I was wondering if u could write the gods(you can chose any but i would love hermes to be in it if thats ok with u) reactions of waking up next to reader.
U can skip this request if u want.
☛ the gods [apollo, hermes, dionysus, ares] waking up next to you
☛ sfw, cw: suggestive, mentions of blood & violence in ares' part
Apollo had found himself doing this every morning for the past few weeks. The god's eyes fluttered open as the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, mind slowly clearing off the haze of sleep. For a moment, he simply lay there, letting the sense of contentment flood him, the soft sounds of your breath like music to his ears.
His gaze wandered as he turned towards you, still soundly asleep next to him. Somehow, you had managed to get completely tangled up in the sheets. The sunlight that bathed his palace in golden hues caressed your skin as softly as his fingers might have. It made your hair shine as it lay sprawled out on the pillow, just calling to be twirled around a finger as he leaned close to you, watched you blush and laugh.
But you weren't laughing now. Your expression showed only utter serenity as you drooled cutely on the pillow, fingers twitching occasionally, signs of a restless dream. But other than that, your chest rose and fell with steady breaths as your body relaxed against the sheets. So pliant, so soft, yet marked. Apollos eyes traced the line his lips had drawn over your collarbone, up to your neck, and his lips twitched as he remembered the little sighs they had elicited from you, the way your cheeks flushed.
Apollo never thought he would ever find someone he would want to wake up next to every day, for eternity. Sure, he loved, and he loved deeply. But it was always temporary. He had never planned to be anything but an eternity-long bachelor, simply because his attention tended to stray, always in search of someone new to inspire him. But gods, you were enough to inspire his poems and songs for eons to come. And it would never be enough to grasp just how much he cherished you.
He propped himself up in bed, watching you intently, eyes drinking in every little movement, skimming over your peaceful expression. And he felt it. The itch in his fingers. The need to capture you, to capture this, to grab a quill, a pencil, a paintbrush, whatever was suited best to express his adoration for you in this moment.
He rose from the bed without making a sound, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber, and reached for a canvas and a palette, along with a brush. As he settled down onto the bed, his hand travelled over your figure, his eyes raking over you with the steady assessment of a professional. With touches so tender they were little more than breaths against your skin, he draped the covers just right and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, basking in the little sigh you answered him with in your sleep.
His hands moved quick over the canvas, with experienced precision and a commitment to detail, to immortalize this moment. His eyes drank you in, every inch of you, and flickered down to the canvas as his brushes formed the curve of your hips, the slope of your nose, the rosiness of your lips. He painted you as he saw you- drenched in the gold of the morning sun, ethereal, otherworldly. And yet, even the minor imperfections found their way onto the painting- because to him, even calling them 'imperfections' was an oxymoron, when they were what truly made you perfect.
As he completed the last brushstrokes, your lashes fluttered and you stirred slightly. A yawn broke free from your lips and, eyes still closed, you stretched your arms over your head. Then, you slowly blinked up at him, your lips curving into a smile at the sight of him. "Hey," you said, almost shyly, as you spotted the marks you had left on him the night before.
His voice was full of reverence as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss onto your lips. "Good morning, sunshine."
The first thing that seeped into his consciousness like the most intoxicating drug was the smell of you. Second, the warmth, third, the pulsing of your heartbeat against his temple. He breathed in your scent, breathing out against your neck and tightened his hold on your soft body. To wake up like this every day...
Hermes slowly raised his head from your neck, his own curls brushing over your skin softly as he did. As if you felt it through the haze of sleep, you sighed softly, and his lips twitched into a smile as he propped himself up next to you, eyes wandering over you. Your chest was rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, and even in your sleep, you managed to be so utterly adorable.
Sometimes, your fingers would twitch against the sheets, a reaction to a dream, or your lips would string incoherent sentences together. A grin spread on his lips as he heard something closely resembling his name, a mumbled sigh, and he leaned in to catch more of it. Distinctly, he made out the words 'don't go' in the midst of your vague dreamy ramblings before you slipped off again, a long sigh escaping your lips, leaving him to guess what you might have been dreaming about.
