having a voice kink really is no joke... a pretty girl will be saying the most random shit and my mind can only picture her talking me through my orgasm and telling me after how much of a good puppy i was for her...
Ares is not the protector of women in greek mythology.
He is never presented as such in any source, there is no evidence such a role was ever assigned to him in any account, and as far as I'm aware this popular yet unattested assertion is born from the echo-chambers of tumblr. In fact quite the opposite could be argued. CW for sexual assault.
This baffling claim seems to originate from a sort of shallow examination of the way Ares "behaves in myth", and the following arguments are the most frequently presented:
1. Ares protects his daughter Alkippe from assault, and is therefore morally opposed to rape. (Apollodorus 3.180, Pausanias 1.21.4, Suidas "Areios pagos", attributed to Hellanikos)
Curiously this argument is never applied to, for example: Apollo for defending his mother Leto from Tytios, Herakles for defending Hera from Porphyrion (or his wife Deianeira from Nessos), or Zeus for defending his sister Demeter from Iasion (in the versions where he attacks her), among other examples. The multiple accounts of rape of the previously mentioned figures did not conflict with these stories in greek thought: they're defending family members or women otherwise close to them. This sort of behaviour is not uncommon, even in contemporary times, e.g. a warrior has no ethical problem killing men, but would not want his own family or loved ones to be killed. The same goes here for sexual assault.
2. There are no surviving accounts of Ares sexually assaulting anybody.
The idea that the ancient greeks pictured that, among all the gods, Ares was the only one who shied away from committing rape borders on ridiculous. In this case absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.
The majority of surviving records of Ares' unions are presented in a genealogical manner, and do not go into details about the nature of said unions. This is by no means uncommon for most mythographers, where most sexual encounters are presented as such, and details of specifics are to be found elsewhere. However, common motifs that are found in other accounts of rape also appear in stories concerning Ares' relationships, e.g. tropes like shape-shifting/the use of disguises, the victim being a huntress, secrecy, and the disposal of the concieved child, are to be found in the stories of Phylonome and Astyoche respectively:
"Phylonome, the daughter of Nyktimos and Arkadia, was wont to hunt with Artemis; but Ares, in the guise of a shepherd, got her with child. She gave birth to twin children and, fearing her father, cast them into the [River] Erymanthos." (Pseudo-Plutarch, Greek and Roman Parallel Stories, 36)
"And they that dwelt in Aspledon and Orchomenus of the Minyae were led by Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares, whom, in the palace of Actor, son of Azeus, Astyoche, the honoured maiden, conceived of mighty Ares, when she had entered into her upper chamber; for he lay with her in secret" (Homer, Iliad 2. 512 ff)
In neither of these cases is a verb explicitly denoting rape used, though it is heavily implied by the context. The focus of the action is on the conception of sons, the nature of the interaction is secondary.
Other examples are found among the daughters of the river Asopos, who where (and here there's no confusion) ravished and kidnapped by different gods to different parts of the greek world, where they found local lines through children borne to their abductors and serve as local eponyms. Surviving fragments from Corinna of Tanagra tell:
"Asopos went to his haunts . . from you halls . . into woe . . Of these [nine] daughters Zeus, giver of good things, took his [Asopos'] child Aigina . . from her father's [house] . . while Korkyra and Salamis and lovely Euboia were stolen by father Poseidon, and Leto's son is in possession of Sinope and Thespia . . [and Tanagra was seized by Hermes] . . But to Asopos no one was able to make the matter clear, until . . [the seer Akraiphen reveals to him] 'And of your daughters father Zeus, king of all, has three; and Poseidon, ruler of the sea, married three; and Phoibos [Apollon] is master of the beds of two of them, and of one Hermes, good son of Maia. For so did the pair Eros and the Kypris persuade them, that they should go in secret to your house and take your nine daughters." - heavily fragmented papyrus. Corinna, Fragment 654
"For your [Tanagra's] sake Hermes boxed against Ares." Corinna, Fragment 666
It seems that, similarly to the myths of Beroe or Marpessa, the abducted maiden is fought over by two competing "suitors", and though we can infer that the outcome of the story is that Hermes gets to keep Tanagra, apparently by beating Ares at boxing, we don't actually know what happened or how it happened. In any case, Ares does mate with another daughter of Asopos, Harpina, who bears him Oinomaos according to some versions (Paus. 5.22.6) (Stephanus of Byzantium, Ethnica, A125.3) (Diodorus Siculus, Library 4. 73. 1). There is little reason to suppose this encounter wasn't pictured as an abduction like the rest of her sisters.
