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Sep 6, 2023

This Overwhelming Feeling of Joy

Summary: My interpretation of Hades and Persephone's wedding night, past the fade-to-black. Loving married sex, some height difference technicalities, and a lot of laughing in bed.

Content Warnings: brief mention of past sexual trauma, size difference

Rated: E (18+ Only, Please!) / Read It On AO3 Here!

Persephone all but collapses onto the couch when they reach their room, giggling in spite of herself from the pure unreality of the last twenty-four hours. The early morning light of Olympus is coming through the wide windows, but Persephone’s body is still buzzing with excitement. She’s already running over memories of her wedding day as she watches Hades cross the room to pick up the telephone and order them beverages. Eros dancing with her, spinning her until she was dizzy: Hera’s smile as she congratulated them: Hades’s whispered vow, the words crawling up the nape of her neck before his public words of love and support.

“Thanks,” Persephone says when Hades hangs up the phone. Her throat hurts from singing and laughing and crying, and hot tea sounds like just the right thing. Her husband (!!!) comes to kneel beside her, his hair in disarray from a night full of celebration. He’s even more beautiful like this, in the dim morning light, the same giddy disbelief on his face.

“I’m still so wired, but so tired at the same time.” Persephone gets a foot out from under the many layers of her wedding dress and Hades accepts it with both hands, his skin always so cool against Persephone’s. “My feet hurt from dancing.” Hades slips off her shoe, one finger running along her heel.

“Did you like the party?” He sounds almost nervous, as if he couldn’t tell that Persephone was having the best night of her life.

“Yes, it was perfect.” Persephone grins over the ruffled layers of her skirt. Her shoe looks like a doll’s toy in Hades’s hand, his fingers easily wrapping around it. It takes her a moment to see just how unsettled he looks by his own question, and the uncertainty on his face hasn’t been dispelled by her answer. His eyes are still on her foot, and he doesn’t look up at her to meet her eyes.

Persephone pushes herself up, fighting against the dress to get closer to Hades. “Please don’t overthink it,” she says, pleading.

“Didn’t I stop you from ‘doing all the things’?” Hades asks, still looking to one side.

“Hades look at me,” Persephone says, and his eyes snap up obediently. “If I did not want to marry you, we wouldn’t be sitting here. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Hades’s shoulders finally drop from their anxious arch, and Persephone smiles, relaxing back against the arm of the couch.

“And we can still do all those things. They’ll just be even better because you’re my husband now.”

“I like the sound of that.” Hades playfully scoops up Persephone’s bare foot and presses a kiss to the ball of her foot, right where the ache of dancing has settled. Persephone closes her eyes to enjoy the feeling of his attention.

“There’s only one problem,” she says, hiding her smile as she unhooks the garter belt under her skirts and pushes her stocking partway down.

“And what is that?” Hades asks, clearly picking up on her mood as he gets to his feet and pulls her stocking the rest of the way off. Persephone wiggles her toes, finally free from all their layers, then pushes her dress down so she can roll onto her stomach.

“Well, you see… I had bought some lingerie for tonight, which I intended to change into. But I can’t all these buttons undone myself…”

“I can help you with that.”

Hades picks her up in one swift movement, making Persephone squeak and then throw her arms around his neck. Again she laughs from the pure joy, as he carries her to the bed and shoulders aside the sheer curtains that surround it, setting Persephone down on the mattress. He’s so careful with her, brushing the skirts of the dress down so it doesn’t fold the wrong way, then running a hand down the curve of her back, where the thirty silk buttons run from her neck to the ruffle of skirts.

“So, you’re not going to rip my dress off?” Persephone asks, propping herself up on her elbows so she can look backwards.

“Maybe another time,” Hades promises, laying one hand on her back. She can feel it through the dress, the way it spans her shoulder-blades. Smiling, Persephone closes her eyes and surrenders herself to the feels of Hades working his way down her dress, one button at a time unfastening and letting the cool air of the room whisper across the skin of her back. Hades’s fingers trace little patterns on every inch of exposed skin, a quiet worship that reminds her of the vow he whispered to her at the altar, of power and respect.

