#“You could really use some SUN!“ “Have you tried Jesus?“

[nooooough]

[nerdy-novelist017]

i'm so in love with your little bunny series and i'm so glad you're writing for benny! i was wondering if you could write something about reader being a yapper, always talking a lot about things with so much excite and benny finds this the most cutest thing ever, but one day someone says that she's annoying for that, which makes her feel very self conscious and she starts to think that benny might feel the same since he's a very much quiter person, and benny assures her that is not the case? just fluffy and comfort to warm my heart <3 thank you already!

Anon, this is literally the cutest request ever omg!!! Thank you for the request, I had so much fun writing this! I paired this as another one shot for my Benny x Bunny series, hope you enjoy!

Word Count- 2k+

Summary- See request above.

Sweet Talking (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

You pressed a kiss to Benny’s cheek, whispering to him that you’d be right back as you stood and made your way around the bonfire. You pulled Benny’s jacket tighter around you to fend off the chilly evening air on your trek back to the house. The night was still young, the sun having just set an hour ago and these bikers would be up until the sunrise, all having caught their second wind from the race held earlier in the fields. The loudness of the bikes and the sheer excitement from the crowds was something you were still trying to get used to, but you found that you actually liked talking to these people. Once they included you in their conversations and picked topics that you could relate to as well, you found yourself talking a lot more than you ever have in your life. They laughed at your jokes, they called out to you when they saw you approaching, they really seemed to just adopt you into their club. You supposed, in the beginning, a majority of that was from Benny probably intimidating some members into being nice to you, but regardless of that, they still seemed to enjoy your company and your silly stories and random facts – especially the women of this club. 

Stepping through the back door, you were immediately greeted by the scent of cigarette smoke and booze, things you were also still trying to get used to. Several members were lounging on the couch, smoking and talking as you passed them on your way to the kitchen. You went to the fridge, opening it and lowering yourself to search for a cold pop for yourself. Voices filtered into your vicinity from the adjacent dining room. Just as you grab another beer for Benny, your ears perked up when you heard your name being said in passing and you froze behind the refrigerator door. 

“–She does have a sweet piece of ass on her though,” a male voice, sounding muffled most likely by a cigarette hanging from his lips. You smiled to yourself, biting your lip. You probably shouldn’t be listening to this, but curiosity rooted you to your spot as you tried peeking over the door to catch a look at who was speaking. 

“Jesus Christ, you can’t get her to shut up anymore.” another voice replied, much deeper and raspier than the first. “I miss when she would just stand there shaking like a leaf, all nervous and quiet.”

“Would it even be worth it to hit that? C’mon man, she’d gab your fucking ear off during it, totally kill the mood for me.”

Your smile slowly at their words, heart sinking. You should get up and leave, you told yourself. But you couldn’t force your legs to move.

“I’d put that mouth of hers to work on something else,” the first man said, chuckling darkly. You squeezed your eyes shut at the insinuation. 

“Don’t know how Benny–boy puts up with it. I’d have to gag her just to hear myself think–”

You stand abruptly, unable to listen to anymore of their hurtful words. Using a bit more force than you intended, you slammed the fridge door shut, the glass bottles rattling harshly inside from the force. Tears stung your eyes as you rushed back through the living room to the backdoor. You paused once you rounded the side of the house, sniffing in order to keep the tears at bay. They were just drunk assholes, you tried to tell yourself. Who cares what they think of you? 

But a few traitor tears escaped your lashes at the thought of Benny finding you annoying too. Benny– that quiet, easy-spoken man who you loved with everything in you. That quiet man who maybe didn’t like how you squealed with excitement when you saw someone you knew from across the room. That quiet man who maybe didn’t like when you giggled loudly at jokes told around the bonfire. That quiet man who was your exact opposite.

******

Benny could tell there was something wrong the second you came into view again, your figure illuminated by the orange flames of the bonfire as you moved to sit back down by him. Your hands were shoved in the pockets of his jacket, head tucked low. And beside him? It was rare that you didn’t sit on his lap anymore. 