The blatant statement that each of his affairs was envisioned as consensual is simply not true.
3. He was worshipped under the epithet Gynaicothoinas "feasted by women"
This was a local cult that existed in Tegea, the following reason is given:
There is also an image of Ares in the marketplace of Tegea. Carved in relief on a slab it is called Gynaecothoenas. At the time of the Laconian war, when Charillus king of Lacedaemon made the first invasion, the women armed themselves and lay in ambush under the hill they call today Phylactris. When the armies met and the men on either side were performing many remarkable exploits, the women, they say, came on the scene and put the Lacedaemonians to flight. Marpessa, surnamed Choera, surpassed, they say, the other women in daring, while Charillus himself was one of the Spartan prisoners. The story goes on to say that he was set free without ransom, swore to the Tegeans that the Lacedaemonians would never again attack Tegea, and then broke his oath; that the women offered to Ares a sacrifice of victory on their own account without the men, and gave to the men no share in the meat of the victim. For this reason Ares got his surname. (Paus. 8.48.4-5)
As emphasised by Georgoudi in To Act, Not Submit: Women’s Attitudes in Situations of War in Ancient Greece (part of the highly recommendable collection of essays Women and War in Antiquity), "it is not necessary to see the operation of an invitation in the bestowal of the epithet Γυναικοθοίνας on Ares". The epithet is ambiguous, and can be translated both as "Host of the banquet of women" or "[He who is] invited to the banquet of women". In any case no act of divine intervention occurs, and the main reason for the women's act of devotion lies principally in recognising their decisive role in the routing of the Lakedaimonians. They invite Ares to the banquet, the men are excluded.
Also this a local epithet that isn't found anywhere else in Greece. As such it would be worth reminding that not every Ares is Gynaicothoinas, in the same way not every Zeus is Aithiopian, not every Demeter Erinys, or not every Artemis of Ephesos.
4. He is the patron god of the Amazons
He was considered progenitor of the Amazons because of their proverbial warlike nature and love of battle, the same reason he was associated with another barbarian tribe, the Thracians. In this capacity he was also appointed as a suitable father/ancestor for other violent and savage characters who generally function as antagonists (e.g. Kyknos, Diomedes of Thrace, Tereos of Thrace, Oinomaos, Agrios and Oreios, Phlegyas, Lykos etc.). Also he was by no means the only god connected with the Amazons (they were especially linked to Artemis, see Religious Cults Associated With the Amazons by Florence Mary Bennett, if only for the bibliography).
Similarly Poseidon was considered patron and ancestor of the Phaiakians mainly because of their mastery over the art of seafaring, and was curiously also credited in genealogies as father to monsters and other disreputable figures.
On another note I have found no sources that claim he taught his amazon daughters how to fight, as I've seen often mentioned (though I admit I'd love to be proven wrong on that point).
Finally, the last reason Ares is never portrayed as a protector of women is because of his divine assignation itself:
The uncountable references to his love of bloodshed and man-slaying don't just stop short of the battlefield, but continue on to the conclusion and intended purpose of most waged wars in antiquity: the sacking of the city. The title Sacker of Cities as an epithet of Ares (though it is by no means exclusive to him) is encountered numerous times and in different variations (eg. τειχεσιπλήτης or πτολίπορθος), and the meaning behind the epithet is plain. Though it is hard to summarise without being reductionist, the sacking of a city entails the plundering of all its goods, the slaughtering of its men, and the sistematic raping and enslavement of the surviving women (for the most famous depictions see The Iliad, The Trojan Women or The Women of Trachis, to name a small few of the literary references). There is little need to emphasise that war as concieved of in ancient greece, especifically the aspects of war Ares is most often associated with, directly entail sexual violence against women as one of the main concerns. The multiple references to Ares being an unloved or disliked deity are because of this, because war is horrifying (not because his daddy is a big old meany who hates him for no reason, Zeus makes very clear the motive for his contempt in the Iliad (5. 889-891): "Do not sit beside me and whine, you double-faced liar.