“You know, it’s very hot in the mortal realm all the time,” Persephone finds herself saying, as Hades reaches the small of her back, the last of the buttons, and spreads her dress open. “Even when it rains, it’s still warm.” She wriggles out of the sleeves and lets the bodice fall around her waist, twisting up to face her husband. He looks almost dazed, his eyes focused on her face as if he’s trying to absorb her words with all of his attention. “But on a rare day, the temperature will drop briefly.”

Persephone hooks her fingers into her husband’s pants and undoes the clasp, tugging his shirt up so she can touch the hard planes of his stomach, then turn her attention to undoing the buttons of his shirt. He’s still looking at her with all of his attention, as if he doesn’t notice the way she’s opening his shirt, exposing the lines of his chest and the scars that slash across it. His arms are still at his sides, letting Persephone slide the straps of his suspenders down and then throw his shirt back off his shoulders.

“I don’t know what it is about the sudden chill, but I would always get this overwhelming feeling of joy.”

The intensity of his gaze makes Persephone feel transcendent. She pulls her hair out of the bun, runs her hands through it and flicks a few stray bobby pins onto the floor beside the bed. “It was always marred by ambiguity… but I think it was about you.” She rests her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers out to feel the coldness of his skin. Just like the Underworld, just like those brief cold patches that caught her unawares in the mortal world, raising the hair on the back of her neck.

As if finally released from a spell, Hades moves, pulling her against him and tilting her chin up to press their mouths together. Here, Hades is warm, and his tongue is a demand against her lips, his hands holding her tight. Hades pulls away from her only to press a kiss to the side of her neck, and then down to her breasts. Her bra stops him from reaching lower, but he places lingering kisses along the swells of her cleavage, his hands reaching around to undo the clasp and pull it away.

“You’re beautiful,” Hades murmurs, and Persephone is dizzy with it all.

“I’m yours,” she answers simply, and Hades buries his face in the curve of her neck, his hands on her waist holding her even tighter for a moment. Persephone hopes she has bruises tomorrow, although she knows her divine skin is made of tougher stuff than that.

After the moment to regain his composure, Hades reclaims her lips. Persephone has never felt so wonderfully overwhelmed by someone’s touch before Hades: she feels wild when he kisses her, like she could tear his clothes off and crawl into his ribs just to be closer to him. It scares her and excites her in equal measure.

Hades presses her gently back against the pillows, and Persephone lets it happen: Hades doesn’t break the kiss as he pushes her wedding dress down and down and off her legs. Persephone hears the soft sound of it hitting the floor beside the bed, and now she is just in her underwear and Hades is running his hands over the curves of her sides, the swell of her hips, the divots that separate her hips and thighs.

It’s lovely, and then Hades leans down close enough that their chests brush, and Persephone flinches.

Immediately, Hades draws back from her, hands held up as if in surrender.

“No, come back,” Persephone protests, reaching out for him. “You startled me, come back.”

“Am I too cold?” Hades asks, hands still hovering.

“Of course not. Keep kissing me.” Persephone manages to reach Hades’s face and pulls him back down, cupping both sides of his jaw and guiding their lips back together. Hades allows it, but his hands stay on either side of Persephone’s head, no longer touching her, and something about it doesn’t feel right. She feels trapped.

“Can we-” Persephone mumbles, pulling back from the kiss. She’s frustrated with herself and this feeling. Her wedding night is supposed to be perfect, isn’t it? “Could I, uh-” She can’t say it out loud but she flips her hands around and raises her eyebrows at Hades.

“Oh! Of course.”

Hades picks her up and twists around so that his back hits the pillows and drops Persephone on his chest. She makes a little sound of surprise at the maneuver, but once she’s sitting on top of him, it’s definitely much better. She stretches her arms, reasserting her freedom, and looks down to see Hades staring up at her with awe-struck eyes.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, and Persephone aches with love and need in equal measure.

“Please.”

His hands are back on her before she can breathe, settling on her hips in quiet appreciation, then running up her sides with a light enough touch that Persephone twists and giggles from the touch, too ticklish. Hades’s lips quirk, clearly saving that information for later. For now, he cups her breasts in his hands, running a thumb along their curve and then in dancing circles inwards until it brushes over her nipple and Persephone arches with a gasp. It’s a light, exploratory touch, yet she feels it down to her toes.

