#eon seven

[eon-seven]

(EON SEVEN)

[fyblackwomenart]

"Mirror" by EON SEVEN on INPRNT

[re-decorate]

how long have y’all been in tumblr clique? bc i feel like the majority of my current clikkie mutuals are relatively new and most of my pre sai era mutuals are long gone and i feel so OLD

[hazelplaysgames]

and, yeah, after that whole thing that was Molayne’s fight, the fight against Hau was a breeze. he did a cheeky little switch out off of Incineroar i wasn’t expecting, and i got some nice Refrigerate Hyper Beams off from Saurrow here, but it’s really obvious that this fight was more formalities than challenge.

honestly, this was also probably one of the more interesting mono-type runs i’ve had so far for that complex Molayne fight. the only other one i think actually comes close was against Mewtwo in Let’s Go Eevee, for that Poison run, and i was lucky enough to have Haze.

next year is the Dragon runs, and like this Ice run, X and Ultra Moon have some pretty significant overlap. as some of y’all might’ve guessed, i like having some type variety on my team, even if it is harder with monotypes. i also would rather minimize reusing ‘mons between runs in this format. so, i think it’s best if i trade in a couple pokemon for that one, i think it a bit better than using another legendary from the Ultra Wormholes again. Dragon has a few more options better than an Articuno on that front, after all.

in more immediate news, i intend to complete the national dex for pokemon Y soon! to continue precedent set a couple years back, this means a Smeargle run in that generation, with the obvious choice of X. i... well, in spite of it being in the middle of trying to use the last of all weapons of Splatoon 2, a run of Alpha Sapphire since i cleaned the cartridge out, Splatoon 3 being released soon, and possibly the new pokemon games, i want to sort of be a bit more active/vocal about how that run is doing, try and break the queue/scheduling only habits a bit.

[the-mighty-glow-cloud]

foaming at the mouth rn reading back over the plan i wrote for my dnd oneshot EONS ago

[contentloadingandstuff]

Jealousy Bits - Zhongli, Diluc & Alhaitham x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's my second time writing for Fem!Reader, so C&C is more than welcome! CW: Alhaitham might be a little OOC.

Zhongli

Jealousy is a foreign concept for Zhongli. For eons his mind was preoccupied with more important matters than petty insecurity. Centuries passed, and never once have you given him a reason to worry. But as time passed and Zhongli, along with you, stepped down from his position, he started connecting more with his human side. He experienced many things he never got the chance to as a god - including a certain kind of longing.

"I'm leaving, dear!" You look over the contents of your purse, making sure everything necessary is contained within. Your hand moves to rest on the doorknob, but you pick up the sound of steady footsteps. 

Turning back towards the living room, you see Zhongli standing in the corridor, his eyes resting on you. "If I may ask, where are you going today?" 

"I managed to convince Ganyu to have a proper meal at Wanmin Restaurant. Poor thing needs to quit starving herself, don't you think?"

Smiling slightly, he nods. "Yes, that would be good for her health. Ever since the… choking incident, Ganyu has never been the same."

You both chuckle. Zhongli crosses his arms over his chest. 

"I shouldn't keep her waiting. You know how anxious she tends to be." Once again, you turn towards the door. 

Something sparks in his mind. The mental image of you, laughing and smiling with somebody else while he is alone evokes a specific feeling, an itch that urges him to keep you in place, here, with him. Zhongli wants to stop you, and he stretches out his arm, but thinks better of it. You turn the key in the door, and the sensation comes back. He feels the need to act. 

Zhongli clears his throat. "I… I am having tea when you return. If you'd care to join me."

When your gaze meets his amber eyes, he seems unsure, and looks down at the floor in unusual embarrassment. His arm drops back down to his side. You approach him with a smirk, resting your hand on his chest. 

"Aw, is someone jealous?" A slight blush forms on his face at your gentle touch. 

"Perhaps." He answers after a moment. 

You slide your hand into his, and squeeze it gently. It's warm and bigger than yours, his gloves adding a pleasant texture. Zhongli looks back at you when you cup his cheek with your other hand. 

"It's okay. We'll take a nice bath when I return, have tea, and then… we'll see where the evening leads us." You plant a featherlite kiss on his lips, and send him a smile before turning to leave. 

Before you can open the door, he speaks again. 

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you as well, Morax."

Diluc

Diluc cares only for those strangers he absolutely must, but he keeps his loved ones close. Although he keeps a steady facade suggesting otherwise, he gets possessive at times - just as anybody else. Cool as he is, Diluc won’t stop himself from acting upon his feelings with his characteristic decisiveness.

His eyes skim over the paper in his hand. Thirty barrels, twenty-seven million Mora - everything seems in order. He grabs the pen and scribbles his signature. The man thanks him and leaves shortly. Diluc sighs and rubs his temple.

It was supposed to be your night out. Just some casual drinks, grape juice for him and some light alcohol for you to finish off the work week. Despite explicitly stating that he is off-work, the recent delivery of Harra Fruit extract decided to arrive at that exact moment. With who the other party was, letting one of the staff handle him would be bad for his image. Begrudgingly, Diluc welcomed the merchant and finished the deal. Although he lost an hour or so, the evening was still salvageable. 

The noble turns back from the loading bay towards the Angel’s Share back door, and pushes it open. His eyes see the familiar scene of many men and women enjoying their evening to the tune of a mediocre ballad, sounding out from the small stage. The notes are fine, but the occasional mishap doesn’t go unheard by his sensitive ears. Despite that, the tavern goers seem to pay no attention, possibly too drunk to notice. Still, if his memory serves him right, the last performer had far more lyrical talent. 

He looks around the tables Venti frequents, but doesn’t find him there. Where did this rascal go-

“Y/N, do you perhaps wield the power of Anemo? Because your beauty blew me away!”

His eyes turn sharply towards the counter. The cyan-clad bard, his back leaning against the wood, smiles in satisfaction. In front of Diluc sees you, blushing slightly and giggling. 

“That was… wow. Horrible.” You smirk. “But I’m sure you can do better.”

Diluc watches as Venti looks away, smiling, his mind rushing with ideas. He suddenly looks back at you, a wide smile on his lips. Barbatos clears his throat theatrically. 

“It’s handy I have my library card on me, because I am totally checking you out!”

Both of you laugh. Diluc furrows his brows, and his heart starts beating faster. How can such crude humor make you laugh? You never laugh as hard at his jokes…

A small blush creeps up his face as he looks on, suddenly hyper-aware of his thoughts. He brushes the shame off. He is right - this evening was supposed to be “Diluc and Y/N talking and drinking” and not “Venti and Y/N talking and drinking while Diluc handles business”. There is no way the drunkard Archon steals your attention tonight.

“Two rounds, please! One for me, and one for the prettiest Windblume in this locale!” Venti says, raising two fingers.

Charles nods and reaches for the cups, but Diluc glares at him and shakes his head slightly. The bartender makes his understanding known and turns to a different client. The aristocrat looks around the tab record and quickly finds a small piece of paper, labeled with the bard’s name. Nine rounds… That would equal seven thousand three hundred Mora. Drawing another note, he writes down the numbers and places the paper inside a mug. He leaves the serving area and circles to approach you and Venti from the side. 

The bard, too deep in his flirty conversation, fails to notice his approach. With a fairly loud sound, Diluc puts down the mug right next to Venti. His aqua eyes dart straight towards the tycoon. 

“Oh! Hello master Diluc! How is the evening going?” The innocent tone that reaches Diluc’s ears annoys him even further. 

“You ordered two drinks, I believe.” He walks in front of Venti, arms now crossed over his chest. “You will get them upon paying for the nine so far. If you don’t, I will ask you to leave. You’ve drunk enough.”

The mug is picked up, and Venti draws the paper. Upon looking at the sum, he smirks and puts the utensil down. “Why, of course! Let me get my coin pouch really quick.”

After patting his sides and drawing the leather container with a small Aha!, Venti peeks inside, and his confident smile turns into an awkward one. He chuckles. 

“It seems that I forgot most of my Mora tonight, how unfortunate, truly! Can I just… add it to my account?” Venti looks at Diluc with big, puppy eyes. The man scuffs, unmoved.

“The one counting three hundred thousand Mora? Sure. If you pay it up now, that is. Do you have the money?”

The bard smiles nervously. “Ehe~” He turns to you. ‘My oh my! Look how late it is! Sleep is important, miss Y/N, and so I will rest now. Goodnight~”

Venti evacuates with practiced ease, Diluc’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. You turn to look at Diluc. 

“Does he really drink this much…?” You ask, feeling a bit awkward after witnessing their interaction.

Your lover shrugs, and sits down on Venti’s place. He turns to you, a confident smile gracing his lips. 

“Well, I’m here. What about your other two wishes?”

You smile and chuckle at his unexpected goofiness, covering your mouth with your hand to stop yourself from laughing out loud. Diluc swears it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard from you.

Alhaitham

Alhaitham holds most strangers in a neutral regard. Their squabbles, bold flirts and personal drama doesn't interest him, and as such rarely anything can get him possessive and needy. Someone flirts with you? You can handle things on your own. Spending less time with him? No matter, you have things to get done as well. Talking to another man? If he is nothing more than a coworker or a friend, it's none of his business. Despite this solid and logical reasoning, Alhaitham assumed he would be jealous at some point - just in case. Yet he expected a human to be the cause, and not… an animal.

A cat, to be precise. 

It all started when, coming home from shopping, the two of you were approached by a stray. Alhaitham recalls the unfortunate creature resembled a wet, rotten rag more than an actual feline. It started meowing at you while rubbing its filthy face on your leg. Instead of repulsion, however, you felt pity for the animal. After a good five minutes of pressure and puppy eyes, Alhaitham agreed to take the cat in. On the condition that you would take responsibility and care for it, of course. 

After being taken to Amurta veterinarians, who cleaned, bandaged and prescribed the right medication to the poor animal, it started resembling an actual cat. When the researchers confirmed that the cat would be fine, it was given a name, one that stuck in his mind ever since. 

Alibaba. 

Or Ali for short. 

It was just as he expected, and true to what you promised. You fed the cat, cleaned his litter box, gave him medicine, played with and groomed him. Over time, Alibaba returned to his former glory. His fur grew back, now long and lustrous. It was mostly white, with light brown patches near his paws, tail, ears and mouth, perfectly complimenting his deep blue eyes. Alibaba soon got plump and lazy, which you found greatly adorable. He was an obedient cat with a loud purr and a gentleman's meow that stole more and more of your heart each time. 

Alhaitham didn't pay much attention to your new pet. That is, he didn't until you started calling the cat names. It's normal, he knows that. That’s just what humans do with pets. But something about you calling Ali a “handsome boy” and a “gentleman” doesn't sit right with him. He gets those compliments on occasion, but Alibaba gets it daily for just existing… 

He couldn't believe he was getting jealous over an animal. Just when he pushed the thought away, the creature already noticed his feelings. It started running away from Alhaitham, and moving away when he tried to pet it. Ali didn't even eat the food and treats he provided, but dined on yours just fine. The cat didn't restrain itself from looking smugly at Alhaitham while being praised and showered in affection by you, seemingly mocking your boyfriend. 

The whole situation was silly, and he knew it. It was only right for him to resolve his jealousy in an equally amusing way. 

One day, after returning from work, you were greeted by Alibaba, just as per usual. You went to put your things down on the table, the cat following your actions by jumping up on the furniture. It meowed, rubbing its face against your hand. You smile. 

"Who's a handsome boy?" Alibaba meows in response. "That's right! You are!" 

You move to the fridge, and grab a bag of cat food. The animal rubs its body all over your shins as you pour the food. After leaving Ali, absolutely inhaling the contents of his bowl, you go to the bedroom. You open the door and freeze. 

On the bed, resting on his side, is the shirtless Alhaitham. The sight of his chiseled chest fills your eyes, and a small blush of surprise heats up your cheeks. 

For a solid minute or so, you stand there, unsure of how to react to this unusual situation. Alhaitham looks at you with a slight smug. 

"Am I a handsome boy as well?" 

Thanks for reading!

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-BANG CHAN

A loose retelling of Hades and Persephone-modernized and darker than before, but beautiful all the same.

A/N: I'm not happy with this. But you guys can have it anyway.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, Bang Chan, Chan, Christopher, Christopher Bang, Y/N, Femreader, Chan as Hades, Y/N as Persephone, Underworld, Greek Mythology, Hades and Persephone, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Chan x you, Chan x reader, Chan x y/n, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Other members make guest appearances as various Greek gods, Greek Gods

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

Warnings: Underworld Shit, Dark Undertones, Underhanded God and Mortal shit and dealings, Death, Dying, Triggering Themes, Toxic Relationships (not main characters), Chan's fucking in love with reader to the point of obsession.

Playlist:

🌸I’ll Be Damned-Gavn

🌸Seven Nation Army-Stevie Howie

🌸Call Me-ShineDown

🌸Granite-Sleep Token

🌸Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version)-Taylor Swift

Title: Every Last Seed

He goes by many names.

He always has.

Hades.

Ploutos.

King of the Underworld.

God of the Dead.

Bringer of Death.

Lord of Darkness.

But by far, his favorite name is the one that only you are allowed, dripping from your lips, soft and sweet, like honey, like a deadly nectar he's become addicted to-

Mine.

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"Where the fuck is he?" Chan storms through the door to his office, terrifying the wraith he employs as his secretary, her throat jumping with a gulp, as she straightens her glasses, and clasps her clipboard to her opaque chest.

"Ah, sir, I was just asking his Lordship if he'd prefer tea or coffee-"

"No need." Chan growls, not even bothering to look in her direction. "He won't be staying."

Hyunjin grins from his position behind Chan's overly large desk, his feet planted directly in the middle of some important treaties Chan had been working on the day before for some particularly pesky mortals.

"Ah, is that any way to treat your baby brother, Channie?"

His given name. The only ones who dare call him by that name are his brothers and you.

Everyone else just refers to him by the name the mortals gifted him when he became God of the Dead eons ago-Hades.

Chan stalks toward his brother's reclined form and promptly shoves his feet off the desk with a little bit more force than necessary.

"The perfect way, actually. Especially when said brother is impeaching on my very valuable and limited time, uninvited, I might add."

Hyunjin sniffs, straightening the highly expensive baby blue suit he wears, and plants his feet firmly on the ground, swiveling in Chan's chair to face him.

He tucks a strand of his golden hair back behind his ear and levels Chan with a self important look that makes him grind his teeth in agitation.

"Fine. You obviously want me to get straight to the point, so I will."

Chan feels a muscle tick in his jaw as he taps his foot impatiently, motioning with his hand for the man before him to continue.

"Great. What is it?"

Hyunjin sighs, making a show of straightening the crown on his brow, and then he gives Chan a grimace which he tries to soften with a halfhearted smile that Chan sees through immediately.

It makes his clench his fingers into fists at his side.

"How's the new little wife, hm, big brother? Satisfactory, I presume?"

Chan feels himself prickle at the mention of you, but he keeps his expression unreadable, dark, as he stares back at his clearly prodding brother.

"Fine. Anything else? Or did you travel all the way here and risk your wife's wrath just to ask me how my honeymoon was?"

Hyunjin blanches at the mention of Hera, and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable now in the face of Chan's obvious ire.

"Yes, well-" He stands up, planting his hands flat on Chan's desk and leaning toward him, as if to appear intimidating.

Chan wants to laugh at the pathetic display.

"-there's been a problem. I'm sure you've noticed the influx of extra souls ever since you uh, tied the knot, without her mother's permission?"

He fidgets nervously under Chan's unwavering, blank stare.

Tugging at the collar of his expensive suit once more, Chan watches as his younger brother, the supposed God of the Gods, seems to wilt under his penetrating gaze.

Finally, he sighs heavily, and seems to implore Chan to give him something, anything, he can work with.

"Her mother's fucking pissed with you, Channie, all right? I'll just come out and say it. I need you to fix this."

Chan remains unmoving, stoic, in the face of his brother's obvious plea.

After another moment of silence, Hyunjin throws his hands outward and exclaims with obvious exasperation, "C'mon, help me out here. Lord knows I've helped you in the past when you asked."

Chan arches a brow. "Helped me?"

His voice is flat, cold, deadly, and Hyunjin winces subtly.

"Okay, listen-" He holds up his hands, as if the weak gesture of peace will stop Chan's building fury. "-you know the delicate balance we have between the mortals. We worked decades for that, and if Demeter keeps fucking offing them left and right, just to spite and overwork you, and the Underworld, we're gonna have a much bigger fucking problem on our hands than a petty little feud between you and your recently acquired mother in law."

Chan hates to admit it, but Hyunjin's right, as much as it pains him to agree.

Fucking Demeter and the chip on her shoulder toward him.

God forbid, her perfect, innocent, naive daughter-the goddess of Spring-fall in love with someone as twisted and dark and wicked as Chan-god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld.

No, the Goddess of Harvest was not bound to let this go lightly, and it seemed he needed to put a stop to this before it ever really began.

A few extra mortal souls on his workload was nothing really, but if she even thought about dissuading you-

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut. He can feel a headache building.

"Fine." He grits out, and he can practically hear Hyunjin breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll handle it."

Ignoring his brother and his babbled platitudes of thanks, he steps toward the window and looks down over the city below, flickering to life beneath the coming darkness.

"But know this-" He turns and levels Hyunjin with a dangerous, black gaze. "-if I even hear a whisper of you and Demeter's little foolish escapades putting my wife in danger, I will end you both without a second thought and with one snap of my fingers."

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He still remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on you. How could he forget?

Attending one of his younger brothers garish and old fashioned parties-he'd thought they'd stopped doing these kinds of things centuries ago-he'd been dragged over to rub shoulders with some of the greats, one stiff tuxedo away from going the fuck home where he belonged.

And then, he'd seen you, hidden in Demeter's shadow- though nothing could truly hide your exquisite and rare beauty, not even your mother's sour, pinched expression-and his feet had moved toward you without permission, as if drawn by an invisible thread of fate.

Your mother had looked at him as he approached with such disdain it would've set him on fire had he not been a god, but he'd ignored her, striding boldly forward through the party goers until he stood directly in front of you.

"Hades." Demeter had hissed in greeting, dark hatred flashing in her eyes as she'd put a protective arm out in front of you.

You stared up at him with the biggest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, and extended one slender, soft hand out toward him, breaching the threshold of your mother's protection without a second thought, as if you could feel the tug of the persistent string too.

"Persephone." You had whispered, than blushed, your cheeks going red, as his fingers found yours. "Or Kore. O-or (Y/N). Whatever is to your liking, your highness."

Your hand was like velvet-warm and silky in his own-and his fingers dwarfed yours, making them feel delicate and almost fragile in his grip.

"I know who you are, Goddess of Spring." He had replied, with far more confidence in his low tone than his quivering gut felt in the moment.

Your expression had flashed surprise at his words, and you glanced away under his direct gaze, red, full lips parted, cheeks taking on an even deeper hue of scarlet.

The look of sudden shy demureness on your features intoxicated him, and his dick immediately took notice.

"I am honored that one such as yourself, your highness, has taken notice of me already."

He had cleared his throat, subtly adjusting himself in his too expensive slacks-some high end shit Hyunjin had insisted he wear-at the soft tone of pleasure your voice took on at his attention, and finally, reluctantly released your hand, even as Demeter ushered you back behind her looming form.

"We really must be going." Her expression went from pinched to furious as his eyes lingered on you just a bit longer than necessary. She ushered you away. "Say goodbye, Kore."

"Goodbye." You had murmured, eyes flitting up to his briefly, before you let your mother lead you away and out of his sight.

Chan took his leave shortly after, giving Hyunjin some bullshit excuse of the Underworld not running itself, and had hightailed it home, his skin itching beneath the ridiculous suit he wore, and his hard-on aching for a release.

That night, he came with his cock in hand, and your name on his lips.

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He arrives home to find you in the garden, kneeling in the dirt, fingers dug deep into the soil.

It's a common occurrence, a sight he's grown used to, but he still pauses, watching you silently for a few moments, enjoying the way your hair falls around your face, the way the curves of your body are accentuated against the early evening light.

Cerberus notices him first, raising his giant, blocky head from his paws where he lays beside you next to the garden plot, ears erect. His thick tail thumps the ground-once, twice-at the sight of Chan and you glance up, following the dog's gaze.

Chan steps from the shadows, and the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen graces your features as soon as you catch sight of him.