To me you are most hateful of all gods who hold Olympos. Forever quarreling is dear to your heart, wars and battles.")
Ares was only the protector of women inasmuch as he could be averted or repelled:
"There is no clash of brazen shields but our fight is with the war god, a war god ringed with the cries of men, a savage god who burns us; grant that he turn in racing course backward out of our country’s bounds, to the great palace of Amphitrite or where the waves of the thracian sea deny the stranger safe anchorage. Whatsoever escapes the night at last the light of day revisits; so smite him, Father Zeus, beneath your thunderbolt, for you are the lord of the lightning, the lightning that carries fire. (Oedipus Tyrannos, 190-202)
~~~~~
All that being said, this is a post about Ares as attested and percieved in ancient sources, made especifically in response to condecending and self-victimising statements about how "uhmmm, actually, in greek mythology Ares was a super-feminist himbo who was worshipped as the protector of women and was hated by his family for no reason, you idiot". It is factually incorrect. HOWEVER, far be it from me to tell anyone how they have to interact with this deity. Be it your retellings, your headcannons or your own personal religious attachments and beliefs towards Ares, those are your own provinces and prerogatives, and not what was being discussed here at all (I personally love retellings where Ares and Aphrodite goof around, or art where he plays with his daughters, or headcannons that showcase his more noble sides, etc.)
~~~~~
I've seen that other people on tumblr have made similar posts, the ones I've seen were by @deathlessathanasia and @en-theos . I have no idea how to link their posts, but they're really good so go check them out on their pages!
Thank you so, SO MUCH for this post. I always wanted to take a shot at all the Ares misinformation going around Tumblr because there is a lot of debunk, but given Ares is not my area of expertise within the Greek myths I never felt I had enough solid points. Your post is definitively something needed - because Ares' complete rewrite as somehow the "all-good guy" of Greek mythology is... something.
Nesta x OC x Cassian | OC x CANON sneak peek | 3.3k Words | NSFW/MDNI!🔞
Greetings! This is my very first post! I will be using this account to post more about my OC; Aamon (by either drawings of him I'm working on <3) This is a fluff turn smut too so please enjoy this sneak peek on my current fanfic I'm also working on!
CW: Fluff to Smut, Threesome, Hand/Blowjob, Penetration, Power bottom Nesta, Subby switch OC, Dom Cassian (duh)
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The sky stilled.
Moments ago, the mountain had roared beneath the weight of a storm so wild it seemed the world itself was ending. Thunder cracked like a war drum; winds howled like a thousand shrieking spirits. But now… silence. The kind of silence that prickled the skin, that came only before something monumental.
Nesta and Cassian stood at the base of the mountain, every muscle coiled, their gazes locked on the summit. Nesta’s hands were white-knuckled at her sides, her heart hammering loud enough she could hear it in her ears. The storm still churned overhead, dark clouds swirling in a slow, ominous spiral, but something in the air had changed. It felt… charged. Waiting.
And then the mountain shook.
A bolt of lightning, thicker than any Nesta had ever seen, split the sky and speared the ground a dozen paces before them. The sound was deafening—a crack that seemed to tear the heavens open. The shockwave knocked both her and Cassian back a step, his wings flaring instinctively around her.
Smoke and ozone filled the air. The sharp scent of rain and lightning burned Nesta’s nose as the cloud of ash and dust slowly cleared.
And from that smoke, a figure emerged.
Aamon.
But not the Aamon they’d watched walk up the mountain hours ago. Not the man who had left them with quiet promises and soft, steady eyes.
This Aamon looked carved from the storm itself.