Her hands come up, searching for something to grab, and settle around Hades’s wrists, keeping his hands where they are. He scratches his nails gently on the sides of her breasts and Persephone can’t breathe. Hades doesn’t stop touching her, switching between light touches and sweeps across her nipples, keeping her on-edge and writhing in a new symphony of feelings. It’s so much and not enough, and she realizes she’s grinding down on Hades’s chest, trying to get friction.

On the verge of overstimulation, Persephone breaks his grip by leaning down and kissing him again, enjoying the new angle and the way he has to tilt his chin up for her, instead of the other way around. Mirroring Hades earlier, Persephone presses more kisses to his jawline and his throat, down to his pectoral, where she gives into temptation and presses her teeth into his skin.

Hades jolts and groans and one hand comes up to cup the back of her head.

“Harder,” he tells her, and Persephone obeys, biting down until Hades hisses through his teeth, then peppering the area with gentle kisses to make it better. There’s something satisfying about seeing the double-curve of her teeth in his skin.

Persephone has to scoot back to press a kiss to Hades’s stomach, then the curves of his hips, and she impatiently tugs at his pants to try and get the out of the way. Hades laughs and pulls her forward again, cupping her butt with both palms and dragging her up to his chest. Then he lifts his hips and pushes down his pants, kicking them off the end of the bed.

Persephone wants to see all of him. She reaches back and hooks her fingers into his underwear, tugging at them just as demandingly. Hades laughs again and obediently removes them, then slides a finger under Persephone’s waistband with a questioning eyebrow. Persephone catches his hand and brings it to her mouth so she can kiss his open palm, a silent answer: not yet.

Then she makes her way backwards, so she can straddle Hades’s thighs instead of his chest. It’s not the most elegant manoeuvre she’s ever done, but her mountain of a husband necessitates a little bit of climbing, and they both laugh a little.

Once Persephone is settled, she runs her hands over Hades’s thighs and just looks.

She’s seen Hades’s scars in the pool, but now she can see how they wrap around his hips as well, spanning his body from head to thigh. They shine with the reminder of his immortality: injuries that would have killed anything that could die. Evidence of trauma and evidence of the fact that nothing can take her husband from her.

Beyond that, Hades is an oasis of indigo against the white sheets of the bed, his cheeks faintly dotted with blushing stars as he lets Persephone look her fill. Mortals could write endless poems about the lines of his hips and the ripple of his muscles, and all of them belong to her now.

And then Persephone looks down and is absolutely stunned.

How is that supposed to fit inside me???

She reaches down and gingerly touches the base of his cock, a light press of the fingers to assess that she is, in fact, looking at the real thing. It jumps under her fingers, a slight reaction, and Persephone pulls her hand back, surprised. This is new territory for her: she doesn’t know how to make this good for him. Remembering some half-forgotten porn videos, watched on the phone Artemis had given her, she steels herself and reaches out again.

This time, she wraps her hand around him, finding that her fingers can’t reach all the way to her thumb. She makes an involuntary noise at this realization and Hades laughs, though the sound is strangled.

He reaches up, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“We’ll take it slow,” he promises.

Persephone feels herself blush. “How does it… will it hurt?” She can’t imagine that it won’t, but she wants Hades to reassure her.

“It doesn’t have to,” Hades answers. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

“How?” Persephone runs her fingers along Hades’s cock, fascinated by the texture. She can’t tell if he’s fully hard or just getting there, but the contrast of soft skin and tensed cords is hypnotizing. The skin is loose at the top and she wraps her hand around him again, pulling down the foreskin and revealing the flushed head, a darker indigo than any other part of him. She wants it to fit. She will make it fit.

“Well, first you’ll need these off,” Hades says, and again he tugs her waistband. This time Persephone takes the hint, tugging her panties off and tossing them into the pile of clothes scattered along the side of the bed. “Can I pick you up?”

“Now he asks,” Persephone teases. “Yes, my King.”

“Thank you, my Queen,” Hades says, and lifts her by the inside of her thighs, making her squeak again in surprise. Before Persephone knows up from down, her knees are on either side of the pillow, and Hades is looking up at her with an expression that is far too pleased.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Persephone is frankly worried that she’s going to drip on his face at this point.

“May I?”