It takes his breath away, and as you stand, brushing the dirt from the dress you wear, he thinks, not for the first time, that you're the most fucking beautiful thing he's ever had the pleasure of calling his own.

"Channie." You breathe sweetly, throwing your arms around his neck as he draws closer, burying your face in the juncture of his throat. "You're home."

"I am." He agrees, wrapping you tightly in his embrace, taking a moment to let his nose skim your hair, the smell of blossoms and springtime filling his senses.

You pull back, just enough to gaze up at him, and he lets his finger go beneath your chin, holding you there, so he can study and memorize, once again, every single intoxicating line of your features.

Your lips quirk into the start of a smile, as if you know what he's doing, but you don't say anything.

He's grateful for that.

"Did you have a good day?" You ask softly, your breath warm on his fingers, as he traces the part of your full, soft lips.

"Eh." He lifts one shoulder into a shrug and lets it fall back down heavily. "Not as good a day as I would've had staying here with you, little blossom."

You arch a brow, and he sees it, the stubborn expression wash across your face that lets him know you know he's trying to deflect.

You put your hands on your hips and stare him down, and he resists the urge to lean forward and kiss the tip of your nose.

Fuck, you're adorable.

"I heard Zeus came to see you."

"Is that so?" He questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he watches you hold your ground.

He leans forward, fingering one of the loose strands of hair that frames your face, before he lets his gaze dip to your throat, the golden chain you always wear dipping tantalizingly out of his line of sight where it disappears between the swell of your breasts.

"You're correct." He acquiesces, his fingers itching now to reach up and tug the chain free, so he can dangle the wedding ring he knows lies safely between your breasts between the two of you, just so he can remind himself who you belong to once more.

His dick swells at the thought.

He clears his throat, and brings his gaze reluctantly up to meet yours once more, noting the dark flash of stubbornness that washes across your eyes.

"However." He smirks now, stepping closer, letting his hand gently close around your throat, your pulse thready beneath his palm, like a fluttering bird beating against the bars of a cage. "I don't really want to talk about my brother right now, do you?"

He leans forward, and begins to suck kisses along the column of your throat, and you giggle, batting him away and stepping back before he can distract you further.

"Channie." You whine, putting your hands once again on the swell of your hips, and he thinks, not for the first time, that your delicious curves are going to be the death of him one day. "I'm serious."

He sighs, and tries to ignore the hardness of his eager dick between his thighs, knowing you're not going to let him off the hook-or let him fuck you dumb-until he's told you what Hyunjin wanted.

"Fine." He sighs again, and drops onto one of the many benches he had had installed in the garden solely for the purpose of watching you do what you love most.

You step toward him, and he opens his legs so you can slide between them, putting your hands on his shoulders as his fingers find your hips through the thin material of your dress.

"Tell me." You insist, staring down at him and Chan tilts his head back to look at you, arching a brow at your commanding tone.

"Goddess of Spring, are you really telling the Lord of the Underworld what to do?"

An amused smirk flickers across his lips at the look of exasperation that crosses your features.

You stick your tongue out at him, and he chuckles, tugging you to him. You protest a little, but let him do it anyway, burying his face into your stomach, the soft feel of your dress caressing his skin.

He breathes in your perfume, once, twice, and then leans back, meeting your gaze.

"Your mother is throwing a little temper tantrum it seems."

Your eyes widen minutely, and Chan sees your lips flatten into a determined, serious line.

"Because of our marriage?"

Chan gives a slight nod. "It would seem so."

One of your hands clenches into a tight, white knuckled fist at your side, and your chest stutters with a sharp intake of breath.

Beyond your shoulder, a vine springs to life, fraught with large thorns, curling around a nearby tree, up and up, tight enough to strangle the bark beneath its hold.

Cerberus raises his head, scenting the sudden unease in the air, and lets out a small whine.

You take in a deep breath, and the vine begins to slowly retract its hold on the tree.

"Little blossom." Chan murmurs, tugging you down onto his lap, and encircling you in the safety of his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise you. I'll handle it."

He feels you shake your head beneath his chin.

"You shouldn't have to handle it. She's my mother. I need to stand up to her."

Chan glances beyond you as Cerberus whines again, and sees the vine's thorns growing dangerously long with your distress, piercing through the trunk of the tree, cracking the bark into splinters.

"Pet." Chan warns quietly, nudging your chin in the direction of the destruction. "Take a deep breath."

You gasp, and let the air out on a long, shuddering breath, and the vine halts its upward progress almost instantly as you collapse against Chan, slumping into his chest.

He can hear the tears in your voice when you whisper, "I'm sorry."

His finger finds your chin again, and he raises your watery gaze to his own.

"Never, and I mean never, apologize for the power you hold, my love. For it will bring gods and mortals alike to their knees, and one day, when they all pass beyond this life, you will be known as their queen."

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"You know, it's usually easier to get into the palace through the front door."

The unfamiliar, male voice startled you and you lost your hold on the branch you were currently coaxing toward the palace wall, snatching it up again with a curse just in time to stop yourself from tumbling all the way back to the ground below.

"Fuck." You glared over your shoulder, down to the newcomer, but could only make out a tall, dark silhouette, cloaked in a hood.

The man tilted his head, as if he was looking up at you, and you swore you could feel his smirk even through the darkness.

"Yes, thank you for the advice." You snapped back with a huff, already reaching out for the next branch as your magic grew it down toward your outstretched fingers. "But I think I'll stick with this."

"Suit yourself, little blossom." The mystery man leaned against the thick trunk of the tree, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring out at gods knows what.

You paused, catching your breath, and glared down at him, even though you're sure he can't see you.

"Don't call me that."

You saw his chest rise and fall in a silent laugh. "Why?"

"Because." You huffed, reaching for another branch, out of breath as you work around the gods awful gown your mother had insisted you wear to visit Olympus. "I don't know you."

"Oh, but I think you do."

You paused to consider his words, racking your brain for anyone you knew in Olympus well enough to give you a nickname, and came up with no one. Your mother didn't let you visit often from the mortal realm.

"I don't." You insisted, standing up on your tiptoes to try and reach the top ledge of the wall.

You heard the man chuckle again as you stretched-up, up, up-and just as your fingers had grazed the cool marble, your foot slipped off its hold on the branch below, and you tumbled, shrieking, back down through the tree and toward the hard ground.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came.

Cracking open one eye, you stared straight into the face of the mystery man, safe in the warm, strong curve of his arms.

His hood had fallen back in the act of catching you, and your eyes widened as you recognized the handsome face before you.

Fucking. Hades.

Brother of Zeus.

God of the Dead.

He grinned at you, and arched a brow, reiterating softly, "But you do."

Your heart did one sharp staccato against your ribcage, as he set you carefully to your feet, and stepped back, and almost instantly, you missed the warmth of his skin against your own.

"Thank you for saving me." You stuttered out, curtsying deeply, now that you had your wits about you.

He chuckled, staring at you as you straightened back up, and you hoped it was dark enough to hide the blush staining your cheeks.

"Oh, I have no worries that if I wasn't here, little blossom, you would have saved yourself."

He motioned upward with a jut of his chin, and you followed his gaze to the tree, gasping as you saw a thick, dark green vine wrapped around its bulbous trunk, stretching down from the palace wall and to the ground below, curling around your feet.

When you glanced back to the man before you, he was already pulling his hood back up over his face, ready to disappear back into the blackness.

"Wait!" You called out before you could think better of it, and he stopped, cocking his head.

You swallowed hard, and took a step toward him.

"Will I see you again, your highness?"

You swore he smiled beneath the hood.

"Call it what you will, Goddess of Spring-fate, destiny, the will of the gods-but I think you and I will be seeing each other again very soon. Very soon indeed."

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"You can't have her, you know."

Changbin took another long sip of his drink, cheeks already rosy, and followed Chan's hungry gaze across the room to you, standing close by your mother's side.

He simply shrugged when Chan turned to shoot him a glare.

"Her mother would never allow it. She hates your fucking guts. Not to mention-" He leaned over and lowered his voice, as if he was telling Chan a secret. He could smell the liqueur on the younger god's breath. "-the whole 'Underworld Ruling' thing."

Chan is saved from having to respond by the appearance of Minho, flute of champagne in hand, look of annoyed disgust on his face, as he slid past the hulking god beside Chan and took a seat on the duvet across from them.

His brother glanced dismissively at Chanbin, leaning back to take another long swallow of his drink.

"Nephew."

Changbin grinned and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Uncle."

Minho arched a brow and his nose wrinkled slightly in open distaste. "Do you ever not wear armor?"

Changbin grinned bigger, and slapped a loud palm to the armor fitted perfectly to his broad chest.

"Of course not! I'm the God of War. Always have to be ready for anything, Uncle. You know how it is."

"I'm sure I don't." Minho sniffed, raising his champagne delicately to his lips, and taking a tiny sip. "The Ocean does not concern itself with the dealings of mortals. Let alone their trivial pursuits of war."

Changbin merely shrugged, and stood, slapping a powerful hand to Chan's shoulder, which sent him jolting forward in his seat, rubbing his offended arm and glaring up once more at the towering figure of his nephew.

"I'm off to find another drink. And maybe a few maidens." Changbin announced, giving Minho a mock salute, as the man stared him down with annoyed disdain. "Take care, uncles."

And with that, he was gone.

Minho's gaze flitted to Chan, and he took another long, slow sip of his drink.

Chan felt his eyes unwittingly pulled back to the other side of the room, but you had disappeared from view, probably dragged off by your mother for more introductions.

"I'm surprised you came."

Chan let his gaze drift back to his brother across from him, and offered him a tilt of his head in acknowledgement, reaching for his own glass of forgotten champagne.

"Yes, well, that makes both of us. I'd hoped to not find myself at another one of these damned archaic, presumptuous affairs for another eon or so."

The corner of Minho's lip flickered with amusement, and his eyes roamed past Chan to the dozens of gods and demi gods currently mingling on the expanse of Hyunjin's vast dance floor.

"Our baby brother is good for very few things, and throwing amusing soirees is indeed not one of them."

Chan felt his own lips quirk into the hint of a smirk, and he raised his glass to Minho in silent salute.

Minho tilts his own champagne in response, and they both take a deep draft of the shimmering, bubbly liquid.

His brothers were hard to tolerate on the best of days, but he'd always felt like Minho understood him just a little bit more than Hyunjin ever had.

Standing, Chan places down the now empty glass and nods to Minho in farewell.

"I've made an appearance. Now it's time to take my leave."

Minho watched him in silence for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and then with a flick of his fingers, he filled Chan's empty glass back up with water.

Chan stared at him, and he arched a brow.

"Drink some water before you go, brother. It'll help with the hangover tomorrow."

He sighed, reaching for the glass, and downed the water in one gulp.

"There. Happy?"

Minho's mouth flickered again. "Almost." He cocked his head, and let his gaze roam over Chan's body, as if he could see the way his muscles tensed, the way his mind swirled, already thinking about running into you on his way out.

When Chan went to move past him, Minho put an arm out, stopping him in his tracks.

"Careful, brother." Minho murmured, eyes dark and discerning, trapping him in place. "Interest is a fickle, fleeting thing, but obsession is fatal."

There was a beat of tense, deafening silence, Minho staring at him like he could see right through him.

Chan shook his head, and broke the spell.

"Thanks for the advice." Chan grunted, pushing past him without another glance, stalking toward the exit, not caring as he shouldered past the partygoers, earning himself a round of nasty looks.

The cold night air of Olympus embraced him as he pushed through the double doors and into the opulent garden beyond.

Unlike the swirling colors and lights and noise of the party inside, the garden was deserted at this time of night-dark and quiet and abandoned-just how he liked it.

Taking in a deep breath, holding it as the frigid air seared his lungs, Chan strode deeper into the garden, walking between the towering, shadowy rows of hedges, clearing his head.

The music had almost faded out of ear shot, when he heard it-a small, unfamiliar sound that immediately caught his attention.

He paused, freezing, and listening.

There it was again, just around the next bend, somewhere near the center of the hedge maze, beside the fountain he knew graced the large stone courtyard lined with benches hidden amongst the neatly trimmed foliage.

Taking another quiet step so he could round the corner, he heard it once more.

It almost sounded like-a gasp?

Chan came around the hedge quietly, on full alert, his footsteps silent, and as the fountain came into view, he caught sight of a figure leaning back on one of its edges on the other side, obscured through the haze of the water.

Another creeping step forward, still hidden by the shadows of the bushes, and the person came into view.

It was you-sitting on the marble edge of the fountain, dress hiked up around your knees, leaning forward as you focused on something intently.

Chan narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was you were doing, and when he realized, as another little breathy moan left your lips and your wrist spasmed, he halted, feet suddenly leaden.

Gods above, you were touching yourself.

He should move, he should announce his presence, he should leave, he shouldn't be watching you in this very private, very vulnerable moment, but he can't seem to get himself to break the spell, watching you silently from the shadows of the hedge as you pleasure yourself.

You let out that sound again-a breathless sort of stifled release of breath-and Chan felt his dick start to swell in response, straining against the fine fabric of the slacks he wore.

You let your head fall back, eyes screwed closed, lips parted, as your fingers continue their work, and Chan's eyes are drawn to the way your chest heaves for breath, the perfect swell of your breasts straining against the corset you wear.

Suddenly, he can move again.

Stepping quietly from the shadows, he approached, moving to stand in front of you, and as if you could sense his sudden presence, his eyes on you, your eyelids fluttered open, your mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise as you caught sight of him.

"Y-your highness-" You stuttered out, cheeks immediately blooming pink, and Chan was enthralled by the way the rosy color spread rapidly down your chest.

You made a move to remove your fingers, tugging at your billowing skirts, but Chan held up a hand, his eyes meeting your own.

"No. Don't stop."

You froze, staring at him, wide eyed, like a fawn caught in the daylight, and he made an attempt to soften the gravel of his voice, repeating again, softer this time, "Keep going. Please."

You stared at him for another long moment, and he couldn't breathe, maybe you were going to run, maybe you were going to tell on him, what a pervert he'd been, maybe you were disgusted-

And then, slowly, eyes still holding his own, you let your fingers dip back beneath the folds of your gown.

He could tell the moment you made contact again, because your body stiffened, and that sound-the one that went right to his cock-passed your parted lips once more.

Chan watched you, mesmerized, as you let your fingers do the work, arching your body on the edge of the fountain to find the right angles, all the while, holding his gaze unwaveringly.

You were brave, he'd give you that.

You gasped, mouth falling open, and he saw the way your wrist twisted, picking up pace.

He imagined how wet you were, how easily your fingers slid in and out, and he clenched his hands at his side to keep himself in place, to force himself to let you be.

"What do you think about?" He asked suddenly, licking his lips, his mouth desperately dry.

"What-" You started to question, the words breaking off into a breathy moan that had him painfully hard, even harder than before.

He took a step closer.

"What do you think about? When you're getting yourself off?"

Your eyes had screwed closed as you grew closer to release, but you managed to flutter them back open to meet his gaze, your face twisted into the start pleasure, your fingers never stopping.

"You!" You gasped out desperately, chest heaving, free hand digging into the marble ledge of the fountain, fingers white with the effort of holding back.

Chan watched as you came then, crying out and body vibrating, and when the orgasm had finished ripping through you, you slumped back, breathing hard and cheeks flushed.

Pulling your hand from your skirts, Chan tried not to focus on the way your fingers glistened as you wiped them off on your dress.

He was rooted to the spot, watching you come down, cock aching and leaking down his leg, wishing he was the one who'd undone you so fully, when you finally met his gaze once more.

Your expression was unsure, lips pressed into a thin line, when you repeated softly, defeatedly, "You. I think about you."

You sat up, straightening your skirts with your clean hand, and Chan resisted moving closer to you with what very little willpower he had left.

You were biting your lip, staring at the ground between the two of you, when he conjured a trace of shadow, using it to caress your chin and tilt your gaze back up to meet his.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, your skin pebbling into goosebumps beneath the touch of the shadow, but you didn't move, you didn't look afraid.

Chan felt the corner of his mouth lift into the hint of a smile as he let the shadow trace your cheekbone, brushing back a loose strand of damp hair into your elegant braid.

"You know, little blossom, my brothers say you're a problem."

Your eyes widened a little more, and then a flash of indignation crossed your pretty features.

"Why?"

Chan cocked his head, studying you, and you stared right back.

"Because I want you, but I can't have you. And I tend to have a fatal flaw of getting obsessive over things that are kept from my grasp."

He flicked away the shadow with his fingers, burying his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he let the words settle between you.

His dick was still unyieldingly hard.

Your lips parted slightly, as if surprised by his admission, and then a brief, mischievous smile flashed across your lips, catching him off guard.

You tilted your head, and your lips quirked upward into a bigger, sweeter smile.

"Your highness?"

"Yes?"

You hopped down from the ledge of the fountain, and found your shoes, slipping your feet into them as he watched, waiting for you to continue.

When you stepped toward him, closing the distance, he resisted every urge to grab you and slot his mouth hungrily over yours.

You looked up at him curiously, studying his features, your eyes large and dark, framed by the longest eyelashes he had ever seen.

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, as if you were telling him a secret only known to the two of you.

"What do you think about when you come?"

He stared at you, trying to put the words with the movement of your lips.

Finally, he swallowed, watching your eyes flit down to follow the movement of his throat.

"You."

"Hm." You hummed beneath your breath, lips twitching, as you finally slipped past him, headed back in the direction of the party.

Chan whirled, watching you go, and as if you could feel his eyes on you, you turned and paused when you reached the hedges, fingers trailing over the dark, emerald leaves, leaving shining pink flowers behind in their wake.

"Interesting." You arched a brow, giving him a half, knowing smile. "And here I was, thinking my little obsession was one sided."

Chan let a shadow slink from the hedge beside you and trail around one of your ankles.

You grinned at him once more, and slipped silently from view.

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Chan steps off the elevator and is immediately met with the largest bouquet of flowers he's ever seen, shoved directly into his face.

He swats them away with annoyance, and the person carrying the atrocity comes into view, panting like they've just carted weighted rocks up the floors of the building and not obnoxiously perfumed flowers.

"Oh, hey boss." Jeongin beams, adjusting the vase of flowers in his arms, so that he can reach up and push the cap he wears back slightly, revealing a sweaty swath of dark hair.

"I got you flowers!" He holds up the arrangement, as if Chan can't see them, and follows him when he stalks past him toward his private office.

Setting the bouquet down on the front desk as they pass, flashing Chan's assistant a winning smile, Jeongin hurries to keep up with Chan's long strides, floating slightly above the floor.

"Well, Persephone did, technically, but you know, she asked me to give them to you so-"

Chan ignores the chattering messenger god beside him, and turns a left down the hall, already silently going over the meetings he has scheduled for today in his head.

Turning another corner, he's just about to push into conference room two, when Jeongin slides in front of him, spreading his arms out to block his way and trying to catch his breath.

"Whoa, boss. You can't go in there."

Chan stares the kid down, expression stoic.

"Jeongin. Get out of my way."

Jeongin doesn't budge, though Chan can see a flicker of fear flash across his dark gaze as he stands in front of Chan's looming, annoyed figure.

He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck in clear discomfort, and shuffles from one winged foot to another.

"Okay, but here's the thing-" He starts, hemming and hawing, glancing past Chan and to the hallway, then back to the god standing in front of him.

"Jeongin." Chan warns, beginning to think there's something going on that he doesn't know about, and nothing pisses him off more than to be oblivious.

Jeongin clears his throat and gives him a half hearted smile. "Persephone kinda asked me to keep you out of the conference room today because she's kindameetingwithhermomtodiscussthingswithoutyou."

Chan stares blankly at the boy in front of him, wringing his hat now between anxious hands, and then asks quietly, dangerously, "She what?"

Jeongin swallows, the gulp is audible in the tense silence, but still holds his position blocking Chan from the doorway.

It's admirable, he'll give him that.

He gives a little shrug and a sheepish smile. "Sorry, boss?"

Chan growls beneath his breath in frustration, and pinches his nose.

He can feel a headache coming on.

"Fine." He grinds out, the muscles in his jaw popping with his irritation as he clenches his teeth and glances past Jeongin to the waiting conference room. "But you're to come and get me as soon as they're finished." He points a stern finger into the middle of Jeongin's chest. "And Demeter is not, I repeat not, allowed to be alone at any time while she's in the Underworld, understood?"

Jeongin nods and gives him a little salute, even as Chan is already stalking away.

"Yes, sir!" He calls out down the hallway, voice echoing off the walls and exacerbating Chan's growing headache. "I won't let you down, boss! You can count on me!"