Lightning still danced faintly along his arms, crawling across his shoulders like living veins of light. His cloak was shredded, whipped apart by the winds; his hair was loose and wild, glowing faintly as if kissed by the storm’s last threads of power. His storm-gray eyes burned with residual magic, crackling faintly like thunderclouds holding a charge. And there was that smile—soft, disarming, impossibly alive. The one that undid Nesta’s composure in an instant and made Cassian’s chest tighten with relief.
He had done it.
He had faced the storm and returned stronger.
Nesta didn’t wait for him to speak. Didn’t wait for him to ruin his own mythic entrance with one of his crooked, awkward quips. Her body moved before her mind caught up, her boots pounding the earth as she sprinted toward him.
And then she was in his arms.
Nesta leapt, her legs wrapping tight around his waist as he caught her effortlessly, his laughter breaking through the tension in the air like sunlight splitting clouds. She clung to him fiercely, burying her face in his neck, her shoulders shaking as she whispered something against his skin—something only he could hear.
Aamon’s breath caught. He pressed a hand to the back of her head, holding her so close it was as if he could fuse her heartbeat with his. His other arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to him, grounding himself in her warmth after standing at the edge of the storm’s fury.
Cassian was next. One mighty sweep of his wings and he was on them, barreling forward with a force that knocked all three of them to the grass. Nesta squeaked, Aamon grunted, and Cassian—unapologetic, trembling with relief—wrapped his arms around them both in a crushing embrace.
Pinned beneath their weight, Aamon laughed again—loud and breathless, his storm-touched voice warm as the lightning’s hum slowly faded from his body. He curled around them both, burying his face against their shoulders, pressing desperate kisses into hair and skin, murmuring words he couldn’t quite form.
For a long, precious moment, none of them moved. They simply held each other, tangled in limbs and wings, clinging as if the world would rip them apart again if they let go. Nesta’s silver fire simmered low beneath her skin, not in threat, but in recognition, wrapping him in its warmth. Cassian’s heart pounded so hard against Aamon’s shoulder that he could feel it.
And in that quiet, with their breaths mingling and fingers clutching at torn cloaks and armor straps, Aamon finally exhaled.
For the first time in centuries, he felt whole.
The storm was gone. The sky was clear. And there, on the grass at the mountain’s foot, lay a beautiful reunion of three lovers—lightning, fire, and steel intertwined, unshakable, unbroken.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The House of Wind was quiet, the kind of quiet that came only after weeks of exhaustion and recovery. The scent of sun-warmed stone and mountain air drifted through the open windows, a reminder that they were finally home.
Aamon moved slowly through the dining room, his steps still carrying the faint stiffness of someone who had only just regained his strength. He reached for the pitcher on the table out of habit, but before his fingers touched it, a crystal glass shimmered into existence right before him, filled to the brim with cool water.
Aamon chuckled softly, warmth flickering in his storm-gray eyes.
“Thank you,” he murmured to the house itself, his voice quiet but sincere. “I’ve missed you.”
The glass gave a soft chime as if in response before he lifted it, taking a slow sip. The water was cold and refreshing, grounding him after weeks of strain and magic-hewn pain. He turned then, leaning back against the edge of the table—only to find Nesta and Cassian watching him from across the room.
He arched a brow. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
Nesta’s lips curved in the softest of smiles, one that carried relief, tenderness, and longing all at once. She shook her head and strode toward him, every step slow and deliberate.
Aamon set the now-empty glass on the table; it vanished a moment later, whisked away by the house to the kitchen. He braced his hands on the table behind him, letting it support his weight as Nesta came close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from her body.
Her hands rose, delicate yet firm, cupping his scarred cheek. For a heartbeat, they only stared at one another—her gaze roaming over the storm-marked lines of his face, his searching her steel-blue eyes for the emotions she rarely let show. Then Nesta leaned in.
Their lips met.
The kiss was soft at first, reverent, almost cautious. Weeks had passed since they’d last tasted each other—weeks since Aamon had awoken from his coma, weeks of healing and whispered reassurances but no intimacy beyond touch and presence. Nesta had missed this, missed him, missed the taste of him like sunlight after a long winter.
