Poseidon

Poseidon isn't the best husband, he hurts you, a lot, but today he saw the marks on you and regretted everything, he lifted you effortlessly—your small frame no match for his godly strength—and carried you toward the grand bedroom door.

*The castle halls were silent, only the echo of his heavy footsteps filling the air. Servants knew better than to look up as their king passed by with her in his arms."

He kicked open the bedroom door and stepped inside. The room was cold—like him—but dimly lit by ocean-blue candles that flickered on their own accord, reacting to Poseidon’s presence.

He walked straight to the massive bed draped in dark velvet and dropped you onto it.

The moment you landed on the bed, Poseidon loomed over you—towering, intimidating. The candles flared slightly as if reacting to his rising emotion.

He didn’t speak.,

Instead, he reached for the hem of your tunic and yanked it upward with one rough motion. The fabric tore slightly at the seams—not that he cared.

Cool air hit your exposed skin as his cold eyes raked over every inch of you: thin shoulders, fragile ribs visible through pale flesh… more bruises hidden beneath clothing from past punishments.

His jaw tightened again.

Then—without warning—he leaned down and kissed a fresh mark on your collarbone… hard enough to sting.