more.

The rest of The Night Court look like some savage celestial army as they enter on a night-kissed breeze. Cassian and Nesta look like warriors hardened by war and ruin, all dressed in black and faces coloured with cold caution. They’re followed by the Shadowsinger, who is shrouded in dark wisps of shadow and his skin glows golden against the dark. His face is set in an unreadable expression, though, when your eyes meet a flash of recognition flashes in those hazel eyes.

Rhysand stops dead in his tracks when he regards the High Lord of Autumn.

Beron Vanserra; cruel and tyrannical, keens when he notes the flash of surprise in Rhysand’s violet gaze. His eyes simmer with a dim fire as his eyes land on you. Beron’s teeth are like crow-picked bones as he offers you a feral smile.

“We weren’t expecting you, Beron.” Feyre’s voice is distant and cold as she speaks to the High Lord and his sons.

Rhysand rises to his feet from his throne, waving his hand to the attendants, “Fetch the High Lord and his Lady a seat.”

The attendant presents Beron with a chair and he settles between Helion and the Lady of Autumn, neither Helion nor the lady seem to acknowledge each other but you can feel the shift in their demeanors as Beron’s ire sparks in his eyes. He doesn’t even spare The Lady of Autumn a glance before he moves on to inspecting his fellow High Lords.

You pay Beron no heed and instead your eyes find the Lady of Autumn as she settles into her seat beside her husband and eldest son. The Lady of Autumn is like one of Feyre’s paintings; arresting and darkly beautiful. Her romantic eyes are shaded in the colors of sunset; a warm amber that looks almost golden in the low light and her dark auburn hair glitters in the dying fireglow and her eyes-- so rich that you get lost in their glassy depths. Those haunting eyes. They’re Eris’ eyes you realize as they meet yours. Though she doesn’t linger long she gives you a soft smile before returning her gaze to her long slender fingers that twitch in her lap. They’re adorned with many gold rings and crystals that she wears like armor to fortify her against the hostile atmosphere.

You see something of yourself in her you think, looking down to your own attire. An opulent and finely boned corset, cinched so tight, that even breathing feels like a luxury and the heavy black damask that covers you in swathes of pleated fabric acts as barrier between yourself and the many eyes in the room that trail over you without care or warning.

“Nor was I expecting to be here,” Beron drawls, “But alas, it seems we have business to discuss.” Beron’s fire rages dangerously against the black. Torrid and angry, his face unflinching and cruel as he turns his gaze upon Rhysand. Something treacherous passes between the two High Lords at that moment and something in your chest begins to stir like a storm inside of you.

A warning of a coming storm.

“Rumor claims that your allegiances are elsewhere, these days.” It is your voice that counters and Beron croons. The High Lord of Autumn assesses you keenly, his gaze shifting-- from the darkness of your eyes-- down. To the sulk of your lips. Further still to the exposed slope of your shoulders and coming to rest on your chest, where the swell of your breasts spills over the corseted bodice of your gown. His eyes darken luridly as his eyes meet yours again. Beron Vanserra scrutinizes every minute detail of your dark armor; every errant hair, every nervous twitch of your jaw, every flutter of your dark lashes.

It’s disarming the smile that spreads across his handsome face and his eyes shine with a maniacal sort of joy that sparks a wave of fury that runs through you like water-- and you swear you can feel Eris’ own fiery rage in answer.

“And what would you know of my allegiances, girl?” The false smile he offered is soon replaced with a deep loathing in Beron’s eyes that practically burns through you.

In a way, it feels strangely comforting to feel his ire.

To feel anything at all that isn’t paralyzing dread or hirearth for a home to which you will never return.

Helion waves a scar-flecked hand in front of him, “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

The High Lord of Day glows with the radiance of the golden sun and he looks at you with such a strange mixture of boredom and curiosity that almost seems like reverence. He doesn’t dare look at The Autumn Lady in her seat though you notice the careful glances she makes towards him in those spaces between the seconds when no one is paying much heed.

“I know you met with rhe Prince of Rask.” you say and all the idle chatter in the room dies at once. “And he’s working with the Koschei, isn’t he?”

Beron opens his mouth and you brace yourself for the torrid flames of his wrath. You see the violent delight dance across Beron’s eyes and Rhysand just holds his stare. Hold it with a face like icy death. And beneath the surface you see untempered wrath as it ripples beneath his carefully curated mask. A sharp pain in your chest has you seeking out Eris at his father’s side. His face is the picture of cataclysmic rage; writhing and burning in those eyes.

To anyone else Eris Vanserra is the image of infernal rage. A righteous son to a wronged father. But to you-- all his fear comes home to you.

A warning fire.

“Never mind, we can discuss the happy news of your heir’s birth another time,” Beron smiles again at Rhysand and Feyre. It is Feyre who regards him with a snarling fury at the mention of the son she had almost died to bring into the world.

She would give her life again if only to protect him from the clutches of a tyrant like Beron. Of that you were certain.

“I believe we have business to discuss?” Beron questions again when no one responds to his taunt.

All the eyes in the room turn to you when you loose a laugh, “I didn’t realize we were in the business of discussing plans with our enemies.”

Eris Vanserra looks as though he might just vault over the table and silence you himself. His eyes smoulder in the dark and the scathing look he sends your way is enough to make you weak in the knees.

“Make no mistake girl,” Beron muses, his eyes sparking with feral delight, “I am not your enemy,”

“You are advised to keep it that way.”

In that moment you are bereft of every thought and sound in your mind as the room stills.

Rhysand and Feyre falter and look between you and The High Lord of Autumn-- and his heir.

Your mate.

Eris himself remains poised, his fingers wrapped around the arm of the chair, the wood straining under his cruel grip until his knuckles turn as pale as the sea foam that swirls atop the Sidra.

It is the Shadowsinger who rises from his seat in response, “Threaten her again, old man-- I dare you.” Azriel’s voice wraps round you like cold death and you can’t help but stare impassively as he places his body between yours and Beron. The flicker of flame is smothered by Azriel’s darkness.

Beron sits in his chair without so much as a word. Though you see the taunt in his eyes as he looks at you again. Azriel’s imposing figure still stands over you, a scarred hand that strokes languid circles into the skin of your shoulder. The bond in your chest hums violently.

“Call off your dog, Rhysand.” Eris’ voice is dangerously low as he eyes Azriel.

Rhys shrugs, smiling faintly “Very well,” he muses.

Azriel takes his seat beside you, though his scarred fingers remain fixed on the arm of your chair.

“Tell me, Azriel?” Eris laughs coldly, his voice devoid of any humor and he opens his mouth to speak, “Does it pain you knowing that both of your brothers have been given a sister as a mate?”

“And yet the Mother still deems you unworthy of a Mate -- desitined to pity fuck the spare sister.” Eris muses with a lilt of his voice when he realizes he has the upperhand.

A twinge of heat in your chest from the bond makes your scowl deepen.

Azriel blinks at first, his face twisting in rage before rising to his feet once more, barrelling over the table with an inhuman growl. Azriel grips Eris by the lapels of his emerald tunic. Coming together in flashes of flame and smoke as they struggle against one another. Eris swings a leg over Azriel’s thigh bringing them both tumbling to the floor, while the other High Lords watch on with varying degrees of amusement and frustration on their faces.

Your face heats under the scrutiny. Unable to move or speak-- your stormy facade rendered useless as the tears begin to well in your eyes.

You are a storm-- but in the face of their wrath there is naught you can do but watch and abide.

Rhysands commanding voice cuts through Azriel’s cursing and Eris’ insults. The room falls silent as the males pull away from one another. Azriel’s nose is bloodied and his hair falls around his face in messy strands. Eris’ lip is split, spilling crimson along the column of his throat. You trace the line of scarlet as the droplets stain the neckline of his white shirt. You can hear his heartbeat as it flutters wildly. His eyes meet yours and a look of resignation and shame crosses them for a moment; obscuring the perfect amber of his gaze.

Azriel wipes his blood on his leathers; wears it like armor as he turns to Eris “Something to remember me by.”

Azriel spits the words like venom at Eris whose face radiates with a dark and fiery wrath.

Feyre looks between the two males and then to you; her face softens then as she regards you. Your hands shaking wildly, and a heartbeat like an echoing war drum, the bond in your chest singing a mournful song as it rages inside you.

You look utterly devastated.

She’s not used to seeing that kind of defeat on the face of her elder sister; the sister who had weathered so much, always headstrong and ardent, who had suffered every injustice with a straight face-- she hadn’t quite prepared herself for the type of sorrow that realization would bring with it.

Taking in the scene unfolding before you-- the descent into violence and the blood that pools like rubies at Eris Vanserra’s feet you loose a shaky breath. “Enough--enough” You wave your hands between Azriel and Eris.

The males both take a tentative step away from one another and further from you.

“Who shares my bed is of little concern, I assure you, My Lord,” You insist firstly, setting your shoulders straight and facing them now with all the stormy determination you can feign in that moment, “from what I’ve heard you yourself have quite curious bedfellows.”

Beron sneers and scoffs from his seat at the foot of the table at the insult. A lie, at that. If anyone does share Eris Vanserra’s bed they are a mystery to you.

“Preferring the company of hounds - or so I am told.” Azriel adds.

And in truth you and Azriel haven’t so much as locked eyes since that night in Hewn City. After the mating bond between you and Eris had made its home in your chest you hadn’t been able to think about anyone or anything else.

Just him. And those amber eyes.

“We are here because once more someone is threatening the tenuous peace we have established here,” Helion nods his head thoughtfully and Thesan, who had remained silent throughout the whole ordeal looks at you with genuine encouragement and utters his agreement. Kallias and Vivianne remain silent and imposing on the other side of the table.

