Persephone is the Goddess of Spring, belittled by everyone for her minimal divine duties, and overshadowed by her Goddess of Harvest mother, Demeter, who always try to curb Persephone's growth as a goddess.
Hades is the King of the Underworld, feare...
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Hermes stalked through the golden hallways of the Olympian palace in great frustration. Red-hot rage surged in his veins, overflowing from the tight hold of his hand to the foot of the kerukeion that he's gripping, setting the golden staff to burn from within; the staff glowed like scorching saffron embers.
What have I done? he worried, his hand raked through his messy blonde curls.
Aphrodite suddenly appeared, back from a feast, intoxicated and aroused. The Goddess of Love and Beauty looked absolutely lovely despite the rosiness on her skin, and garlands of pink roses adorned her neck. She smiled widely when she saw the Messenger of the Gods, licking her lips at the sight of him. "Argeiphontes," her dulcet voice called out to him, but the angry god ignored her as he stalked towards his living quarters like a storm.
Hermes charged into his private bedchambers, with Aphrodite on his tail. "Is that how you greet the mother of your child?" she huffed, slamming the heavy door behind her.
"Leave, Ourania! I am in no fit state to humour you right now!" Hermes thundered, his eyes darkened, and his powerful aura emanated from him, seducing the impassioned goddess. Undaunted by sudden violent outbursts, Aphrodite slowly reached out for him.
"Krateros, come," she said gently, her hands slowly caressed his chest.
"Ourania," Hermes grated, his hard tone warned her. But the Goddess of Love won't back down; her hands continued to caress his neck and face. His hand caught both of her hands by the wrists, his face inched closer to her, and he barked, "Leave!"
Hermes stormed to his bed, where he sat himself down on the edge of the soft mattress. Too exhausted to care for Aphrodite's glowering look, his body fell backwards, his eyes studied the ivory ceiling, his fingers tangled mindlessly in his hair.
"Kharidotes," Aphrodite called out sweetly to him; he grunted in reply without sparing her a glance, but her footsteps got closer. "You are the Giver of Joy," she purred, planting herself in between his legs, her knees on the sand coloured marble floor.
"Let me return the favour. Let me give you joy," she said; her soft hands sneaked underneath the bottom hem of his chlamys, her fingernails scratched playfully light on the skin of his inner thighs. "Tell me how can I relieve your burden, Hermes?" she husked, her hands were teasingly close to his sex.
