#back on my arch cherub nonsense

[mad2001-4]

Michael, with Saint clinging to his right side, Cael in his arms, and Zion slightly behind him: Don't ever talk to me or my children again.

_______________________

or alternatively

Raphael, holding Hadriel in his arms, glaring: Don't ever talk to me or my child again.

[mythicamagic]

Sesskag Week: Day 6 ‘Orange’

Title: Cupid’s Bow

Sesshoumaru feels he understands which couples pair together nicely. He does his job as the God of Love well. Kagome disagrees. Sesskag Week Day 6 - 'Orange' Oneshot

Rated: M

Words: 4,800

Read on: Ao3, fanfic.net and Dokuga

AN: Yup this is a concept taken from my other fic The Otome Game. This fic does not follow any established Greek myth, it's just a silly lil fic with characters that can correlate between Greek Gods like this;

Eros = Sesshoumaru

Zeus = Touga

Hermes = Kouga

Hercules = Inuyasha

Artemis = Midoriko

For Sesskag Week Day 6 - Orange (Love & Happiness) don't take this one too seriously lol language will be very loose and not old-timey at all. Warning: some smut

Cupid's Bow

If someone were to ask you what Cupid looked like you'd likely picture a pudgy cherub type of baby with wings, complete with a bow and arrow. Or if you're a little more interested in Greek Myth, you'd think of a well built young man called Eros who loved passionately and with great emotion.

Sesshoumaru supposed he fit the latter more than the former. However, he was no emotive fool. Mortal's often had a rigid idea of the God of Love. He should be a sweet, simpering being who matched humans together based on such things as 'soulmates' or compatibility or other such nonsense.

No, Sesshoumaru was direct, precise. There was no need for flowery things such as star-sign matches and 'the perfect partner.' When he took aim at mortals, feeling faint satisfaction in how his arrows pierced their hide- romance was not on his mind.

He paired humans together based on how efficient they'd be as a couple. None of this 'feelings' nonsense. True Love was a spouse that provided, who showed loyalty and promised security. Under his watch, humans thrived in terms of reputable matches. None strayed outside of their social circles or rank. Peasants married peasants, Princesses wed Princes or Kings. Things were as they should be, in order.

Or at least they were before a certain woman climbed his mountain.

"Take it back."

Sesshoumaru blinked, folding towering white wings to glance over one shoulder.

She stood in the entrance to his lavish hall in a seafoam green peplos that had been hitched up, thin fabric tied aside to expose the expanse of her long legs, likely to aid her in climbing the steep rockface. Sweat clung to her body as a result of the punishing climb to the summit. Lengthy raven hair billowed around her, curly and thick.

Blue eyes narrowed into slits, hands planting on her lips.

Truly, she was a sight to behold. Dusty intrigue kindled to life in his lower abdomen.

He arched a brow, "excuse me?"

"Your stupid arrow! I want you to reverse whatever it was you did to Inuyasha to make him lose his senses over Kikyo. I know you struck him."

"Oh really?" he drawled, ignoring the wench in favour of continuing to read from a scroll, lounging on plush white furs and facing away from her, "and how is it you are so confident it was I who caused Inuyasha's change of heart? It could have happened on its own."

"Well two things," she walked inside his mansion uninvited, voice bouncing off white marble walls. "One, Inuyasha is a Demi-God and your half brother. Gods are always doing this type of thing to mess with each other. I also know you don't like him very much. He told me all about it," she ticked off her fingers, "and two, I saw the arrow hit. No one else shoots golden arrows with red and white fletchings."

That caught his attention.

The God lifted himself up, folding his wings. Leisurely strolling over to the petite mortal who glared at him like she were his equal in power, he smirked. How amusing.

He captured her chin in one hand, adjusting his grip to tilt her head, admiring the gleam of her deep blue eyes that sparked with ire.

"You saw it? A mortal?"

She pushed his hand aside, refusing to step back and surrender ground. "My name is Kagome. And yes...I see a lot of things I probably shouldn't," she mumbled. "My Grandma was an oracle, that might've been where it comes from- but anyway! Can you reverse it or not?"

Sesshoumaru gave a dignified snort, eyeing her from head to toe once more. "No."

Her mouth hung open, stiffening. "What? Don't you have control over your own powers?"

Sensing her tone, Sesshoumaru's voice lowered into something smoky and dangerous in its heavy, crackling purr. "Careful, mortal Kagome. You test my patience."

Kagome fell quiet, watchful.

Good, it seemed she had some brains inside that pretty head after all.

He watched her try to assemble something more polite onto her tongue. "Is there absolutely no way to stop Kikyo and Inuyasha from being in love once the arrow has struck?"

"You could always kill one of them," Sesshoumaru mused. "That sufficiently frees up the other."

Her hackles raised, pink lips drawing back from pearly white teeth in a highly amusing sneer. Well, Sesshoumaru found it amusing.

"So...you're like this," Kagome gestured to him with disbelief. "The God of Love. You. You're the God of Love."

"Thank you for the reminder," he drawled, pouring water from a clay jug into a chalice for her and offering it. Kagome took it with mild surprise, taking a long drink with greedy gulps. Sesshoumaru wandered out towards his balcony, passing by smooth white pillars.

Light footsteps signalled his guest had followed him, unease in her tone, "it's just that you don't seem well suited to it. At all. What's your process? How do you decide if two people should be in a relationship or not?"

"Suitability. Rank. Social status. All these factors must be fairly even."

The heat of her stare bore into his back, making Sesshoumaru turn to catch her gaze. "You have more complaints, I take it."

"Yes, I do! What does your Mother think about your matches? I've heard stories of great love and romance between Princes and peasants in the past, there's no way your assessment of love is the correct one! It's so...cold and cynical!"