You handed him a beer and he tried to catch your eyes because was that tears he saw coating your lashes? But you avoided his gaze, instead curling into his side and that’s how you stayed for the rest of the night, quiet as a mouse, until you eventually tugged on his sleeve and asked if you could go home. The ride home was also weird. You didn’t tap his shoulder and point to things that interested you like you normally did on the back of his bike. You stayed glued to his back, silent. 

Benny watched, brow furrowed, as you went about your nighttime routine in silence, the house you shared no longer filled with your usual chatter. He sat on the edge of the bed, wracking his brain with the possibilities of you being upset with him. (The silent treatment was often a go-to method of torture you used when Benny pissed you off) but he was at a loss. Something had to have happened when you left the bonfire. Anxiety spiked through him at the thought that maybe someone had done something to you, but no, you would have told him. He made you promise to always talk to him if someone at the club was bothering you. 

You changed into your nightgown and Benny’s heart squeezed at the sight of you avoiding his gaze once again as you turned and began brushing out your pin curls in the mirror. 

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked, unable to bare another second of your silence. 

“Mh-hm.” Came your short reply.

Benny swallowed. You were definitely upset. “You seem . . . quiet.”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say because you’re shoulders stiffened for a moment and he thought you might turn around and throw your brush at him. But instead, you responded in a small voice, “Just tired.”

He frowned. He’d seen you when you were tired, this was something else. He tried a different tactic. “Tell me about your day, Bunny.” 

You shrugged. “Not much happened.”

“Well, tell me about it. I wanna hear it.” He tried to catch your eyes as you put the brush down and stepped away from the vanity.

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna talk about it? I just want to go to bed, Benny.” you tried to move past him to go to your side of the bed but Benny reached out gently tugged on the hem of your nightgown, stopping you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, looking up at you. 

You nodded, but still refused to make eye-contact.

“What’s wrong?” he questioned. “Did someone do something to you tonight?”

You shook your head quickly and relief swept through him. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

His hands slid up to your hips and he pulled you closer to him. “Talk to me, Bunny. Please. I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

You swallowed, chin wobbling slightly. “Nothing happened . . . I just–I overheard some guys talkin’ is all.”

He remained silent and you continued hesitantly. “When I went to get a drink . . . they didn’t know I was there. And–and I should have left as soon as I heard them talking but . . .”

“What were they saying?”

You clenched your jaw and gave him a distressed look. 

He squeezed your hips encouragingly. “What were they saying?”

“It doesn’t matter–”

“It does to me,” he was quick to say. 

“They . . . they were talkin’ about how I talk . . . a lot. They said it was annoying. They were saying crude things about using my mouth for . . . other things.” you said slowly, voice wavering and you looked down in embarrassment.

Benny nodded and breathed out of his nose, counting to ten in his head to cool his suddenly white hot anger which bloomed in his chest. He had worked so hard to get you to feel comfortable around the club, to get you to come out of your shell and now someone had something to say about his girl—his sweet shy girl—talking? “Who was it?”

“Oh, Benny–” You pulled back from him. “Don’t go saying anything to them!”

“Why not?” He planned to do much more than talk to them.

“Because!” you cried, your voice going an octave higher. “That would make it worse! Besides, they’re–they’re right anyway.”

“Right about what?” he asked, bewildered at how they could possibly know you like he did.

“Well, I do talk a lot. A–and I know it can be annoying for someone who’s a lot more quiet.” 

“Annoying?” He laughed at the inaccuracy of that statement and you must have thought he was laughing at you because you took a big step back from him, out of his reach.

“I just don’t want to embarrass you,” you murmured, looking down at the carpet below you. 

Benny’s stomach fluttered apprehensively. There had been only a few times in his life where he wished he was better at talking, at communicating his feelings. He wanted to console you, to reassure you, that you could never be annoying or embarrassing to him. He wanted to tell you just how much you gave him purpose and helped him in his life. How you were his life. This was one of those times. 

