πRaiden x Heather
πfor our muses to wake up married after a night of heavy drinking | raiden & heather
Never drink with a god.
Reasons for that new rule addition to Heather's life were becoming painfully clear, as a steady throbbing behind her eyes reminds the witch that she was no match for a literal immortal, and was very foolish to try and keep up with him.
"Oh god.." she murmurs softly, plump lips dry as she raises a hand to try covering her eyes, but her limbs were heavy and sluggish, and even the glow of the morning's light through the skin of her eyelids and hand were making her brain feel as if it was melting through her ears. What had they been drinking?! She knows they'd started on champagne. Heather remembers the feeling of excitement at the pop of the cork from the bottle neck under his expert hands, and his lovely grin as he'd poured the bubbling liquid into their glasses. That part had been civilised.
At some point chat had gotten on to drinking, then followed the shots and harder liquor... she'd felt tipsy then. Enough to flirt but not so much that she'd forgotten he was an ancient deity that could have the propensity to hold a grudge... but then he'd brought out the god juice. The hard stuff. The stuff that got gods drunk, their own ambrosia poured from an old looking terracotta bottle and from the first sip she'd felt the tips of her fingers tingling.. and by the second she was in his lap. "Oh god-" she whines remembering. She had not played it cool.
She was still dressed at least. Laying atop dishevelled bedding that he had no doubt dropped her on to once on her second glass of godly alcohol that was definitely not for humans to drink, and she'd lost power of her own limbs. The only saving grace was that from the amount he was laughing and showing her true gorgeous smiles, Raijin was also a little wasted too.
They'd spent hours together. Talking, laughing, joking! He'd told her stories from his life that had her eyes swimming with the imagery of it, and she'd opened up to him, about the betrayal of her coven, her purpose in magic and even a few shitty ex-boyfriends.
'Become the wife of a god-' he'd joked, or at least she thought he was joking at first, but his eyes didn't crinkle in that way she now knew they did when he was saying something amusing, instead they had had quite an intensity to them. In essence being a wife of a god meant total serenity, trust and commitment, forever. This she very quickly understood meant they didn't do it often and his offering may have been a symptom of his own inebriation.
Had he offered? Or was she imagining that? It was then that she considers the question, head still swimming, and slowly draws back her hand, unwilling eyes cracking open and after a moment to focus, there it was. The red band, like inked magic on her skin, with shimmers of unnatural gold as her hand tilts and her fingers flex. Right there, on her engagement finger. Oh shit, he'd done more than offer!
"I'm going to throw up-" the witch whispers, having gone very pale indeed. It is only then that she notices she wasn't alone... before she rolls onto her side and falls out of the bed with a thud and a yelp.