“It is our duty-- our privilege-- to ensure Prythian and its people are not ravaged by war again.” You look to Kallias then, unimpressed by the needless violence that had passed but somehow enamored by your words.

“Hyburn took so much from us-- from all of us.” You say, gesturing around the table and the High Lord’s faces are all shaded in sympathy and regret for all they had lost, “and Amarantha made slaves of you all.”

You cast a glance to your sister; who had fought and died for these great men and their courts. And to Rhysand who had subjected himself to being her plaything. Something like grief flashes in those violet eyes that sparks a storm in you.

“I will not be a slave again,” You vow and you notice then how all the High Lords seem rapt withal as you speak to them, and the storm inside you rages on, “to anyone.”

The tensions around the table seem to dissipate when Helion raises a chalice and smirks fondly at you and it seems that they see you as more than a bed warmer to a dark God or the mate of some High Lord’s heir. Talons scrape menacingly along your mental shields and Rhysand’s dark presence makes itself known to you. Bed warmer? Darling you are a storm-- everyone here knows it.

A force to be reckoned with.

The rest of the meeting seems to come to pass as intended, laborious hours of negotiating and political games as you come to terms with each High Lord in turn. By the time the moon hangs in the sky like cut quartz, almost all of the High Lords have already departed, leaving only The High Lord of Spring and The Autumn Court’s entourage.

“Where did you find this one, Rhysand?” Tamlin asks, his tone measured and light.

Rhysand looks between Feyre and you smiling lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I heard they found her in a Hyburn cell, after the war was over.” It is Beron Vanserra’s voice that cuts in, “what was left of her anyway.”

“Perhaps we should be asking where your loyalties lie?” It’s the middle Vanserra brother that speaks. His russet curls glow warm in the dim lights and his stare is cruel and malignant as he hones in on you.

“Hyburn whore” It’s whispered, accusatory, on an inhale of breath.

They way it is uttered with an air of repulsion and venom reminds you of those stories told in human villages; of woods women named ‘witch’ by those who do not understand.

People fear what they do not understand.

It seems that Fae are no different than mere mortals in that respect.

“You’d be wise to bite your tongue, brother.” Eris’s voice is a cold echo as all thought and sound eddies out of your mind. Flashes of black and gold as the visions come back to you; those days spent cowering in the darkness of your cell, your feral anger directed at any man who came too close-- all biting fury, canines and claws, and the screams they tore from your like the howling wind over a violent sea.

A fury spreads through you, taking root in the dark caverns of your chest, slowing your heartbeat to a dull aching thud as you lose yourself to it; give yourself over to the tempest of emotion that courses through you. You try to fight it as the first ebbs of that dangerous storm embrace you. Lest you surrender yourself to the tempest; let it open you up and pour out into the world in floods of ravaging power.

It brings forth a storm the likes of which the world has never seen; a thing of ugly rage.

You were born angry, your mother had told you once.

But rage is a learned thing. Your rage. It had been your mother’s first, before that it had her mothers, and her mother before her.

It is an inherited curse; a wicked and wretched thing.

It is a storm enough to drown in.

A howling wind whips around you and for a moment you are standing at a great precipice. From the cliff’s edge, peering down at a violent sea as it coils and breaks against the jagged cliff face of some distant shore, where the world looks as though it is dappled in fireglow, the smell of woodsmoke and bonfires wafts from inland. The sea-soaked wind is so palpable that you taste its salt-kiss on your lips with the ardent fervor of the most savage lover.

There is something sacred in salt, you think.

For a moment you consider what it would feel like; to plummet into the watery abyss. How the sunlight would look as it fractures and splinters on the water's violent surface.

How it might cascade into the murky green depths. A secret held between you and the sea.

“My Lady,” It is Eris’ voice, practically feral and dripping with an aching desperation as he all but vaults around the corner of the dark wood table, parting his brothers with a rehearsed type of brutality as he claws his way to you. His commanding aura draws you closer to him and his pale hand offers a strong and comforting weight on your arm as he takes your trembling palm in his rough hold.

“You’re bleeding,” Eris says, cupping your palm into a fist with his own, applying light pressure to the wound while he assesses it. Turning it over in his tentative grasp. Through your lashes you take a moment to assess him as he towers over you. He’s tall and much broader than you remember but he moves with an inhuman grace. His nose is long and straight and his jaw strong and regal. His amber eyes linger dangerously over the hand cupped in his own. You hadn’t even realized you had stood up. Nor had you registered the blood you had drawn from your own palms until you see the crescent moons, indented in the tender flesh, like a taunt as they stain Eris’ fingertips scarlet as he presses the fabric of his handkerchief to your grazed hand.

“It’s nothing, My Lord,” You say softly, your voice low and you feel his eyes burning into yours; it is a slow, searing ache that almost feels like a kiss. A fragile thing, full of reverence and a strange tenderness. A vein of hurt throbs through you, quickly soothed by the press of his palm to yours.

Eris Vanserra holds a power over you; commands you in a way that should feel unpleasant. The knowledge that you would give yourself over to him if only he asked.

“It is only a little blood.” The words live and die on tongue, they fizzle out just as soon as they are uttered before he is calling for Rhysand -- his voice is swallowed by the din and your heartbeat echoes like a wardrum in your ears and the sound of the violet sea breaks against you and you feel your body go lax.

You wait for the dull ache as your body meets the cool marble of the floor only it never comes; instead your weight is suspended in the embrace of Eris Vanserra’s arms, you vaguely hear your name from his lips before the world turns to darkness.

You feel like lull of his heartbeat as he brings you closer against his chest.

The smell of cedar and smoked bergamot follows you into the abyss.

The room seems to come back to you like the tide; swiftly and cruelly as it materializes before you. It comes back in flashes of the dark; the oppressive pillars of dark marble that hold the domed, onyx ceiling in place, the silver fae lights like pallid stars and the visage of contorting demons and chimera’s like half formed ghosts.

“What happened?” You ask looking around the darkened council chambers; once filled with the idle chatter of courtiers and High Lord’s and their entourage now only the Inner Circle is gathered in the darkness contained between these walls.

And Eris.

He burns golden against the black.

“Well one thing is for certain,” It is Morrigan who stands over you, her shoes shine like rubies in the low light, “You know how to make a scene.” Her voice is light and jovial, laced with concern.

“You fainted,” Feyre says plainly as she sinks to her knees before you. It is then you feel Eris’ solid frame as he radiates warmth behind you, where you are propped against his chest. Your body feels foreign and unlike your own as you move, transferring your weight from his arms and into the arms of Feyre who helps you stand on uncertain feet.

“I’m sorry,” You say earnestly to both Rhysand and Feyre and turning to Eris again to mutter your thanks. He looks displeased at that. The distance between your body in his, the unfamiliarity you regard him with as if you hadn’t just allowed yourself to revel in the feel of his arms wrapped securely around you. “I’m sorry.”

“You should return to your father, My Lord.” You laugh humorlessly, using the hand that isn’t wrapped tightly around the lip of the chair to smooth a hand down the pleats of your gown reflexively.

A knock, resounding and resolute echoes through the chamber and the Inner Circle seem to bristle at the intrusion. Through the blanket of the dark a figure emerges; Keir stands tall with an air of arrogance about him as he steps into the antechamber. His hair is dark and graying and his face, though handsome, has begun to show signs of age. His eyes glitter menacingly as he finds you amongst the inner circle.

“My apologies for the intrusion, High Lord.” Keir says, his voice full of dark promise as a second figure steps from the shadow, “but it appears there is a rather urgent matter that has come to our attention.”

The rooms seems steeped in solemn silence as Beron Vanserra reveals himself through the din; dressed in fine merlot robes and embroidered with gold threads and leaves. He looks like Autumn personified. All fire and wrath as he stalks into the room.

“It appears you have been keeping secrets from me, Rhysand.” Rhys takes a step forward approaching Beron with little regard for the fury that burns behind his hazel eyes. The High Lord of Night laughs cruelly as Beron advances further into the room, seeking out his son, who reaches for you almost without thinking. His fingers flex around your forearm and push you further into Feyre as he steps in front of you both subtly.

Beron looks suspiciously between the three of you.

Beron smiles.

It is not a thing of fondness or affection-- It is dark and laden with malevolence. A whisper of amusement lights in his golden irises and Eris feels like a boy again; alone and afraid as the shadows of his fathers wrath descend upon him.

“You knew,” The High Lord of Autumn charges forward, tearing through Azriel and Cassian, as he raves. His voice is dangerously low and full of malice as he advances towards Eris. His eyes blaze against the dark as he casts his wicked gaze upon his eldest son.

“You knew,” He repeats frantically, “That whore is your mate, and you lied to me.”

Accusatory.

Without thought or care, Eris lunges forward and takes one long stride so that his body shields yours from Beron’s grasp as his fire burns vengeful and angry as it bands around Eris’s arms. The putrid smell of burned flesh brings bile rising in your throat and you feel Rhysand’s shields fortify around you and the rest of the Inner Circle in response.

You wait for someone to do something, but as is the nature of these things Rhysand is not permitted to interfere in the affairs of other courts. And whether he likes it or not, Eris is subject to his High Lord and father.

And as it stands he is a traitor to both.

Eris falls to his knees before you and you feel the bond die in your chest; his scream is something akin to dying. It sears through you, burning like fire until you feel like a phoenix rising from its own ashes as your body moves of its own volition.

“Stop, stop!” You plead with Beron advancing a pace towards him as you pull away from Feyre’s secure hold. Not even Cassian dares hold you back when you claw your way from the safety of his arms, “Please, he didn’t know.”

Beron pays you no heed as his wrath brings Eris to his knees.

“Please.” you beg, your voice aching and angry as you address the High Lord, ignoring the warnings of Azriel and Cassian, “He didn’t know.”