Chan mumbles something beneath his breath about hiring new wingmen, and locks himself in his office.

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Chan doesn't get to see you for the rest of the day.

The hours slip by, and he's faced with problem after problem-mortal souls unhappy with their judgement, wraiths he employs needing his every attention and signature, accountants wanting to see him about the toll to cross the Styx ('inflation is happening you know!')-and by the time he finally gets home, well after sunset, his every muscle is tight with irritation.

He walks in to see you in the kitchen, apron tied tightly around your waist, Cerberus at your feet, dozing with his head on his huge paws.

The dog gives a thump of his tail when Chan appears, alerting you to his presence, and you glance up from whatever it is you're chopping, giving him a wide, bright smile.

He's not fooled. It doesn't reach your eyes.

Pushing aside the monstrous bouquet from earlier that now resides in the middle of the giant, granite island that takes up a majority of the kitchen, he raps his knuckles on the stone, watching you carefully, his head cocked.

"I heard your mother stopped by today."

He watches the way your chopping stalls, but you don't look up at him, chest inflating with a silent breath before you turn, tossing the carrots into the large stew pot on the stove.

"Yes." You finally say, back still to him.

He tries to force the irritation simmering just below the surface down, relaxing his whitened fingers one by one, as he blows out a long, slow breath.

"(Y/N)."

You turn then, at the use of your given name said in his stern tone, and resume cutting, chopping blocks of beef into smaller cubes.

Chan blows out another breath, harsher this time, and rubs at his temple.

The headache from before is still lingering, pounding now that he's finally left the office for the day.

"What did you talk about?"

You flick your eyes briefly up to his, and then back to the meat beneath your knife.

"Her 'temper tantrum' as I believe you put it."

Chan winces slightly. That wording probably didn't go over very well.

"And?" He prods, leaning against the counter, leaning down so he can glance into your face.

You bite your lip, and he sees you blow out a breath, before you look up at him and force that smile back onto your face-the fake, overly saccharine one from before, the one he doesn't buy for a moment.

"Do we really need to talk about this right now? You just got home, and dinner is almost ready-"

Chan flattens his hands, palms down, on the cold granite, and doesn't let you look away.

"Yes."

Your fingers tighten around the knife, and he sees you let out a shuddering breath.

At your feet, Cerberus cocks his head, your obvious display of uncertainty grabbing his attention.

"Channie-" You start to say, and he watches the way your throat bobs with a swallow.

Anger swirls into embers in the pit of his stomach.

He leans forward, dark eyes flashing. "What did she fucking do? If she so much as made you feel bad for any of this, I won't hesitate to pay her a little visit in the mortal realm-"

"No, no." You wave your hands, finally meeting his gaze once more, your bottom lip wobbly and your eyes shiny. "It's nothing like that."

Chan feels his heart immediately sink.

A tear drips down the length of your cheekbone, and he resists the urge to lean across the counter and swipe it away.

You rub at your eyes with your hands, and breath in an unsteady inhale.

Cerberus stands, butting his blocky head into your hand, until you let out a slight, watery chuckle, and begin to pet his dark ears.

"She-" You start to say, then stop, and Chan stares at you, frozen in sudden fear.

The flowers sitting in their vase on the counter begin to wilt and turn brown and brittle, dropping leaves to the granite like snow fall.

Chan ignores them.

You take in another breath, and pick the knife back up, moving to chop again.

"She wants to make a deal. She wants me to spend Spring in the mortal realm, with her, so I can fulfill my duties every year. And then I'll stay here, with you, the rest of the time."

You look up at him, your expression vulnerable, unsure. There's hurt in your eyes.

Chan's thoughts stop. His body goes cold. There's a buzzing in his ears, and he doesn't know if the shadows are lengthening, or if his sudden loss of control is causing everything to creep in.

He turns, and without a word, flicks a shadow out to send the vase of now withered flowers crashing to the ground.

You yelp, jumping at the noise, and Chan stands, back to you, staring at the mess he's made, chest heaving, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

The mess he always makes.

After a beat of silence, he hears you put down the knife, and then your soft footsteps, as you pad around the counter and kneel on the ground next to the shattered vase.

Slowly, without looking at him, you reach out and begin to pick up the broken pieces.

Chan breathes in, breathes out. His headache is pounding.

"Little blossom, leave it-"

He starts to say, moving to crouch before you, just as you pick up another piece of sharp ceramic and wince, instantly dropping the piece back down with a clatter, as you pull your hand back against your chest.

Chan reaches out and tugs your hand back into view, watching as the cut on your palm starts to slowly leak golden, shining ichor down the line of your wrist, dripping on the floor between the two of you.

His breath stalls as he glances up to your pained expression, all the anger leaving his body in an instant.

"You're bleeding."

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"You're bleeding."

Chan glanced up at the sound of your voice behind him, meeting your concerned gaze in the mirror, where he remained, leaning over the basin, palms on the cool ledge of the sink, watching the water swirl away down the drain.

"Yeah, well-" He gave a little humorless chuckle as he watched the water shimmer with the ichor he washed from his knuckles, before he straightened and dried his hands, glancing once more at you in the reflection of the mirror. His mouth quirked up into the hint of a smirk, and he winced as it pulled at the split skin of his lip, tasting fresh ichor on his tongue. "-luckily for me, my brother hits like a pussy when he's been drinking."

Your eyes widened. "He hit you?"

Chan turned, swiping a hand across his mouth now, tossing the towel to the side. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."

He'd no more than finished the admission than you're at his side, taking his hand in yours, your eyes raking across the golden liquid that marked his knuckles, tacky and congealing.

You glanced up at him, curiosity flashing across your pretty features.

"What did you do?" You questioned in a whisper, as if asking him to divulge a dark secret.

Chan almost grinned-you're too fucking adorable-but he leaned in, his forehead brushing yours, expression serious, and lowered his voice to match yours.

"I told him, little blossom, that there's no way in fucking Tartarus that I'm going to another one of his stupid, historic parties, unless of course, it's thrown for us and planned in celebration of our marriage."

You stared up at him for a silent moment, and Chan almost backtracked, wondering if he'd been too bold, when a slight smile curved your lips up mischievously.

"Well." You released his hand and straightened the collar of the suit he wore, before stepping back, eyeing him up and down, head cocked with interest.

The look on your face took his breath away.

"Then I guess you'd better get me a ring, hadn't you?"

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Chan slips your ring carefully from your finger, lying it beside the sink, before he tends to the wound on your palm.

You protest the whole time, claiming it's fine and you're fine and he's being dramatic, but Chan's heart won't stop pounding in his chest until every last drop of your golden blood is wiped clean from your skin.

When he's satisfied with himself, he helps you get down from your position atop the bathroom counter, and pushes you gently toward the waiting shower.

"I'll just be a minute." He says, as you roll your eyes, but strip your clothes anyway, waiting before he hears the water turn on, before he darts back to the kitchen.

He cleans up the mess he made in his anger, and goes back to the bathroom.

He watches you for a moment, through the steamy, hazed glass surrounding the large shower, your perfect outline stretched back beneath the pounding water, and then gets rid of his own clothes, tossing his suit to the side, before he slips into the shower to join you.

You glance at him over your shoulder as he enters, wet hair plastered to your skin, lips pulled into a worried pout.

"Channie-" You start to say, but he steps to you and pulls you flush against his bare chest before you can get any of the other words out.

Your arms go around his waist, fingers tickling the skin of his back, and he lets out a long, slow breath, the exhale rustling your hair, your face buried in the planes of his chest.

"I'm sorry." He apologizes softly, and you pull back to look up at him, eyes wide and soft.

"You don't need to apologize." You say, reaching up to shove some of his thick, dark hair back off his forehead, starting to grow heavy with water.

"I do." He nods, staring down at you, letting his finger go beneath your chin, as he traces the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"You're my wife, yes, but you're also a Goddess, and I need to remember that."

You stare up at him silently, letting him continue, and he lets out another breath, reaching his hand up to cup the side of your face, your skin warm beneath his fingers.

"You have your own duties and responsibilities, and I'm being selfish keeping you here. I can't hide you away forever."

The corner of your mouth wrinkles, as if you're thinking about smiling.

"Are you sure?" You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm.

"As much as I would like to-" He starts, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of your lips, moving up along your cheekbone. "-I can't. The mortals-and Demeter-need you."

You sigh, he feels it in the way your chest brushes his, and lay your head on his chest, listening for a moment, to his heartbeat.

He strokes your damp hair, and finally you say quietly, "All right. But I don't have to like it, right?" You pull back, looking up at him with a tremble in your bottom lip.

"No, you don't, little blossom." He gives you a half smile, bending his head to press a kiss to your throat, than to the swell of the start of your breast. His cock twitches at the feel of your soft skin beneath his tongue. "I'm sure as fuck not going to like it."

You give a little laugh, slightly watery, and reach up to swipe the tears from your eyes.

"What will you do?" You ask with a shaky breath, staring up at him in a way that makes Chan's heart squeeze, his insides feel tight with all the love he has for you. "While I'm gone?"

He gives a slight shrug, leaning against the shower wall, as you move to start shampooing your hair into a lather.

"Run the Underworld. Judge the mortals. The usual stuff. I mean, what did I do before I had you?"

"Brood." You reply back instantly, glancing at him cheekily over your shoulder as you turn to rinse your hair.

He leaps forward and pins you to the wall as you shriek, tickling your sides as you wriggle to get away from him, laughing so hard it makes you breathless.

He pulls back, letting you breathe, and you push some wet hair from your face, taking in a couple of calming breaths, before your eyes meet his once more.

The mirth disappears from your pretty features, and Chan feels his chest tighten.

"Seriously though, Channie, I-" You swallow, Chan watches your throat bob, and your eyes grow shiny again. "-I don't know how I lived all those eons without you. And now, to have to leave-"

"Hey, hey." He steps toward you once more, caging you in the protection of his arms beneath the warm spray of water. You bury your face in his chest. "Pet. Look at me."

Finally, you do, raising watery eyes to his, and he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Listen to me, little blossom." He reaches up, stroking your hair behind your ear. "We're talking about months here. Just a few months topside, to soothe your mother, and then you'll be back home with me before you know it."

You sniff, swiping at your nose, and then nod.

"You're right. I know you are."

Chan gives you a half smile, gentle and soft, and leans down to press a kiss to the part of your lips.

The thought of you leaving his side is ripping him apart, but he manages to keep his expression neutral, if only for you.

He presses another, longer kiss against the column of your throat, and takes a moment to breathe you in.

"I love you. I always have, even before I knew you, even before I saw you, and nothing, and no one, will ever change that. You are, and always will be, my obsession, Goddess of Spring."

You look up at him with tear filled eyes, and lean up to press a kiss to his own lips.

"I love you too, God of the Dead. You're the only thing in my entire, immortal days that has ever managed to bring my heart to life, and I thank you for it."

A genuine smile tugs at Chan's lips now.

"Ironic, coming from the Goddess of Rebirth about the Ruler of Souls."

You give a little laugh, eyes sparkling as you look up at him. "I guess so."

Chan tugs you to him and, determined to memorize how you feel, kisses you long and hard beneath the cooling water of the shower.

Inside his chest, his heart flicks out a shadow to meet the flowering vine snaking from your own.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

"Do you think we're all fated to another?"

You ask, lying beside Chan on the grass, the cool night breeze kissing patterns across your bare skin.

He turns his head to look at you, staring up at the stars overhead, fingers twined within his own.

The ring on your finger brushes his knuckle, and a warm sensation washes over him at the thought that you're his now-for eternity.

"Isn't that mortal shit?" He asks teasingly, and you turn to give him a glare, but it only succeeds in making him more endeared, your nose crinkling up and your lips pursing.

"Well, yes, but-" You shrug, turning back to the sky, reaching up your free hand to splay your fingers against the backdrop of the shimmering stars. "-do you?"

Chan considers.

He's never put much stock in fate, or destiny, or anything else the mortals believe in, and he says as much, rolling over to look at you, his hand skimming your bare hip.

"I don't know. But what I do know is this." He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you, where you lie, watching him, from the grass.

He lets his finger trail over the marks of his teeth blooming on your shoulder, the love bites already turning purple up the column of your throat, soothed by his tongue.

"Fate is fickle, I don't like to rely on it. Fuck, sometimes, I don't even think I can rely on myself, but I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you and I, little blossom? We were meant to be. And nobody, not fate or any of that other shit that mortals believe in, made that happen. We did."

He watches you as you pause, considering, and then you give him a smile that steals his breath, sitting up beside him to throw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

"Fuck fate." You breathe against his lips, and right now, in this moment, with your skin pressed against his, your warmth settled firmly in his lap, his ring on your finger, Chan thinks he has to agree.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Chan trips over one of Cerberus' toys and gives the big dog a glare, tucked safely away under the kitchen table, his head on his paws.

"I swear to god, your mom is coming home today, and if she sees the state you left this house in-" He threatens vaguely, waving the toy around, before tossing it into the basket in the corner.

"I'll what?"

Chan whirls so fast at the sound of your amused voice that he almost gives himself whiplash, turning to face you in the doorway, a grin on your lips and your suitcase in your hand.

You give him a little wave, suddenly shy, as he continues to stare at you, rooted to the spot.

"Hi?"

He's moving then, crashing into you and sweeping you up into his arms with such force that you lose your breath, dropping your suitcase to the floor, as he pulls you in tight to his chest.

You're laughing and crying, and Chan breathes you in, nose pressed to the top of your head, like he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.

You pull back, just enough to smooth your palms over the side of his face, your eyes still shiny with unshed tears.

"I missed you, Channie."

"Fuck." He breathes out, crushing you back to him again, never letting you go. "I missed you too, little blossom."

You laugh again, a watery sound, and press kisses to every inch of his face you can reach from his embrace.

Chan feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time in months.

"What did you think about while I was gone?" You ask, your eyes sparkling, as if you already know the answer.

He lets out the breath he's been holding, and leans forward to kiss you breathless.

"You." He breathes back in response, and your lips part with pleasure at his answer. "Always you."

And then he kisses you long enough to make up for all the time missed-past and present.

[okay-babe]

Fallen - A Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Series Preview

Synopsis: Reader is a specific type of angel called a heavenly virtue, who was created around the same time as the fallen seraphim, Lucifer Morningstar. More than friends and less than lovers, our Reader feels betrayed by the decisions that her dear friend makes that later lead to his banishment, though she finds a few hundred years later that flying might just be harder than falling after so many centuries of grief. Tags: lucifer x fem! reader, lucifer x angel! reader, friends to almost lovers to strangers to lovers??, angst, pining

It hurt to admit, of course it did, but in truth, it was impossible to deny.

He had been everything.

The two of you had come to be together, grown up at one another's side in the closest thing two angels could have ever gotten to a childhood.

Created for good, created for more, there had been so little time to become someone before you had both been thrust into being.

And for the longest time you had believed so truly that this fact was what bonded you together, what made you feel whole when in his presence.

Until of course, you learned the truth.

That being forced into being had not bound you to Lucifer, and he to you...

But rather, it had damned you both to an eternity of suffering -

One quite literal in a fiery pit called Hell,

And the other something that your God had not, and would not have ever given,

The silent and agonizing torture of longing.

But you supposed it was fitting, in a way.

Lucifer had given man free will,

And an angel of virtue an emotion that their God had never intended for her to feel -

Loss.

His final gift to you, wrapped up in the memories of agony you could not escape.

His hand in yours, unyielding,

His lips on your skin, curious and yearning,

His warmth at your back each night for eons that were never enough.

And of course,

His laughter in Eden, unending,

His lips on hers, confident and eager,

The look on his face as they served him his sentence, eyes finding yours before averting again and again, as if unknowing, as if ashamed...

And from that day forward, you had known deep down that something had been taken from you, something essential yet unnamed that lived on within every other angel.

But to think that it might have lead to your own expulsion?

Well, you supposed that idolatry was a sin, wasn't it?

And what was your Lucifer to you if not a God?

Did he not hurt you so casually as a God would?

Did he not vanish as a God would?

Did he not love you as a God would?

"It does not have to be this way,"

The booming yet gentle voice called out, that desperate edge to it the only tell that its owner knew you as well as she did,

"Remember, dear remedial one, who made you. Who gave you life and embodies through you our eighth heavenly virtue, that which tips the scale away from a balance between us and those seven deadly sins, and instead allows us to exceed their damning weight."

The Seraphim's warning was clear, speak incorrectly again and you would surely be banished, and in turn Heaven, the land you had been created for, would lose it's unspoken eighth virtue, casting things back to the original seven that had been customary before your time, none of which had ever known a world where they and sin had been equally matched.

But even still, you were not a liar, and with every passing day you felt less and less like you could step up to the very virtue you were meant to embody, your persisting grief a constant reminder of what you could not do in spite of what you had been made to represent.

In spite of what you had been made for.

"Now, let me ask you again, loved one,"

The voice spoke up, eyes seeking yours all the while as if trying to sway your answer before you could give it.

"Who do you love more than any other?"

The grand jury of lower seraphims, ophanims, cherubims, and virtues watched on silently, eagerly awaiting your answer with baited breaths they had never truly needed to take.

The answer was meant to be God, of course, and you knew it.

But you suddenly found that it wasn't true, and perhaps it never had been in the first place, for you had not felt as if you had been touched by God since your creation, and even still, it was not his divine touch that you longed for each evening, but another entirely.

One that you supposed was divine no longer to anyone who was not you, anyone who had not held the face of the seraphim before his fall.

No, he was divine to them no longer, but to you...

Well, you had already admitted long ago that he was everything,

And you could lie no longer.

"The Lightbringer."

You began, the room growing tense in an instant, the silence somehow growing more thick the very moment those words passed your lips,

"Lucifer Morningstar."

The high seraphim frowned, the weight of what she had to do to one she'd called a friend for so long acting as a burden she wished she did not have to carry.

But alas, not all angels had been made defective, so it seemed.

She did as she needed to do.

"Then today I'm afraid that Heaven loses it's eighth heavenly virtue to the pits of Hell."

You flinched at her words in spite of yourself, the knowledge of what was to come causing your heart to hammer within your chest.

Angels were meant to fly, not fall, after all.

The seraphim stepped forward, her eyes slightly clouded with a grief you knew all too well. You hoped she would not miss you as you did him.

She placed her hand upon your shoulder, bringing your full attention back to her once more,

"It is a shame that God made you as he did."

She spoke gently, each word she uttered drenched in pity.

"He does not deserve this betrayal."

You nodded solemnly in response, and bowed your head, waiting.

The high seraphim took a deep breath.

"I hereby banish you, our eighth heavenly virtue, Forgiveness, from Heaven forevermore for your treasonous acts against our holy father. May you repent forever in the fiery depths below."

And with that, your halo disintegrated completely, its golden shimmers falling all around your head as you looked around at those you had been created with one final time.

Your eyes flickered back to the seraphim, mouth opening just as the ground began to split at your feet.

"Goodbye, Sera."

You said gently, watching a stray tear fall from your dear friend's face before suddenly, all light seemed to vanish, and you found yourself hurdling into the abyss so fast that the wind almost felt as if it were burning you alive the whole way down.

And yet, all that you could think about was how ironic it was, truly,

That your Lightbringer had only ever led you into darkness.