The kiss deepened quickly, hunger replacing caution. Nesta’s lips parted, and Aamon’s tongue met hers with a low groan in his throat, their breaths mingling as the tension of weeks apart unraveled in the heat of their mouths. Small sounds escaped them—soft moans, muffled sighs—as Nesta pressed herself against him, her flames simmering beneath her skin.
Then Cassian moved.
He approached like a predator at ease, his broad frame radiating warmth and power as he closed the distance. Aamon barely had time to break from Nesta’s mouth before Cassian stepped in, one hand braced on the table beside Aamon’s hip, effectively caging him between their bodies.
Cassian’s kiss was different—hungrier, rougher, a surge of possessive affection that made Aamon shiver. Nesta didn’t step away; she pressed closer instead, her lips finding the curve of Aamon’s jaw, then the strong line of his neck. She tugged at his cloak, pulling it aside to bare more of his skin for her kisses, her breath warm against the scars there.
Aamon let out a soft gasp, his head tipping back as their combined warmth surrounded him, cocooning him in love and want. His fingers curled tightly against the edge of the table, gripping it for balance as their mouths worshiped him—Nesta’s kisses slow and savoring, Cassian’s firm and claiming.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Aamon closed the door behind him with a soft click, his back pressing against the wood as his storm-gray eyes darkened with heat. The faint glow in them hadn’t fully faded from his recent triumph, making him look untouchable, dangerous—and utterly irresistible. He leaned against the doorframe, a slow, hungry smirk curling his lips.
He raised his hand, curling a single finger in a commanding gesture. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, thick with promise.
Nesta and Cassian exchanged a look—a shared spark of hunger between them—before Nesta took the lead. She stalked toward him with that lethal grace of hers, hips swaying with each deliberate step, her silver-blue eyes fixed on him like he was prey she fully intended to devour.
Aamon’s tail swept lazily behind him, flicking with impatient anticipation. He wanted them—needed them.
Nesta reached him first, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt as their lips crashed together in a searing kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, weeks of longing and restraint unraveling in an instant. He groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding down her back to cup her hips and pull her closer, grinding her body against his.
Cassian moved like a predator circling prey, stepping in behind Aamon, his heat a solid wall pressing against his back. Strong hands settled on Aamon’s waist, and then Cassian’s mouth was at his neck, biting lightly, sucking at the sensitive skin there until Aamon’s breath hitched.
Aamon growled softly, pushing off the door as Nesta walked him backward with another kiss. Cassian’s body followed, grinding against him from behind, keeping him sandwiched between them both. The three of them moved together with desperate need, like they’d been starving for this.
Cassian’s voice was a low rumble against his neck. “You’ve been teasing us for weeks, storm boy,” he murmured, his hands slipping beneath Aamon’s shirt, palms dragging over muscle and scars, earning a sharp inhale from him. “Think it’s time you paid for that.”
Aamon laughed softly, breathless, tilting his head back onto Cassian’s shoulder as Nesta’s mouth left his lips to trail down his jaw, sucking at the spot beneath his ear.
“Oh, I’ll pay,” Aamon rasped, his hand curling into Nesta’s hair, tugging her closer. “But I’m not going down easy.”
Nesta smirked against his throat, her nails grazing his chest as she murmured, “We’d be disappointed if you did.”
They reached his bed, and Nesta pushed him gently onto it. He landed on his back with a low chuckle, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched them. His cloak slipped off his shoulders, pooling around him like shadows, and his tail curled around his thigh, betraying his impatience.
Cassian came up behind Nesta, his hands sliding over her waist as he kissed the back of her neck, their eyes both locked on Aamon like hunters preparing to pounce.
Aamon raised an eyebrow, his smirk wicked as he leaned back further on his elbows, spreading his legs in invitation. “Well? Don’t keep me waiting.”
Nesta’s eyes darkened at the challenge, straddling Aamon’s hips, her breath warm against his lips as she kissed him again, slower now, deeper, like she wanted to savor every inch of him. Her fingers tugged at his shirt until it came free, revealing sculpted muscle and scars that told centuries of stories. She traced them with delicate, reverent fingers, her touch soft but commanding all at once.