“W-we hid it from him.” Your lie desperately, your voice though strained comes out in violent waves of anger as Beron continues to inflict his fire upon Eris.

Your mate.

In a desperate bid to spare him you beg once more.

“Please, whatever you want, you can have it, I swear it.” And all the fire ceases.

Eris heaves a heavy breath and he collapses in a swath of burnished gold and emerald, strewn lazily against the marble. You sink to your knees beside him, his hands, though shaking, are firm against you as they grasp at the many layers of your skirts as he hoists himself up. Even on his knees he towers over you. His hair drapes like spidersilk over one side of his sculpted face as he peers down at you with dark amber eyes. Despite all the eyes in the room Eris brings a tentative hand to cup your cheek and all his remorse and grief flood down the bond that runs golden and brilliant from your body to his; as if to say no use hiding now, little fox.

Eris rises to his feet before his father who looks on with a mixture of feral delight and complete apathy as Eris’ pain subsides.

Keir retreats into the shadows and with him the air shifts; the room, once shaded in the smell of hemlock and moonflowers, is tainted with something more. Something darker. Earthy.

The smell of wildflowers; smoke-kissed juniper and foxglove, all undercut with the smell of salt and iron.

It occurs to you then that it is the smell of your mating bond.

Beron loses a dark laugh and approaches you slowly, like a predator circles its prey. Deliberate and calculating as he takes your chin in his bony fingers and commands you to look at him. His eyes are much darker than Eris’, so dark that they almost look black in this light and even in his age you admire their depths, haunting and arresting. Beron cuts an intimidating figure, you think as he flashes you a smile that is all Eris.

You sometimes forget how alike father and son are; though Eris is undoubtedly more striking; with his strange amber eyes and baring a broader physique than his father, with strong arms and shoulders and that beautiful copper hair which he had inherited from his mother.

“Anything I want?” Beron muses deathly quiet as he brings you closer to him, so close that the heat of his breath against your face causes chills to rise along the skin of your arms and neck.

“Anything, that is within my power to give.” You clarify, unwilling to be tricked into a more heinous bargain than you had prepared yourself for. Feyre protests loudly, calling your name, begging you to see reason though her pleas are useless against the thunder of your heart in your chest; like the sound of a storm rolling in from the sea.

Rhysand holds his wife by her forearms as she attempts to fight her way to your side.

A bargain offered of your own volition cannot be undone or unmade.

All that’s left to do is come to terms.

Beron smiles again, a saccharine smile that turns your stomach as his free hand cups your hip harshly, his brows rise in question and you realize how he’s looking right through you to his son who stands defeated behind you.

“And if I want you?” You swallow hard as his hand on your hip tightens to a bruising grip.

The High Lord of Night protests and a dark ripple of power separates you and Beron, you stumble backwards until you’re pressed up against the dark wood table as it cuts into the backs of your thighs. Beron laughs playfully and raises his hands in mock surrender to Rhysand. Keir smiles with a sense of sick satisfaction as Beron nods for Eris to join him.

Eris joins his father on the side of the room and Beron inspects him in carefully; scrutinizes every furrow of his brow or the tick of his jaw as charred flesh gives way to pale unblemished skin.

Beron claps a hand over his son's shoulder and offers his half-hearted explanation.

Filling his ear with poison.

“Your mate has deceived you, my son; she is yours by right,” Beron preens like an over-satisfied cat, offering a wave of his hand as he gestures to you, “Is she not?”

Eris swallows thickly and through the bond you can feel his wrath as it burns silent and deadly through you. His fire burns ferocious and wild. Dark and untamed. It ignites a similar storm in the pit of your stomach as Eris regards you with feigned malice much to the appeasement of his father.

His gaze, once soft and vulnerable, is cold and predatory as he takes his time to trail over the swell of your chest and the curve of your hips like a hungry animal.

“She is,” His voice is sharp-edged as he nods impassively to his father, the glimpses of his true self now little more than a trick in the light as he adorns his facade like a suit or armor to spare him his father’s fire.

“You mean to claim her?” Eris questions pointedly. Eris’ eyes move around the room with a careful, almost pensive, precision.

He can’t pretend that he doesn’t want it. Some primal, territorial part of him wants it more than anything. It’s animalistic and carnal.

Wholly perverse.

He wants you, terribly; he aches for you in a way that he has never ached for anything.

And you want him.

But not like this.

Not as a pretty pawn to bring him to heel.

“She will do well in Autumn,” Beron says in lieu of an answer.

Rhysand and Feyre stand firm against the hostility in the room even as Beron approaches them once more. “An alliance between our two most ancient and noble courts,” Beron says in a celebratory manner, his arms outstretched in a show of arrogance, “made strong by the oaths that you will swear to my son and my court.”

“Very well, High Lord.” You acquiesce and Beron smiles as his words hit their mark

You swear that Eris could burn the city to ash then and something in him cools then under your watchful gaze; it burns blue under the surface and you can see it tempering to a cold unmoving stare cast in his father’s direction.

It’s grotesque, the anger that runs hot in his veins that sears its kiss into the place where your body and his are joined.

You seethe. A raging tempest that comes off of you in violent waves of temper that threaten to swallow the room whole. And Beron Vanserra with it. It is almost enough to bring you to your knees before him as your skin burns under his rising fury.

Your eyes meet the strange amber eyes of Eris Vanserra at his father’s side and you think then, that you will happily suffer his fire if burning always feels so profound.

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #pro eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris fic #eris headcanons #eris vandaddy

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spnhunter4life · 4 months

Text

Not So Bad

Summary: Bad information on a hunt leads to a tense situation that ends in confessed feelings.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

I sighed as I flipped through the pages of the dusty old book I’d picked up out of a mix of nerves and boredom. The Winchester boys and I were in New York of all places. I hated it here. The constant loud noise of the bustling city, the air that was so far from the fresh country air I’d grown used to at the bunker, and, worst of all, the tall buildings that blocked out the sky mixing with the thick crowds of people made me feel severely claustrophobic.

But there was a monster here that needed to be killed, and the Winchesters always went where they were needed. And wherever they went, I went. So here I was, sitting in the library while the brothers went off to kill the thing. It was some sort of demi god named Daemon.

I’d never been much of one for fighting. I preferred to be the designated researcher, helping out in a mental capacity instead of physical. Both brothers insisted I at least learn basic self defense and worked with me on occasion, wanting me to be able to defend myself if the worst were to happen, but they never pushed me to come face down monsters with them.

The book I was currently looking through was one of the three I’d been able to find in this library about Daemon. I’d already found the information I was looking for and reported it to the Winchesters. But now my options were to sit here and wait for the hunt to be over so the boys could come pick me up, or make my way back to the motel on my own, and I was perfectly comfortable where I was. Or at least, comfortable enough that it wasn’t worth braving the crowded streets.

I turned another page, skimming the words quickly, barely absorbing what I was reading. Somewhere in the back of my mind I made the distant realization that I was in a library and could go find a more interesting book to pass the time. I didn’t give the idea much thought, knowing that it would be difficult to lose myself in a book when my boys were in danger. I knew how long they’d been living this life and how capable they were, but that didn’t make it any less scary anytime they took off. I knew every time could be the last, and I didn’t take that for granted.

I was about to close the book and at least find something to occupy myself that wasn’t a detailed explanation of the very thing the boys were facing down, when the sentence I’d just read actually registered in my mind. With a sharp inhale, my eyes darted back to the beginning of the paragraph.

It is a common misconception that Daemon is susceptible to oak stakes dipped in lamb’s blood – a rumor no doubt started by the mischievous deity himself – which is actually quite harmless to him. What most do not know is that Daemon is not a demigod at all, but the offspring of a demon and a faerie. As such, his one and only weakness is a silver blade dipped in holy water.

The blood drained from my face. I’d given the boys the wrong information and now they were off to face an angry demigod – or faerie demon hybrid, apparently – with weapons that may as well have been toothpicks for all the use they would be.

How could I have been stupid enough to not double check the information? I should know better than that!

I didn’t have time to wonder if maybe this bit of information was the incorrect one. Something in my gut told me it was right, and even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t risk letting them go to their deaths, thinking they had the upper hand. I pulled my phone out and immediately dialed Sam’s number. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. Cursing quietly to myself, I tried Dean instead. Voicemail again.

Fear for my boys overrode everything else. They were all I had left in the world and I absolutely could not lose them. I couldn’t live without my sweet, steady Sam. He was an invaluable source of knowledge on all topics imaginable and he had a calm, comforting disposition that seemed to instantly ease everyone in his vicinity. His sense of humor may not have been as pronounced as Dean’s, but I appreciated it just the same and wondered what would happen if I never got to hear his laugh or see his smile again.

And Dean. I couldn’t even let myself think what all I would be losing if he was gone. To an outsider, our relationship looked perfectly polite and comfortable. And it was, I suppose – we always got along well and never had a bad word to say to each other – if not a little strained. Although, that may have been just on my end. He never did seem to feel the tension that I did. I couldn’t blame him for not noticing either. After all, I did everything I could to keep him from knowing just how much I cared for him. Just how much I loved him.

Without stopping to think about it, I quickly exited the library and rushed out into the crowded streets I so despised. I ran in the direction of Daemon’s lair – we had known its location since early in the investigation and had only been working on the details of how to kill him – roughly shoving through crowds of people when necessary.

I was severely winded by the time I reached the abandoned building that Daemon resided in. I was panting in short breaths that seemed to fill my lungs with fire. I didn’t have time to stop though. I spotted the Impala parked in the alley and fumbled a key out of my pocket. I threw the trunk open, grabbed a silver knife and poured a generous helping of holy water over it. I barely remembered to slam the trunk shut before rushing inside.