Sesshoumaru cut his eyes to the clouds. "My process is very successful, wench. It is much more efficient than relying on something as changing and vapid as feelings. Often times lust or admiration is mistaken for love, leading to unnecessary tragedy. Doing things my way, there is no room for error or heartache."

Kagome grew quiet at that, moving around his side to stand beside him in the bright, midday sunlight, setting her empty chalice down. "No heartache, huh? maybe you're right," she allowed softly. "But there's no passion either. Inuyasha wasn't in love with Kikyo, he-" her gaze flitted away "-he was in love with someone else."

Golden eyes narrowed. Ah, that was what this was all about. He'd unwittingly stolen her crush away, pushing him into the arms of another woman.

Exhaling a disappointed sigh, Sesshoumaru moved to grasp his quiver of arrows, shouldering his bow. He then opened his wings, using one to scoop her closer until her soft body bumped his side.

"W-what?" she squeaked, steadying herself against him.

"I will demonstrate if you wish."

Kagome's expression steeled, and she nodded firmly, sliding both arms around his neck. Sesshoumaru inwardly purred at the feel of her arching against him, their chests meeting. Easing down, he scooped her up into his arms, gliding easily onto the railing of his balcony before freefalling off the edge.

A high scream deafened in his ears.

Sesshoumaru winced, pinching her hip to cut off the irritating sound while their hair lashed up above them. "Stop."

"I'll scream if I want to! Warn a girl next time!" she yelped, clutching onto him tightly and hiding her face in his neck. He didn't mind that part so much.

Beating his wings to halt their rapid descent, he opened them wide, air currents fanning through white feathers pleasantly. They felt like fingers combing through his hair, and he sighed against the woman's citrus-scented dark locks. A pity she loved Inuyasha, she was a fine woman.

Sesshoumaru adjusted her in his arms, claws dragging over the material of her clothing. Cool winds battered their bodies, and he alternated between soaring quickly to alleviate the woman's shivers and adjusting his speed so as not to make her squall.

Green lands rushed up to greet them soon enough, and Sesshoumaru's wings continued to move, taking them sailing past various cities.

Landing on the outskirts of one, Sesshoumaru set her down, wandering calmly towards town.

"W-wait," she gasped, catching her breath. "Aren't you worried about people seeing you?"

"They will not see me unless they have particularly keen eyes like yours," he said without worry.

With no other options but to follow, the woman jogged to keep up with his purposeful stride.

----

Under the hot glare of the sun, he demonstrated his method for several hours. Paying close attention to mortals from above while standing on rooftops or passing them by in the street, Sesshoumaru located couples.

His form with a bow and arrow could not be critiqued. He was certain of this, despite his distaste for the bow. Swords were preferable. Sesshoumaru felt Kagome's keen eyes on him while drawing the bowstring back, clawed fingers brushing fletchings, muscles pulling taut.

"Your elbow is a little high."

He stiffened. "Hn?"

Kagome drew up against his side on the balcony overlooking a market square, gently grasping his arm and guiding it downwards just a tad, immediately loosening the strain on his muscle slightly. She then patted a spot beneath his ribs. "Better?"

Sesshoumaru released- hitting his target in the back.

His stomach fluttered, heat stirring blue blood. He could not tell if he was frustrated or pleased. "How is that you know archery forms?"

Kagome smiled mysteriously, turning blue eyes to the couple he'd just paired. "I was an attendant of Midoriko's temple. It's a requirement that you can hunt and use a bow. Unfortunately, I failed a test to be taken further into her good graces."

"What test did you fail?"

She glanced at him without shame. "The vow of chastity."

His mouth grew dry. "I see," he uttered, shouldering his bow with a faint rumble in his voice. "I am pleased to hear it."

Kagome rolled her eyes, gesturing to the women below. "So walk me through your process here. Why did you pair these two?"

"They are both daughters of merchants and have similar backgrounds, stations."

"How can you tell?"

"Godly intuition."

Kagome shot him a look that hinted she was inwardly calling him a snob. "What about those two?"

Shifting intent attention to where she gestured over the marketplace, a woman in a fine peplos accompanied by attendants hesitated before a stall, talking to a dark-haired man. They held direct eye contact, smiling at one another. When the woman looked away, traces of a blush dusted her cheeks.

"No, they are unsuitable."

Folding her arms, Kagome frowned. "Because she's got more money than him?"

"She is from an influential family, meanwhile he is a con artist with a silver tongue. She can do better," he drawled. "A landowner will suit her."

The slightly stiff-looking woman gave a laugh, trying to stifle the sound and remain composed. Kagome caught it. "But they're halfway there. All they need is a little nudge."

Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed, facing her. "And why, pray tell, do you think they would make a successful couple? Everything points to the contrary."

Kagome stared back, resolute, firm. "I happen to know her. She's constantly strong and self-sacrificing for others, her family, this town. I want Sango to have him because it looks like he's the only choice she's ever gonna get, and if it's a bad decision, so what? At least she gained something that was just hers."

Shouldering his bow, the God headed towards the balcony steps. Despite his refusal to shoot, displeasure and heavy thoughts marred his brow, mouth pulling down. The woman gave him something to think about, even as his pride roared to ignore her.

---

They spent the entire day together, matching couples and debating over possible pairs. Midway through they'd taken a break, easing through a lush forest to hunt. Hearing snuffling in the undergrowth, Kagome lifted her hand out, palm up, asking silent permission for his bow.

Sesshoumaru allowed it, passing over one of his more deadly arrows.

Raising her knee onto a log, Kagome nocked the arrow, drawing the bowstring back. The sight took his breath away. She had perfect form, muscles smaller than his but faintly defined. She was sleek but strong.

Kagome released, shooting a boar through the eye.

After killing it and sitting by a fire together to eat, Sesshoumaru observed the mortal quietly. She chewed her meat heartily, reflecting none of the poised power she'd exuded for a moment in the forest.