[updownlately]

‘cause all that you are (is all that i’ll ever need)

| alessia russo x reader | some angst and some fluff | 3.3k | inspo: kiss me by ed sheeran & tenerife sea by ed sheeran | a/n: so this req was a long time coming, thanks for your patience amigo! hope you like it! idk how to feel about this one but ima get this out for now and if i need to re-do it later then ill be more than happy to!

~~~

Late training sessions were definitely not on Alessia’s list of favourite things in the world, especially not when all she wanted to do was escape the rainy Manchester weather and cold. It was safe to say really, that if she could change any one thing about her football career, past, present, and future, she’d limit the number of evening practices, especially those on rainy days to near zero. 

Being soaking wet after a practice, the number of times she had fallen no doubt a contributing factor, the chill in the air seemed to send a continuous shiver in her bones, one that not even a shower post-practice could abolish. 

So albeit showered and freshened up, all the blonde really wanted to do at seven in the evening on a Tuesday was take a hot shower at home and curl up beside you; dinner, a movie, and unlimited cuddles the only things things on the cards for the night. 

But that plan required many things, one of which included you being free, something you likely weren’t. 

Caught up in all your coursework for your degree, you had recently been swamped with a never-ending to-do list, something which pained Alessia almost, if not more, as much as it pained you.

Entering your shared apartment, Alessia gently dropped her kit bag and paused for a brief second to try and decipher where you might be. Hearing nothing that would give any indication of your location, she kicked off her shoes before haphazardly placing them on the rack and heading in to find you.

With finals season upon you, you had been hiding away from Alessia to finish your work a lot more, conscious of how her mere presence distracted you, had you contemplating why you wanted to finish your degree this year when you could instead cuddle up with her on the couch and put on a show to watch. 

However, the tiredness of the day was finally catching up to her and the Gunner wanted nothing more than to find you and drape herself over you, cuddles galore, her heaven on earth. 

Quickly peering into the kitchen and then the dining area before checking the living room, Alessia wandered through the living space, not wanting to shout for you lest you be on a call of some sort. 

Walking towards your office/makeshift study space, she started to take her wet hair out of its bun, hoping that she could get you to agree to plait it for her as you normally would. 

Between rainy English weather and the nearly two years of you two dating, it had become a sort of ritual between the pair of you- countless nights of a dimly lit living room, a brush in your hands as you sat on the couch with the footballer on the floor between your legs, you working ever so carefully and gently to untangle and braid her wet hair into a somewhat manageable braid.

It had started when you had realized that Alessia would leave her soaked, post-shower hair in a messy bun until it would eventually dry eons later, making everything her head came in contact with during the meantime a damp mess.

After the fourth time you had to change out of a wet t-shirt post cuddling session, you had finally given up on trusting the striker to do her own hair, instead taking matters into your own hands. 

Since then, it had become normal for the Englishwoman to find you after most practices or games, silently taking seat between your legs or in front of you with a towel, brush, and blow-dryer in hand. 

So Alessia made a quick stop to your shared ensuite, grabbing the aforementioned items in a breeze before continuing on the remainder of her short walk to you office next door. 

Well aware that you may be on one of your numerous zoom calls with a course mate or advisor of some sort, the blonde knocked gently before slowly turning the handle and peeking her head inside. 

Eyes just barely adjusting to the dimly lit room, Alessia sighed, already being able to tell you had barely left your study space for a while, the countless dishes piled up on the table beside you a worrying sign.

Stepping in and choosing to make her presence known, the blonde walked over to where you were sat at your desk in the back corner of the room, eyes focused intently on the screen in front of you. 

“Hi…”

Coming to stop right beside you, your girlfriend teetered from one foot to the other nervously, waiting for a reaction.

You barely looked up from your monitor as you hummed in response, a disastrous number of tabs open on the screen and the laptop beside you, mind nearly as scattered. 

Wringing her hands, her voice came out soft, nearly a whisper, heart already tired from the long day she had. 

“Could you please plait my hair when you get the chance?”

Had you been paying attention to the blonde one your left, you would’ve taken in the tiredness in her eyes, the defeated weight on her shoulders, and the nervousness thrumming in her body as she fiddled with the hairbrush in her hand. 

But you weren’t.

Eyes not leaving the screen for a second as you took notes on your iPad without looking down, you inhaled sharply. 

If you had known better, you wouldn’t have reacted as you did. Would’ve separated your frustration with your paper from your love for the striker. 

You didn’t however. 

Instead, you let your frustration seep through, a gruff exhale escaping you. 

“Less I’m busy. Just do it yourself yeah?”

Not waiting for an answer, you continued with the task at hand, flipping between another website and copying and pasting text into your notes document. 

Beside you, Alessia quickly shut her eyes, straightening her back in an effort not to become upset at your sharp answer. 

She knew you were stressed, this degree something you had been working on tirelessly to achieve. She knew this frustration wasn’t aimed at you, more so at the tight deadline coming up, the need for perfection that you craved. So why did she feel like shit now?

Taking a deep breath, she figured it would be worth a shot to ask you about dinner, aware that you likely hadn’t eaten- your habit of hyper focusing a common obstacle when it came to taking care of yourself. 

“Before I go, do you want anything in particular for supper? I was thinki-”

“Anything’s fine. I’ll eat later. I really need to finish this up.” Your voice cut in, not bothering to wait for her to finish. 

Eyebrows furrowing at your interjection, Alessia’s shoulders deflated, well aware that any time spend together was likely off the table for the night. As if this night couldn’t possibly get worse. 

Sighing near silently, the Arsenal forward turned on her heels, making her way out of the room quickly as to not disturb you any further. 

It was only when she had fully made it out of the room, door shut firmly behind her, that Alessia let the weight of the day crash on her.

As a handful of silent tears of frustration came barrelling down her face, the striker made her way back into your shared bedroom, haphazardly throwing the items from her hands onto the bathroom counter before wiping away the tears and throwing her hair into a bun once more. 

Deciding that tonight was not a night where the blonde wanted to be cooking, at least not anymore, not since you very likely wouldn’t be joining her, she reached for her phone, eyes scanning the numerous apps through her blurred vision before finding the desired delivery app. 

Quickly ordering comfort food for herself and your usual order from the restaurant she had chosen (she wasn’t heartless, could never be towards you), the striker threw herself onto the bed, arms coming to wrap around her own midsection in a vain attempt to provide herself with some comfort. 

And when the ordered food finally arrived, bag somehow soaked from the pouring weather, the Englishwoman knew that the universe was playing a cruel joke on her, maybe even getting her back for jumping on Leah when she had been soaked after practice earlier. 

Clenching her jaw, Alessia quietly plated her food before taking a seat at the island, dim lights and the soft murmur of the world outside the only company for her on the lonesome night, the empty stool beside her mocking her as she ate, a pounding headache growing due to the bun she wore, food lukewarm, and heart alone.

What a lovely night…

~~~

You were proud of yourself. 

It had taken nearly a week but here you were, essay nearly done, on the brink of submission a handful of days early, qualification for graduation just a few clicks away. 

All that was left was to proofread it for the fourth time, you well aware that you were being nit-picky, the perfectionist in you making itself known. 

But that could wait. That could most definitely wait. Because all you wanted to do right now, aching neck, tired eyes, and growling stomach in tow, was to relax with your girl for a bit, a well deserved reward should you say yourself.

Pushing yourself away from your desk, your eyes flickered over to top corner of your monitor, a place you tended not to look often in an attempt to not intimidate yourself with the passing minutes. 

Now though? Now you wish you had looked at the clock earlier.

Cursing yourself for being so caught up in your own mind that you had tuned out the world most important to you, you hastily got up from your seat. 

The bright digits glared at you as quickly started cleaning up your desk- 9:47 pm- much much later than you had anticipated. 

Exiting out of now useless tabs and turning off what needed to be shut down, your quickly grabbed your mountain of dishes, precariously balancing them as you tucked your nearly dead phone into your pocket and scrambled towards the door.

Less couldn’t be asleep right? Not yet at least…surely?

You silently prayed that the blonde was still awake, the pattering of the rain outside and darkness filling the empty corners of the apartment as you made your way to the kitchen. 

The silence in the apartment was eerily haunting, a reminder- no- an indication of just how selfish you had been. 

Entering the threshold, your eyes fell on the sticky note left on the counter, space barely illuminated by the streetlights.

Gently placing your dishes in the sink, letting warm water run over them, you backtracked, picking up the yellow post-it and reading the message- once and then again, heart sinking at the unsaid words. 

‘Supper’s in the fridge. Went to bed early.’

The lack of words told you everything you needed to know. You had fucked up.

No 'I love you', no 'I'll be waiting for you', none of that. Just eight direct words, saying everything that Alessia didn't voice.

Swallowing hard, you contemplated your options, wondering whether it would be worth the risk to potentially upset Alessia more than you already had.

It wasn’t a secret to you that the blonde hated late practices, especially on days like today, where there were double practices, afternoon and evening. Add the pouring rain that had brought you comfort the past few hours, hours that Less had likely passed around waiting for you, hair no doubt a mess, a headache likely from the cold, stuff you usually helped her prevent post-practices, you knew you had messed up. 

In your blindside to free yourself up early, you had ignored the one you loved. Just fucking great.

Deciding then and there to make amends, you made your way to your shared bedroom, taking the gamble to see whether Alessia had fallen asleep or not, hoping you could rectify your earlier actions. 

This time, it was your turn to nervously enter the room, turning the knob nervously and slowly stepping in. 

In front of you lay the taller girl, frame looking small on the bed, her back facing you, the dark room doing nothing to help your uneasiness.

Stepping forward, you reached out, pulling up the covers on your side of the bed, you sliding in after.

Holding your breath, you strained to listen to Alessia’s breathing, trained in being able to identify whether the blonde was on the brink of sleep or not, years of being together aiding you immensely.

Finally exhaling when you realized the blonde was still awake, you took your chances.

Keeping your voice soft, you let it carry, the weight of your words hanging in the air. 

“I know you’re still awake…”

You could feel the mattress move before she did, the blonde shuffling further to her own side of the bed, nearly falling off the edge with how much space she left in the middle. 

“Less…”

Silence being your only response, you tried again. 

“I’m sorry for being an ass.” 

This time you heard a slight huff. Not the best response but a response in the least- a positive in your eye. You chose to continue, hoping you could dig yourself out of this hole.

“I’m sorry for being huge dickwad. You didn’t deserve me snapping at you like that.”

And as Alessia’s hoarse voice responded, your gut sank with guilt, jaw tensing.

“Just the snapping? I asked you about supper and whether you could take just a few- a few- minutes to plait my hair like always, and you got upset with me.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am. You were only trying to help and you were tired yourself and I was dumb.” Surging forward, you reached out tentatively, slowly placing your hand on Alessia’s shoulder, pulling her into you.

“You really were.”

Placing a kiss on the back of her head once she was close enough, you murmured against her scalp. “Can I make it up to you? Let me braid your hair?”

“That doesn’t excuse your behaviour…”

Nodding in agreeance, you let your arms wrap around the taller girl’s waist. “It doesn’t, but I’ll get there, I promise.”

Alessia sinking backwards into your grasp at your words gave you the answer you needed, you holding her for a few more minutes before quickly rising up and getting the items you needed.

Turning on a lamp as you returned, you settled behind the footballer, plugging in the hair drier and undoing the bird’s nest on your lover’s head. 

Silently working, you meticulously dried the blonde’s hair enough that her pillow wouldn’t get any more soaked, teasing out the kinks and knots gently before braiding her hair loosely.

Finally pleased with your work, you set the comb and hair drier aside, pulling Alessia back against your front and wrapping her up in your hold, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder and lingering for a second.

“I can’t promise I won’t be stupid again, but I can promise you that I’ll try my best to never do that again.”

“No more ignoring me no matter how busy you are alright? Just let me in your head…tell me your plans so that I’m not left here waiting for god knows how long, as you snap at me when I try to care…please?”

“I promise. Solemnly swear in fact.”

Feeling the blonde smile at your words, you let a grin take over your own face. 

“Now, I know you already ate, but would you fancy joining me for dinner? It could be our own little date? You, me, a little Love Island, and ton of cuddles?”

And as Alessia turned in your hold, burying her face into the crook of your neck, you kissed the her crown, holding her just a tad bit tighter. 

Only making a move to get up when your stomach grumbled loudly, you shot a sheepish smile to the angel in your arms before loosening your hold.

And as the pair of you exited the room, hand in hand, you made sure to grab the softest blanket you could, her comfort blanket, settling the striker on the couch before rushing into the kitchen to make yourself a plate of food, getting an extra helping, well aware that your girlfriend would munch with you.

Nearly sprinting back to the living room, food in hand, the pair of you got comfortable, the blonde resting her head on your shoulder, blanket wrapped around you both as the tv illuminated the living room, the rain now setting a comforting tone to the night.

Feeding the Gunner small bites as you ate your food, the two of you managed to finish off the plate quite quickly, setting it on the table before sinking together, a few more episodes, a handful of minute more spend cuddling.

Mindlessly tracing your fingers up her arm, you pulled the tired woman into you, body shuffling to lay across the couch, Alessia's head resting on your chest as the other girl whispered out little comments at every turn in the show.

It was only when you could finally feel the taller girl’s body growing heavier a bit more with each passing minute that you decided that it was a good time to head to bed.

Skimming your fingers up and down her spine, tracing the ridges of her back, you slowly, just barely, pulled Alessia out of her lethargic state, silently pulling her into a sitting position.

Moving to get up, you wrapped the blanket around her, ignoring her groans of protest at her own personal space heater walking away.

Convincing her you would only be a minute, you ran and put ur dishes away before coming back to usher a somewhat sleepy Less to your bedroom, the blonde slightly waking up a bit more at the movement.

Walking both yourself and your sleepy counterpart through brushing your teeth, you pulling silly faces randomly before splashing the taller girl with some water to tease her, you eventually managed to get the two of you back into bed, you on your back and the taller girl resting her head on your chest, sleepy yawns escaping her as she got comfortable once more.

Taking her now dry hair out of its braid, you loosely combed your fingers through it, nails scratching her scalp in a successful effort to soothe.

“Tell me about your day?” Your voice was quiet, just barely audible, not wanting to rouse the girl in your arms any further.

“Well my girlfriend was kind of an arse to me…”

Shaking your head as your chest rumbled with silent laughter, you gently hit Alessia’s shoulder. 

“I mean it...I wanna listen dork.”

And as the blonde recited her day to you, you could feel her breathing get heavier, the tiredness finally catching up to her.

Placing a gentle kiss on top of her head, you murmured another quiet apology as Alessia’s voice died down, you tightening your hold, mentally vowing never to let yourself get consumed by school or work so immensely ever again.

Unbeknown to you, the striker was just barely awake, her whispers of ’never again’ making her conscious state known. 

Agreeing, you repeated the words, whispering an I love you, the sentiment returned before Alessia’s breathing finally evened out, body completely relaxed in your hold. Finally letting yourself unwind, the tension from studying earlier totally seeping out of your body, you let a smile spread across your face.

Well aware this was all you really needed, you let the warmth spread through your body.

Here, your lover in your hold, silent breaths puffed against your neck, the weight of your love hanging comfortably in the air, you followed Alessia’s lead, letting sleep overcome you, everything that really mattered to you in this world, here, in your arms. 

[hazbininlove]

Hopelessly Devoted

Chapter 1

-About 5k of worldbuilding and angst

There’s an angel in Heaven few know of. Some wonder if she purposely let herself be forgotten, and others know that her isolation isn’t entirely her own fault.

Heaven’s structure wasn’t as simple as Hell’s mainly due to the fact that there were so many roles to play. Not every Archangel and or Virtue was a Seraphim. Seraphim has always been the highest rank, but even amongst themselves there was another ranking system not many knew of, and even they had other angels that outranked them due solely to the Divine’s words. Everyone had their own task, some, the Archangels, were given their tasks directly from the Divine.

The Seven, as they were called, were the Capital Virtues, angels with the rank of Archangel, dedicated undoubtedly to the Divine’s will. As extensions of the Divine, they were rarely seen within any city of Heaven besides possibly the Primum Mobile, where the Divine resided. Few winners were allowed there because only Virtuous Souls could enter those gates. While there were many virtues, the Seven were the ones to look towards to enforce the Divine’s will both in Heaven, and on Earth.

And within that Primum Mobile, the Heaven of the Angels, resides a Seraphim with the rank of Archangel, not a virtue but an angel nearly as old. She’s been around since before the Earth’s creation, long before the Garden of Eden.

She remained there in the Primum Mobile, kept within the walls of the palace, free to leave but knowing it was best to stay. Michael looked upon her, saddened by her melancholy that has not left her for thousands of years. She sat within the library, her black hair falling down her back in gentle waves as wisps of hair fell towards her midnight blue eyes. The two streaks of white weaves through her hair on either side of her. Her lips were set in a straight line, the blue circular marks on the corner of her mouth a stark contrast to the gray of her skin. She flipped the page of her book as he approached, and when she sensed him, she looked up to him with a soft smile on her face.

“Michael, always a pleasure,” she says, and though her tone is welcoming, Michael can still see the pain within her eyes when she looks at him. It breaks his heart knowing exactly why it’s there, but he feels no regret for following the task that the Divine gave him. He knows she understands this, but he also knows that it does nothing to ease her suffering, and nothing has for eons.

“Esther, my dear, when was the last time you left these walls?”

She looks away from him and back to her book, her fingers absently toying with the pages. “I sat in the Garden with Ramiel a few days ago.”

He sighs, knowing that it likely took weeks just to get her to do that much.

“You aren’t confined here, not anymore, and you know that. I know we… I made the mistake of keeping you here long ago as a precaution but that was centuries ago now. You are free to roam the cities as you once did, to roam Earth should you choose to! It pains us to see you like this,” he says, reaching forward to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. His hand slides down her cheek towards her chin to lift her face and see her eyes. “We miss our Eveningstar.”

“I am the Seraph and Archangel of balance, and yet I feel none,” she whispers to him, and his heart breaks for her. “I understand why I was kept here, you know I’ve never questioned the Divine’s words, but it does nothing to fill the emptiness I feel. A half of me is gone, Michael, and I’ll never get him back. Your Eveningstar is here, but my Morningstar is forever out of reach.”

His hand moves back to her cheek, and her eyes flutter closed and she leans into his touch.

“If I gave you a task, one that forced you out of these walls, would you follow it?” He asks her gently.

“A task from you means a task sent from the Divine. Of course I will follow it,” she replies, her voice a bit louder now, with a hint of playfulness. He knows she isn’t happy about it, but as she said, she will follow if that is what the Divine asks of her.

“Gabriel gave me the message, as he thought it was best that I give it to you. There is apparently a meeting today for the Head Council of the first Sphere, one that Sera seemed to not notify us of. The Divine knows, of course, but wouldn’t speak more of it. All Gabriel said was that you were to go to this meeting, assess what Sera is keeping from us, and report back.”

Michael didn’t care much for Sera. She was nice enough, and her devotion was clear, but there was something about her that reminded him a bit of his brother. She wasn’t a dreamer, and she knew when to keep her head down and voice quiet, but she also looked too calculating and too ambitious.

“It sounds like you are keeping something from me as well,” Esther replies, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

He was keeping something from her. He knows it’s best to tell her now instead of letting her be surprised later, but there’s no easy way to say it. “Gabriel has reason to believe that the request for the meeting came from Hell.”

He watches her eyes widen a bit, her jaw falling just slightly as she leans away from his hand. He tries to follow, to keep her grounded, but she leans closer to him now. “If the meeting came from Hell, that can only mean that he requested it.”

“Yes.”

Her breath stutters, and he can see her visibly shaken. “Thousands of years kept here to ensure I don’t see him and all of a sudden, I’m asked to go see him? Michael, what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” he responds, truthful in his answers. He won’t lie to her, he can’t, but he wishes that he could. “If it was up to me, I’d go myself, but Gabriel said that the task was given only to you. I don’t know if it will be him, or Lilith, or… or their daughter. All Gabriel was able to say was that it has something to do with Hell.”

He hates having to be the one to remind her that the Morningstar moved on and had a child. He remembers the day that Gabriel delivered the news. He’d watched as she’d stretched her wings before curling the highest pair over her eyes as she turned and walked away from them, hiding herself deeper into the palace. They hadn’t seen a single tear fall, but Michael still recalls the small broken sound she’d made before hiding away from the rest of them.

He watches again now as her wings settle behind her with a flurry of silver dust, and she stands from her seat. The wings closest to her head, just as before, curl around her, concealing her face from view once more. Her lowest pair curls around her legs, still giving her room to walk but still wrapped like a comforting embrace. The middle pair don’t wrap around her, but they remain limp behind her as if there wasn’t a single bone in them.

“When is the meeting?” She asks him quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. He wants to reach out and comfort her, but she’s already moving towards the door.

“Tomorrow,” he replies. He watches her pause at the doorway for a moment before she turns slightly towards him. Her face is still hidden from him but she gives him a small bow of her head in acknowledgment before walking away.

He has a terrible feeling about this, but he can’t do anything about it. All he can do is trust the Divine as he too leaves the library, letting his own pair of wings come out as he flies back to where he’d last seen Gabriel.

——————————

Charlie recalls being in Heaven and seeing an angel with dark hair and midnight blue eyes. Her skin was gray, just slightly darker than Vaggie’s, and her cheeks had blue circles on them, much like her own and her father’s red cheek marks. She could tell the woman was a high ranking angel, based on the six wigs like her father’s though hers were blue on the inside where he father’s were a deep red. She was beautiful, just as all the other angels there, but there was something about her that felt familiar.