He rose from the bed and approached you passively, trying to gather his thoughts. “I like when you talk. When we spend the day apart, I look forward to hearing about your day and what you did and what you saw while I was gone. And when we’re riding and you point to the little things like the flowers on the sidewalk or the sunsets, I like that. I really like that. And when you tell stories, you get so immersed and you start talking with your hands, I like that too. You’re so friendly to everyone, no matter what they look like or how well you know them and that’s one of my favorite things about you. You talkin’ could never embarrass me, Bunny, because it’s one of the reasons I love you.”

Tears welled up in your doe-eyes and he swallowed nervously. “Why are you crying?”

Suddenly, you were pressed so tightly to his chest, face burying into his shirt, hands holding onto him with such grip that Benny stumbled. He recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around your small frame.

“Oh, Benny,” you choked up. “You’re so sweet!” 

He wasn’t so sure about that, maybe only when it came to you. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be so sweet to those guys that spoke about you like that. He’d take a trip tomorrow to visit them personally, but for tonight, he belonged to you. He’d discovered that about himself from your relationship, from you. Even though he wanted to do things right when he wanted to, he couldn’t always. That’s what love was, putting others’ needs before your own. And tonight, you needed him, so he would be here.

His hands found your jaw and he tilted your head back to press a kiss to your forehead. “Will you come lay with me and tell me about your day?”

You nod, sniffing and Benny nearly melted at the smile you gave him. That was the smile he’d come to recognize as the one you had reserved for only him. Soft, sweet and totally perfect in every way. He pulled you gently back to bed and relished as you curled up against him. His heart was filled with warmth as he listened to you chatter on about your day and your friends and your thoughts, anything that came to mind. He’d ask questions every once in a while to keep you going, but he mostly stayed quiet, because to him, you were so captivating and cute. You both talked throughout the night, you slowly getting lower and lower into his side until finally falling asleep, your conversation temporarily paused until the morning.

-Tag List-

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[chronicowboy]

Buck doesn't know how long they sit there in that café just talking. He's never had that before. The last time he'd done this, sat across from Natalia in the midday sun, he'd been excruciatingly aware of every passing minute as he tried to be fascinating to her, spun yarns of deaths and near-deaths and deathly comas. Here, now, Buck just exists and that seems to be more than enough for Tommy.

Tommy who hangs on his every word like Buck is the next Shakespeare even as he's rambling about rainbow emojis and allyship. Tommy whose smile is so big and wide that it carves the most beautiful caverns into his face that Buck kind of wants to live in. Tommy who grimaces every time he sips the coffee Buck bought him but dutifully drinks the whole thing over the course of their date even when Buck tells him he doesn't have to. Tommy who keeps muffling yawns into his fist every five minutes having just gotten off a twenty-four hour shift like he'd stay in that uncomfortable metal seat forever if he could.

It's the best second date of his life, so when Buck tells him to go home and get some sleep, he doesn't resist the urge to prolong the date for the few moments it takes him to walk Tommy to his car. With anyone else, so soon into whatever this might turn out to be, Buck would worry that it's too much too soon. But Tommy has been so loud in his affection even with how gentle he's made sure to stay. Buck wants to be as free in his wanting as Tommy as is, so he reaches out and slips his fingers between Tommy's, damn near euphoric when they begin to swing between them as they walk.

It takes a moment to drag his eyes up to Tommy's face, caught up in the feeling of a hand in his. It's not the first time he's held a hand, far from it. Not even the first time he's held a man's hand. But this isn't Eddie letting him squeeze his fingers as he screams in pain. This isn't Taylor indulging him every now and then. This is Tommy smiling softly down at their hands like he's as mesmerised by it as Buck is, the tips of his ears growing pink and sending a giddy thrill of satisfaction through him.

"Can I ask you something?" Tommy says, giving Buck's hand a happy little squeeze.

"Don't think there's a limit on second date questions," Buck replies.

"Evan." And, Jesus, there's something about the way Tommy says his name. Even when it's that chiding little tone that should remind him of his parents, all he feels is an overwhelming warmth, all he can hear is fondness.