"Were you born to be the God of Love?" she asked abruptly.

Golden eyes slid away, "that is a loaded question."

"O-oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude if it's a touchy subject."

Sesshoumaru sensed no ill-will or intent, so with a sigh, he dug sharp canines into the leg of the boar, stripping some meat off with a sharp drag. "I was to be the God of War."

Kagome looked him over with lingering attention, eliciting his skin to burn. "That makes sense, actually. Explains why you see people by their rank first."

"Hn."

She sipped from a waterskin, questions clearly piling up on her tongue. His lips twitched, swallowing his food. Deciding against elaborating right away, Sesshoumaru enjoyed her mounting intrigue and frustration.

He caught her eye, a twinkle in his golden ones.

"Oh! Would you just tell me why it never happened already?" Kagome burst, grinning.

Sesshoumaru chuckled softly, wings adjusting as he shifted in his seat upon a smooth elevated rock. His expression became sober. "My Father took issue with my attempt to kill my half-brother. As punishment, he made me the God of Love. Apparently, it was to teach me compassion."

Dark brows pulled together. Kagome sighed, leaning back on both arms and tilting her head back to stare at firey orange skies. "Inuyasha told me about that. Why did you try to kill him?"

"After several years of thinking about it, I suppose it was misdirected rage."

Kagome's lips quirked at the edges. "Sounds like you've been working on yourself if you can recognise that."

Sesshoumaru's porcelain face remained pensive, moody. He stared into the fire with fixation, "I do not see how everything that I was...could be wrong. I was created for war, it is baked into the fabric of my being. Father denied me that right. I feel only the barest hint of satisfaction by shooting mortals with love arrows of all things. It is...humiliating to be denied kills when it was all I breathed for years. I cannot wield another weapon but this bow."

Something moved in his peripheral vision, the fabric of her clothing brushing his arm as she sat beside him. Golden eyes slanted to meet deep blue pools that threatened to drown him. Kagome squeezed his forearm. She then gave a small grin, "wow, I can't believe I feel bad for you being denied the need to murder people."

Sesshoumaru huffed, looking towards the flames once again.

Her touch felt soothing on his arm, thumb brushing his hungry skin. "But I think it's admirable...to see that you've tried. You were saddled with a title you didn't want but instead of moping, you've tackled it as best you can. Sure you employ a different method to match couples than I'd choose, but at least you're trying. That's great."

Sesshoumaru listened to her, pale lashes lowering slightly, lulled by her touch and soft tone.

"Is there any way you'll ever become the God of War?"

"I do not think so. My Father's judgement was absolute."

"Well then, given some time, maybe we can find a solution to make your job less boring for you," Kagome pressed a kiss to his cheek, standing and smoothing her dress down. "For now, let's go find Inuyasha."

The magenta stripe cutting across his cheek- which had always been intended to be seen as warpaint- pricked and thrummed, requesting more. More of her touch and tender lips on his flesh.

Sesshoumaru stood, clearing his throat and outstretching Godly white wings. "Hn..."

---

It looked as though the mortals had thrown a party in a quieter area situated away from the main bulk of the city. Kagome's home was at the top of the opposite hill, which she pointed out to him while they settled on a rooftop, looking down at the guests mingling outside around lit braisers.

"There they are."

Sesshoumaru redirected his gaze, following Kagome's pointed finger down towards a pair lounging within a large hammock together. Inuyasha and the temple attendant called Kikyo seemed content enough.

"So you wish for him to fall out of love with her. What of the woman?"

Kagome bit her lip. "Ideally, of course I want everyone to be happy. If the love spell is broken, hopefully Kikyo will fall out of love with him too."

"Hn," retrieving the very brow he'd used to shoot Inuyasha, which had the knock-on effect of making him fall for the first person in sight, Sesshoumaru studied the golden tip. With Inuyasha affected, Kikyo had been helpless to resist its charms, lulled into love alongside him. "Perhaps if you stand before Inuyasha and allow me to shoot you, it will cause him to love you again," he uttered, sour at the thought.

"Why would I want that?"

He blinked, attention snapping to the woman beside him. "...You wish for him to stop loving Kikyo."

Kagome stared back uncomprehendingly for a moment, silently clicking onto his meaning. She gave a giggle, cheeks flushing red, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Yeah, because he's in love with a friend of mine. I'm not into Inuyasha!" she giggled harder.

Sesshoumaru's lips pursed, standing straighter. "It was you who failed to convey that information clearly," a sneer curled in his voice, but marble, haughty features softened with relief. "If you are not Inuyasha's lover, then who is?"

"That'd be me!"

What appeared to be a falling star caught up in a whirlwind careened towards them from the sky. Sesshoumaru grabbed Kagome, tugging her in close and shielding her with a wing that snapped open like a fan.

Bright light burst forth, muted from behind strong white feathers. Kagome tilted her head up to look at Sesshoumaru, blushing slightly at his proximity. "It's okay," she murmured, reaching out to brush a hand over the feathers- causing him to shiver- minding his wing aside.

From behind the length of his wing, a dark-haired male stood, arching a brow. "Huh, you sure seem cosy with Mr Frigid, Kagome."

"Kouga!" she chided, hurrying over to greet him with a hug.

Sesshoumaru stared, completely and utterly baffled. "You cannot be serious," he drawled flatly.

"What?" The God of travel, thieves, sports, and shepherds, messenger of the Gods and fastest of them all looked at him curiously, as though everything was fine and dandy.

"Are you honestly telling me you are involved with my half-brother?" Sesshoumaru pinched his brow. "You, who are perhaps the single most unsuitable choice I would have picked."

Kouga chuckled good-naturedly, giving Kagome a squeeze before she broke away from him. "Can't help who you fall in love with," he shrugged.

"Understatement of the century."