What really got Charlie had been the angel’s eyes. She smiled at those who greeted her, keeping her expression kind and welcoming, but her smile never reached her eyes. It almost looked like she wasn’t truly seeing the people she was speaking to, a far away look in her eyes. She kept her interactions to a minimum.

When Charlie had asked Emily about her, she watched the Seraphim of Joy’s eyes widen happily before abruptly tensing and looking nervous. She looked between Charlie and the other angel with fidgeting hands and cleared her throat.

“That’s Esther…. She’s the Eveningstar,” Emily had said.

Charlie remembers tensing as well, looking back to where she was walking in a new direction. She’s wanted to approach Esther, to say something, but she kept herself rooted in her spot. What could she even say? Hi, I’m Charlie Morningstar, you know the daughter your other half had with someone else!

And how stupid would that sound? Did Esther even know of Charlie’s existence? Did she know that Charlie was even there?

And then she saw her in the meeting. Even Sera had seemed surprised to see her, but Esther kept her gaze on Charlie the whole time. Charlie’s heart nearly broke seeing that far away look in your eyes clear for a moment, likely seeing her resemblance to her father. Esther’s smile never faltered, but there was definitely a sadder quality to it.

Sera seemed to want to continue speaking to her, but she’d excused herself and flew to a higher viewing point beside Emily. Sera looked frustrated, but hadn’t said more, just flew to join them on the podium.

And then that disastrous meeting had happened. Esther had seemed as receptive as Emily, until the moment Adam slipped and mentioned the exterminations. Esther’s eyes had widened, she hadn’t said much, but Charlie could see the glow around her increasing in size and the anger in her expression.

She’d been flung back to hell before she could hear how that ended.

And now, just days since her hotel was rebuilt after the destruction Adam caused, she hadn’t expected to see a portal open in the sky just outside her hotel and Esther come flying down.

The portal had alerted all of them. They rushed to get weapons ready, her dad already had his wings out and ready until they saw who it was. The others kept their weapons up, but Charlie dropped her weapon in surprise and watched as her dad’s wings drooped and his eyes widened in shock.

Esther looked as beautiful as she did the last time Charlie saw her. Her black hair fell around her face and down just past her shoulders in waves. She still had that same sad, soft smile on her face, though her eyes looked more present. Her wings, just as large and radiant as her father’s, fluttered gently around her to keep her afloat.

Charlie watches as Esther looks to her dad briefly before focusing her attention back to herself. She could feel her dad’s confused gaze as Esther approached her, her smile dropping to a frown as she spoke.

“I apologize that I couldn’t be here soon and stop them. Things in Heaven have been… hectic, to say the least. But I wanted to let you know in person that I’ve been doing everything I can to make sure these exterminations never happen again,” Esther said. Her voice is melodic, but soft and almost airy. It felt so different from her father’s richer tone of voice. She sounded and looked so apologetic as she spoke, and based on her reaction back in the meeting, Charlie didn’t doubt that she truly was. “Sera did a great job of keeping her secrets, but the other Seraphim have been made aware, including the Seven, have been made aware now, and they won’t allow for further oversight.”

Charlie cheers with her friends, all excited about the news that there would be no further exterminations, but she could see her dad’s uncertain expression.

“You expect me to believe that the others, that Michael, are just going to leave us alone?” Lucifer asks, his tone doubtful.

Charlie watches as Esther’s wings rattle, the feathers ruffling just slightly, and her eyes close. She takes a deep breath before she turns to Lucifer with a sad expression, her frown deepening. “We haven’t seen each other in eons, and that is the first thing you say to me, Morningstar?”

Lucifer tenses further, pulled tight like a band ready to snap. He looks properly scolded in a way Charlie hasn’t seen anyone besides herself or her mother be capable of.

“It’s uh…it’s been a while? How’ve you been, Eveningstar? You don’t look like you’ve aged a day past a thousand!”

Oh, he’s nervous. Her dad only rambled like that when he was nervous. It’d be a bit funny, if it wasn’t so awkward and a little sad to see him so anxious when confronted by the person who might as well be his soulmate. He was trying to look anywhere but at her, his hands moving sporadically as he fixed his collar, patted down his sleeves, or adjusted his hat.

Her wings curl around her, the top most moving to shield her face, but she doesn’t completely hide it from view. Her dad doesn’t see her expression, still caught up in trying to force his attention anywhere else, but he sees her wings shift, and by the time he looks back, Esther has focused back on Charlie.

“Azrael may come down, as the angel of death, he’s the most upset by this, but Michael is more upset by Sera’s lies than anything else. Unless it is something that directly affects the Divine and Heaven’s safety, he’ll stay in his place. As of now, your actions are seen as a necessary sign of self defense, and that is something even Michael can acknowledge. Unless you plan to directly attack Heaven, Michael has no need to act.”

It’s a relief, and it’s clear on her face because Esther’s smile grows a bit more warm, and a bit more genuine. And just as quickly as it was there, her smile fell again when her dad mumbled “He sure didn’t hesitate to act when I gave Eve the apple.”

“Well luckily self-defense and allowing evil into the world seem to be offenses on opposite sides of the spectrum,” Esther replied, glaring down at him. She wasn’t as tall as Charlie, but she was taller than Vaggie and her dad. Her dad grumbles a bit but doesn’t say anything else, thankfully.

Esther quickly looks to Charlie once more, her smile now a bit sharper due to her annoyance with Lucifer, but kind all the same.

“Wait a sec,” Angel Dust interrupts, stepping forward. “What the actual fuck is going on? We’re just going to ignore the fact that these two know each other?” he asks, pointing between Lucifer and Esther. “And Eveningstar? Morningstar? Hello?!”

“Angel, for once, consider shutting the fuck up,” Vaggie says, groaning as she looks over at the taller sinner.

“What?” Angel whines back. “You can’t expect me to not be surprised when meeting an angel older than Earth who isn’t trying to kill me!””

“I suppose I should introduce myself. I apologize for not doing so earlier,” Esther said, turning to the larger group. “My name is Esther Eveningstar, the Archangel of balance. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“So are you two related or some shit?” Husk asks, just as confused as the rest. Lucifer looks disgusted at the thought, and Esther looks horrified.

“Oh Heavens, no!” Her wings fluttered a bit, and Charlie couldn’t help but be impressed how expressive she was with her wings. “We were um… well…”

“We are a pair,” Lucifer interrupts, looking distraught and completely hurt by her struggle to put their relationship into words. “We’re the original pair.”

Esther looks sad, eyes downcast and her hands fidgeting with the skirt of her dress. “Yes, a pair. We were named the sphere we were created for, Venus, the Morning and Evening Star, the closest to Earth, the first and last seen as the Sun rises and falls. I was created after Lucifer, as a companion… a pair. An even balance.”

“And yet, you spent more time apart than together! How interesting,” Alastor adds. Esther visibly deflates at this, and Lucifer’s teeth grit as his sclera briefly shifts to red.

“Yes, well, things happen, of course! I mean, given the universe's track record I think it’s fair to say that forcing a pair is never for the best. I mean, when has it ever worked, right?” she replies, an awkward chuckle as she continues to stretch the fabric of her dress.

“Hold on now,” Lucifer says, taking a step towards her. She seems to lean towards him, giving herself just that one moment, before she flinches and takes a step back. Lucifer pauses too, unsure of what to do. His voice grows softer, much more gentle now than the awkward banter of earlier. “We worked. We work! We definitely work. I mean, they were based on us!”

“And they separated rather quickly, didn’t they?” Esther asked back, knowing exactly what he was talking about. “Then the next wanted more, and you wanted someone else. How many pairs were made after that?”

The Story of Hell, Charlie realizes quickly. They’re talking about Adam and Lilith being a failed pair, followed by Eve’s temptation for more knowledge despite being created specifically for Adam from a piece of Adam’s own body. And the fall, wanting someone else; Esther didn’t have the book. She didn’t know Lucifer’s and Lilith’s side. To her, Lucifer had abandoned her for someone else, for Lilith.

“No, Esther, no, please, you can’t honestly tell me that you believe that. You know I didn’t leave you for someone else. You know, I never meant to let evil in, or to fall, or- or any of it! Please, Es, you have to know that,” Lucifer pleads with her.

And Charlie sees the exact moment, when her dad reaches out to touch her, that Esther sees her dad’s hand, shifts her eyes to look directly at Charlie, and looks back at Lucifer with a look that looks so much like defeat and acceptance that it nearly makes Charlie feel sick.

Vaggie’s hand squeezes her own, and Charlie knows she saw it too. The worst part is, she knows Esther isn’t blaming her, isn’t putting any fault on her, but part of her feels like she is the problem here. If she hadn’t been born, would this whole situation have been different? Would their reunion have been more pleasant, or heartfelt?

“I know you didn’t mean for evil to find its way to Earth, or for Hell’s creation,” Esther says back, just as gentle as Lucifer’s when he spoke, and just as broken. It doesn’t escape any of them that she said nothing about being left for someone else, because at the end of the day, Lucifer may not have fallen in love with anyone else, but that didn’t mean he remained entirely faithful either. And while it seemed that he had moved on, likely the way so many in Heaven believed, she had not. And Charlie couldn’t blame her. The majority of Hell’s residents, he’ll born and sinner alike, didn’t even know her part in the story. Most books erased her part entirely and made her parent’s story one of love. Her parent’s never even married.

Esther takes a step away from them, away from Lucifer, and she pretends she doesn’t see his heart break as he looks at her with eyes overflowing with pain.

Instead, Charlie watches as Esther’s attention is focused back on her once more. “Gabriel also wanted me to mention that your hotel works, and the Divine would be pleased to see you continue with this plan of yours. Sinner has arrived at the first Sphere, a being by the name of Sir Pentious, I believe Emily said.”

“What?” Charlie gasps, shock taking over. Beside her, Vaggie has let go of her hand to grab her shoulders, shaking her a bit. “It- It worked?! Sir Pentious is alive?!”

Esther smiles at her and takes her hands, bringing them together. “He is doing well, as far as the reports say. Emily has tasked herself with taking care of him.”

It doesn’t take long for Charlie to start sobbing. Esther looks flustered, unsure of what to do, but Vaggie brings her closer into a hug and Esther’s hands drop from hers.

“You hear that, Vaggie? We did it! Sir Pentious is in Heaven now,” she says between sobs, grabbing at the back of Vaggie’s shirt. She feels Vaggie patting her hair, shushing her a bit to try and calm her.

”Holy shit, it actually works! Well damn, guess it’s time to get serious, huh?” Angel remarks from the side. Vaggie gives him a glare, likely at the implication that he hadn’t been taking them seriously before, and his second set of arms raise in defense.

“So the big fella upstairs isn’t about to smite us or something?” Husk asks, pushing Angel out of the way.

”Of course not! The Divine is always just in punishment and forgiveness. Human souls are the Divine’s children just as the angels. All are worthy of forgiveness should they seek it and work virtuously towards it. Forgiveness is not easy to obtain, but it is worth the effort,” Esther explains to them.

“But, why now? Why didn’t any of this come up before the Exterminations were started?” Vaggie asks.

Esther shakes her head. “It is not my place to question the Divine. Rarely are we given clear answers, usually just a push in the direction that leads us where we need to go. I must keep my belief that everything happens for a reason the Divine chooses. Every task we are given is from the Divine, and we follow it without question.”

”So he probably knew of the extermination and knew that Sera chick was keeping secrets this whole time, and just let it happen?” Angel adds. Esther visibly winces.

”It sounds terrible, I know. None of us are happy about it. But again, we have to trust there is a reason for all of this. There is a reason that now is the time to put an end to it. I believe it’s because of you, Charlie,” she says, smiling towards her.

”Me?”

Esther chuckles at her incredulous reply. “You may be hellborn but… you are the daughter of an angel. You’re a demon, yes, but you’re also technically a Nephilim.”

”What’s a Nephilim?” Nifty asks, having climbed up onto Alastor’s shoulders. Esther smiles up at her.

“A Nephilim is a child born of an angel and a human.” She looks back at Charlie now. “You’ve certainly got an interesting mix in you; a Seraphim, a Human, and a Demon all combined. Not only that, but the first of each kind! I believe if anyone would be capable of bringing upon redemption for the souls of sinners, it would be someone capable of understanding both sides.”

She laughs a bit at the awestruck looks they are shifting between her and Charlie. She didn’t think it would be that surprising, considering it’s no secret that Lucifer was not only a Seraphim, but a Archangel and Virtue himself, but it seems Lucifer didn’t mention much about Heaven to her.

“I will be returning every so often, to check on your progress as well as keep you up to date on the status of Heaven. As I mentioned before, Sera will be punished for her actions. How the Divine chooses to do so has yet to be seen, but Gabriel and Michael will likely be the ones to deal with that. Now,” she says, her tone lowering slightly as she turns back to Lucifer, expression once again tense. “Samael, a word in private, please?”

She bows slightly to the group before turning and walking away. Charlie looks around in confusion as to who Samael was, if another angel had been with her, when see’s her dad’s shoulders raise and back straighten. He shifts slightly on his feet before trudging behind her, dragging his feet the whole time.

”Am I missing something else? Who the fuck is Samael?” Angel asks.

”It’s Lucifer,” Vaggie replies. Even Charlie looks at her, confused. “I thought you guys knew this? You know how before you got to hell, you thought Lucifer and Satan were the same person? It’s kinda like that. His name is Lucifer, always has been, but every Archangel, every Virtue, has a name in reference to God. His name was Samael. And like most of the high ranking angels, he had a lot of roles.”

”How do you know all this?” Charlie asks. “And what were his roles? The Story of Hell doesn’t mention any of that.”

Vaggie shrugs. “Heaven’s got a lot of books, and I had a lot of time. Plus, your dad doesn’t like to talk about Heaven, so I’m not surprised he made sure it wasn’t in the book. He was known as a lot of things; an angel of music who led the choirs in God’s name, the Virtue of Humility, and an angel of death, created to destroy sin.”

”You expect me to believe the first sin, the sin of Pride, the one that created this damned place, was a Virtue?” Husk asks. He looks irritated, and Vaggie’s expression matches his.

”He was one of the original Capital Virtues, one of the Seven. But every Virtue has a Vice and Lucifer fell to his. He hated sin, but he also wasn’t against it. It’s why he was called a dreamer. He wanted people to have free will, because he wanted people to be able to choose between right and wrong, and hoped that if humans were created to be as good as God said, they wouldn’t choose wrong.”

”But they did,” Charlie replies, voice just above a whisper. Vaggie nods at her interruption.

“I think it’s why he allowed the exterminations in the first place. He allowed for free will, allowed the possibility of sin, but he never meant for evil to come with it, or hell to be created. So he allowed sinners to be killed, because that was one of his tasks as an angel of death, to destroy sin.”

”But he’s now the Sin of Pride, he may hate it, but he’ll never say that he was wrong. And he wasn’t! People should have the chance to choose for themselves! He should take pride in that,” Charlie says, wanting to defend her dad. From who, she isn’t sure, maybe the universe at this point. None of this felt fair. It felt like he was doomed from the start.

”I know, sweetheart. I’m just saying, there’s a lot more to the story than just Hell’s side of things,” Vaggie replies, patting her arm. “So yeah, Lucifer is the name he was given as a Seraphim based on his Sphere, but Samael is the name he was given based on his role as an Archangel and Virtue.”

”Why does this sound like it’s gonna turn into a whole lesson. I thought I had enough school time when I was alive, don’t tell me I gotta deal with this shit in death too. And you angels keep talkin’ about Spheres! The fuck is that supposed to be?” Angel whines. Husk elbows him in the hip and he whines more, swatting at his arm.

”The same way Hell has it’s seven rings, Heaven has it’s seven spheres. It’s… a lot, honestly, and I think we can save the Heaven History lessons for another day, because there’s a lot to get into and I think we’ve all had enough for the day.”

”Quite so,” Alastor says. “How about we all head back into the hotel and let our King handle the rest. I’m sure he’ll tell us if there’s anything else of importance we need to know.”

Nifty hops off of him and starts walking back to the hotel without question, giggling to herself about all the bugs she’s sure to catch now that she’s given them a chance to roam. Husk and Angel shrug and follow, most likely already planning to sit at the bar and drink themselves under the table after all the revelations they’ve had today.

Charlie looks to where her dad and Esther are still talking, neither of them really looking at the other, but both still somehow almost leaning towards each other.

”They’ll be okay, Charlie,” Vaggie says, taking her hand once more. “Unconditional, remember?”

”Yeah,” Charlie replies, looking down at her girlfriend with a small smile. “I just hope that’s enough for them.”

——————————————————

Oh boy this took me a while to figure out how to write.

To make it clear, Esther and Lucifer were never married, but they were in a romantic relationship, which is why Esther believes Lucifer did cheat on her and believes part of the reason he and Lilith did what they did and fell is because of that.

The worldbuilding is mostly about Heaven. Since we don’t see much of it in the show, there’s a lot to speculate on. The same way the show sort of reference’s Dante’s rings of hell, I’m also going to base Heaven loosely on Dante’s spheres of paradise.

Also! I drew a picture of how I see Esther in my style, as well as a little doodle of how I’d draw Lucifer in my own style (yes, I gave him a little nose). The same way Lucifer has a lighter streak in his hair, I wanted Esther to have something similar, but ended up with just two streaks of white on both sides of her hair. I tried a couple different hairstyles and outfits on her before I settled on this one (though part of me is debating if I want her to eventually cut her hair. I haven’t decided yet).

[hisunshiine]

—"lemme swallow your pride" [2/7]

Part 2 of 7 of the Seven Days Series ↣ series masterlist

🗓️ pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️ au/genre: non-idol au, brother’s friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut, 🗓️ rating: M 🗓️ wc: 3,629 🗓️ warnings: emotionally constipated pairing, reader is older, adult worries, growing older, dating younger, time passing and not hitting milestones everyone else is, jealousy, using sex to deflect, explicit sexual content: oral (m receiving), spitting, cum swallowing, multiple orgasms, light degradation (cum slut), praise, shaft riding, mutual orgasm    🗓️ an: part 2 is here! And yes, based on the title alone, I am sure you are able to figure out exactly what type of sex this story focuses on.  🗓️ summary: “Open up say ahhh, Come here, baby, let me swallow your pride…” Jungkook comes over for an impromptu movie night that triggers some internal angst. You share a little, and he shares a lot... and your angst turns a little green. To change the topic when it gets a little too deep, you deepthroat him.

Taglist: @sizzlingfestpeach @mochminnie @jungkooksmytype @kookslastbutton @taebangtanbabe (if joining the taglist, please think about reblogging with tags/leaving feedback!)

“I need butter for my popcorn!” Jungkook is his usual whiny self as he stands in the kitchen, taking up space in the most unhelpful way as you prepare snacks for a movie night he planned in his own head and decided to carry out in your living room.

“Go finish the blanket fort, or whatever you were building in the living room,” you order with a small shove to his back, “I will put ample butter on the popcorn—this is not my first Jungkook Movie Night rodeo.”

Jungkook turns to shoot a glare at you over his shoulder, but he shuffles out of the kitchen to the living room without additional fuss. You resume your task, opening another packet of popcorn to cook in the microwave, then search the fridge for a stick of salted butter. Once it sounds like most of the kernels have metamorphosed into fluffy crunch balls of love, you swap the packet for the bowl of butter and let it melt.

Over the hum of the microwave, you can hear Jungkook whistling the main track to the movie he picked, his body appearing in your line of sight every few seconds as he shifts around the room to finish his task.

The beeps signaling the melted butter is ready cause you to jump a little, with how engrossed you are in watching him move. As a male nurse, he’s quite fit. You’re well acquainted with how fit he is, and you can’t help but admire his body when he’s wearing a white, sleeveless, ribbed tank top and black Nike shorts. 

Wistfully, you look down at your own comfy outfit, sleep shorts and a shirt Jungkook left at your place eons ago, wishing you could look as hot as he does without effort. Switching focus, you turn your eyes to the microwave and top off the large bowl full of popped corn with waterfalls of butter for your savory snack. (Whether the savory snack is the popcorn or Jungkook, you’ll never tell!)

“Hurry up! I’m wasting away here!” he’s over-the-top dramatic right now, something you’ve experienced with him before. Whenever he’s lost a patient at work, he doesn’t like to talk about what happened and often can’t because of patient confidentiality, but he seeks out comfort in ways like this: creating a soft place to hideout, comfort foods and movies, and begging for all of your attention. You never ask him about it, and you’re sure it has to do with the last patient he saw before arriving late last night. You think the theatrics are his way of lightening his soul from the sadness, and you’re unable to resist.  