I slowed down once I was inside. The building was large and I had no idea where any of the current occupants might be. I was just peeking around an open door, knife held at the ready, when a huge crash followed by a yell of pain sounded off to my right. My heart stopped. That was Dean.

Please let him be ok. Please let him be ok. And Sam too. Let them both be ok, I pleaded to any god who would listen.

I crept as quickly and quietly towards the sound of distress as I could, sounds of a fight leading me there. Fear like I’d never felt before ran like ice through my veins, but kept me moving forward. I rounded a corner and felt my heart stop again before picking up a racing rhythm at what I saw. Sam was sprawled on the ground. He’s only unconscious, I told myself. The alternative was unacceptable. Across the room was Dean, pinned to a wall by Daemon, straining to break the hybrid’s grip and thrust his oak stake into its side. Daemon clearly had the upper hand and wrenched the stake away from him, throwing it behind him. I barely stopped myself from calling out Dean’s name.

“You think you can kill me? A puny man, kill a god?” Daemon spat, the rage clear in his voice.

I charged towards them, knife raised and ready. I was only a few steps away when Dean saw me over Daemon’s shoulder. His eyes widened in surprise before he could stop the involuntary reaction. I saw him immediately look away again, not wanting to give me away, but it was too late. Daemon had seen it. He whirled around to face me and knocked me aside without a thought. It was as easy as if he’d been swatting at an irritating fly. Dean yelled my name just as I collided with the wall. My breath, which I hadn’t even quite gotten back after my long sprint here, left me in a whoosh.

I watched in fascination and horror as Dean took advantage of the momentary distraction to rush at Daemon. He kicked his legs out from under him before climbing on top of him, pinning him to the ground. They struggled for a few seconds before Dean was able to snatch the oak stake from where it had been discarded on the ground.

“No, Dean! The knife!” I yelled to him. I had dropped it at some point between Daemon’s blow and hitting the wall. Dean didn’t question me, didn’t hesitate before dropping the useless weapon and searching for the knife. But it was out of his reach and it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hold Daemon down much longer. I started to struggle to my feet to grab it for him, but before I was able to, a large body ran into my line of sight, blocking my view of Dean, and stooping to pick up the knife.

I tensed, terrified that there was some unknown second thing to deal with now, but soon realized it was only Sam. He picked up the knife and turned to his brother. Without speaking a word to each other, Dean rolled out of the way just as Sam plunged the knife down into the heart of the monster.

Dean was red faced and breathing hard – and who could blame him after wrestling with a being with supernatural strength – but otherwise seemed alright, so I turned my attention to Sam who was closer and who I worried could have any number of injuries after being knocked unconscious.

“Sam, are you-”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean demanded. Stunned at the hardness of his voice, I turned to look at him and realized that what I’d mistaken for exertion was actually anger. He was livid. I’d never seen him so angry, at least not with me. Why was he angry? This completely unexpected reaction left me feeling small and confused.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean? I was just trying-”

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” He yelled. He took a step in my direction and a grimace crossed his face as his leg seemed to struggle slightly under his weight. He grunted, the only sound he would let escape. I remembered his yell, the noise that had guided me in this direction to begin with. He was hurt. Dean, who sat stoically with teeth gritted, never letting more than a grunt escape while Sam dug bullets out of him or sewed up horrible gashes, had cried out in pain. That had scared me more than anything else tonight, the idea of how badly he must be hurt to not be able to hide it.

“Dean,” Sam started in a warning tone. He might have been about to defend me or to tell Dean to cool his temper so we could talk calmly, but I would never know. Anger flared up in me, completely overriding the confusion and uncertainty Dean’s words had caused.

“Well you nearly were killed! So I guess it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” I shouted back. I wasn’t actually angry, I knew, just reliving the terror of the last half hour mixed with the relief of seeing them both ok and the worry at their injuries. In short, I was overwhelmed and Dean yelling at me had frayed my already shot nerves.

“We would have been fine.” Dean deflected.

“No you wouldn’t have! When I got here Sam was on the ground, dead for all I knew, and you were hardly about to win in a battle of strength. And even if you had, your weapon was useless. You would have died!”

“You’re the one who decided you didn’t want to fight! And that’s fine, you know we’re ok with that. But you can’t just not train and then run into a fight with no idea what you’re doing!”

“Guys, maybe we should-” Sam tried again.

“No!” I yelled. I saw a look of surprised hurt in his eyes. I felt bad for snapping at him when he hadn’t done anything wrong, but I was too fired up to backtrack now. “If Dean hasn’t had enough of a fight tonight, then let’s fight! I may not be trained in hand to hand and weapons the way you are, but I assure you, I can yell at you all night long.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and I saw the muscle jump in his jaw.

“Sam, can you give us a minute?” He asked in a forced calm tone.

Sam hesitated, looking back and forth between the two of us before agreeing. “Alright. But you’ve got ten minutes before I’m coming back in after you to make sure you’re not strangling each other,” he warned before leaving the room.

We glared at each other for a minute, neither of us speaking. After what felt simultaneously like an eternity and only a moment, Dean started talking again in that tone that was an attempt at being calm, but I could clearly hear the tenseness and anger underneath.

“You can’t just-”

“You said that already,” I interrupted immediately. His jaw ticked again, and I knew shouting at him when he was trying to deescalate the situation was not appreciated. He tried again in that same infuriating tone, a little more strained this time.

“Sam and I hardly need you jumping in to protect us. We know what we’re doing.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?” He yelled back, patience worn thin.

“It doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing or not because you couldn’t have won! I was doing some more reading after you guys left and I realized I gave you the wrong weapon.”

“Then you call us! You don’t come running in after us!”

“I did call you! Neither of you picked up! I couldn’t just sit there and wait for you to die!”

“Of course you could have! Don’t you think we’d rather take our chances with bad weapons than to have you in the line of fire?”

“What would you have done Dean?” I screamed at him. “If it were you sitting around knowing that I was going after a monster with a weapon that wouldn’t kill it? What would you have done?” I felt confident this would be the end of it. After all, there was no doubt in my mind what he would have done, and he couldn’t possibly deny it.

“That’s not the same thing,” he said. He was still angry, but he said this in a quieter voice, the kind of quiet that meant I’d truly struck a nerve.

“Why?” I asked, ready to swoop in with the metaphorical killing blow and win the argument. “Because I can’t fight, so of course I’d need you to come save me?”

“No.”

“Hypothetically saying I was as well trained as you then. Or that it was Sam. The point still stands. You would have done exactly what I did. You wouldn’t just sit back and let us die, so why would I?”

“I told you, that’s not what I meant,” he snapped. “How do you think we would feel if something happened to you? What if we couldn’t protect you and you got hurt?”

“How do you think I felt, Dean?” I stomped over to him, getting right in his face, letting him see how much I meant what I was saying. “I didn’t know if you would be alive or not when I got here.” I stopped for a breath, the intensity of the emotions I’d felt in that moment hitting me once again. “Don’t tell me I don’t understand what it would feel like. I know exactly what it feels like.”

“It’s not the same,” he said again, stubbornly.

“How is it not the same? If anything, it’s worse for me. You and Sam at least have each other. If I lose you guys, I have no one. I will not lose you. Do you understand me? If that means putting my own life on the line, I’m ok with that.”

“I’m not!”

“Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it, because it’s my life, not yours!”

“You’re not understanding me! If you would just let me explain-”

But apparently I wouldn’t. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, but I just needed him to understand what I was saying. So I cut him off in the middle of his request that I not do so.

“No, I told you that I understand perfectly. It’s you who isn’t understanding! I’ve never been more scared in my whole life than I was when I heard you yelling in pain.” In the back of my mind, I registered that Dean’s expression had turned from anger to determination. But my brain didn’t seem to fully process this fact, not that I would have known what to do with that information even if I had. My emotions were driving me now, and there was no stopping the words pouring from my mouth.

“I thought that whatever happened, it must be really bad. And maybe I was too late to save you. And it’s my own stupid fault you needed saving in the first place. How could I-”

This time, Dean cut me off. It was only fair, after all I’d done the same to him. This was a much nicer, much more pleasant, much more unexpected way of interrupting though. He leaned down, crashing his lips against mine. As my body seemed to be running on instinct and adrenaline right now, I responded immediately, wrapping my arms around his neck, meeting his demanding kiss with enthusiasm.

I ran one of my hands through his hair, enjoying the feel of the soft strands between my fingers. My other hand ran down over his shoulder, to his bicep, then over to his chest, loving the strength I could feel in all those hard earned muscles. His hands were wandering too, in my hair one second, traveling over my back the next, and then on my waist.

My brain, which seemed to have shut down for the past few moments – minutes? – decided to start working again, practically screaming at me that this was Dean I was kissing. Dean, apparently experiencing the same returning brain function as me, pulled away. He took a careful step back, creating some space between us. That was probably good. I couldn’t think with him so close. Not after that. His cheeks were flushed red for a whole new reason now and his hair was sticking up in an annoyingly attractive way. I could see by the surprise in his eyes that he hadn’t been planning on the kiss being that intense.

“It’s not the same,” he repeated, his voice as calm as if we were having a normal conversation on any old day. As if we hadn’t been arguing minutes before. As if he hadn’t just given me the most mind numbing, spine tingling kiss of my life. “Because I love you. And I know that that probably wasn’t the best way to go about telling you, but I need you to understand what it would mean to me to lose you. If you lost me, you’d lose a friend. It would suck, but you would move on. But you’re more than that to me, and I don’t know how I could survive losing you.”

“Have you not paid attention to a thing I said?” I asked him, taking a step forward to eliminate the space he’d put between us. “I told you, if I lost you and Sam I would have nothing.”

“Yeah, but that’s not really true. You could make more friends easily enough.”