Cassian was behind her, kneeling on the bed, his calloused hands sliding over Nesta’s sides as he helped her peel off her own shirt, baring the elegant lines of her body to both of them. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his warm breath ghosting over her skin as his gaze locked on Aamon.
“Fuck,” Cassian muttered, low and rough, as he raked his eyes over the storm-wielder sprawled beneath them, hair tousled and tail flicking with restless energy. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
Aamon smirked lazily, though his breath was already coming faster, his tail curling around his thigh as if he were trying—and failing—to hold himself back. “Then stop staring,” he rasped. “And touch me.”
Nesta didn’t need to be told twice. She slid her hands down his chest, dragging her nails lightly over his skin until he hissed. She leaned down, her lips following the path of her fingers, kissing along the line of his collarbone, sucking gently at the dip of his throat.
Cassian shifted lower, his massive hands gripping Aamon’s thighs and parting them further. He ducked his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of one thigh, while his other hand slipped down to toy with Aamon’s tail.
The reaction was immediate. Aamon’s body arched sharply, a startled, guttural moan ripping from his throat as Cassian’s fingers traced the sensitive length of the tail, rubbing lightly over the base.
“Fuck—Cass,” Aamon gasped, his back arching again. “You—ah, gods—”
Cassian chuckled low in his throat, clearly pleased by the response. “Sensitive there, storm boy?” he teased, his voice a dark rumble. He wrapped a large hand gently around the base of Aamon’s tail and stroked upward, slow and deliberate. Aamon’s entire body trembled, his fingers twisting in the sheets.
Nesta smirked against his chest, her voice a sultry whisper. “I think we found a weakness.”
Aamon let out a breathless laugh, though it broke on a groan when Cassian’s fingers teased that spot again. “Not… a weakness,” he panted, his head tipping back. “Just… fuck…”
Cassian’s mouth curved in a wicked grin. “We’ll see about that.”
Nesta sat back on his hips, her hands working at the fastenings of his pants while Cassian leaned in to capture Aamon’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Their tongues slid together, Cassian’s hand never stopping its slow torment of Aamon’s tail, until the demigod groaned into his mouth, hips jerking up against Nesta’s body.
She broke away with a smirk, finally freeing him, her fingers curling around his length. Aamon’s head dropped back against the pillow, a guttural curse slipping from his lips as she stroked him slowly, teasingly, her thumb dragging over the sensitive tip.
Cassian shifted closer, his free hand sliding down Aamon’s torso, and Nesta moved aside just enough for him to take over, wrapping his large hand around Aamon’s cock. He stroked him firmly while Nesta bent down to kiss along his ribs, her hair brushing against his skin, her lips and tongue worshipping every inch of him.
Aamon was unraveling beneath them, gasping and moaning, every nerve alight. The combined sensations—Nesta’s mouth, Cassian’s rough hands, and that maddening attention to his tail—had him trembling.
“Fuck, you two—” His voice was hoarse, desperate. “Gonna—”
“Not yet,” Cassian murmured against his ear, his tone commanding but gentle, steadying him. “We’re not done worshipping you.”
Nesta hummed in agreement, her lips trailing lower, down his stomach, until she placed her knees on the floor and replaced Cassian’s hand with her mouth, taking him between her lips with slow, devastating precision.
Aamon’s hips jerked, a sharp moan tearing from him, his tail curling tight around Cassian’s wrist. He fisted the sheets in one hand, the other finding Cassian’s hair, gripping tightly as Cassian kissed and bit at his neck.
Nesta took her time, her tongue swirling, her pace slow enough to make him whimper. Whimper—like a god brought to his knees. Cassian’s free hand squeezed his thigh, his other still teasing the sensitive ridges at the base of his tail.
“Please,” Aamon finally groaned, the word ripped from him like a prayer.
Cassian chuckled against his throat, his voice thick. “Please what, baby?”