“Anything, but- ohfuckHades-” Persephone curls over at the first pass of his tongue over her entrance. She thinks she might pass out, but instead she puts her hands against the headboard and does her best to hold on. “Are you really- ah-”

She doesn’t get through the question but it hardly matters because the answer is yes, he really is. His tongue is wicked, spreading her open and swirling around her clit, an endless back-and-forth that builds her higher than she knew was possible. His hands curl around her thighs, gently encouraging her to rock against his mouth, and Persephone didn’t know she was capable of making the noises she’s making. She rides the waves of pleasure, each one a new surprise, and when she looks down, Hades has his eyes closed and seems to be in ecstasy. His tongue traces circles around her clit, then teases at her entrance, and Persephone feels empty every time.

“Can you- can you-” She wants to ask for something inside of her, a tongue, a finger, anything, and Hades seems to know the rest of the sentence because on his next pass, he curls his tongue into her and she’s shaking apart, reaching down to circle her clit so that he doesn’t even think about moving. He flexes his tongue inside of her and she’s not stopping her own rhythm, and the orgasm takes her further than she expected, leaving her shaky-legged and hungry for more.

She shifts back so she can prop herself up with her arms, gasping for air. Hades is there, kissing her, and she can taste herself in his mouth, bitter and sweet at the same time.

Hades shifts them so that they’re lying beside each other and Persephone collapses on her side in relief, pressing herself feverishly against Hades. She’s so warm, his skin a relief against her breasts and her cheek. She can’t help but throw a leg over him, wanting him closer.

She feels Hades run a hand down her back, then over her thigh, up her inner thigh so that his fingers are close to where she wants them.

“Yes,” she gasps against his chest.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, and rubs a finger against her lips for a moment before slipping it inside of her. It’s much deeper than his tongue, and she tenses for a moment. He stops, and they both hold still against each other until Persephone breathes deep and relaxes again.

For a moment, Hades presses a finger to her clit, but Persephone winces from overstimulation and he gracefully switches his attention to the finger inside of her, pressing against her inner wall and making her spread her legs further to get more sensation. Two fingers at her entrance make her tense again, but he runs them up and down until she relaxes, and then he slowly slides them into her, and Persephone is on fire again.

She pulls at his shoulders, making him roll on top of her, which makes the angle better. He stays below her, his nose at the level of her chest, and she doesn’t feel trapped at all this way. His fingers rock into her, and he mouths at the curve of her breasts, as if he can’t help it when they’re right in front of him. After a few moments, he swipes his tongue across one of her nipples and Persephone’s back arches off the bed, forcing herself harder onto his fingers. Persephone makes out the corner of a self-satisfied smile before Hades puts his head down and starts to lavish attention on each of her nipples in turn, taking the opportunity to slide a third finger into her.

Persephone didn’t know that the stretch could feel good, but it does, something deep inside her taking pleasure from the sensation of being so full. The dull pleasure of his fingers and the sharp pleasure of his tongue flicking across her nipples is a contrast that has her rocking between them, her pleasure turning to near-silent gasps as she nears her second climax.

She’s sharply disappointed when Hades takes away his fingers, her hips rocking into nothing, but then he’s rolling them over again so that Persephone sits on top of him, and something better than fingers is bobbing in front of her, flushed and waiting.

The loss of her second orgasm makes Persephone desperate, and she wraps her fingers again around Hades’s cock, pumping it to get a feel for its width. Hades groans at her touch, head tossing back against the pillows.

“Remember- ah, take it slow.”

Persephone brings herself up on her knees, balancing on his hipbones, and positions Hades underneath her. She can’t help but feel it out, pressing the head against herself and then rubbing against it, a roll of her hips that has Hades grabbing the sheets on either side of himself. Once she’s sure that they’re both wet, she starts to drop down on him.

And oh, she didn’t know what full felt like before.

Hades is everywhere, inside of her and underneath her, one of his hands grabbing desperately at her thigh. The first orgasm did its work, the stretch almost lost in the slide, but before she gets very far, it starts to chafe. Working on instinct, Persephone pulls off and then settles back down, getting a little further the second time. Hades’s breath catches, but he lets her do what she wants. His hand tightens and relaxes on her thigh, her measurement of his self-control. She has to re-settle herself four times but then something feels right and she can take him deeper than before, gasping with pleasure as she finally reaches his base, legs splayed out onto the blankets.