“Oh dear, what will Ggukkie do without this small snack?” you ask as you carry the large bowl into the dim room. 

“Fuck, yes!” He reaches for the bowl so you can settle onto the couch, ducking your head under the blanket he’s strategically strewn across the top of the couch with well-positioned pillows and dining room chairs.

Pressing play on your smart TV remote, you both settle in with a blanket over your laps as the opening scene reveals people trapped in traffic and then Jungkook’s melodious voice quietly sings along to ‘Another Day of Sun’.

Leaning your head onto his shoulder, you sink into the show tunes—made better by Jungkook’s voice—and let yourself become immersed in the characters’ problems, forgetting your own. 

“I hate this movie, Jungkook, and you always make us watch it,” you sniffle, rubbing at your eyes. “It’s just so real, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s one of the reasons I love it. I think it’s a true take on the real world—tragic—but realistic.”

You fiddle with the frayed edges of the throw blanket on your lap as Jungkook begins clearing the empty bowl and mostly empty glasses of apple juice from the coffee table.

“Sometimes I like to escape real life, though, you know? I—never mind. What’s next on the movie agenda?” you question, but Jungkook returns to plop down next to you, practically sitting on top of your lap, and won’t let you deflect.

“No, no, talk to me. What’s on your mind? You’ve been thinking a lot lately. Almost couldn’t sleep last night because of it.” 

“Hey, I was sleeping, but someone decided to tire us both out even more, if I remember correctly.”

“Apples and oranges, babe. I even made it to work for my meeting before shift started. So tell me what you were about to say, or I’ll tickle it out of you.”

He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, his face set in determined seriousness, and you know from your own experiences that once he starts tickling, he won’t stop until you’re screaming for sweet release from the painful pleasure that is his fingers dancing across the soles of your feet, your neck, or your tummy and ribs.

“Fine. I hate La La Land, because they went through all of that, supporting one another through pursuing their dreams, just for them to not end up together in the end? It’s not the escape from reality that I want in a movie.” You keep your eyes down on the blanket, top teeth worrying your bottom lip.

He says your name softly as he takes one of your fidgeting hands into his larger one. “I feel like there’s more to it. Talk to me, babe.” He stresses the second sentence, and you can tell his doe eyes are searching—no—yearning to make contact with yours.  

“I know you probably aren’t even like…thinking about this kind of shit yet, but Yoongi is getting married. This weekend. And of course, my mom has been hounding me now,” you raise your voice an octave higher to mimic your mom, “saying ‘When are you next? Your younger brother is getting married, and you can’t even give me grandchildren yet.’ I hate it.

“And this movie just makes me scared that I’ll end up in something like it, in a relationship that serves as nothing but a chapter in my life, instead of being the whole book. That I’ll waste time with someone who’s not going to be there a few weeks, months, or years from now.”

Jungkook settles back against the couch with a hum, strong arms folded across his chest. “That’s tough, babe. I can imagine this feeling has gotten worse now too, what with Yoongi’s wedding looming. You know what’s crazy—you’re not the first person to say something similar.”

“Really? Who else do you know has a younger sibling getting married and is feeling the pressure?”

“Actually, you remember SoHee?” Jungkook asks timidly. You do. SoHee is another nurse who used to work with Jungkook at the hospital, but Yoongi helped her get hired at the high school you work at as the school nurse. It’s summer break, so you haven’t seen her in weeks, but of course you remember her.

“Yeah, we work together, duh.”

Jungkook tries and fails to hide the smile building on his face, small dimples appearing to frame his chiseled jawline as he begins to talk about her. 

“Well, she’s picked up a few shifts here and there at the hospital, since it’s summer break and all, and we’ve been texting again. She’s actually a lot like you…But we were just talking the other night, and she was saying how she’s been worried about turning 30 next year, and not being married with kids yet.”

“Do I talk about this a lot?” you ponder. 

“I mean, not like a lot, but it seems to be a theme or something for all the ladies in my life who are a little older than me.”

“Ladies in your life?” You try to keep your tone level, but your face always gives you away. You can feel the way your energy shifts as you tilt your head and raise an eyebrow (or attempt to raise just one eyebrow) to look back at him. 

“Yeah, you, SoHee, some of the other nurses and doctors I talk to at work.” Jungkook spreads his legs wider, and his arms drape along the back of the couch as he settles deeper into the cushions. “SoHee just said she wasn’t interested in, like, playing games, or whatever. She’s said she’s done sleeping around and going out clubbing because she wants to develop something real. It’s something all of you say, all of the older women.”

You internally cringe at the way he refers to you as an ‘older woman’, and your chest tightens at being lumped together with others. You’re his best friend, hell, you take better care of his dick than you take care of your car—what with you topping off his fluids more than your Hyundai and all. To shake the uncomfortable feeling away and climb back out of the hole of deep feelings, you do what you do best. Turn it into something humorous, sexual, or both. In this instance, you go for both. 

“Why are we talking about deep feelings instead of deep throating?”

Jungkook’s boisterous laugh fills your living room, and fills the holes in your heart.

“I don’t know, but I think I’d like to talk more about deep throating.”

Sliding off the couch and positioning yourself between Jungkook’s spread knees, you place your palms on each of his thighs. He reflexively flexes his quads at the touch, and you see him visibly gulp in anticipation.

“Me too.” Though, you have no plans of talking—just doing; showing. You do love to perform for him.

Your hands slowly traverse to the waistband of his black shorts, the soft fabric allowing your fingers to slide up with ease, and the stretchy waistband allowing them to slide down around his muscular thighs without resistance. You release them to pool around his slippered feet, eyes only focusing on the way his proud appendage takes on a darkening, blush-colored hue as his hands grip the edge of his tight tank and pull it up to reveal his six-pack. You take note that he’s shaved his happy trail, leaving an unblemished view that directs you to his pride and joy.

Licking your lips, you shuffle closer and rise up higher on your knees so that you can greet his cock with your moistened mouth—tiny pecks that tease Jungkook so he’ll make your favorite sounds. Your eyes shift to his—brown and dilated in desire.

Gathering your spit, your hand holds his shaft still so that you can slowly drip the clear secretion to meet his tip, watching him watch you slather it from top to bottom as you begin to ready him for what’s to come. (Hint: it’s him). Dropping lower, you take the blushing head into your mouth, tongue swirling around as you get a good taste of the pearlescent pre-cum that accumulated from your strokes. Jungkook squirms minimally each time your tongue brushes the bottom of his cock, sensitive to your ministrations.

“Fucking tease, you know that?” he asks you, and you just smile—or smile as best you can with his cock in your mouth. 

Taking him deeper into your mouth, you break eye contact so that you can add some vigor to your movements, lips wrapping around your teeth to protect his shaft from any accidental nips. He reaches the back of your throat, leading you to gag, which was your goal. Your mouth fills with more spit, the fluid allowing faster movement as you ease back to the first half of his cock, your hand working from the base to meet your lips. 

It’s sloppy, and the sounds of your hydrous cock-sucking mix with curses and strangled iterations of your name. Jungkook’s hands move from clenching the fabric of the abandoned blanket and couch to your face—he loves to hold your cheeks and feel the way they hollow out as you blow him, his eyes never moving from the view. 

Your eyelashes, wet from choking on him, make you look so innocent when you peek up at him through them—but the way your pouty lips envelop him, bobble-heading in his lap, remind him that you are anything but. Your spit is everywhere. It dribbles down from the base of his shaft, runs in small rivers between your fingers, caresses his heavy sack that’s waiting to spill its load and cover your tongue. It even begins to slip towards his puckered hole, and thoughts spin in his head of the things he would ask you to do if—but you’re not.

“How?” he probes with a rasp, knowing you can’t answer. “How can you look like an angel, but—shit, babe—” He throws his head back into the couch unwillingly. “You fuck me and suck me like the devil.” 

Your following chuckle makes his hips thrust up, and you gag around him as the tip enters your throat. A hand slips into your hair, messy and falling around your face, but feeling your throat embrace his head in a warm and wet squeeze has him gripping your hair. It’s just the right amount of pain, he’s not pulling your hair up, just tugging some strands into his fist held close to your scalp. 

Your clit throbs between your thighs, aching and untouched, but this? Making a strong, virile man turn into figurative putty in your literal hands? Nothing makes you feel more confident, more beautiful, and empowered. And if there is, you haven’t experienced it yet.

“Fuck, baby—I—shit!” Jungkook doesn’t know whether you want him to pull out or not, his hands attempting to both pull you off and bring your nose closer to his pelvis, but you don’t stop. Sucking and allowing the spit to run as you speed up, both hands adding friction and pressure—one to the shaft and one to his balls—lewd sounds a cacophony as he feels that spot inside him tighten before he’s weeping rivers of cum into your waiting mouth.

You press your palms flat to the tops of his thighs, holding your balance as his body writhes on the couch. Your mouth keeps a tight grip on his cock as you glide up and down to milk him, breathing controlled as you inhale and exhale through your nose.

“Baby, you’re so fucking good at that…my own little cumslut, hungry for my cock,” Jungkook speaks once he’s able to form words, letting you know you could sit back on your heels. His praise touches you more than either of you know and are willing to share, your inner goddess preening under his heated gaze and soft caresses. “Show me.”

Opening your mouth, you allow him to see the aqueous ejaculate coating your tongue. His tattooed hand grips your chin as he peers inside. He radiates a post-orgasm haze, his smile loose and wide.

“Swallow.” You instantly snap your mouth shut and his hand moves to wrap his fingers around your throat so he can feel you physically swallow him down. You smile in response, and like the hazard to your health that he is, he connects his lips to yours, tongue forging ahead to taste the remnants of himself in your mouth. He groans, his hands tugging at your waist until you’re straddling him. 

“Use me however you need.” 

You know what he’s saying, knows he can’t do much with his cock after the Gawk Gawk 7000 you delivered, but he’s trusting you. His body is at your disposal for however you need to get off. It won’t take long; the throbbing between your legs is echoed with the rushing of blood in your veins, begging for you to find your release through pleasure.

Hands push Jungkook’s taught pectorals until he’s laying on the couch. Pulling your sleep shorts to the side, you steer your legs to straddle his waist so that you can slide your dripping pussy along his softening shaft. You take up a stirring motion, allowing a delicious friction to your clit on his spit-covered rod, you reach for Jungkook’s hands where they’re resting above him and bring them to your chest.

Whining, you realize it’s not enough, not what you actually want, but Jungkook knows you and knows your body even better. Your body talks to him about its wants and needs the way he wishes you would open up to him; the same way his cock is able to split you open like a blooming flower and penetrate to the deepest parts. He lowers his hands to the hem of his shirt (it looks better on you) and sneaks underneath. He holds your breasts, fingers tightening and releasing in time to your hips and you cry out, your own hands laying on top of his as if clutching him to your chest as you rock on his sensitive length with growing urgency. 

“C’mon baby, swallow your pride and let go. It’s okay if it’s fast, it’s hot,” Jungkook shares, “means I was able to take care of my baby the same way you took care of me.”

“Say it again?”

“What part?” he goads, once again loving that when he has you like this, so desperately wet and delirious off of his cum, you’re honest and open. 

“Your baby,” your tone reflects a neediness that has his cock hardening quickly in combination with your frantic ruts. His hands tighten on your boobs again briefly before he glides them to your back and pulls you down so your chest to chest. He knows exactly how to speak to you, how to lower his voice and soothe your ego into cumming for him, on him, so he can soothe his ego.

“Cum for me, wanna see my baby feel good.” His right hand curls a loose strand of hair around your left ear, an endearing touch to make you feel safe and loved and willing to allow your pussy to make a mess of him. “Fuck—baby, my baby, your pussy feels so good, gonna make me cum again? You want me to cum with you, princess?”

Hearing him call you princess—well, it does something to you. You let out a high, throaty whine, a keening call that sings to his soul. And when you call for him, say his name in that whine, syllables broken up in the same pattern of your hips oscillating—fuck. Jungkook hears the extra release of your orgasm, feels the way your unfilled hole clenches at the base of his cock, and he watches as your body freezes. 

You want him close, but he pushes your shoulder firmly, but gently, so he can see the way his rosy cock is cupped against his lower abdomen thanks to your pretty, puffy pussy.

“Look, princess, look what you do to me.”

You pry your eyes open with sheer will as the aftershocks continue to cause you to tremble from your throne atop him. Looking down where Jungkook holds your shirt taut so you can see his fat, peeking head between your thighs, you watch as cum dribbles out slowly from the slit, his perfect and glorious steel cock exuding the proof that he thinks you’re too blind to realize. 

In actuality, you’re so fucked out by him, that you don’t think it means anything more than what he says. You do this to him. You make him feel so euphoric that he’s unable to refrain from covering himself in lust and desire for you. There’s a part of you that wishes others could see this evidence of your fucking, proof that you make each other feel so good that your cum collectively coats his abs—a messy visual art piece worth framing…

Reaching for the coffee table, you grab Jungkook’s phone as it’s nearest to you, and swiping open the camera, you take several naughty photos of your position: close-ups of your pussy wrapped around his cock, a wider angle that captures the view of his abs and cum running into the dips between them—proof that you did that to him.

Jungkook lies under you, watching in awe as you document one of the best sessions he thinks you’ve had together, or ever, and surprise paints his features when you switch to video, recording without a second thought.

“Look what your baby did to you,” you giggle, fingers drawing dirty lines, “made you make a fucking mess.” You aim the camera so that it can take in the pornographic view and resulting mess. “Anything you’d like to say to defend yourself?” Jungkook just laughs as you aim the camera at his face—he knows this is something just for his eyes only, and yours if you want to watch it with him again, maybe while he fucks you from behind.

“Nothing to defend, princess. I told you to use me, and said if my baby cums like a good girl, I’ll cum again with you. Just following through with it.” Jungkook grabs the phone, turning the camera on you, and you try to shy away, but he doesn’t let you get far. Gripping the front of the shirt, he tugs you to his chest, both of you making sounds at the way your pussy rubs him, and then you’re both in the camera view, his hand in your hair as you rest right below his chin. 

“Best throat and pussy on the planet right here,” Jungkook tells his future self, memorializing today forever. 

“Yeah, gave him that gawk gawk—he has the prettiest cock…it deserved to cum twice.”

Jungkook can’t handle hearing you talk like that without wanting to bury himself deep inside you. Locking his phone, he tosses it onto the carpeted floor and pulls you closer, his lips fervently kissing you as he waits out the refractory period until he’s able to do just that.

stay tuned for “it’s the way that you can ride” coming 8-?-2023!

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[fyblackwomenart]

"Primordial Water" by EON SEVEN

[inhonoredglory]

Good Omens Season 3: Heaven and Hell dividing humanity; humanity as Leviathan; and Aziraphale locking the doors of Heaven and throwing away the key [A Meta]

(This meta is long, but I swear there's some good stuff in here. It took me 2 months to get it together for these two longsuffering Anons. Thank you so much for asking me these very important questions.)

In preparation for answering two Asks above (and to aid my own predictions of Good Omens 3), I read and reviewed the Book of Revelation, W.B. Yeat’s iconic poem “The Second Coming,” Terry Pratchett’s Small Gods, Neil Gaiman’s deleted scene from American Gods (Shadow meeting Jesus in America), and Doctor Who showrunner Russell T Davies’ 2003 miniseries The Second Coming (starring Christopher Eccleston!). The first two are definitely going to be referenced in season 3, Davies’ show is one of the few stories dealing head-on with the coming of Christ, and Terry and Neil’s bibliographies are probably the biggest resources for how Season 3 will shake out thematically.

🕊 How Aziraphale Will Change Heaven

I think GO s3 is the season we see Aziraphale really come into his own, when we see him implement the moral vision he’s taken this long to coalesce, when all the pieces he and Crowley have put together are finally put on stage in a terrifying, beautiful display (all that righteous anger and conviction, merged with his kindness and empathy is going to be Something Else).

There’s an angel in the Book of Revelation who stands between the Earth and the Sea. This angel wears a rainbow halo and speaks with the voice of seven thunders, and yet John (the writer of Revelation) is told not to write down what this angel speaks. (Sounds like someone has hit on the Ineffable Plan?) If Neil and Terry were going to pick up an image from Revelation for Aziraphale, I really like this one, because it feels like an intermediary role (between two Sides), one that god dare not make public because it speaks an uncomfortable truth. And it’s about speaking and revealing knowledge, instead of fighting or destroying something.

Because even though we know Azi and Crowley will fight to stop the second End Times, fighting itself is not a theme Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett really champion. Instead of war, Aziraphale will oppose Heaven in all the little ways he and Crowley opposed it before: By enjoying human comforts (Azi will definitely bring food and trinkets to Heaven and send scrivener angels and seraphim alike to tour earth). By asking questions (Heaven’s new suggestion box). By telling stories about humanity and why it’s important to know who these humans are before anyone kills anybody (Azi was, after all, brought on board because of his human expertise).

Aziraphale will become what Crowley wanted to be before the Fall, but Azi’s got the benefit of thousands of years of knowledge, cunning, and intelligence about how both Heaven and humanity work. He knows Heaven’s weaknesses, he knows humanity’s strengths, he knows his own capabilities, and he knows where Heaven will turn a blind eye. He’s going to be such a bastard the likes of which we’ve never seen. And he’s going to drop truth bombs like there’s no tomorrow.

Season 2 brought back the book banter about “the lower you start, the more opportunities you have.”

Season 3 will bring back Aziraphale’s most badass book moment. This scene takes place after Azi possesses an American televangelist talking about the fire and brimstone of the End Times and the Rapture (the mass teleporting of all worthy believers to Heaven). Says Aziraphale,

Aziraphale is fed up with Heaven’s hypocrisy and he's scathing in his condemnation of both Heaven and Hell. Everyone will die and become collateral damage, no matter which side is doing the killing.

Sound familiar?

That's the arc Aziraphale is heading towards: that blazing conviction of Crowley's, spoken out loud and fearless and in spite of his eons of trauma. And Season 3 will see Aziraphale get to that place, where he gets to tell off Heaven, but not just in the privacy of the bookshop or the bandstand, but to their faces in Heaven's hallowed halls.

The demons and angels in Season 2 were much less icky and ethereal (respectively) from their appearances in Season 1. Because it's working towards a further humanization of both sides in Season 3. Because one of the biggest themes in s3 will be Aziraphale humanizing Heaven in all the little quaint ways he loves humanity. All in preparation for the endgame of Heaven and Hell not existing at all.

(Season 3 deep dive continues under the cut...)

Because angels and demons won’t be fought, but changed. Maybe not by much, but just enough to break the loyalty they have to a Great Plan no one understands. This is how both Neil’s American Gods and Terry’s Small Gods conclude, with the build-up to an incredible battle, and then for the human hero to step in and talk down the gods and armies into seeing sense and reason.

I don’t think Aziraphale himself will be that person. It might be a very human Jesus. Or (more likely) a random human being caught up in this craziness (maybe someone in Tadfield, per the working title of the second GO book: 668: The Neighbor of the Beast). But Aziraphale will be fundamental in changing the atmosphere of Heaven in the little ways Earth changed him.

🗝 Season 3 Themes: Morality and God

In the Job minisode, Aziraphale casually but boldly assumed that god didn’t want the goats and children to be killed. Because Aziraphale has a firm and dogged idea about what god should be. It’s his own personal morality, but he calls it god’s because he doesn’t want to imagine the symbol of ultimate goodness being anything other than what he Aziraphale himself feels to be true.

And I don’t think that’s a theme that Good Omens will deny for Aziraphale. Because it’s not really about how evil or good god is. It doesn’t matter what god thinks or is. god doesn’t answer questions, doesn’t deliver messages we can understand, doesn’t show up when needed. god is inscrutable, shifty, absent, “a Dealer who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.”

What’s important is what humanity has done with god, what humanity has said about god, what they do in god’s name, what they interpret god to be. That’s the real danger.

And Aziraphale, in his profound goodness, will become the person he wants god to be. Because that’s the injunction we all have. To live up to the ideal we have made for ourselves: In many ways, that’s what god is.

Aziraphale is now in a privileged place that allows him to affect basically the entirety of Creation with that driving idealism. He will level the playing field in Heaven. I firmly believe Aziraphale will be the one to close the doors to the pearly gates and throw away the key.

So, like you asked Anon, will Aziraphale try to make Heaven better or stop the Second Coming? I think those are the same goal. Changing Heaven will fundamentally change how the Second Coming happens, because just like the End Times in Season 1, Heaven and Hell’s scheme will be turned on its head because the Chosen One refuses to follow the script.