"Heh, we're both full of hot air, but Inuyasha is more grounded than me," gesturing to his winged sandals with a grin, Kouga wandered to the edge of the roof overlooking the party. "We argued a lot but after seeing him do a bunch of labours, I had to admit I found him admirable. After fooling around with a bunch of mortals, I didn't expect to be set on him either, but here I am," Kouga glanced at the woman warmly. "Thanks for going to find Mr Frigid, Kagome."

Ah, now it made sense. Gods couldn't get involved in each other's judgments overly much. They sought humans to do it for them.

Kagome noticed the look on Sesshoumaru's face, frowning. "I didn't climb your dumb mountain just because a God needed me to. I did it because I wanted to. For a friend."

"Hn...and a God happens to be your friend," Sesshoumaru said sceptically. He soon sighed, wings lowering as he allowed himself to smirk with faint exasperation. "I cannot say I am overly surprised about that part."

Kagome brightened, gazing at him with tenderness.

Looking between the two, Kouga cleared his throat. "So, uh...the love arrow?"

Sesshoumaru shook himself, presenting it. "As I told Kagome, nothing breaks my spell once the arrow has struck."

Panic skittered over Kouga's face. He snarled, power flaring. "Seriously? Did you do this just to fuck with me?"

Bristling, golden eyes narrowed dangerously. "Please," he scoffed, "you are so far beneath my level I barely notice you. In fact, I pay so little attention to your affairs I struck your loved one. That should say something."

"Yeah! You were looking to fuck with Inuyasha instead! As usual," yellow light blazed over Kouga's tanned skin as he stormed forward.

Sesshoumaru reached for his bow- but Kagome stepped in between them, arms raised. "Quit it!" she snarled, voice carrying over the treetops.

Despite being quick to devastating emotion, the two Gods heard her. They stopped, attention sliding to the petite woman.

She carefully lowered her arms, "we're all here for the same reason. We want to know if this thing can be broken. Sesshoumaru," Kagome turned to the God of Love. "Have you ever tried just snapping the arrow in two to see if it affects the spell?"

"Observe." He gripped the arrow in both hands, muscles coiling, strength visibly going into it. However, the arrow remained straight and spotless.

Kouga scoffed, brushing past Kagome in his much too short chiton. Snatching the golden arrow, he grunted, trying to bend the arrow over a raised knee.

Amusement played over Sesshoumaru's eyes. Kagome shot him a look, sighing. She lay a hand on Kouga's back. "I'm sorry, Kouga. We'll find another way."

"It'll work!" he insisted, putting more effort into his arms, going slightly red in the face.

Kagome rolled her eyes, snatching the arrow back, "Kouga, that's enough. Clearly nothing is gonna break this dumb back-scratcher," she muttered, trying to bend it for emphasis.

The arrow broke in two.

Silence swept over the trio. All three of them stared at the frayed, broken ends with complete shock, dumbstruck.

A loud exclamation reached their ears from below in the courtyard. Kouga reacted to the sound first, leaping off the roof.

Sesshoumaru and Kagome were left to watch Inuyasha and Kikyo break away from each other, the Demi-God grunting as Kouga collided with him, lifting him off the ground, much to his loud protests.

"Huh," Kagome passed the broken arrow back. "Everything worked out easier than I thought. Guess the arrow can't be broken by Gods, only mortals."

Sesshoumaru accepted it, eyeing the golden ends critically, before tossing it aside. "It seems so," he uttered, watching his brother slowly shed his awkward demeanour, gruffly returning his lover's embrace. Kikyo murmured something to them, seeming to bear no ill will as she took her leave.

"...Is this what I have been doing?" Sesshoumaru wondered aloud, voice subdued. "Disrupting mortal's love lives by imposing my judgement over their free will?"

Not that he cared about the lives of mortals. He only watched them every day. Like ants. Little...inconsequential ants.

His eyes slid to the broken arrow.

A soft touch at his hand slid through the gaps in his fingers, Kagome squeezing tight. "Not everyone is in love before you find them, I'm sure you've mostly paired single people. It's hard to tell, especially if they have a long-distance relationship like those two," she nodded to Kouga and Inuyasha. "But it sounds to me like you could use an assistant."

Sesshoumaru's chest lightened, the gold of his eyes flaring awake. "Is that so?" velvety tones deepened.

"Mhm," Kagome smiled. "If you're not too prideful to accept help. I am just a mere mortal, after all."

He tore his hand from hers- sliding the arm around her waist instead, fighting to bring her flush against him. "Hn, you should stay close then. You cannot be expected to climb my mountain every day."

Kagome's blue eyes widened, a pleased smile curling her kissable mouth. "You've got a point," she fluffed her hair, which had curled into a slight frizz due to the humidity. "First thing I need is a bath. Do you have one of those up in that fancy mansion of yours?"

Sesshoumaru gathered her into his arms, wings ruffling out to beat strongly, allowing him to jump from the rooftop and swoop over Inuyasha's head.

The Demi-God caught Sesshoumaru's gaze, flipping him the bird. Oddly enough, the air of malcontent between them seemed less heavy than before.

Kagome rested a smile against Sesshoumaru's neck, waving at her friends while being carried away into the night sky.

---

His bedroom was spartan in atmosphere and design, decorated by a bed of fur pelts and wild vines growing on the walls. All was lit by a low, snapping fire in the centre, the flames flickering towards his open balcony which allowed cool air to billow through.

This was how Kagome found him, water from her bath rendering her skin damp.

Sesshoumaru lifted himself from the bed, eyes on the scrap of cloth shielding her bare form. When Kagome dropped it, he met her halfway.