But Hermes had never been one for patience. Before long, his hand came up to trace a line down your jaw, relishing in the way your breathing hitched softly. Slowly, he let his fingers trail down, down your back, over the curve of your hips, and up again. He could see the way your eyelids fluttered, the way you tried to hold onto sleep - a nice dream, then - but your consciousness was slipping and your brows scrunched up.
First, you didn't know what had woken you up. Then, through the still present haze of sleepiness, you felt a soft touch, running up and down your spine. Before you could stop it, it elicited a shiver from you and you could hear a chuckle, resonating close to your ear. "I know you're awake, you know?"
With a low groan, you pushed his hands away, pulling the covers more tightly around yourself. It had been such a pleasant dream, and you desperately wished to know how it ended, even though the waking part of you was aware that your chances of slipping back into slumber under his watch were utterly nonexistent. As you had suspected, your groggy protest did little to deter him. His hands returned- and this time, they ran up your sides in a more teasing way.
With a loud whine, you squirmed away, still squeezing your eyes shut. But instead of taking pity on you, the god only increased his teasing touches and your attempts to shake him off remained futile. Now, even the last remnants of sleep were lost, as you trashed under his relentless tickling, you held onto the dream like water slipping through your fingers. Finally, as the god tenderly pinched the soft flesh of your stomach, you snapped.
In one fluid motion, you shot up, grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him down onto the duvet, settling on top of him. You were well aware that you would have not been able to tackle him had he not allowed it, but you would take what you could get as you glared down at his far too pleased expression. "What the fuck, Hermes?" you groaned, the last bit of drowsiness draining from your mind. "I was having a nice dream!"
"Did you dream about me?" he asked, a tenderly teasing smile playing around his lips. Knowing. You shook your head, but it was a lie, and he seemed well aware.
You squeaked in surprise when he lifted himself up, you still perched on his lap as he looked down on you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "Hm, I think you did," he mused, lips hovering just above yours. He clicked his tongue at your spluttered protests. "Y'see, honey... you talk in your sleep." His grin turned downright wicked when he saw your mortified expression, and as you felt your cheeks heating, you leaned your head against his collarbone, desperate to hide them. But no chance.
"Aw, don't be embarrassed, baby," he cooed softly, but with a distinctly teasing edge to his tone. His lips came up to brush against your temple tenderly. "Don't be mad you didn't get to finish it." He locked eyes with you, and the look in them made you swallow. "In fact," he drawled suggestively, hand running down to your waist, "How about we reenact them, hm?"
Your morning could have been peaceful. However, peaceful wasn't really in your lover's repertoire. Thus, your steady flow of vague dreams was disrupted when hands shook you awake, hands that had been traveling down your body with teasing touches the previous night, had latched onto you as if you could fade at any moment, had dipped into a goblet of wine and drawn patterns of red liquid down your squirming body.
Now, however, they were barely tender, no, they were demanding, and you reluctantly let them pull you out of your quite pleasing dreams. With a huff of annoyance, you shook his hands off and turned your back to him, propping up your pillow and praying he would let you drift back into slumber. But of course, your hopes were futile.
"Baby," he sighed into your ear, shuffling ever closer to your figure. His arms closed around your midriff as his forehead came to rest against the back of your neck. And gods, you were sure a diety was not meant to sound this whiny. "Baby, wake up."
With a frustrated groan, you gave him a push and turned in bed to face him, stretching your arms over your head and glowering at him. The sight of him, however, caught you off guard. His long curls were impossibly disheveled, eyes glazed over, his expression pulled into one of great agony. He looked positively wrecked.
With a low groan, Dionysus let himself fall back into the mattress, wincing at the movement. The sound was stifled with the way he buried his face in his pillow, but the pain in it did tug at your heartstrings. It looked like you had been right last night- he had completely overdone it, even for a god, and now, he was paying the price. But that didn't mean you had no pity for his predicament.