“More. I—fuck, I need—” He cut himself off with a strangled gasp when Nesta hollowed her cheeks, taking him deeper.
Cassian growled softly, clearly turned on by Aamon’s desperation, he shifted down and leaned down to kiss Nesta, tasting Aamon on her lips before she pulled back.
She smirked, her voice low and sultry. “He’s ready.”
Cassian nodded, shifting to help Nesta out of the rest of her clothes, his big hands lingering over her curves. She climbed back onto Aamon’s lap, straddling him again, and he sat up, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her down onto him with a low groan.
Nesta moaned loudly, her nails digging into his shoulders as she sank onto him fully. Aamon buried his face in her neck, his breath hot and ragged, kissing and biting at her skin while his hips rolled upward, slow and deep.
Cassian watched them for a moment, then he moved behind Aamon, settling on the bed and pulling him back slightly, pressing kisses along his spine.
“Mine,” Cassian growled softly, nipping at his shoulder.
“Yours,” Aamon gasped, his head falling back onto Cassian’s shoulder as Nesta rode him, her pace quickening.
Cassian’s hand reached around, gripping Aamon’s cock again, stroking him in time with Nesta’s movements, while his other hand teased that sensitive spot on Aamon’s tail once more.
The demigod came undone, spilling inside Nesta. His moans filled the room—broken, beautiful sounds that sent heat curling low in her belly—as his body trembled between them, pleasure wracking him in waves. She kissed him fiercely, deeply, whispering his name like a prayer against his lips, while Cassian’s strong hands steadied him, murmuring praise into his ear.
“Looks like our demigod’s ready for round two,” Cassian purred, his voice dark and full of hunger.
Nesta’s sat up again, letting Cassian watch the cum dripping down from her cunt. Cassian pressed a finger in, making sure to let it stay inside of her. “Sit down, Nes. Fuck him again.” Cassian’s large hands guided Aamon’s cock to her cunt. She gasped as he pressed her down, inch by inch, until he was seated fully inside her. Both of them moaned.
“Oh, fuck,” Nesta cried out, tossing her head back, “fill me up again, Aamon.”
Cassian hummed in approval, his gaze dark as he admired the sight before him. “Beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself, stroking a hand down Nesta’s trembling thigh. Slowly, deliberately, he loosened the ties of his pants, pulling himself free. Precum glistened at his tip as he stroked himself lazily, his eyes locked on where Nesta was grinding down onto Aamon.
“Good boy,” Cassian murmured, his tone low and rough. “You’re taking Nesta so well.”
Aamon’s cock throbbed inside her at the praise, a needy whimper escaping his lips. Cassian’s mouth curled into a wicked smile as he licked his lips.
“I wonder,” Cassian drawled, teasing himself slowly, “who I should fuck first.”
Aamon’s glassy, storm-gray eyes met his, pleading silently. His soft whimper was all the answer Cassian needed.
“Be patient, Aamon,” Cassian whispered darkly, climbing closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
Aamon’s legs immediately wrapped around him in invitation as Nesta rode him with slow, sensual rolls of her hips. Cassian lined himself up, pressing forward until he was buried deep inside Aamon. Aamon’s back arched, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as his eyes fluttered shut, head tipping back in ecstasy.
The rhythm they found together was devastatingly perfect—Nesta riding him hard and slow, Cassian’s powerful thrusts from behind making Aamon shudder and moan, his breath catching with every movement. Heat pooled thick in the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and arousal. Hands and mouths roamed freely, reverent and greedy all at once, each of them desperate to taste and touch, to claim.
Nesta’s cries rose higher, mingling with Aamon’s broken whimpers and Cassian’s guttural growls. Three souls moving as one, bound together by hunger, love, and need.
Aamon shattered first. The force of his second climax wrung a hoarse cry from his throat, Nesta gasping his name as she followed, clenching around him with desperate, fluttering pulses. Cassian bit down on her neck as he came with a groan, filling Aamon with his release, claiming him completely.
But the night was far from over. Hunger still simmered in the air, electric and unrelenting, as Nesta and Cassian shifted, readying themselves for more.
jacobvanloon
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