“But you’re not just my friends. Sam is my best friend, true, but I love him like he’s my brother. Losing him would hurt me just as bad as losing an actual brother. And you… I couldn’t move on from you any easier than you could move on from me. I love you too.”

“Yeah,” Dean winced. “Like a brother. I know.”

“Not like a brother,” I said, wrinkling my nose a little. “Do you really think I would kiss you like that, or at all for that matter, if that’s how I thought of you?”

“I would hope not,” he agreed.

“So, basically, you’ve been yelling at me this whole time about not understanding you when, in reality, I understand perfectly, just like I said from the beginning.” I couldn’t help but gloat a little at being right.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched slightly in a repressed smile.

“You know, I think you owe me for scaring me nearly to death earlier,” he said happily.

“I owe you?”

“Yes. When you came running in here I swear my heart stopped. And then I had to watch you get thrown across the room…” He winced at the memory and I could tell how upset it made him, but he quickly shook it off and kept up his cheerful tone. “I think you took at least three years off my life. Lucky for you I’ll take payment in kisses. One for every year less I’ll live thanks to you.”

Part of me wanted to argue, but the other part was too giddy to even care.

“Alright,” I agreed easily. I stretched up onto my tiptoes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. I wanted to continue the intense kiss from earlier, but there would be time for that later. This seemed like the appropriate response to his gentle, teasing tone. “There’s one.”

I kissed him again, and then once more, feeling like I could burst with joy the whole time.

“There,” I said after the third kiss. “Does that make us even?”

“For now,” he smiled. “I have a feeling I’ll be finding lots of excuses for more in the future.”

“How’s this for an excuse? I think you took at least five years off my life. I’ll be needing some compensation here as well.”

He grinned. “And I fully intend to pay up. Once we’re home though. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of here.”

I was a little disappointed to have to be done kissing him. But I knew he was right. We should get out of here. I knew he was in pain, and I still didn’t know how Sam was doing. Besides, it was only a temporary stop. Once we were home I would have as much time with him as I wanted.

Home. Just the mention of it made me long for it even more. But even though I couldn’t wait to be back, even though I’d spent the whole time here waiting for the moment we could leave, the past few minutes with Dean had made the whole thing worth it.

Maybe New York wasn’t so bad after all.

Tags: @123passwort @buckybarnes-1917 @chicken-nuggs-and-cozy-hugs @globetrotter28

#not so bad #supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #confessed feelings #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x original character

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mundanemiseries · 1 year

Text

Also speaking of Aleph mf you need friends. That aren't other Joels

Like...babby, please leave your room. And by room, of course I mean the god sewers Shibuya.

#|| v. | 1.00 : COMPOSER | i wish i could burn out the sky ||#//#like...bby please leave the city ur a demi-god...thing of #make some friends #please

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cardierreh15 · 8 days

Text

Zeus Lament

Hold on to your fucking seats y’all! Things get messy! Both for good and for bad!

***I do not give anyone consent to repost, translate or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Angst , Dub-Con Sex , Mind-Control/Mental Manipulation , Infidelity , Mentions of Cheating , Domestic Violence situation , Blood (Golden Celestial) , Nipple Stimulation , Cursing , Spitting , Breeding Kink , Oral (Female Receiving) , Death . PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!!

Pairings: Zeus/Walter Marshall x Angela's (Black!Plus Size Female)

Description: A terrible storm is approaching the city, wonder what could possibly be the cause?

Word Count: 5.8K

Song: Only RY X , Call out my name by The Weeknd.

The man sat across from his wife as she ate her fill and sipped on her wine. Everything but her beauty, disgusted him. But lately, even that was faltering. She was evil, jealous and spiteful. The infamous; Goddess of Marriage herself, Hera.

‘You are quiet today husband.’ She said blandly as she took another sip of her wine to wash down the food in her throat.

A reluctant smirk curled on his lips before he glanced away and shook his head. A small, hysterical chuckle left his lips before he rested his elbows on the golden table and rested his face in his palms.

‘You speak to me as if you don’t know what you’ve done, wife.’ The word had poison behind it. It was no secret that Zeus had a loathe over his wife that no man or immortal had ever seen. Some would say with great reason! She’d proved herself to be murderous and invidious on many occasions.

But, Zeus wasn’t in the right either.

Sleeping around with mortals in different disguises to hide his true form; impregnating and soiling the oats that have been left untamed thousands of years ago.

Perhaps, he’d driven her over the edge that she couldn’t retract from.

Hera peeled her eyes away from her plate of food and glared up at her indignant husband. She tilted her head to the side gently, ‘What is it now, Zeus? You’re angry about that little “accident” that you’ve created? Many of what you’ve called them yourself.’

Zeus slammed his palm on the golden plated table, standing up to his feet with a baleful scowl written across his dramatic features. ‘THEY WERE MY CHILDREN!’

‘Your children are here!’ Hera spat hatefully. She had no remorse, no regret. ‘On Olympus where they belong. Not with those disgusting mongrels you call humans. Such a pathetic excuse for creations. Just like-’

‘I’d watch my next words, woman.’ His face, carved into perfection like stone and marble. Zeus stood up straight and swallowed hard.

She stared back up at him, not breaking the glare. ‘Why do you do it? Why do you constantly put me through this Zeus? Do you think I want to act the way I do? Do you think I thrive off of being bitter and hateful?! I am only this way because you made me this way!’

‘No, you only do this because you don’t give a damn about nobody but yourself!’

Hera grimaced and slowly stood to her feet, scooting her throne back behind her. ‘Selfish?! While I SIT HERE AND YOU GO OUT AND FROLIC ABOUT BETWEEN THE THIGHS OF THOSE VILE CREATURES!’ Golden tears filled her bright blue orbs. ‘I sit here and I wait for you, ZEUS!’

‘FOR WHAT!?’ he snapped back. Thunder began to roar beyond the walls. ‘DONT YOU UNDERSTAND?! I don’t want you! I haven’t wanted you in centuries! I only married you in the first place because it was a power move. You were a mistake–’

‘Mistake?! Zeus-’

‘You will address me as your King.’ He placed his hands on the table and peered across, ‘I won’t stop, Hera. I will not stop until I have found happiness and created a demi-God army of my own.’

‘Zeus-’

‘YOU WILL NOT STOP ME HERA!’ He exclaimed with great disdain in his voice. He began to round the table slowly, his golden heeled sandals clicking and echoing within the walls.

Hera snatched up the golden blade she’d used to cut into her roasted goose.

As soon as she found a good grip around the handle, he’d snatched her up by her throat looking down into her eyes.

‘Ugh!’ She exclaimed at the sudden roughness. Golden tears had fallen down the sides of her face.

‘If you interfere with my affairs again, My Queen.’ The word burned the back of his throat. Oh he’d do anything to strip her from that title. Hell, he really did hate her enough to kill her himself. She’d taken so much away from him.

‘I will kill you… do you understand?’

Hera turned her gaze away from him, but he tightened up his grasp.

Her lips trembled as she looked up into his stormy eyes. ‘You wouldn’t dare…’ she choked out.

‘Then you don’t know me the way you think you do.’ He added monitorily. His warnings always went undone. Leaving ample room for Hera to continue to disobey him.

He shoved her away from him before the both of them heard the small call of their youngest daughter, Hebe.

‘Mama?’

She looked over at the massive golden doors that were cracked open. There she spotted the little face of the tiny goddess. Hera cleared her throat and put on her best smile, ‘Hebe. Darling-’ She approached her with open arms.

The young one pushed the door open a little further before running towards her mother who was now on her knees.

‘You’re supposed to be resting my sweet.’

‘I couldn’t sleep, mama.’

Zeus watched the mother speak to their daughter before he quickly spun off and walked towards the second set of double doors.

***

The dark clouds loomed up above. Lightning bolts scattered across the sky like veins. The wind blew hard enough to almost tear her apartment building off of the support beams!

Storms were quite the norm where Angela was from. The lightning capital of the world, Tampa, Florida. She’d lived through countless hurricanes and tropical storms.

The news measured it out to be a tropical storm, the first one of the season. But something about this particular storm was different than the rest.

Thunder shook the floor beneath her feet, causing her to stop in her tracks and wait for it to calm down. Angela had never been so anxious during a storm. Hell, this was her favorite kind of weather! But she had a gut feeling something bad was going to happen.

The woman ripped open the big bag of ice and poured it into the cooler. Then, she began to stock perishable snacks and foods inside of it.

Once she was done, she did a head count of her 5 gallon dispenser jugs, found her waterproof flashlight with batteries and made sure she had candles.

Angie placed her hands on her hips and gave herself a firm nod, ‘Alright! What could possibly go wrong?’ Another vociferous thunder clap erupted outside, causing lightning to flicker inside of her apartment. Then, the lights flickered off.

The power died, causing an eerie silence to fill the air. ‘Dammit, running my mouth. I just fucked the whole building.’ She rolled her eyes and picked up her phone. The battery was on 11%. ‘What?!’ She exclaimed as she looked at the charger adaptor that had never been plugged up into the wall.

‘You’ve got to be shitting me.’

She turned on the light on her phone and loaded up the flashlight with batteries and put her phone on Low Power Mode. Clicking the power on the flashlight. She walked down the hall to the electric breaker and pulled it open.

Shining the light on the labeled switches, she shifted them to the side one and then back to their original places. But nothing. She assumed whatever generator the apartments management used had gone to shit.

‘Cheap fucks’ she hissed before the flashlight began to flicker. ‘Uh uh! No, no!’ She began to bang on it, hoping it would keep its power but when it died, she let out a heavy huff. ‘Dammit.’

Angela walked back into the kitchen and began to light candles.

Once the apartment was decorated with artificial light, she walked into her bedroom and took off her dress.