He scooped the mortal up princess style, their lips meeting. Carrying her back to the bed of animal pelts, Sesshoumaru lay her down, tongues brushing and hands seeking. Kagome cradled his face in her hands, kissing his jaw and stroking a thumb over his lips, lingering over his Cupid's bow. They indulged in each other, neither caring they'd only met that day. Instinct urged them close. Sesshoumaru placed his hands on either side of her head in the furs, his powerful bulk looming over her petite, strong form.

Kagome reached for white wings, and he lowered them obligingly, lifting her body enough to slide them above and beneath her in a white feathery cacoon.

"So soft," she purred, stroking them.

Sesshoumaru shivered, ridding himself of pale clothing to kiss down a tantalisingly bare chest, hitching her knee over his shoulder. He then dove a seeking tongue into her wet heat.

Kagome went rigid- a gasp caught in her throat. He felt her arch, hips lifting into his mouth, before a long drawling sigh escaped her lips.

He was not intended to be the God of Love but he certainly played the part well.

"Good, move for me, Kagome. Let out your voice," he rubbed her with a clawed thumb. "Sing for me, like a little canary."

She dug her hands into the feathers over her head, canting needy hips into him. Sesshoumaru gave a satisfied hum that vibrated into her, smiling playfully. Flicking his tongue inside clenching walls, he withdrew it to scrape blunt teeth over her sex, clamping a hot mouth over her clit.

"Ngh! Sesshoumaru!"

Allowing her to squirm and ride his tongue, blindly seeking her release, Sesshoumaru gave a rich chuckle she came, coating his tongue in her sweet, slick juices.

"Hah- what's so funny?" she panted, cheeks flushed red.

"I do not wax poetic about orgasms but you seemed to enjoy yourself," he licked languidly at his mouth. "Would you say I live up to my title? I am considered the God of Lust too."

Kagome grinned, pushing up and tackling him, throwing her weight into the God and slamming his back into plush furs. The breath knocked from his immortal lungs, pleasant suprise stirring his heart and lower abdomen, cock hardening from the look in her eye.

She shifted closer atop his chest, curling a hand in silver hair, bedding cushioning his head. "You have to earn that title, and one orgasm isn't going to do it."

Sesshoumaru read her intent and grasped her beneath sturdy thighs, cradling her ass and urging her to sink down over his face, tongue sliding inside her once more.

"As you wish," he smirked, groaning against wet folds as she began bucking and grinding against his mouth. Not many mortals could say they'd ridden a God, but Sesshoumaru would allow her the honour.

By the end of that heady night, he'd firmly cemented himself in Kagome's eyes as more than worthy of his title.

End

[childrenofthesunny]

Seek Him Who My Soul Loveth (1/2)

For my spin on @gayforgoodomens‘ Priest AU, for when she wondered off-hand how Crowley and Aziraphale might go about having sex for the first time, whilst simultaneously still pining/pretending they’re not breaking their vows. So, naturally, off I went to write what’s looking like will be a 6-7,000 word fic about it.

Listen, the only thing stopping me from turning this AU into a full-blown multichapter fic is (a) my knowledge of the workings of Catholicism being limited to some brief skimming of Wikipedia and what little of church I remember from when I was 7 and (b) I already have a multichapter WIP being posted, and I know I don't have the attention span to maintain two major WIPs simultaneously.

But I want to

(That being said, this is in two parts; part two should be done in a few days.)

If you prefer, you can also read this on Ao3 @ childrenofthesun.

-----------------------------------

"Ah, Father Crowley, there you are! So, this is where you've been hiding all evening."

 "Hardly a shock to find me out here, is it?" Crowley asked with a grin, squinting up at the cherubic middle-aged man now standing beside him. Like Crowley, he was wearing pants and a short-sleeved button-up with a clerical tab, in deference to the balmy summer weather. Unlike Crowley, he was very clean and neat, and not wearing a dirt-streaked garden apron. "I've been spending all of my free time this week working on the gardens, now that Shadwell's retired and can't go berating me for trying to do the job he wasn't even doing himself. Beyond me how he even got the job in the first place."

 The other man looked around fretfully, as if expecting the former groundskeeper to leap out from behind a poorly maintained bush and start yelling at him. "Oh, I know, but you mustn't be too hard on the poor fellow. The job was more to make him feel useful than anything. But Gabriel said we couldn't justify the expense anymore."

 "You were too soft on him, anyway, Aziraphale," Crowley admonished, smirking at the little huff Aziraphale let out when Crowley didn't address him by his title, as he was supposed to. "Letting him set up all that nonsense meant to ward off witches. It’s certainly never stopped Anathema from coming here to borrow one of your books."

 "At least it kept him busy," Aziraphale replied, sounding slightly aggrieved. His hands fluttered briefly by his wrists, as if he wanted to fiddle with the sleeves of the cassock that was his preferred style of dress. "Although it would have been nice if he had directed some of that energy towards the upkeep of the gardens. I did try to explain to him that the grounds are consecrated, and that surely would ward off evil, but in his eyes that wasn't sufficient protection."

 "I know, I tried to explain it that way, too," Crowley told him cheerfully. "Apparently, the fact that I wear sunglasses all the time means I must be in league with the Devil, so he didn't think my input was particularly useful."

"Is he not aware of your eye condition?"

 "I tried to tell him what photosensitivity is, but seems he's of the school of thought that science and witchcraft are basically the same thing. The tattoos probably didn't help me make my case either."

 Aziraphale made a face. "Ah."

 "Yup," Crowley confirmed, and Aziraphale shook himself suddenly.

 "You've distracted me, you wily old thing!" he chided.

 "Younger than you," Crowley pointed out, grinning impishly and making Aziraphale glower at him with impatience.

 "I was about to get cross with you," Aziraphale insisted. Crowley arched an eyebrow at him.

 "Oh? Whatever for?"  

Aziraphale gestured at the gardening tools in Crowley's hands. "That! It's far too late for you to be working out here, still."