Persephone can’t help but reach down and touch the place where they’re together. She can’t imagine it, even though she’s here, and the brush of her fingers against her clit make her gasp, throwing her headlong back into the need for her orgasm.

The only problem is that her legs are wide enough that she can’t get into position to ride Hades properly, so she tries rocking back and forth a little.

“Ah-” she gasps, just as Hades groans, and both of them reach out for each other, their hands colliding and tangling together.

Persephone experiments with the little purchase she has, rocking and twisting her hips, and Hades is a man undone beneath her, hips shuddering up against her now that he is no longer trying to keep still.

“Can I-”

“Yes,” Persephone gasps before he can finish, and Hades untangles his hands from hers, cups her hips and moves her. He picks her up just as easily as all the other times he’s scooped her up, and then he drops her back down against his hips.

He’s so deep inside of her, she can feel it everywhere, her whole body singing with it. He lifts her again and Persephone is desperate for it, wriggling against his grip to get him fully back inside of her, where he belongs. He doesn’t deny her, pressing up into her with his heels against the bed, and this way Persephone can feel him moving, thrusting into her like he’s just as desperate, just as wild.

“Yes,” she says again, and Hades holds her there above him, as if she weighs nothing, and he drives himself into her, their hips meeting again and again, and Persephone scratches her nails down his chest because it’s the only thing she can reach. His fingers cup her ass, thumbs digging into her hips, and she is flying in his grasp, running her fingers across his chest, his nipples, her own breasts, and finally giving in and touching herself, playing frantically with her clit as Hades sheathes himself in her over and over again. She can’t tell if she’s nearing climax or far over the edge, entirely lost in the arc of pleasure.

It seems like forever before Hades tires, but eventually he flips them over again and Persephone finds herself back against the cushions. Hades lifts her hips so he can kneel on the bed, not leaning over her but pulling her onto him. Persephone reaches up and braces herself against the headboard with one hand, using that to push herself back onto Hades with frantic need. His hips snap against hers, and she can hear them moving together.

He's trying to stay upright but he’s bowing towards the headboard, groaning each time their hips meet. Persephone pulls him down, so he can rest on his elbows. Her nose brushes against his chest like this, but she doesn’t care anymore, too lost in the exquisite pace of their bodies together, the way Hades is starting to stutter in his rhythm. Persephone drinks in the hitch of his breathing, the groan when she flicks a revengeful tongue against his nipple in return. His thrusts grow more forceful and Persephone puts both hands against the headboard again, in danger of being pushed against it but instead meeting him, strength for strength.

“I--- I love you, I love you,” Hades groans into her ear. “I love you.”

“Ah- Hades, Hades.” Persephone wants to say that she loves him too, but his name is the only thing that spills from her lips.

The sound of it seems to send him over the edge, and he pulls her against him with a moan. She can feel him twitching inside of her, the flood of warmth in her core, and it makes her desperate for her own release. She manages to get a hand down on herself, and it only takes a few desperate movements for her to be over the edge as well, Hades crying out as she ripples around him.

They rock against each other for a few more seconds, the waves of pleasure carrying them further. Their chests are both heaving against each other, and Persephone has to put her head to the side to catch her breath, Hades half-collapsed on top of her but still supporting his weight on his forearms. Finally, he runs a hand through her hair and pulls back, making Persephone wince as he leaves her. It’s a strange feeling of emptiness, no longer marking a need, now just a temporary ache of absence.

Hades rolls onto the mattress beside her and pulls her against him, curling around her back and tucking one arm over her so that Persephone is entirely covered by him.

“…we didn’t get under the blankets,” Persephone observes after a long pause, and both of them start to laugh.

“Let me fix that.” Hades manages to pull the blankets down so they can both scoot underneath, and then tugs them up to Persephone’s shoulders. “Better?”

“Mmm, cozy.” Persephone cups Hades’s forearm where it lies across her stomach. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

Persephone smiles and nuzzles her cheek into the pillow. She’s exhausted and still humming with pleasure, and married.

She can’t imagine a better wedding night.

#oops new blog #i'm so impulsive #i just wanted to settle into some characters for a while #my writing #follow new blog if you like lore olympus and are 18+!!

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