She walked over to her dresser, lightning taking its own place in her room this time. Again, thunder followed. Not able to stand the blinding brightness, she walked over to the patio doors to close them. But what she saw in her backyard frightened her.

Air lodged in her throat so she was unable to breathe out or in, she stared at the tall, dark figure that stood in the grass. Heavy, slanted rain blurred out its features but by the size of its shoulders, it had to be a man.

Whatever the hell it was… it was massive.

‘Close. The blinds. Angela. Close the blinds.’ She choked before quickly pulling the stick to the side and twisting them closed.

Stumbling backwards, she let out a shuddered breath. She was afraid to walk to the kitchen and grab her phone; having the slightest belief that somehow the uncanny being would find its way inside without any aid.

So, she just sat on the bed and stared.

‘Wooo. It’s OK. Ain’t nobody gonna come out here in this rain…’ she uttered to herself and pulled her comforter back and tucked her chilly legs beneath.

Every once in a while she would toss and turn. But she always brought her attention back to the blinds. Her anxiety wouldn’t let her rest for a while, until she just closed her eyes and counted.

***

Zeus stood in the shadows of her bedroom. Lightning flickering across his face as he watched the mortal woman sleep soundly. Her soft snores could barely be heard over the rain that beat down against the glass slide door.

Stepping from the safety of the darkness, Zeus crept over to her bed. His fingertips grazed atop the silky, bronze colored sheets. Once he made it to her, his bright blue eyes searched her face.

She was a beauty to behold. Full lips, skin brown as cherry wood. Lashes so thick they almost looked like paint brushes. Then, it was her hair. Sprawled out beneath her it was coily and thick. He leaned down carefully, nuzzling his nose within the warmth of her hair. He inhaled deeply, slowly. Taking in her scent. She smelled of Rosemary and Lavender. Two scents he could get lost in forever.

Pulling away, he grazed his pointy nose over her wide one before gently pressing his lips against hers. Letting his lips settle there, his mustache and beard tickled her chin and nose. Causing her to stir out of her sleep.

Angela’s dark brown eyes flashed open to see the intruder with a beard and thick dark curly hair hovering over her. Her first reaction was to scream but instead Zeus had tricks of his own.

‘Shhh, don’t scream.’

Her eyes reflected once in gold as she inhaled so hard she thought her head would explode.

Zeus’ eyes continued to roam her face before traveling down to her neck and then the valley of her breasts.

‘Wh-who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?’ Angela’s voice was rugged and shaky. But she was careful not to be too loud.

‘Something you would never be able to comprehend mortal woman.’ His voice was much gentler than how he spoke to Hera just a few days before.

His eyes broke from her gaze as he carefully ran his palm over her silky flesh; starting from her belly to her thighs but also pulling the blanket off in the process. Revealed onto him was her half naked body, dressed in a white sports bra and matching thong.

Angela flinched at his cool touch, quickly shifting her hips away from him. ‘Don’t touch—‘

‘Don’t fight me.’ He hissed as thunder shook the apartment once again.

Just like before, she followed his command willingly. She just laid there with tears in her eyes as his large hands began to caress her chubby thighs. ‘Wh-what are you g-gonna do to me?’ Angela stammered.

‘Anything I please…’ he licked his lips as he looked up at her once again. She was silently sobbing. Tears falling into place of the last on the sides of her head. His thick brows pulled into one before he leaned back over her once again, ‘Oh my sweet one… don’t cry.’

Her sobs instantly stopped.

‘Don’t you know how lucky you are? How special you are?’ Zeus brought his hand up and smooth out her cheek with his knuckles. Then, his index grazed her bottom lip. ‘You don’t have to be scared of me… I won’t hurt you.’

‘I—I have a boyfriend.. we’ve been dating for 3 years and—‘ she lied. ‘And-and he’ll be here soon!’

‘Oh? In this weather?’ Zeus said softly as he gently pinched her chin. ‘How romantic or jus plain stupid.’ He purred softly. ‘Tell me sweetheart, have you ever fuck a God?’

Angela’s eyes grew slightly, his words rocking her core, ‘N-‘

‘I didn’t think so… you see Angel. You need someone who’s gonna take care of you. In more ways than just… one.’ His index dropped to the valley of her breasts.

A God?! What the hell was a God doing in her apartment? And why her out of all people?

‘A God? There’s no way—‘

Zeus stared down into her eyes, his eyes flickering a bright gold for a second before fading back to their stormy blue.

‘Oh my—‘

‘Zeus…’

Angela stared up at him; her eyes were a cauldron of fear, disbelief, and slight adoration. She had never seen something— something so graceful. So beautiful. ‘B-but why me?’

‘Well isn’t it obvious my little love? I have been watching you for weeks. That little inkling you felt of being watched.. It was me. I have been in your corner. You have enough beauty to my own daughter to shame.’

Aphrodite would not like that at all. She was much like her mother. Scorned to hell.

‘You’ve been stalking me?!’

‘Stalking, watching? Call it whatever you’d like. Fact of the matter is … you’re mine.’

His words nestled within her soul, causing whatever frightened feeling she had left to dissipate. In an instant, she felt protected. Perhaps it was his magic, controlling her mind and messing with her chemical imbalances. Whatever it was… it made her feel good.

Zeus leaned down once again, lips almost touching hers. ‘Let me have you.’

Closing her eyes, ‘Yes.’ She uttered before parting her lips to welcome him in a kiss.

Without another moment wasted, Zeus took her lips into his. He slithered his thick tongue into her mouth as his hand slithered down between her thighs. He grasped the thin fabric into his fist and tugged it; instantly tearing it to shreds.

Angela’s fingers instantly found their way in his soft thick, dark locks which seem never ending. She barely noticed the absence of her panties until he was pushing her thighs part. The warmth from ecstasy was keeping her warm until he pressed his cold fingertips against her sensitive nub.

‘Ooh.’ She gasped softly, her hips buckling for a second. ‘Cold.’

‘Forgive me little love.’ He began to rub at her core before slipping his middle and ring inside of her sticky entrance.

Angela shuddered out in a moan, goosebumps prickling all over her skin, nipples hardening against her thin bra.

She ripped her eyes away from his haunting gaze and looked down to watch him knead her from the inside out. She gripped the sheets beneath her. Her chest caving in as she tried to breathe through the pleasure. She wanted so badly to do something with her legs, kick and flail them about but she was still under his command. Don’t fight me.

‘Ugh!’ She exclaimed as Zeus curled his fingers up and toyed with her G-spot.

A wicked grin curled on his face as he watched her writhe and buck her hips into his embrace. He pressed his forehead against hers.

Angela opened her mouth to speak but her words instantly became gibberish and a bed of incoherent moans.

‘If you want it my sweet, all you have to do is ask.’

She felt her lower belly twist and knot, causing her thighs to clench as she felt her climax creeping up. It felt so close yet, so far. Wait, was he controlling that?!

‘Can I — can I cum, please?’ She placed her hand on his shoulder, her nails gently digging into it through the cloth of his shirt.

Zeus chuckled menacingly, ‘As you wish.’

His words were like some kind of invisible trigger, she was the chemical reaction that shifted the bullet in place and fired off the gunpowder.

Angela inhaled hard before a satisfied scream erupted from her lungs. Her head fell back against her plush pillow, body trembling as she tried to comprehend that kind of intensity.

He finally pulled his fingers from the warm home of her. ‘I can provide you with so much more. Would you like that?’ His sticky fingers grazed her neck.

‘Yes. I-I need you.’

That stomach twisting smile curled up once again against his beard. He was to die for.

Zeus stood up, bringing her small hand in his grasp and bringing her up to her feet. Her legs wobbly from the previous assault on her womb and cunt.

‘Then you have me, my little love.’

He towered over her like a mountain. Him sitting on her bed made him seem so much smaller that way. Zeus leaned down, pressing his lips against hers once more as his clothes disappeared.

She wrapped her arms around his wide frame as he pulled her chubby body against toned muscles. Angela pulled away from the kiss. Her big brown eyes trailed from his face to his shoulders, and abdomen. ‘Wow…’ her hands slipped from his shoulders and down his abdomen. ‘You’re really… real.’

‘As real as you are my love.’

She wasn’t expecting a God, no— the infamous King Of Gods to be so… kind. History made him out to be a spineless shithead. But this being before him was everything but that.

Or was that what he was making her think?

‘Lay back. Get comfortable.’

Following his command, Angela sat back down on her bed and laid back against her pillows.

Zeus stood at the end of the bed before crawling in and spreading her thighs. He lowered his head between her legs as he rested on his front side. Then, he planted soft kisses on her inner thighs, navigating his lips to her flower.

He placed the flattening of his tongue on her slit before lapping up slowly until he found her clit and brought it between his lips.

‘Mmmm, yess.’ She moaned out as she reached down and found her fingers intertwined in his locks once again.

He sucked teasingly on her clit before letting it go with a pop, then flicking his tongue over it. He used her pussy as if it were her mouth instead. Licking, and kissing with passion and a purpose.

‘Ooooh Zeus just like that. Mmmm.’ Angela moaned as she rolled and rocked her hips into his face.

Her words only fueled his desire and want for her. He grabbed her thighs and pushed them back so he could satisfy her in a more efficient way. More exposed, Zeus was about to dip his tongue within her walls and lick her from the inside out. Every once in a while though, his tongue would slip and tickle at her puckered asshole.

Angela leaned up on her elbows, her breathing shallow as she watched this celestial being indulge on her body in the most sinful of ways. He was just wicked in that way. Honestly, if it weren’t for the immense pleasure he was inflicting upon her– she would’ve thought this was a dream. ‘Uhhh fuck!’

Zeus relished in her taste. She tasted the most delectable of forbidden treats. He wanted to keep his face buried between her thighs for as long as the Earth rotated but the way his hips grind against the bed to soothe his aching member… Zeus was more than ready to claim her.