 "Still light out," Crowley muttered, poking rebelliously at the soil with his trowel.

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's summer, of course it's still light out! That doesn't change the fact that it's almost nine thirty." He shifted his weight, arms now folded. The slowly dwindling rays of sunset caught in the white-gold curls crowning Aziraphale's head, making them glow as if from within.

 Lord, but did he look like an angel.

 Crowley hissed in displeasure as he begrudgingly got to his feet, the taut muscles of his back creaking in protest. Aziraphale gave him a reproving look.

 "'S not like it's going to weed itself," Crowley grumbled in a half-hearted final objection, wincing again. Now that he was standing, the ache in his back was really starting to settle in. He tried to straighten to his full height, which would give him a few inches over Aziraphale, but found that his spine would only comfortably let him stand with their eyes level.

 All right, maybe he had been overdoing it a bit over the past few days.

 Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Be that as it may, you mustn't work like this to the detriment of your own wellbeing. It will still be here in the morning. This is your home, Crowley, it isn't as if you'll be forced to leave if you don't turn the church grounds into Kew Gardens overnight."

 "S'pose I would've been kicked out ages ago, if that were the case," Crowley acquiesced, rubbing some of the dirt on his hands onto his gardening apron. "Y'know, when I first came here, I was really excited to see the gardens," he admitted. "I'd heard how lovely they were, especially for such a small church. Was a bit of shock when I saw the state they were in."

 What he didn't add was that, given Shadwell's constant undermining of any covert attempt he made to coax the gardens back to life, Crowley would have long ago gone and grovelled to the diocese to grant him a new assignment elsewhere. That is, had he not had a compelling reason to want to stay in Tadfield.

 A middle-aged, cherubic man-shaped reason, to be specific.

 "Well, you'll have plenty of time to restore them to their former glory, now," Aziraphale said kindly. "There's no need for you to rush anything."

 Crowley hummed in agreement, and went to bend down to pick up his tools, unable to stifle a groan as he did so. Aziraphale was quick to forestall the movement with a hand to Crowley's chest, his usual hesitance to so much as brush shoulders with Crowley vanishing under his concern. Allow me, he probably said, but Crowley couldn't hear him over the sudden rush of blood to his ears, pounding through his rapidly beating heart in a way that Aziraphale would surely be able to feel beneath his fingers.

 Aziraphale said something else that Crowley's brain refused to parse, too focused on trying to keep the other priest from realising the effect the simple touch was having on him. He managed to nod, not sure what he was agreeing to, but was rather proud of himself for managing not to whimper when Aziraphale's hand pulled away.

 "We'll just put these away first," Aziraphale told him, Crowley's brain function apparently restored now that they were no longer touching. Crowley dutifully trailed after him to the shed, putting his tools back in their rightful place. He grunted slightly when he reached to the small of his back to undo the ties of his garden apron, the motion tugging at the aching muscles of his shoulders. The sound alerted Aziraphale, who immediately fussed over him again, lifting the strap holding the apron around his neck for Crowley despite his protests. Crowley scowled as Aziraphale smiled serenely at him and hung the apron on its hook by the door. Secretly, however, he was glad that the dim, fading light meant that Aziraphale wouldn't be able to see that the tips of Crowley's ears had gone a hot, flaming red.

 Aziraphale took the lead again as they both headed for the rectory they shared, both toeing off their shoes and leaving them in the rack by the door once they'd crossed the threshold.

 "I imagine you'd want to shower before we begin," Aziraphale said as they headed into the living room. He picked up a book he'd left beside the sofa and took a seat, already thumbing it open. "Take your time, I'll be waiting here for you when you're done."

 Crowley glanced down at the dirt packed under his nails, felt the sweaty stick of his shirt against his back, and couldn't help but agree. Whatever Aziraphale had had him agree to, it probably would be best if he cleaned himself up first. Not to mention it would give him a little bit of time to collect his thoughts, to slow the still traitorously fast gallop of his heart.

 He headed upstairs, grabbed a change of clothes from his room, and did his best not to run to the bathroom, knowing Aziraphale would be able to hear the creak of the floorboards overhead if he did.

 Once enshrined in the privacy of the bathroom, shower turned on and old pipes groaning laboriously as they slowly heated, Crowley sagged against the door and let out a long, shaky breath.

 "Get a grip," he muttered to himself, flicking on the ancient exhaust fan. It rattled slowly to life, letting out the occasional whining protest, as the unbalanced blades scraped against the inside of the casing. "You're acting like… like he's about to lay down rose petals for you and take you to bed, when you know he couldn't find his way out of the closet if you gave him a torch and a map. And even if he could… he wouldn't do anything about it. You've both got your vows." He tore off his clothes and left them in a sullen pile on the floor, opening the shower door. Steam billowed out and he stepped inside quickly before too much could escape. He stood directly under the scalding spray, heedless of how his pale skin went instantly pink. His face was likely beyond sun-kissed, too, given the time he'd spent in the garden.

 There wasn't much he could do about that, but at the very least he could wash the sweat from his skin, furiously scrub the dirt out from under his nails. Whatever the evening had in store for him, at least he'd be clean.

 He fruitlessly tried again to piece together what Aziraphale had asked him, out in the garden. Now, though, naked and surrounded on all sides by steam, his mind only seemed to want to offer him lewd suggestions, each one more highly improbable than the last. Unbidden, he imagined Aziraphale walking into the bathroom to find out what was taking Crowley so long, then disrobing and entering the shower with Crowley, hot water cascading over them both as Aziraphale pressed him up against the tiles–

 With a burst of self-disgust, Crowley realised that certain areas of his body were getting very excited indeed by such thoughts, and were responding in a way that was meant to encourage him to keep thinking those exact thoughts as he took himself in hand. He'd done it a few times in the past, now, even though it invariably left him riddled with guilt and shame. Somehow, it seemed even more egregious than usual to have a self-loathing-fuelled wank over the man he worked with, when said man was patiently awaiting his return downstairs, none the wiser.

