He stirred, a groan escaping his lips. The young man, Harry, stretched luxuriously, his limbs bumping into the warm bodies beside him. He opened one eye, wincing slightly at the sliver of sunlight that managed to pierce through the heavy curtains. He was surrounded by a symphony of soft snores and gentle sighs, the pleasant weight of female bodies pressing against him.
He glanced around, a hazy recollection of the previous night flickering through his mind. Vegas. Bachelor party. Impromptu wedding fueled by copious amounts of alcohol and a dare from Thor. Gods, what had he done?
He carefully extracted himself from the bed, trying his best not to wake his…wives? He stumbled toward the discarded clothes scattered across the opulent room, grabbing a pair of silk boxers and pulling them on. He needed coffee. He needed a shower. And he desperately needed to piece together the chaotic events of last night.
He navigated around the discarded garments and pizza boxes, heading towards the bar. The sight that greeted him made him pause. There, amidst the empty champagne flutes and half-empty bottles, sat a stack of paperwork. Official-looking paperwork. Harry cautiously picked up the top sheet. It was a marriage certificate. And another. And another. He flipped through them, his eyes widening in disbelief.
He had married five women. Last night. In Vegas.
He rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the impending headache. He vaguely remembered Thor egging him on, proclaiming that a true All-Father needed a large, happy family. And then there was the alcohol… Oh, gods.
He glanced back at the sleeping figures in the bed. They were all stunning, each with their own unique beauty. He knew that much. But beyond that, his memories were blurry, fragmented snapshots of laughter, dancing, and a shared sense of… belonging?
He poured himself a strong cup of coffee from the machine, the bitter liquid a welcome jolt to his system. As he sipped, he began to sift through the paperwork again. The marriage certificates were real, legally binding in the state of Nevada. He was officially a polygamist. Great. Just great.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. He was Harry, All-Father of the Pantheon of… he paused, thinking. He hadn't even officially named it yet. The Pantheon of… Adaptable Misfits? The Pantheon of Second Chances? He needed something catchy.
Regardless, he was a God. He had power, influence, and a responsibility to his followers – a slowly growing group of magically inclined individuals who had pledged their allegiance to him. But right now, all he felt was overwhelmed.
He needed a plan. He couldn't just wake up these women he had married and say, "Hi, I'm Harry, your husband, and also a God. Fancy a cup of tea?" That would go down about as well as a lead zeppelin.
He decided to start with the money. The bags on the table were labeled with various casinos. He opened one and peeked inside. Chips. Lots and lots of chips. He remembered a wild night of high-stakes gambling, his divine luck proving to be quite profitable. He'd need to figure out what to do with all of it later.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft groan behind him. He turned around to see one of his wives, a beautiful redhead with emerald green eyes, stirring in the bed. She stretched, a languid movement that drew his attention despite his current state of panic.
"Morning," she mumbled, her voice husky with sleep. She looked at him, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Rough night?"
Harry swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "You could say that."
He was a God. He could handle this. He just needed a strategy. And maybe another cup of coffee. This was going to be a very interesting vacation.