Letting out a gentle grunt at the pleasure that burned at his lower gut, Zeus’ lips ghosted her inner thigh before placing a gentle kiss there.

She had just begun to recover from her profound orgasms. Her thighs trembled, almost mimicking the sound of thunder outside. ‘Oh! Fuu—‘

Zeus brought himself up on his knees. His naked body resembled the ancient marble that were carved in Greece thousands of years ago. Except that one particular thing.

Humans once believed that men that wielded such large members lacked intelligence and were compared to violent, brainless, sex-crazed creatures.

Actually, Zeus’ cock had been tampered to be quite the insignificant thing but now… it was no wonder he made stupid decisions.

With distinguishable veins traveling over his Adonis belt, that was a sign of healthy blood flow. He was hung like nothing she’d ever seen. The whole package really.

‘Jesus- oh… I mean…’ Angela whimpered softly as she finally pulled her eyes away from his cock. ‘Wow… you are… not what I expected.’

Zeus smirked and began to crawl over her, closing that gap between them. ‘You’ve must’ve seen the statues. Are you afraid?’ His smile had grown slightly bigger.

She let out a soft breath. Well, she had a lot of reasons to be afraid right now. One of them being that a celestial God that had been known for his treachery was laying between her legs!

‘Mmm. No.’ She lied again.

‘Then we shall make haste.’ He said before helping her get her sports bra from over her head. Her breasts were so round, large and supple. His tongue traced over his lips as he tried to calm the beast that was so desperately fighting to get free.

Then, his eyes flicked up back to hers, ‘Are you ready my sweet?’

Swallowing hard, Angela nodded as her hands gently rested against his cool muscular back.

Zeus had given her a sly smile before adjusting his hips. His thick bell shaped tip against her honey coated pussy. And before he made the final blow, he pressed his lips against hers. Their tongues slipped in one another’s mouth once again for a short moment before he pulled away slightly.

‘Bite down on me if it hurts…’

Angela nodded one more time before bringing him back into another kiss.

As they kissed, Zeus thrusted his hips forward only slipping just the tip in. A wince left his chest as he felt the piercing pain of her biting down into his bottom lip. It was too late to pull back now. So he began to sink his hips into her further. This earned him a loud wail from her but the piercing continued.

Gritting his teeth to bear the pain, Zeus let out a groan as he went as deep as he possibly could.

Angie had released his hold on his lips and looked up at him with terror in her eyes. Half from the brutal stretch and half from his lips and beard coated in shiny gold blood.

‘Ugh! — Oh My— Zeus, is that? My God— you’re bleeding!’

Zeus pressed his fingers against his lips and examined it, ‘Yes. It appears that I am.’

‘Well, are you alright?!’ She exclaimed in worry.

He couldn’t help the gentle feeling that came over him. The feeling of knowing someone cared for him. He knew that his wife did… but not in the way he felt from Angela. Hera only wanted her throne and position of power. She’d otherwise be nothing without him. But, Angela… no other human woman had shown such compassion and kindness. Even if… some of this was against her will.

‘I’m fine my little mortal… see?’

Zeus brushed his thumb over his wounds and they healed in an instant. Only the blood remained and would serve as a reminder that he could also be hurt too.

Letting out a breath in relief she grabbed his face and pressed the back of her hand against his bearded jaw.

He brought back his hips slowly and steadily before thrusting forward once again. He held back a moan that always slipped between his lips.

But Angela let out a whimper as her nails dug into his flesh a little.

Zeus soon began to pick up the rhythm of his hips, creating a bit more friction. Now he wasn’t holding back his moans. She felt way too good to front over.

Angela felt so uncomfortably full at first but then a surge of pleasure began to pump through her body like drugs. She’s had great sex before but nothing could compare to this! Her standards have completely changed and if it wasn’t him… then she didn’t want it.

‘Ooooo! Zeus, fuck that’s so fucking good baby. Haaa! Don’t stop!’

‘Uhhhh. I’m not my love, we can go for as—URGH! As long as you like.’

Their moans echoed throughout her room and was enough to combat the lightning that was striking nearby and the thunder that shook the building. They were in a world of their own at this point.

Zeus brought up Angela’s thigh and rested her leg over his shoulder. He began to pump deeper, harder and faster. ‘Ooh fuck… you feel so fucking amazing.’ He moaned out before leaning down and wrapping his lips around her hardened nipple.

‘Zeus, just like that—‘ her fingers slipped through his hair as his tongue tickled and teased over the sensitive flesh. She could feel her womb twisting and turning just the same as it did earlier. ‘Mmm, I’m so close. Fuuuuuuck!’ She called out.

He’d begun to pump his hips faster, groaning and grunting against her breast.

Her thighs began to tremble as an ineffable climax rocked through her, ‘AUGHHH! FUCK!’ She cried out.

Leaving one last lick to her nipple, Zeus slowed down his thrusts and brought her lips back in for another kiss as he moaned against them. ‘Fuck you’re so warm. I can stay buried inside you forever.’ He growled before placing wet kisses under her chin and her neck.

A sheepish grin was casted on Angela’s lips as she just tried to process that vehement orgasm that she’d just passed. Her lips quivered and her chest heaved as she gently clawed down the valley of his spine. ‘Mmmm, My God… I want you here forever.’

Zeus began to pick up the pace of his hips once more as his lips began to make their way back up to hers once again. He couldn’t get enough of how she tasted. He couldn’t remember the last time he and The Queen kissed. Probably centuries ago when Hebe was born. Other than the birth of his sweet child, The Goddess of Youth, there was no other reason to remember that day.

After sending Angela in a whirlwind of mind-bending orgasms, he pulled away to stand on his knees. ‘Lay on your front side.’ On command, she rolled over and got comfortable. He leaned down to press kisses on her shoulder before his cleft nose drug across her misty, prickly skin. She smelled so good and she felt so warm.

He carefully spread her thighs with his knees as he sat back up. Stroking his throbbing cock, he used his hand to navigate her entrance this time. Time wasn’t wasted this go around, so he thrusted his hips forward into her.

The both of them let out a synchronized groan; Zeus threw his head back; quickly coming to his senses that he would not last long in this position. He had the perfect bird’s eye view of her ass and his cock sliding in and out. He was no better than a mortal man now.

‘Mmmm.’ Angela groaned, feeling so much pressure and pleasure against her wet walls. She began to grip the sheets in her fist, knowing that it was going to be a bumpy ride.

Zeus caressed his hands up from her thick thighs to her chubby waist. There, he gripped tightly before he started to accelerate. ‘Ugh, shit- yeah. Haaaah.’ He groaned as he thrusted hard and fast.

Her pretty dark brown eyes rolled to the back of her head as she could already feel her body betraying her once more. ‘Fuck yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes! ZEUS!’ Angela whined out. She slipped her hand beneath herself and began to toy with her clit as he destroyed her from behind.

The glorious sounds of her angelic songs and his skin crashing and pounding against hers fueled his desire once more. His eyes had shifted from their humanly blue to the color of the blistering sun. His moans were deeper and inhuman. He sounded more of a beast now than he did of a man. Beads of sweat prickled across his forehead, shoulders and his torso.

His grip on Angela’s hip grew tighter as he reached over and gripped her ponytail, pinning her into her pillow.

‘Ooh right there baby! Fuck baby you’re gonna make me cum again. Oooh shit!’

And just like the flip of a switch, she’d turn into putty in his grasp. But this only encouraged him to keep going. Not like the last time when he decided to give her a break. No, he wanted to rip those orgasms away from her and have her crawling come morning.

‘OOH DEAR FUCKING– ZEUS!’ Angela wept; tears had soon fallen down the side of her face.

‘Uh huh! Call out for your God baby.’

Orgasm after orgasm, Zeus’ thrusts had become staggered and arrhythmic. He was losing the battle. So, he rested his body atop hers and slowly began to thrust his hips into her. ‘Angela…fuck. I’m gonna give you– ugh! Such a beautiful baby.’

She didn’t think, and perhaps she thought he wasn’t serious but when she pressed her ass into him as he nestled deep inside her.

She was sadly mistaken.

‘UH! FUCK– GAAAHHH!’

Zeus had finally unraveled, releasing thick and rich ropes of semen inside of her. He throbbed, gently stretching her out as he bred her. His body shook as the thunder roared with a vengeance outside. ‘Uh…’ He couldn’t speak.

Angela rolled her hips beneath him, milking him from everything he had. She looked back at him just in time to see his golden hues disappear in the darkness of his ghostly blues. His thick curls were slightly damp from the work out and his parted lips had turned up into a relieved smile. Angela returned the smile and stretched her neck up to kiss him.

***

The Next Morning…

Her eyes fluttered open, her tired eyes fixated on the ceiling for a moment. She groaned softly as she slowly turned over to see an empty side of the bed. It was messy, and a telltale sign that he was once here.

She placed her hand on the vacant sheets and ran her hand over them. Still warm… it was then when she’d noticed that her patio blinds were open. The sun had beamed in on that empty space and kept it heated.

Funny, she had her blinds closed and her window was open across the room.

Suddenly, she heard a booming voice… deep with a pretty and very familiar accent.

‘Zeus.’ She uttered excitedly as she scooted herself out of her King sized bed and wrapped the sheets around her. Almost losing her footing, she rushed out her room and down the hall where the voice became distinguishable. He was here! Wow, he was still here!

Cutting the corner, there he stood in her kitchen with a phone pressed against his ear. He flashed her a bright smile and a wink.

Returning the gracious smile, her eyes roamed down to his belt where a flashy police badge rested on his hip. Confusion instantly struck her and her smile had faltered. She managed to walk up behind him and sneak his wallet out of his back pocket. When she opened it up, she felt as if air had been snatched out of her lungs.