 With a sigh, he turned off the heat, standing under the cold spray for several seconds to try and keep his body from getting any funny ideas, before cutting off the water completely. Skin still pink in places, but at the very least clean, he towelled himself off, squeezing as much water out of his hair as he could. A glance in the mirror told him that he'd definitely been out in the sun too long. If he was very lucky, the skin wouldn't start peeling off over the next few days, but, given how his pale skin had historically reacted to overexposure to the sun, he wasn't exactly holding out hope. He applied some moisturiser to his face to at least draw out some of the heat, and resolved to stop being so forgetful about putting on sunscreen when he needed to.

 He put on his clothes quickly, only realising once he was done that he'd gone on complete autopilot, and dressed himself as if preparing for his clerical duties, collar and all. He felt a little stupid, but knew he'd feel even stupider if he went and changed again, so he decided to leave everything as it was, and headed back downstairs. Hopefully, wearing something symbolic of the Church would help remind his unruly body, mind, and heart how they were all supposed to be behaving.

 "Ready, then?" Aziraphale asked when he came back into the living room, glancing quickly at the page number before closing the book and setting it aside.

 "Yep," Crowley answered, still having no idea what he'd agreed to.

 "We can use my bed," Aziraphale decided. "Now that I've had a moment to think about it, the couch really is far too narrow to give us enough space to work with comfortably."

 "What?" Crowley squeaked.

 Aziraphale gave him an odd look. "I suppose we could do this here, with you laid out on the floor, if you'd prefer. I know that some people like a more solid surface beneath them for this sort of thing," he said, apparently unaware that he was giving Crowley a heart attack.

 "You… you want me on the floor?" he managed.

 Aziraphale shrugged. "Personally, I would have thought the bed would be more comfortable, but the choice is yours. This is to your benefit, after all."

 "…My benefit?" Crowley asked faintly, apparently unable to do much more than echo Aziraphale's words back at him.

 "Honestly, Crowley," Aziraphale replied huffily. Crowley managed to find space amidst his confusion to feel the little thrill he always did whenever Aziraphale dropped the honorific when referring to him by name. "The massage? That we discussed not twenty minutes ago, were you even listening?"

 "Massage?" Crowley couldn't help but parrot. Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose.

 "Yes. Massage. For your back. That I offered to you. Because you've been overworking yourself in the garden all week and can barely stand upright."

 "Oh. Right," Crowley managed, nodding like a dashboard bobblehead on an unpaved country road. "That massage. 'Course."

 "Honestly," Aziraphale huffed again, but far fonder in tone this time. "So. Out here, or on the bed?" "Bed," Crowley said before he could stop himself.

 Aziraphale nodded, standing. "Shall we, then?"

 Crowley nodded mutely, and when Aziraphale began to lead them both upstairs, he followed.

[gingermintpepper]

100 million years ago, I sent an ask to @nostalgicbookworm

requesting headcanons about a High School AU and after a ridiculous amount of time, I've finally gotten around to writing some stuff for it. It's Drolxinia centric, naturally.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"I like you."

Is what he said, the scarlet of his hair a curtain that blocked the sunset from Drole's relaxed eyes. His honey coloured eyes gleamed gold, cherubic face scrunched awkwardly as usually delicate lips frowned in earnest concentration. And, in the end, that was what tipped him over the edge. The earnesty.

Gloxinia was a creature of cold smiles and borderline cruel words, a perfect blend of wintry disposition and welcoming charisma. He was rarely straight forward, a faerie's trickster nature given human flesh and forced to abide by mortal man's nonsensical laws and Drole accepted this easily. For all his contradiction, Gloxinia was passionate and where it counted, more dependable than even the ever rising sun.

So when met with a pale face twisted in genuine effort; vulnerability and ill-fitting openness blatant in the trembling of tiny fingers which valiantly clung to the empty packet of sunflower seeds, Drole did what any surprised yet undeniably relaxed person would do.

Drole laughed.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

He knew he was wrong but Gloxinia was not an easy person to apologise to.

He made himself scarce almost immediately, jumping off the roof and sliding down the guttering to save face then presumably running all the way home. It all transpired so quickly that Drole barely understood what happened, nevermind formulating an adequate response quickly enough to de-escalate the situation. His friend was smart though, he'd chosen Friday afternoon to make his confession and each call Drole made to him that night went straight to voicemail.

It wasn't that Drole...didn't like him.

In fact, he's pretty certain that he's been in love with Gloxinia since they were in primary school and the spitfire had defended him from a group of bullies. The image of bright bright vermillion had been burned into his vision that day, the tiny child who looked so frail that the girls all whispered that he was a doll whenever he left class with his back arched and scowl fierce. He'd let out a battle cry unlike anything Drole had ever heard and leapt at the biggest bully to scratch and spit at him. Naturally, he'd been beaten as well (bare fists weren't exactly a match for chairs and sticks especially not when those fists were about as large as a first year's), but they'd ended up laughing about it in the nurse's office later.

They'd been inseparable since then, Gloxinia a whirlwind of red hair and sharp fists while Drole contentedly stood by his side. Two misfits facing the world. David and his Goliath. Drole could've died happy if things had stayed that way - he never was a being particularly fond of change. Even after they'd joined secondary school, Gloxinia had continued to be a bit of a terror in his own right, too charismatic for people to be rightfully frightened of him yet too unapproachable for him to actually make friends. Drole's appearance kept the faint of heart away but his quiet disposition meant that even the brave found him uninteresting company. Gloxinia was the only one who accepted him entirely. The only one who had never been disappointed with Drole's truths. He'd accepted that Drole wished to dance instead of fight or play sports, he'd accepted that Drole was happiest in the middle of the botanical gardens on a cloudless summer afternoon, that flowers and butterflies and other childish symbols brought him peace.