"Of course you can." Buck grins and watches Tommy's smile crinkle his face all over again like he just can't help it.

"Why'd you choose that abomination of a coffee for me?" And Buck groans just to hear Tommy laugh. "Really? What even was that?"

"Black coffee four sugars," Buck mumbles, kicking a stone across the sidewalk sheepishly.

"Jesus, Evan." Tommy's laugh is something special, loud and unrestrained and the sound of sunshine maybe. "Why?"

"I-I don't know, I panicked!" Buck doesn't realise he's drifting away from Tommy until the man pulls him back in by their joined hands, and Buck lets the bump of their shoulders calm him. "Just thought, you know..." Buck turns towards Tommy's car, but Tommy drags him gently towards the Jeep, leaning against the door when they reach it.

"You just thought..."

"I don't know." He shrugs, heat rising to his cheeks under the weight of Tommy's bright-eyed attention, lowers his voice all the way. "It reminded me of you."

"What was that?" Tommy grins, using the excuse to move in a little closer.

"It reminded me of you," Buck repeats, clearer this time, more confident. "You know, bit foreboding on the outside, but all sweet on the inside."

"Christ, you really are adorable," Tommy breathes, sounding as effected as Buck feels.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies swarms in his stomach, delightfully unfamiliar to him but already intoxicating, almost addicting.

It's not two men stood on a busy sidewalk in the middle of the day then. It's just Buck and someone he really fucking likes, someone he hasn't been able to stop thinking about for a week, someone he's only kissed once somehow. And suddenly that's a fact that absolutely should be rectified.

Buck steps forward, leaning up just ever so slightly on his toes, and kisses Tommy right there in the middle of LA. And it just feels right. Overwhelming in the best of ways. It's a quick press of lips, something more suited to the schoolboy he feels than the very adult man he is, not the kiss he wants but the kiss they both need. Chaste and lovely. A hello again. A beginning.

Tommy's free hand ghosts against his jaw, a flutter of a touch as Buck falls back onto his heels and takes a breath. It takes Tommy a few moments to open his eyes which means Buck gets to watch them flutter open, dazed and delighted.

"Get some sleep, Tommy," Buck tells him, finally letting go of his hand with a squeeze. "Text me when you wake up."

"Yessir," Tommy murmurs.

And Buck can't resist another kiss then, just as quick and chaste, anything else dangerous to Buck's self-restraint, before he unlocks the Jeep and climbs in. Tommy waves him off, and Buck glances back just in time to see Tommy's hand falling down to his lips as if to chase Buck's touch.

[urfavleo777]

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, oral (m receiving), choking, hair pulling, fluff.

It was an October evening. The sun had long since set, causing all the streetlights to go out. Now, the moonlight shining through the window was the only light you could use to continue reading your favorite book.

Accompanied by the sound of rain, you devoured the pages of The Picture of Dorian Gray. With a sigh, you turned the next page. You were getting close to the end, which made you even more sadder. Your weak spot was your attachment to books and some people.

Specifically to one person.

“Baby?“ Your boyfriend's voice caught your attention. You put the book on the bedside table and bit your lip at the sight of your boyfriend standing in only his lovely pink pajama pants. “Are you still reading?”

“Oh..“ you sighed softly, completely dazed.

"Whoa, you alright?" Colby looked down at you, concerned on his face, "Y/n."

You shake your head slightly, "Yeah." You stand up straight, "You just.." You found a more comfortable position, "Look so beautiful tonight"

“Only tonight?” he laughed brilliantly, moving closer to the bed. Then he lay down and took you in his arms, giving you a tender kiss on your forehead. You immediately forgot about the plot of the book that you were reading eagerly just moments ago.

You gently brushed his hair away and planted a kiss on his bare shoulder, only realizing you'd tickled him when you heard a small, muffled laugh come from the crook of your neck where Colby was resting his head.

During that quiet intimate moment the only sounds that could be heard in the room were your breaths and the sound of your kisses.

“Have I interrupted you in anything?“ he murmured dreamily, after a while.

“No, I was just reading.” You denied it immediately.