The Second Coming will end, not with a bang, but a whimper, because everyone decides to turn in their guns and forget the whole thing.

⚔️ Heaven and Hell v. Humanity

But before that ending happens, I think there will be another threat the world has to face: the individuals who are so sure of their own righteousness that no amount of sense could stop them from destroying anyone who thinks differently. This is an important theme in both Neil and Terry’s works (see Vorbis, the Exquisitor in Small Gods, who tortured unbelievers for the Church), and I believe it will show up in the new season.

There's never been a true war that wasn't fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. The really dangerous people believe they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do. And that is what makes them dangerous. –Neil Gaiman, American Gods

Because it’s humanity who takes Faith and shapes it into Religion. We are the ones who created the Heaven we see in GO: cold, unfeeling, strict, judgmental. And I think Season 3 is going to address this fundamental belief of both Neil and Terry: that humans are just so damnably human (fundamentally innocent and stupid and wonderful) and yet there’s a few of us who will take things too far and think that Someone wants them to destroy everything in the Name of God. And in these changing contemporary political times (the passage of an old generation, still clinging to their old ways and growing more extreme by the minute *cough*Trump*cough*), the dangerous people become even more vocal and violent, like the frightening, monstrous creature in WB Yeats’ poem “The Second Coming,” a devastating scourge on the world born in the name of God:

Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. […] A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, […] And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? –WB Yeats, "The Second Coming"

That’s who I think the Metatron will team up with in the end, someone like Vorbis. Because we’ve already seen how petty and small Heaven and Hell is, especially in Season 2. Only the Metatron really carries some heft and foreboding. I believe he’ll team up with some extremist faction of humanity who wants to see the End of Days and divide the world into Yours and Mine, with Heaven taking a portion and Hell taking a third and calling it a day. Not a War, but a divvying out of souls. With no consent or permission on the part of humanity.

That’s what I think the zombie reference is all about. Like Gabriel said in 2x03:

Yes, we’re going to get zombies. And it’s going to be insane and funny and horrifying (and I think we’ll get to know one or two historical figures who pop back up to earth). But the thematic and fundamental metaphor of zombies is how they have no free will. They’re not alive, they have no souls, they have no choices. That’s what Heaven and Hell want humanity to be: To do away with the dance of choice and free will and divide humanity once and for all between both sides. That’s how Heaven and Hell team up against the human race.

🐳 Leviathan (Job 41:19) as Humanity

And that’s how I believe the Leviathan fits in, who is the subject of the quote from Muriel’s matchbox:

The Leviathan is a magnificent creature, and this passage goes on and on about how fearsome this being is:

Who can penetrate its double coat of armor? Who dares open the doors of its mouth, ringed about with fearsome teeth?… Nothing on earth is its equal—a creature without fear. It looks down on all that are haughty; it is king over all that are proud –Job 41:13b, 33-34

And yet why does god want to explain how amazing the Leviathan is? To show how god has control of it. God says,

Can you pull in Leviathan with a fishhook… Can you make a pet of it like a bird or put it on a leash for the young women in your house?… Can you fill its hide with harpoons… No one is fierce enough to rouse it. Who then is able to stand against me? –Job 41:1, 5, 7, 10

The reasoning is that because god created this dangerous and terrifying being, then god must be even more dangerous and terrifying. And if god can so easily abuse and humiliate this beautiful monster, then god must be worshipped and respected. (Yes, it’s as messed-up as it sounds.)

I can’t help but think of this Leviathan as a metaphor for humanity. A beautiful, ferocious being whose ownership and control is the focus of god’s attention and qualification for worship? Of the Leviathan, Job says: “Will traders barter for it? Will they divide it up among the merchants?” (Job 41:6). That’s how humanity is going to be treated in Season 3.

Because both God and Satan want to control humanity. They want to put their thumb on human souls and claim them for each side. But humanity doesn’t have to be so easily fooled, because we are more powerful than we realize. Our hearts and imaginations can forge a path of purpose and goodness without the entrapment of organized religion and fundamentalism. We, like Leviathan, are ferocious and angry and fed up with being treated like this. We can and will fight back.

🌟 Becoming Gods

Ultimately, we will shuffle off the need for Heaven and Hell (symbolized by the shutting down of both at the end of Season 3). We will lose the need to unquestionably defer to a Being who plays dice with our lives. I’m reminded of the opening passage to Terry’s Small Gods:

The lowly tortoise will learn to be the eagle; humanity will learn to be like god. Because we are as powerful as god, since we created god. Adam Young pointed out that having a god figure to solve all our problems doesn’t make humanity any more responsible for the evil things we’ve done. We need to learn that we are all we’ve got, and we have to answer for the shit we’ve done to each other and to the world.

I like how Russell T Davies put it in his show The Second Coming, where Jesus comes down again in the body of ordinary human Steven Baxter and tells humanity:

You are becoming gods. There's a new master of creation, and it's you! Unraveled DNA, and at the same time you're cultivating bacteria strong enough to kill every living thing! Do you think you are ready for that much power? You lot? You lot? Cheeky bastards. You're running around science like kids with guns, creating a new world, while the world you've got is stinking…. If you want the position of god then take the responsibility. –Russell T Davies, The Second Coming

I legitimately think that’s how Jesus in Good Omens 3 will come down. In the body of a regular 30-something off-the-streets guy, who thinks the pomp and circumstance made about him is insane. And Aziraphale will be his minder, trying to tell him how the whole scheme is supposed to play out and giving him wise asides on how warped Heaven’s standards are and trying to tell him how to go about changing things for the better. (Jesus will be terribly confused, meanwhile; he just wants to go out for a pint and get on with his human life, none of this god business.)

🐍 Crowley’s Growth

There will be some big things at play in Season 3. I think Aziraphale will change how Heaven operates and close Heaven for good. I think Aziraphale will initially try to get Jesus on board with Azi’s own private mission of Goodness. I actually think Crowley will end up becoming Aziraphale’s “back channels” to Earth, and they’d exchange trite, bantering messages about the state of affairs from secret rendezvous points in America. (There was a whole thing about Jesus getting lost in Times Square, according to Neil Gaiman.)

I think Crowley will learn how to trust Aziraphale and learn that doing the right thing means being brave and selfless. He’ll realize that humanity is worth saving, even if it means dying. In fact, his depression at the start of Season 2 will probably only get worse after the loss of Aziraphale, and his altruism might get colored by the taint of suicidal recklessness, because he might as well go out for what he believes in, if what he wanted most in the world chose being selfless over being with him. (If Crowley’s character takes a suicidal turn like the Tenth Doctor after losing Rose, I’m gonna scream.)

This is how Aziraphale helps Crowley be brave in the finale of the Good Omens book. That’s what I think will happen in Good Omens 3:

Aziraphale here displays a gentleness and kindness that comes from a place of grounded knowledge and responsibility. He knows how much he and Crowley have in their own ways fucked up humanity too, and he knows that no matter what their own personal feelings, they each need to do something to defend the human species they've come to love so much.

Crowley is scared of risking everything to help save humanity, but with Aziraphale's encouragement and wisdom, he realizes that doing the right thing is the only option he can choose, no matter the risk to his own happiness and safety.

So I believe Crowley will learn to understand why Aziraphale chose to return to Heaven and fight in the trenches. Crowley will see it as a choice made to save, not just each other, but the world they love so much.

Ultimately, I think Crowley on earth will take on Aziraphale’s strongest qualities: being selfless and bold to protect humanity at costs, and connecting to humanity on a personal, individual level.

While Aziraphale in Heaven will become like Crowley: asking questions, sabotaging the System, and condemning Heaven with all the uncomfortable truths they need to hear.

[dirtyvulture]

The Beef-Off

Beefy!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: See below.

Summary: Just a whole lot of beef.

Word count: 1446

AN: Just popping in to drop this off for y’all. ✌️ Enjoy.

Requested by anon: Picture it, Beefy Nat right? …But wait!

There’s more 😱 —Beefy R!

The two have been flirting for eons, but it never really went anywhere significant, until the tension becomes unbearable as both of them started working out together on like a semi consistent schedule. Natasha, little shit that she is, challenges the R to a bit of a “beef-off” (please, word it differently) where they see who can do more reps as the weight increases on a bunch of different machines/equipment.

They each win/lose a couple areas, but when they get to the final zone—the bench press, Natasha stands unnecessarily close to the R’s head (to spot her obvi) as she lifts the weighted bar (easy peasy normally), but seeing Nat’s sweaty physique (like drops down her abs), and smelling her 🫣 cause the R to falter in her reps, nearly dropping the bar on herself, but Nat (knowing lil shit) feigns concern, helping her to re-rack, then the tension just kinda explodes.

Please, and many Thank You’s if you find this interesting. 🙏🏼 🥰

AN: I will not word it differently, anon, you filthy genius lmao.

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"A what?” you say, wondering if you heard her correctly.

“A beef-off!” Natasha explains, with a concerning amount of seriousness.

“What the hell is a beef-off?”

“It’s...It’s a competition of...to see who’s...” Natasha struggles to explain herself. “Anyway, we’ll just go around the gym and see who can lift the heaviest weight on each machine.”

You snort, flexing your arms, which you’re pretty sure have a few inches on Natasha’s. “What do I get when I win?”

“Who says you’re going to win?” Natasha responds, trying to knock you down a peg. While you were extremely proud of your own physique, you would be lying if you said Natasha didn’t have a comparable one. Her legs were much thicker than yours and her butt was perfectly round (and one body part she had caught you staring at more than once). 

Sometimes, you weren’t sure if you had a crush on Natasha, because as much as you wanted to be her, you also wanted to be with her. Or on her. Or under her. It didn’t really make a difference to you.

“Of course I’m going to win,” you say, pumping yourself up with confidence. “I’m in here six days a week, baby.”

“And I’m here seven,” she shoots back.

“Ever heard of a rest day?”

“It’s a full-time job, sweetie,” Natasha says, and you glare at her as she leads you first to the squat rack. You feel your confidence sway; you already know that Natasha works out her legs almost twice as much as you do, and she could probably complete a whole set using your one-rep max.

“I’ll go first,” you assert, reaching for the 45-pound plates and sliding several of them onto the left side of the bar. Natasha mirrors you on the other side.

“You know we’re doing squats, right?” she teases.

You glare at her but say nothing, going to stand under the center of the bar and pushing your shoulders into it. The weight is enormous, even balanced on the rack still, and you wait for Natasha to stand behind you, her chest practically brushing your back. She holds her arms out under yours and with a deep breath you push up on the barbell, taking the weight on your shoulders.

You bend your knees until they’ve made a 90-degree angle with the floor, Natasha lowering with you. Gravity helps you on the way down, and as you start to go back up, you’re grunting and panting and your entire body trembles. You feel complete relief when Natasha guides the barbell back to its rack and you step out from under it.

“Not bad,” Natasha says, clapping her hands mockingly slow. “But throw on a few more plates and I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

You roll your eyes, but Natasha insists you fill the end of the barbell until no more plates fit. The bar visibly sags when she goes to stand underneath it, and part of you doesn’t believe that she’ll be able to get it off the rack at all. 

But you stand behind her anyway, suddenly distracted with how her quads and butt flex when she lifts the weight like it’s made of cardboard. For a moment, you hope she needs help, not because it means you won, but because you’ll get to press yourself against her back, feel her muscles against yours, and--

You don’t even realize Natasha’s done with the rep until she’s turned around, staring at you with her arms crossed.

“I win,” she says.

“Huh? Oh. Fine. Whatever,” you grumble. “Pullups next,” you demand.

Both of you return the many plates to their rightful spots because you’re not heathens, then go to stand under the jungle gym-like bars of the pullup station.

“You can go first this time,” you offer, stepping back.

Natasha scoffs at you and jumps up to grab the bar. She’s wearing a sports bra, so her sculpted back muscles are on full display for you. You can’t take your eyes away as she raises and lowers herself with strict form, looking like the perfect human specimen.

“Twenty-eight,” she pants, dropping from the bar when her arms tremble so hard the entire structure shakes.

“Couldn’t even get to thirty?” you tease, swapping places with her and jumping up to catch the bar. You start pushing out repetitions with ease, too focused to notice Natasha’s eye lingering on your arms and butt. 

“Thirty-three,” you announce, your feet hitting the ground again. 

“Whatever.”

For the last exercise, you two head over to the bench press. You load up the barbell to your maximum weight and lie down. Natasha positions herself next to her head to spot you, but she’s standing closer than the average spotter would and the junction of her legs hovers literally inches over your face.

You try to ignore her proximity, until you can smell her arousal and then you gulp, staring straight up at the bar and ignoring Natasha smirk down at you. It feels like she’s the only thing you can see, in her sweaty, muscular glory, and it makes your stomach clench. You take the bar, pumping yourself up with a few deep breaths, before lifting it off the rack. 

Even though the weight tests you a little bit, it’s nothing compared to the distraction Natasha is. You see a single drop of sweat roll down the center line of her abs and your breath catches in your throat. 

You don’t even remember putting the bar back, or going into the locker room, but suddenly Natasha is ripping your clothes off and then hers, pushing her naked chest against your front and slamming your mouths together.

There is no exchange of words or feelings as you grope Natasha aggressively, desperate to feel every inch of her flexing muscles under your hands. She seems to feel the same, holding onto your bicep while her other hand presses flat against your rippling stomach to shove you into the lockers.

The two of you are almost the same size (you do have an inch of height on her though), but there is a clear fight for dominance now. Natasha shoves her knee between your legs to rub her thigh against your soaking center, and when she makes contact, all thoughts leave your mind and you feel like you can’t even breathe.

“Oh, fuck Nat,” you pant, trying to regain control by grabbing onto her arms and pushing her back. 

“What’s wrong?” Natasha smirks, fighting to keep her leg between yours.

“Wouldn’t you rather taste me?” you ask.

“I wouldn’t say no.” She drops to her knees, but you stop her again.

“While I get to taste you,” you say. Natasha tilts her head, not quite understanding. “Stand up,” you demand, and she does. You twist your torso to wrap your muscular arms around her waist, then lift her off the ground and untwist yourself so that you can spin her upside-down. Natasha understands the idea immediately and circles her own arms around your waist, bringing her face directly to your center. Her legs lock around your head, literally pulling you in to her own pussy and you’re basically smothered by her wetness.

You lean back into the lockers, your thighs trembling as Natasha’s mouth latches onto your core. The smell of her arousal overtakes your senses and you push your face into her wetness, trying your hardest to focus (and also not drop her). Your forearms are tight around her back and her nails carve half-moon shapes into your thighs. 

Her taste is warm and salty as it spills into your mouth. When you find and suck on her clit, she returns the favor and she slips in your arms as they nearly give out. You know all the blood is rushing to Natasha’s head, so she won’t want to be upside-down for much longer, so you push your tongue deeper into her, her walls milking you desperately. Your own center pulses and throbs harder as Natasha’s mouth works on you, and your legs tremble as you near your release.

By some miracle, you both cum nearly at the same time, Natasha’s taste flowing over your tongue and dripping down your chin, as you fill her mouth with yours. Your arms cramp as you unfold them and twist Natasha right-side up, setting her on the ground and panting from exertion.

Natasha grabs onto your shoulders, pulling you down the inch-difference and kissing you, so your tastes mingle in each other’s mouths. You’re light-headed when she finally lets you go, but she takes your hand and drags you over to the showers for a second round.

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AN: PLEASE DO NOT RECREATE THIS. THANK YOU.

Click here for Part 2 (with GP!Reader).

Like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content.

[cowyolks]

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Chapter Seven. I See You

Prev. Chapter Six Masterlist

Pairing: God! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: A prophecy written long ago stated of a human that would become the God’s wife and live in his domain for the rest of eternity.

A/n: Sorry this took eons to write. This chapter is longer than my others because I felt bad lol. Please enjoy!

It had been nearly a week since Simon had left in an angry flap of wings. At least you thought it was a week—time was hard to tell in the Underworld.

You spent your days in the large library of the palace, drinking in words as if they would sweep you away from your current situation. If you read the text with enough concentration you could pretend that you weren’t in danger, let alone with such beings of high power.

In this week, it had given you a lot of time to think. To reflect that you were just shaken, and Simon had been the one to protect you against your mother, Shepherd, and any other threat you’ve encountered. It wouldn’t make sense for him to kill you, specifically since he had been so passionate in proclaiming you as his promised.

You thought, and you thought hard.

Maybe being his wife would result in safety, in undying gratitude that he’s shown you already. Perhaps, loving a God could make you feel immortal.

A page flipping startled your thinking, making you pull your eyes away from the passage you were blankly staring at.

Keegan had been your role protector in the last few days, only changing shifts with the furies when you bathed and first thing in the morning when he had conferences.

While his black robes and sharp appearance stood out like a sore thumb in the massive library, he made it clear he was a man of literature. He’s introduced you to the book you were skimming upon now.

“You’re thinking awfully hard to just be reading.” His deep voice was very similar to Simon’s, but unlike your betrothed, Keegan’s voice teased and slithered playfully.

Like a friend you’ve known of centuries.

“I’m worried about Simon. Has he contacted you, lately?” You chewed your lip, bookmarking your page and setting it in your lap. You felt ashamed for sitting idly and reading while Simon was cleaning up your own mess. With the artificial sun dimming into oranges and pinks you knew it would be another day without him.

“No, but don’t worry, flos. Simon can take care of himself.” Keegan spoke in blunt honesty, something you appreciated, but didn’t stop your stomach from twisting.

You glanced down to your ankle, no longer hidden by your long dress. Instead you wore a summer dress of lilac, the material smooth against your skin. The mark had healed slightly, only red blemishes remained, instead of the painful burnt char that was there before.

“Hey…” Keegan spoke up, nudging your shoulder slightly, “all this worrying is only going to give you grief, come let’s take a walk before it gets too dark.”

The lethal man stood, stretching on his heels and flexing his spine, almost similar to a large predatory cat. His white eyes turned to you, upon noticing that you haven’t moved an inch, your eyebrows still furrowed together.

“Up… I’ve got something that will lift your spirits.” Keegan commanded, offering you his hand, calloused from holding his scythe.

You took it, surprised to find the flesh warm and comforting. He hauled you up, releasing you before nodding his head to the doors that led outside.

You followed close by, something Keegan insisted upon so he could watch your every move. In a way you were relieved to have such protection from the demon, but annoyance tickled your mind since you enjoyed solitude on occasion. That wasn’t an option now.

A solid thwack to your back made you stumble slightly, your eyes going wide as you nearly fell upon the stone path. Keegan’s deep chuckle mocked you as he flapped his wings playfully. You narrowed your eyes, a small smile gracing your lips at his amused expression.

“That hurt, you oversized chicken.” You let the insult slip your tongue with a teasing lit, though it didn’t halt Keegan’s gloating nature.

“Chicken… No one has ever called Death a chicken.” He teased, his smile broke open, revealing a set of sharp canines. “Wipe that grin off your face, mighty one.” You found yourself quipping again, truly thankful to Thanatos for halting your fears and doubts. It was comforting to know you’ve made a friend, regardless of him being the literal vessel of Death.

“I wanted to show you a place of peace. It’s Simon’s favorite spot to be when he isn’t working.” Keegan crossed his arms behind his back, retracting his wings as he marched like a dutiful soldier.

He led you to an area of seclusion, hidden by waves of ivy and vines. With large hands he pushed the plants back, gesturing for you to step through the cavern and into a very familiar garden.

The garden from your nightmare.

Your steps halted, gaze falling upon the stone path that lead to your own demise. Keegan took notice, his palm coming to rest upon your shoulder in comfort.

You attempted to anchor yourself to him, forcing your eyes away from the sight from your potential death. Yet, the God seemed to read you enough for a knowing look to creep on his face. “Whatever you dreamt of, it will not happen.” He spoke so firmly you immediately felt the heavy weight fall from your shoulders.

“It just felt so real. I died over there.” You pointed, Keegan followed your gaze before pushing you forward. “I know when all deaths will happen, flos. The demon was tricking you.”

This made you uneasy, but you began to creep forward to the path anyways. “So you know when and how I’ll die?” You questioned, taking in the truly magnificent details of the garden.

His lips quirked up, his youthful appearance did little to hide his actual age. You supposed death was as old as time itself, because even the stars died before mortals walked the earth.

“Yes, I suppose I know how everyone will die, but tis bad luck to tell.”