Walter Marshall. DOB: 05/05/1983. Issued Date: 07/23/2020 Expiration Date: 05/05/2026

‘What are you doing with that?’

Almost jumping out of her skin, ‘Huh?’ She looked down at his wallet and looked back up at him. He folded his arms across his massive chest. He’d had this slightly amused smirk curled up on those lips. ‘I-... I don’t know -just…’ She just handed it back to him and swallowed her spit.

‘Mmmm, maybe you need more rest. You worked double last night, I’m surprised you’re awake!’ He reached over and placed a kiss on her temple.

‘Double?’

‘Yeah? At the hospital? The storm came in and almost destroyed the city.’ Now confusion was written on his face.

And they were confused together.

‘...The hospital. Alright… And you were?’

‘I was at the precinct. They had us shelter in place… hey, what’s going on are you feeling alright, Ang?’

Angela cleared her throat and let out a sigh. She was just about to tell him about this crazy dream she’d had until she saw a little frame of them on the bartop. She was dressed in a gorgeous white dress and he wore this chic black and white tuxedo. His beard was gone and his hair was cut to perfection.

She quickly brought up her left hand, gazing at the big sparkly teardrop diamond that sat delicately on her finger. My, it was by far the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Suddenly, a flood of memories brought her back to her current reality. Perhaps the impact of working so hard and that storm had her a little delusional.

‘I’m alright, Walter. I just had this… crazy dream.’

‘Hmph, must’ve been! Here, let’s talk about it over breakfast-’

‘NO!’

Walter paused for a second as his thick brows pulled into one.

‘It’s just… Has someone ever told you that you kind of favor Zeus?’

His cheekbones turned pink and glanced to the side, ‘You mean Zeus like the God?’

She nodded.

‘No, mama. Is that what your dream was about, baby? I was a Greek God?’

When he said it, she just felt so damn stupid. She was embarrassed for even bringing it up. ‘Just forget it.. I don’t want to talk about it.’

Walter reached over and grabbed her hand, ‘Aw baby girl, don’t be embarrassed. C’mon we’ve all had silly dreams before… tell me what happened.’ He pulled her close and placed a kiss on her cheek.

‘Well… we… erm.’

He tilted his head to the side as his large hands traced up and down her body.

Angela cleared her throat as she looked up at him, ‘We were–..’

‘Would you like to show me what we did in the dream? You know I've always learned better by touch and physical interaction.’

She stared up at him as a slow grin curled up on her lips. ‘As tempting as that sounds baby, um… i think you’re burning the bacon.’

And on cue, the smoke alarm blared in the kitchen. Dark gray smoke floated up to the ceiling.

‘Shit!’ Walter exclaimed as he gently pushed her away and rushed to the stove. He choked as the stench burned at his throat and lungs. He reached over and turned off the knob and let out a gentle sigh.

‘Woman you’re a distraction…’ He turned half way with a gentle smile on his lips, ‘Get some clothes on. We’re going to breakfast. My treat.’

Inhaling deeply through her nose, she gave him a smile in approval, ‘If there are grits involved then I’m in.’

‘Good, I know a spot.’ He said with a smirk, watching her glide back in their bedroom.

His smirk instantly faded, the glow of gold reflected in his gaze.

He picked up the pan that was now coated in black soot and threw the scraps in the trash. Then, he dropped the pan in the sink.

Walter squirted some dish soap over the scrubber and began to do away with the burnt food. Suddenly, a soft yellow light glowed in his peripheral. He paused his movement, ‘As what do I owe the pleasure,’ he lifted his head, ‘Hera.’

The Goddess stood tall, her eerie gaze reflected in her eyes. Her blonde hair had specks of gold in her locks. She wore a royal white satin toga with gold trimmings. Nose and lips swollen and pink from all of the sobbing. He’d been gone for days. Living a fantasy that he’d created.

‘The children ask of you, Zeus.’

‘The children are old enough to take care of themselves. And I thought I told you to address me as, Your King.’ He gently brought a dirty knife from out of the sink and placed it in his belt.

Hera inhaled deeply, and watched him round the counter to join her in the dining room. ‘It’s Hebe. She misses you… I… miss you. Why can’t you come home? Why can’t you be with your real family? You don’t belong here.’

‘And you know where I belong?’

‘Why must you be so cantankerous?! You have a family. And it is your duty as a father, as a King, as a God—‘

‘My family is… here. I have everything I could possibly want here. Those insubordinate, spoiled and treacherous adults you call children—‘

‘You don’t talk about them that way!’ She exclaimed with tears filling her eyes once more.

‘I will talk of them however I want. Now, I know when I left Olympus I told you not to stand in my way… and yet you come here… you disturb me.’ He walked closer to her as she took a few steps back. ‘What should I tell our children once they discover that you’re dead hmm.’

‘Zeus..’ she trembled as a tear fell down her face, ‘Please… it doesn’t have to be like this.’

‘Oh but my vindictive wife… it does. See— you have pushed me away for centuries.. you don’t truly love me. Not really, only when I lie with other women— that’s the only time you actually give a damn. In the meantime, you’ve taken everything’ Zeus hissed through his teeth — ‘from me. Now I have everything I want… and you won’t ever come in between that ever again.’

‘My King. Please, I will leave — I will — ugh!’ Hera gasped as she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her ribs. She hiccuped before looking down to see Zeus’ hand on the handle of a kitchen butcher knife, with the blade delved between her rib cage. ‘Hyuck!’

‘Ive started with you, My Queen… my new wife will take your place on the throne and I will rid my bloodline of those foul, demented children you claim belong to me. They will join you soon.’ Zeus snatched the blade from the wound and watched her fall to her knees.

Hera collapsed on her back; wheezing as her golden blood leaked from her nose and gargled out the side of her mouth. ‘Mmm—mmm.’ She held onto her wound tightly.

Zeus squatted down, pushing her golden locks out of her face, ‘Don’t fight love. Death is such a beautiful thing. Peaceful if I might add.’ A deranged smile curled on his lips as he watched her take her last breath with a final tear falling down her face.

Her bright golden eyes had faded to a lifeless gray, her hair turned gray as heavy rain clouds and her once lively skin was deathly pale.

He pressed his lips together and inhaled deeply, ‘GoodBye Hera.’

‘Hey honey I was think—‘

Angela had walked down the hallway, plugging her earrings into her ears when she saw the gruesome sight. Her heart had sunk to the pit of her stomach and her mouth had fallen open in shock.

Zeus snapped his head over his shoulder to look back at her. His eyes still shined their brilliant gold and he still held that bloodied knife in his grip. He defensively stood to his feet.

‘Wh-wh-wh-‘ she began to hyperventilate. She grabbed the chest of her shirt in her fist as if she could grab her heart itself. Angela stumbled back as tears filled her eyes with fear.

‘Ooooh my sweet petal.’ He smirked as he tossed the blade to the floor, then his eyes returned to their gentle blue, ‘You weren’t supposed to see that.’

‘That?!’ She gasped, ‘Oh my god— the dream… it was true! It was real! You’re toying with me!’

Zeus inhaled deeply, slowly blinking once, ‘As real as you are… you’ve no need to be afraid of me. I told you I’d protect you and I intend on keeping my promise, wifey.’ He brought his hand up, flashing the golden wedding band on his finger.

‘Who is that woman on my floor?’ Angie shuddered out, placing her hand on her stomach to mellow out her queasiness.

‘Oh… her? If you must know… Hera. She was my wife. Former Queen.’

Angela gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, ‘Wh—what did you do?! Why did you do that to her?!’

‘She sought to kill you, woman. Why must you question me!? I SAVED YOUR LIFE!’

‘And how do you know?!’

‘BECAUSE I KNOW HER!’ Zeus exploded, ‘Every chance she got to make me miserable and take away those who are near and dear to me, she did and without contrition! In a few days time she would’ve inflicted some rare form of cancer upon you or had one of her loyal servants come and slit your throat or worse…’

‘W-worse?’ Angela murmured.

Zeus’ tearful gaze had fallen upon her belly before looking down. ‘You are with child, Angela. My child.’

Angela gasped at the news, tears filling her eyes and quickly spilling over. ‘No, no. That can’t be!’

‘It is Angela and I eliminated her so our child could have the best possible chance to grow and succeed in the future… so I can have the proper heir… from a woman that I truly love and truly adore— Angela, don’t you get it?’

He took a step forward and she took a step back.

‘This. Is. destiny. A start of a new era, a new beginning… I never intended to be with Hera. I never loved her… she doesn’t make me feel the way you do.’

A sob ripped through Angela’s chest, ‘And how am I to make you feel? I’m just a mere stranger you came and took advantage of!’

‘No! No. You’re much more than that my little love… you make me feel… human. Gentle… fair.’ He approached her carefully with his hands out. ‘My entire ruling as King of Gods, I’ve been used… abused in all aspects of the word… I’ve never been treated normally… but being here with you, Angela. You make me feel heard. When you look at me I don’t see anger or hate.’

Angela looked up at him as she wiped her nose with her wrist and sniffed.

‘I see a bright future,’ he added as he took her hands into his, ‘Where you sit by my side as my Queen… and we rule Olympus and the Overworld… just the way it’s intended to be. Just—‘

She stared up at him, not able to form words because she was so consumed by fear and confusion. ‘I could make you a Goddess. Make all your dreams come true my little love… just say… yes.’

tags: @critfailroll @itsrubberbisquit @peternoonewantsthat @ellethespaceunicorn @deandoesthingstome @luxeydior @wa-ni @milknhonies @swiss-mrs @angreav @singeramg @ylva-syverson @amesensibles @ramp-it-up @lainiespicewrites @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

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