"I love you." He muttered as he gently pulled away from him, after some moments, and you cupped his face in your hands after tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “We can continue, if you want.”

“Continue what?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Reading your book.” He replied with embarrassment.

"My sweet, smart boy." You laughed before placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you too. And sure, we can continue reading my beloved Dorian Gray.”

“Oh.” He clutched his heart dramatically.

A smile appeared on your face. “Are you jealous because of a fictional character?”

He pretended to feel offended, making you laugh again. Just as he was about to answer, the loud sound of thunder interrupted him. You flinched unexpectedly.

Now he was the one laughing. You huffed in mock outrage.

“My little girl is afraid of thunderstorms?” He gently ran his fingers through your hair’s. “Let me take care of you properly, love.”

You nodded and tried not to smile too wide when you leaned in to kiss him.

You do a whole lot more than just kiss him, though. You open his mouth with your own and lick inside with a confident tongue. You take the breath from his lungs with little effort, leaving him more breathless than he has been all night.

“Wanna suck you off,” you murmured, slurred and muffled against his mouth.

Colby breathed out a laugh, one mixed with amusement and disbelief. “I rarely know this side of you, babe.” He told you, smoothing wide palms up and down your arms.

“Do you want a blowjob or not?”

“Well, yeah, but I—”

“Good,” you hummed with a smile before sinking to your knees in front of him. You unbuttoned his pants and free his half-hard cock from the confines of his pants. You tugged at the hem of his underwear until his heavy balls hang over the plaid fabric. 

Finally you decided to have mercy on him as you flattened your tongue against his dick, deciding to follow the vein from his base to his tip. Colby let out a high-pitched whine followed by a "thank you", but you didn’t really care. Yes, it felt good for him, but this was also for your pleasure. You swirled your tongue around his leaking tip, tasting the salty essen.

“Jesus fucking christ— you’re so pretty, baby— fuck.” He tilted his head back, gripping the sheets. “Fuck, please baby. Don't stop.”

You smiled up at the wrecked man, the man begging for you to continue. You could feel the light pressure of his hand against your head trying to push you closer to his groin.

“Can I kiss you?” He surprised himself as the question had left his mouth.

“Please.” you whined with desperation, making Colby groan as his lips found yours in a frenzy.

Your fingers slowly trailed down, finally wrapping your dainty hand around the sheer girth and length that was Colby’s cock.

Another unashamed whimper fell from between his pretty lips.

“That feels good, baby?” You murmured into his mouth between the smacks that echoed off the walls.

“Fuck, yeah mhm, it does.” He rushed out awkwardly, making you giggle into the kiss.

You took him back into your mouth, but that time without mercy as you relaxed your throat, slowly moving down inch by delicious inch as you tried not to gag, his tip now bullying your uvula like his own personal punching bag.

You fucked his aching cock into your throat, bobbing your head up and down, over and over.

“I need your cock so bad Colby.” You moaned.

“Use me, please. J-just fuck, just use me pretty girl.” Colby whimpered.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered into his ear before placing a gentle kiss there. You turned around, hand grabbing onto his still hard cock, you lower yourself into his lap, pink tip already prodding at your hole as your back became flush with his chest, you lay your head back against his shoulder and burrowed it into his neck, both of you moaning in unison as you sink onto him, slowly.

He was so big it was like he was ripping you in half, but you welcomed the burn. The pleasure and pain of it all made your cunt drip even more, further creating less pain and a whole lot more pleasure.

“Shit, you’re so wet and so fucking warm, baby.” Colby huffed.

You wailed as your legs begin to shake, your cunt clenching around him as your nails digging into his thighs that continue to slap up into the backs of yours.

“Colby– I’m cumming, oh my god!” You sobbed, when the most intense pleasure was coursing through your body, turning you into a twitching mess.

“Fuck, me too baby, wher-” He didn’t even get to finish, before you were begging him to cum inside you. Of course he obliged, eyes rolling back into his head and cock throbbing as his heavy load shot deep inside you.

“Goddammit.” He whispered into your neck.