You dropped the subject, feeling as if you already had enough bad luck for the century. With a shake of your head, you began to walk the path, knowing that Keegan would be there to protect you. Maybe, if you faced your fear, you could finally get rid of the cloud of doubt forming. It was only two weeks until the effects of the pomegranate wore off. Two weeks you had to decide if you would marry a God.

The path broke off into a split, the union breaking to give way to a simply gorgeous pond of the clearest waters you’ve ever seen. It was full of life, tadpoles swam in little circles, among with an occasional swan. Frogs bobbed above the surface, and koi fish gently preened the green vegetation on the bottom.

It was simply beautiful, and it made you feel more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time.

“I gave this to Hades after word was told of a union between him and his betrothed.” A voice said from behind you, making you yelp and jump back near Keegan.

Keegan gripped his scythe tight, but made no effort to use his weapon.

Your eyes found purchase of a woman, her hair like spun gold and face as beautiful as it was dangerous. She was dressed in white, her dress accented with what looked to be feathers. She floated above the water, hovering just enough to not touch the wet surface.

“Hera.” Keegan greeted with a bow, a small slap to your back told you that you needed to repeat his gesture. Softly, you curtseyed, eyes curious as you took in her glowing aura.

“Thanatos, may I borrow the girl for a moment?”

Keegan’s lips pursed, obviously not pleased with the question. “I don’t like the idea of her leaving my side, Queen Mother. Forgive me, but I was told to watch her by orders of Hades himself.”

Hera smiled slightly, her skin glowing like a warm pearl in the artificial sunlight. She stepped closer, now firmly on the stone path. “Yes, I was told in council of his protection notice. Ghost is very fond of you, mortal.” She turned to you, a glimmer in her knowledgeable eyes.

You couldn’t help the nervousness eating away at you. “Is he alright?” You found yourself asking, cursing yourself with how much concern you had actually voiced. A knowing smile fell upon the woman’s face.

“As far as I know he is well. Hades left with Artemis earlier this week, she’s our best tracker. If they find word of Makarov we shall know.” Hera informed with her lips pressed together. She now ascended in front of you and Keegan, the God pushing you behind him slightly in protective vigor.

“Makarov?” You voiced, attempting to ignore the shiver that traveled up your spine. Was this the name of the demon that had sent you into such a fright?

Hera stood in front of Thanatos, both of their auras contrasting each other in a clash of dark and light “Let me speak with the girl. We shall stay in your sight, and no harm will come to her, I swear upon the River Styx.”

Keegan huffed, still slightly displeased, but whatever vow she had insisted was enough for him to shake her hand in agreement. “Come with me, mortal. We have much to discuss.” Hera turned to you with periwinkle eyes.

You found yourself stepping around Keegan, his stare burning into your back as you followed after Hera, attempting to keep up with her long stride amongst the stone path. She snapped her fingers, producing two sitting cushions against the soft grass.

Hesitantly you sat against a cushion, the woman falling next to you. Keegan watched from across the pond, arms crossed as he waited.

“You must be unsurprised of us Gods and Godesses appearing before you. But I am Hera, Queen of the Olympians and Goddess of Bonds and Women. But you may call me Kate.”

“You’re Zeus’ Queen?”

Hera smiled softly, a little chuckle falling from her petal lips. “I suppose so. When the atoms formed us and the titans, Zeus and I decided to rein together, but we do not hold a romantic connection, no.”

“I apologize.” You hoped to not offend such a powerful being, despite her vow to keep you safe in this short time.

“It is a common thing to ask, especially since you did not know any better. Most of us Gods do not have the satisfaction of finding a partner.” Kate tutted, her graceful hand swishing across the grass.

“Yet, Simon had found me.” You murmured, eyes falling to the pond that symbolized your betrothal.

“You know, I’m the Queen of Marriage. It was I that the Fates consulted to draw your match.” Hera spoke up, just as the water began to brighten slightly. As if her words echoed into the wet surface.

“So you must know about this prophecy.” You questioned, hoping to possibly get some answers about what the Olympian’s kept mentioning. Yet, you were left dissatisfied, for the Queen of the Heavens pursed her lips. “I do know of the prophecy, but I do not know it word for word. It would be wise to consult in Gaz at your wedding.”

“Gaz is another God?” You questioned, attempting to ignore how sure Hera was that you’d accept Hades’ marriage proposal. “Yes, Apollo is his name, he’s the God of Prophecy and the Sun.”

“There are many of you, it’s hard to imagine you have any enemies at all.”

Kate’s face turned grim, her eyes swirling in a look of caution. “Makarov was always locked away in prison in the underworld. It frightens me that he was able to slither his way into your chambers so easily.”

“How could he have escaped?”

Hera’s lips pursed, “I don’t think he truly has. What you saw was merely a figment of him. Makarov is Tartarus, pure chaos. He wouldn’t have let you live if he was in his true form.”

“He said he wanted everything from me.” Your voice came out confused, what would literal chaos want with a mortal?

“We will keep you safe. Besides, times will be happier.” Hera stood from her position, seemingly satisfied with the little chat.

“Wait…” you called out, suddenly feeling your cheeks redden as you bit your lip in thought. “You said you fortified our marital bond. Will I be happy? Will he?”

Hera let a soft grin spread across her lips.

“For Eternity.”

You stood in front of the mirror, taking time to glance at yourself before making the descent to your chamber. The moon reflected against the glass, as well as Kleo’s watching eyes.

It wasn’t ideal for her to watch your every move, especially such simple actions like bathing or dressing. But it did ease your mind and made your thoughts run clearer.

“Almost ready?” Kleo asked from against the wall, her hand resting upon the hilt of her sword, as if anything would happen in the slightest second.

With a final glance in the mirror, your eyes traveled to the soft ivy green of your nightdress, before shifting up to the soft blemish of your neck, still visible and showcasing.

“Yes, thank you for waiting.” You made sure to show appreciation to all of your guards, knowing they likely had so much better things to do.

It was a short walk to your chambers, the room was lit by a series of candles. Something you found to be lit at all times, despite the waste of wax. The thought of being alone in the darkness was now too much for you to bare, despite being guarded.

You never wanted to see those red eyes again.

Before you could even sit down on your furs, a loud commotion made you jump, coming just from down the hall. Kleo drew her sword, placing you behind her quickly.

“Your Grace, please. You’re injured!” A small voice called out into the hallway, just as footsteps grew louder towards your chambers. “Move.” His deep voice growled close to your door, making you bite your cheek in worry and in happiness that he was back.

The God of the Dead bursted through your door, not bothering to knock or even unfold his wings to make his way through the door. Instead, he stood still, his wild eyes falling to you.

Kleo lowered her weapon, still staying close.

“Are you hurt?” He asked rapidly, you didn’t hesitate to shake your head, not knowing what would happen if you so much as said you had a paper cut.

His shoulders sagged in relief, and it was then that you could see he let his fatigue and injuries get the best of him. Your God was covered in slashing wounds, all the color of his blood of liquid gold.

He took a step closer, and another, until he stumbled slightly, a large gash on his torso making him gasp. It was strange seeing someone of such high power be in pain. Almost instantly you reached out, running on your own instinct as you lowered him down to your furs.

“Why hasn’t he been tended to?” You asked to the man in white robes, likely a medic to Simon. He gulped, extending a variety of bandages and salves out for you to see. “I was trying, he insisted upon seeing you first, my lady.”

Your gaze traveled down to Simon, who was covering a particular long gash on his chest, his eyes adverted almost as if he was scared of your reaction.

With a huff, you moved to take the supplies into your own hands. “I’ve got this, I was my village’s healer. Besides the two of us need to talk.”

The medic nodded, hastily bowing with relief before shuffling out of the room. Kleo held your stare for a moment, before following out of the room.

“What happened to you?” Worry dripped from your tone like falling rain. Gently, you set the bandages upon your bed, right across from Simon. His wings twitched behind his back, just as his black eyes glanced up.

“We found him—the demon. He was stronger than I thought. Artemis and I hardly escaped. But I believe he’s licking his wounds somewhere far away.” His legs spread wider against your bed, his torso leant back and stretching. He jerked, letting out a loud hiss. Even with the mask upon his face you could see the wincing in pain.

“Stop, stop moving you’ll make it hurt worse.” You fussed, bringing up a bottle of salve to your eyes.

“Already hurts pretty bad, darling.”

Your heart fluttered at the name, still you attempted to hide your shaking fingers as your eyes trailed down to his mauled torso. Silently, you bit down upon your lip. Who could destroy a God so easily?

“I need you to take off your shirt.” You ordered, feeling some sense of professionalism leak through your command—Perks of years of healing in your village.

Simon did as told with little fuss, lifting his arms to pull his robes over his head, but as he tugged upon the swirling fabric his wound gushed more liquid gold, making you hastily reach out to him.

“Stop! I’ll do it, you’ll injure yourself more.” Simon dropped his arms back down, looking to be in relief as his skin constricted normally again. He said nothing as you pried his clothing from his torso. Even though it was your second time seeing his rippling chest and stomach, you still found yourself inhaling slightly harder as you examined him.

Snapping out of your stupor, you reached near your nightstand, taking a rag from the pile and dipping it into a wash basin you had previously used to wash your face. The water was still warm to the touch.

You made work of dabbing the multiple wounds with the water, surprised that Simon didn’t even flinch when the rag hit his wounds. You wondered then how many battles he was truly in.

His eyes pierced against your face, making you heavily aware of his stare as you dabbed salve upon the already closing wounds. With nimble hands you began to wrap up his chest.

“You’re staring…” you muttered, eyebrow furrowed in concentration as you attempted to ignore his stare. His hand reached up, latching to your own as he squeezed lightly.

“Makarov, he gets into people’s heads, he managed to get the best of me, slashed clean through my cheek. I thought I had lost you, it seemed so real.” His words rumbled deep within his chest, sincerity dripping from his tone.

“I’m right here.” You assured.

His eyes blew out in adoration, something you were beginning to grow used to. How he adored the air because it was what you breathed, how he envied the sun and rain because they got to touch your skin. How he planted flowers in your name because you had once picked the stems.

“I know.” He whispered.

It was silent for a moment, until you thought back to what he previously said. You sucked in a breath, “you said Makarov cut your face, you need to treat it. I can leave if it brings you comfort?”

His hand gripped your wrist tighter, silence over taking you for a moment before he attempted to sit up straighter.

“Stay.” He requested, a silent plea that spoke volumes. This was huge, at long last you would see his face. His fingers dropped your hand, instead reaching up to the skull helm he proudly wore.

You gulped as he peeled it from his skin.

Air escaped every crevice of your lungs when you looked to him. The real him.

He was every bit a God. His hair cropped and a color of sweet honey. His skin was rich and pale, previous smile lines etched against his eyes, amongst with dark circles hidden underneath his black irises. His nose was large, that fit well against his high cheekbones and lengthy cheeks. Stubble grazed over his sharp jaw, and a singular white scar ran through the bottom of his chin to a set of petal pink lips.

Without thinking, you brought your palm to his cheek that was free of any injuries, reveling in the warmth of his skin and prick of his stubble. He was real, despite how beautiful he was. He was yours.

“You’re staring.” He repeated you from earlier, a small smile peeking from his lips, you decided it was breathtaking.

“You’re insufferable…” you teased back, hand still cradling his cheek. His eyes locked with yours intensely—an intensity that wasn’t there when he was wearing a mask.

“And you’re simply exquisite, Sponsa Mea.” Simon slightly turned his head, his lips falling upon your open palm in a gentle searing kiss.

Your face flushed at the kiss, something that made you yearn for it to be his lips on yours instead of just your palm.

“I’ve had some time to think about our betrothal.” You murmured, suddenly feeling just how close you were to him. How his eyes fluttered shut at the sound of your voice, as if he was intoxicated just on you.

He hummed, the dark wings behind his back extending to your waist, only touching you enough to tickle against your sides. You weren’t sure if he was truly aware of what he was doing, his face still locked against your touch.

“I’ll stay. I’ll marry you.”

Tags: @soapyghost @queenqu33f @blueoorchid @lethalchiralium @eclipse-darling @galagcica @dead-noodles @agspgrwasb @toobsessedsstuff @mooniesyubi @cookielovesbook-akie @vile-villain6661 @peachlcve @soldier-lass @ghostslittlegf @rebel-soldat @erintaro @ghost-with-a-teacup @fante-di-denari @sollucifer @embers-of-alluring @icepancakes @queen-ilmaree @ahmya-4 @msecho19 @the-abyss-of-fandoms @madysonavery @angstyjellybean @trashboat-the-raccoon @multitargaryen @kdkj122920 @montenegroisr @lilacsourgirl @thisperspective @random0lover @pasta-m1lk @badpvn @sweetybuzz25z25 @stupendoustyrantstranger @4ndjelij4 @bootlegroach @brainstormbby @yehet-moi-ohoratrat @lilpothoscuttings

[mitch-the-silly]

(Left under the Lucifer one-shot!)

AND I SHALL DELIVER!! Just had to think where I was taking this, but I think I'm satisfied with this part 2!! I absolutely adore throwing biblical canon into the Helluva verse. It rejuvenates me!

Had to put on "He Is" for this one. You know the Lucifer content gon' be good when I tune in to Ghost-

Lucifer and gn!Fallen Angel!reader

Scenario!

"Brother in Falling" Pt.2

Part 1

You stared at him as he spoke. It had been so long since you’d seen Lucifer. Matter of fact, you’d far forgotten what he was like. You didn’t really interact with him much during his time in Hevaen and it had been years since Heaven banished him. He seemed so… gentle. This was the “bringer of evil” that Heaven so warned you about. Drinking coffee, talking about his daughter and how he wanted to be more involved in her life. You felt lied to by heaven. He was just a guy, a nice one at that.

“What about you, you got anyone? Or had…?” He asked, hoping he wasn’t picking a any unhealed scars.

“Me? Well… I had a couple of friends, sir. But they turned their heads to me when I fell.” You replied, taking a sip from the coffee he’d made you. It was quite good if you said so yourself.

“Oh, you don’t have to call me that. I’m not really your sir… But uh… What did you do when you were in heaven?” He spoke, curiously posing query.

“I was just a measly guard at the court… Nothing too important… But you… you were The Moring Star! I mean, I owe you that respect. You were once God’s favorite.” You replied.

“Well, what can I say? I did what I could! Guess they thought I was too revolutionary for them, but joke’s on them! I’m not doing half as bad! Haha!” He laughed, somehow giving off the vibe that he was forcing himself to feel this way.

“They wasted your talent. You’re a great person, Lucifer.” You spoke sincerely.

“T-thank you… I… I haven’t heard that in some time…” He chuckled, oddly proud to have received that compliment.

“No problem!” You smiled softly.

“H-hey uh, I know I mentioned presenting you to my daughter, Charlie. But, There’s protocol in place in acase of another fallen angel. It’s just been… eons since someone else has fallen… I know I’m technically The Only One, but I was an archangel, they just undermined the six the followed me down here.” He explained, huffing at the end.

“Protocol? What do you mean by that?” You asked, lifting your guard just a little bit.

“Well, Uh… techinchally when a new angel falls, we need to hold a meeting because you’re uhh… a new powerful force in Hell. Even more than any naturally occurring being in any of the Seven Rings. We didn’t do it with Vaggie, because she was an exterminator, and they’re sort of at the bottom of the chain. When I found out she was a fallen angel, I just advised her not to point the weapon at everyone that crosses her path. Not like she actually stopped doing it, but eh, bureaucracy. Regardless, you’re a first choir angel, an uhh…” He stared at your form for a moment scanning for any sign on of what class you belonged to. Unable to tell, he blushes in embarrassment, feeling that he came off as weird for staring at you. “Sorry, uh, what class are you?” He asked, looking away in embarrassment.

“A Throne. I’m a throne… Or was…” You replied in a mumble.

“No no, it’s ok. You don’t have to deny it if you don’t want to. You can be whatever you want, I’m sure not gonna tell you anything, and I’m sure not gonna let anyone tell you anything.” He chuckled. “But yeah, You’ll find some of us have rejected or kept our respective titles as we’ve pleased. I mean, shit, I may not be in heaven, but I’m still a Seraph!” He laughed, giving you a sympathetic smile.

“Thank you, Lucifer.” You replied. You were already more welcome here than anywhere else in Heaven. It warmed your heart that you were somewhere where with beigs who appreciated you.

“Either way, you’re a Throne and that might throw off the power balance Hell has, considering that unlike sinners, you can go wherever you want in Hell and, shit… you’re more powerful than some of the Sins… But that’s besides the point! The point is, there’s a bureaucracy I have to follow when it comes to this. It’s just a brief meeting about uh… what was it again…? Uhh… well, your place in Hell and the denizens of your area… oh but all the rings are… full uh… welp! That’s what the meeting’s for! Just to uh, determine your place in the hierarchy.” Lucifer explained, giving you a weak smile. He wasn’t too sure in himself, and you could tell. Seemed like he was going through a rough patch.

“Right… uh… but hierarchy? I don’t… well, I’d be lying if I sad I didn’t wanna, but I don’t think I’m uh… suited to just be put into a leadership position in a hierarchy that has existed for eons and eons. Are you sure about this…?” You asked, clutching your coffee mug.

“Well, the meeting is to figure all of that out! You should bring that up when it happens.” He explained. “Excuse me, I have to make a couple of phone calls…” He added, letting out a small chuckle, getting up from the chair that he sat in. He walked off to a corner; you could hear all of his conversation anyway, but at least he made the effort to politely move to the side.

“Hey! Mammon! So, I’ve got some news! A new angel fell! Uh… We need to hold a meeting and- Yeah know your time is money, but unless you want me to really make you pay taxes as you should be doing, you’re gonna make this government work!… Yeah, Good to know you’re coming, I’ll text you the schedule when I get everyone on board. Yeah, bye to you too.” He sighed, hanging up, and dialing another number.

“Satan! Hey, so uh, I have some crazy news. A new angel fell, and we need a meeting as soon as possible. You’re busy? You missed the annual meeting earlier this year, you’re not missing out on this one! It’s an emergency, don’t make me threaten you like I did Mammon a minute ago…. No I’m not telling you which of the three Choirs they belonged to until we set foot in that meeting room…Good, I’ll get you the schedule when I have it. Yeah, yeah, you grumpy bastart.” He sighed.

You stared at him in confusion despite knowing exactly what he was doing. You knew he was invoking the other 7 Sins to the meeting. You simply sat there uncomfortably, sort of fidgeting with the mug. He noticed this, and before dialing, he walked towards you, giving you a gentle smile.

“Hey… It’s ok. If you think you’re being a burden, you’re not. This is a grand occasion! Charlie, went and stirred up Heaven. You being here is a victory for a new and better world!” He reassured you, continuing the dialing of the next phone call.

“Hey! Ozzie! Yeah, I know I rarely call you anymore, but guess what?” He began.

You couldn’t help but wonder what everyone else had become. You’d seen these seven virtuous angels fall and become the Seven Sins. Of course, they were all driven by their own desire to pursue their respective sins, but it seemed Lucifer’s pride was more on his work. He didn’t seem to have bad intentions either way…

“Yeah yeah, thanks Ozzie, you’re great! Bye!” Lucifer smiled as he hung up. “He’s the only one who never misses out on meetings. The real problem is getting Beelphegor to attend… He is the sin of Sloth…” He joked at you, looking for the next number to dial.

You continued to drink your coffee thinking of what was to come. When Lucifer was done with all the phone calls, he turned to you. “So, I haven’t given them a meeting time, but I’d rather give you some time to adjust. Uhh, in two days sounds fine?” He asked, ready to put it in his calendar.

“Oh, uh, s-sure…” You replied, brushing the feathers on your wings. Wincing at the broken appendages.

Lucifer gave you a slight look, frowning at the sight of your small show of pain. “Hey, if you wanna, I can take you to the hotel now. You need some rest…” He suggested, putting his phone in his pocket.

You nodded gently, “You must be annoyed with me saying thank you, but… You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I got here… And I… put a hole through your roof…” You sighed, pouting in a bit of frustration towards yourself.

“I already said you’re not a burden… Plus, us fallen angels have to look after each other.” He smiled.

It wasn’t long until you two arrived at the hotel. He refused to fly and show himself publicly (not to mention you couldn’t fly anyway.), so the limo it was. The car ride was full of chit-chat between the both of you. A warm feeling overwhelmed you as you spoke to him. You hadn’t spoken to someone this genuine in a long time. Perhaps being sent here was the best thing that happened to you…