The scowl on your face slowly melted into a softer smile as you shuffled closer to his figure, sprawled out on the duvet. A mop of curls obstructed his face, as well as a pillow, so you settled for carding your fingers into his hair and softly running their tips over his scalp. The sound of elicited from him, though muffled against the sheets, was one of relief rather than pain.
"Everything hurts," he moaned into the duvet as you continued to run your hand through his hair. "I'm a god. This shouldn't be happening."
"You poor god, you," you cooed sweetly, laughing when he released a muffled scoff. As he rambled on, listing his complaints, you hummed along, smiling down at him. You liked these moments- moments when you got to see him raw, almost human. Only to be reminded of his divinity when he slowly raised his head from the sheets to rake his eyes over your bare figure. They glinted dangerously.
"You know what, baby?" he purred seductively. "I think I'm starting to feel better. Not quite though. Got some ideas on how to ease my ache?"
You slapped the back of his head.
Ares was used to blood. He was used to violence, to shouting and screaming, the clanking of steel on steel, the roaring of the victorious and the cries of the vanquished. But not to this. He didn't think he could ever get used to this. Waking up next to you, the first thing to see your bare figure, wrapped loosely in his sheets, chest rising and falling softly, lips parted as if they were about to tell a secret. But your eyes were closed, lashes delicately brushing over your soft skin.
But, though he would never get used to this, to you, he was already addicted to it. He craved every little touch, every small smile, every little grace like a drowning man the air. And it was so very tempting to accept it all, take it all, take everything he could get. That was the way he used to do it. He was the god of war, he didn't ask for things, and he certainly didn't take other people's feelings into account before acting- until you.
It burned in his fingertips, the need to reach out, to touch, to pull you against him, to bury his face in your neck, breathe in your scent, bask in your warmth. To hear your breath hitch in the most delicious way, feel your body melt into his. Your voice would be rough from sleep, but it would sound all the sweeter in his ears. He yearned to feel you against him, if only for prove that you were real, that he was granted something this good.
But as he watched you, as he listened to the soft sound of your breathing, he couldn't bring himself to destroy your peace, as he would any other. The only thing greater than his desire to feel you was his need to let you rest. Putting up with him every day, you needed it. No, he could not wake you up.
Pathetically, he ended up shifting as close to you as he could without touching you, so close he could feel the warmth of your body gently nipping at his skin, so close that his fingers twitched to close the thin gap between your bodies. But he didn't. Restraint had never been his strength, as his sister would gladly remind him, but now, he disciplined his urges and closed his eyes, knowing sleep would not take him back.
But it didn't have to. It was only minutes later that you stirred, shifted against the covers and finally, turned around beneath them to face him. His proximity startled you for a second, but it could not break your sleepy gaze as you lazily threw your arms around his neck and pulled him close.
Ares surged. Hadn't he been careful, he would have crushed you with the way he wrapped his strong, scarred arms around your middle and pulled you flush against him, eliciting a startled little squeak from you. Your soft, pliant body all wrapped up in his arms, he could not have been more content, and as you relaxed against him with the sort of undeniable trust that went to his head in the most twisted way, he lowered his head to the crook of your neck.
The steady fall and rise of your chest against his was a strong enough tether to keep him right there, possibly forever, wrapped up in your gentle warmth that was so different to his scorching fire. But fuck, did he crave it.
Ares stiffened for a split of a second when your fingers carded into his dark curls, but his shoulders relaxed in an instant as you ran them through the strands. A soft groan left his lips, and he would have been content admitting that a tiny mortal like you had rendered him utterly defenseless. The soft giggle that sounded against his ear was more heavenly than all the odes his brother ever composed.
"You're cuddly today," you commented vaguely, fingertips scraping over his scalp tenderly.
An indefinite sound rumbled in his chest, vibrated against yours, but he only sank deeper into your touch, wishing every morning could start like this.
a/n: thinking about making taglists for my works/specific gods, would anyone be interested in that?
janainaart
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
titsay
discoholicmusic
