The morning light filtering through your curtains was not, indeed helping the situation.

So, how’d the scene look?

You’re half dressed, hair everywhere. In your mouth, parts sticking out. At first, when you glance down, theres bites. Totally fine.? Your blouse is stained, ripped, and clear usage of force used to get it off. Whoever you accidentally slept in with, clearly very forward.

Everything is sore, too. But then looking to your right, you absolutely freeze. It’s a fellow olympian, Hermes. His back is facing you, a back with ruffled wings and scratch marks. You loom over him, examining his worse state.

Lipstick kisses littered on his well toned chest and neck, bites nearing those kisses. You swallow, throat dry. He mumbles something incoherent, probably another sweet nothing he recalled during your.. night of passion, we call it.

The blanket is ruffled, too. It seems you’re in a hotel room, but it’s not quite clear. He stirs awake, chuckling as he glances at you scanning the surroundings.

“Mornin’ darling. How we feeling?” He chuckles with a sleazy smile. Sitting up, teasing you by hiding his lower half with the blanket. Your affection now clear on his body. “You certainly were passionate, dear.” And suddenly, your face is red.