He was the only one who understood everything Drole stood for - had stood by his side resolutely through every battle and struggle and Drole had laughed at his confession.

He sighed. No matter how he thought about it, he was unequivocally in the wrong.

"You could always apologise, you know?"

An unimpressed violet eye glared past his veil of brunet locks. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he'd forgotten all about Diane's weekly check-in which, naturally, led to the girl squeezing her way through his perpetually open kitchen window when she found the front and back doors locked.

Drole wasn't... upset at her appearance. Diane was excellent company, one of the newer members of the school's dance team, trained in both ballet and contemporary. Her energy was infectious and she was surprisingly sharp when she wasn't pretending to be a pure maiden from one of her endless fairy tales. She'd taken one look at Drole's ragged countenance and had firmly planted herself on his couch, tea clasped in her dainty hands as she tapped the open cushion next to her in invitation.

Even though Drole hadn't any intention of divulging his troubles to another soul - he had gotten himself into this problem, he would see himself out - somehow, Diane had managed to pry almost everything out of him before he had drained even half of his warm milk.

"Gloxinia doesn't want to talk to me."

Diane hummed, her cup long drained of whatever spicy smelling drink she'd concocted in his kitchen. Her hands were busy twisting his too long hair into something presentable, part of her plan to cheer him up no doubt. "That's fair," she said eventually, voice light even as her thin eyebrows scrunched in concentration, "I wouldn't want to talk to the jerk who laughed at my confession either."

He stifled another sigh. "It was an accident-"

"Doesn't matter!"

His fingers dug into the textured cloth of his upholstered couch, anxiety returning to gnaw at his stomach lining. He'd spent all night replaying the moment in his head in-between calling and texting Gloxinia like some obsessive ex-partner. He felt plenty bad without Diane continuously reminding him that he'd messed up. "Must you continue to bring that up?"

Agile fingers stilled, the warmth of her hands almost uncomfortable against his ear. She grew quiet beside him and Drole cautioned a look in her direction, freezing as he noticed the rueful smile on her face. "Diane-?"

"Sorry," she said and her fingers suddenly double in pace as they make short work of the remnants of the plait she'd been braiding, "I don't mean to beat a dead horse or anything, it's just--I feel sorry for him." Her hands drop and she pulls them close to her chest, bowing her head in a melancholy turn of events, "I can't imagine how I'd feel if I confessed to the guy I liked and he laughed at me."

With a huff, Drole uncurled his hand from the back of the couch to pat Diane's head. It didn't take a genius to figure out where her mind was and Drole wasn't about to let her get lost in her insecurities, "Harlequin wouldn't."

The blush that spread across her face was immediate. Somehow, she grabbed a pillow and ineffectively smacked Drole's stomach with it, mood shifting drastically again, "Why would you bring King into this?! I-I'm just speaking hypothetically!"

He weathered the pillow assault with a placid expression, waiting for her to work her wayward emotions out so they could continue speaking like normal people. Eventually she calms, hugging the pillow to her chest and pouting at his relaxed nature, "Anyway, that's why you need to fix things."

Drole blinked.

She gave an exasperated sigh, "You have to give your juniors hope! Everyone at school already thinks you and Gloxinia are dating, y'know! If you let things break apart now then everyone's gonna take that as an omen."

Now that...was certainly news to him. He couldn't recall any particular instance where his peers gave the impression that they thought he was gay. Then again, given the wide berth most students gave him, Drole supposed he didn't talk to enough people for that to be a provable truth. As for Gloxinia, he'd been turning down over eager confessions from both boys and girls since form one. He'd actually managed to gain a bit of a reputation for being unattainable which--and Drole clearly remembers this particular lamentation--only proved to make him more desirable.

Drole thought it was fair though. To call Gloxinia beautiful was to understate his beauty. Everything about him from his royal attitude to the neatness of his appearance to the way his secret smiles would reveal the cutest dimples on his chin and cheeks - it was all a certain degree of perfect. Thinking about him made his chest heat up, made him ache to call him again. He wanted to run his fingers through Gloxinia's pretty hair again, wanted to laugh at his dark jokes and feel the wind on his skin as they sat for late evening picnics. He wanted Gloxinia's hands pressed against his neck as those smart fingers braided flowers into his thick hair. He just wanted Gloxinia.

"I just want to fix this," he mumbled.

Diane grew silent for a moment. Drole closed his eye, tried to lean his head against the backrest of the couch and let out a stiff exhale as his head connected with the hard wall instead.

"What about Gerheade?"

Drole frowned. Gloxinia's sister was not a force to be taken lightly. He'd tried calling her the minute he realised that Gloxinia wouldn't be picking up his calls but instead of being met with her usual sweet voice, chips of ice had whispered into his ear and had firmly warned him against trying to bother her brother again. He shook his head, not bothering to pull himself up from the wall, "She hates me now too."

Diane chuckled, "That's impossible! Gerheade's too sweet for something like that-"

He caught her eyes, voice chilled, "It's the truth."

She sighed, finally seeming to understand the depth of the hole Drole had inadvertently dug himself into, "How will you apologise then?"

A non-commital shrug met her question, listless eye stuck to the blue phone laying innocently on the coffee table. He'd bothered the both of them enough to last the weekend and he knew Gloxinia enough to understand that he'd never be able to meet him on his own turf. He'd hate to do it, but the only option left to him was to wait and pray that Gloxinia's temper would subside come next week. "We'll talk. Eventually." He furrowed his brows at how unbothered that made him sound, "Monday."

Diane frowned, "Do you think he'll be willing to talk with you by then? Gloxinia's pretty..."

Petty. Prone to holding grudges. Unreasonable.

"It'll work out."