The intensity of the moment consumed you, as he poured every ounce of himself into you, leaving you both utterly spent and satisfied. You both were breathless and drenched in perspiration, your legs entwined with his.

The storm seemed to be going away, the quiet rumbling was barely audible. All of a sudden the street lights came back up. Colby chuckled and sighed.

“So, you still want to read that book of yours again?”

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 4: Past and Present

Being in Los Angeles is a challenge - and an opportunity - for you and Joel. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 2 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Depiction of someone experiencing a trigger. Remembered child death. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 12.6k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter

September 26, 2019

“Joel.”

The sound of his brother’s voice pulled him out of his own head. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, half sitting, half leaning against the window ledge, staring at his daughter’s body. The blood on his skin was drying now, starting to flake off in some places and get caught on the hair of his arms and chest in others. It pulled slightly when he moved, an odd sensation that tied him to his body in a way he could hardly stand.

It was still dark outside, which made sense. He wasn’t sure the sun was going to rise. Such a thing seemed impossible now, that the earth would still be turning at a time like this.

“Did you hear me?” Tommy asked, coming and standing next to him.

It took him a moment to process that question. Tommy sounded so far away, like he was speaking to him above water while Joel was deep below it.

That would be a welcome change, he thought. Then he could just open his mouth and pull all that water into his lungs and never have to breathe or think or be ever again.

He couldn’t do that here. The window behind him couldn’t even open – he’d tried. Just to see if he could get some fresh air, he told himself. The fact that he was 10 stories up, that the fall would almost certainly kill him, was just a fringe benefit.

He couldn’t keep going like this, he knew that already. He kept picturing it in his head, over and over and over again.

Him and Tommy leaving the bar. Tommy driving him home. Stopping a few blocks away from his house, finding the car a tangled mass of metal in the street.

He’d just frowned at first, things not quite clicking. There was something familiar about the car, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Jesus,” Tommy said, pulling over and getting out his cell phone, already moving to call 9-1-1. “Be a miracle if anyone survived that…”

Joel saw it then, the bumper sticker on the back of the sedan. Red with white lettering, “Blow it hard & finger it fast” with a clarinet in the middle. He remembered it because, the first time he saw it, he told Sarah he didn’t think that kind of bumper sticker was appropriate for a teenaged girl’s car.

“Dad,” she’d rolled her eyes. “It’s just a joke. Emma plays clarinet, don’t be so lame.”

He’d just sighed and dropped it. It’s not like he could tell the girl to take it off, she wasn’t his daughter. Besides, what trouble was one bumper sticker?

He knew that bumper sticker. Sarah had gotten in the car with that bumper sticker this morning. The car with that bumper sticker was supposed to be taking her home.

Joel was out of the truck before he really knew what he was doing, running toward the accident as fast as he could, praying that Sarah was already safely at the house, that Emma had dropped her off and was going home herself when she was hit.

“Joel!” Tommy yelled after him, getting out of the car, too. “What…”

“That’s Sarah’s friend’s car!” He yelled back to his brother, making it to the passenger side door – the side with the worst of the damage – swearing up and down to every god he’d ever known that he would do anything – anything they asked, anything at all – if that seat was empty, if Sarah was safely at home waiting for him.

His prayers went unanswered.

“No,” Joel breathed, his heart pounding. He pulled at the door but it wouldn’t move, locked shut. He went to the back seat and threw himself against the window until the spidering glass caved. He thrust his arm inside, ignoring the cuts from the glass on his skin, fumbling for the handle until he forced the warped door open. He wasn’t sure where to touch her, a bloody splotch on her stomach that seemed to be spreading. One of her arms was at an odd angle, one of her legs too. But she was breathing, almost hyperventilating, her eyes closed, one hand tight to her stomach. “You’re OK baby girl, you’re OK, just move your hand for me, just…”  

“Dad?” She opened her eyes, wide and afraid. “Dad, I…”

“I know,” he said quickly, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I know, I know, just move your hand baby girl, just…”

She pulled her trembling palm away from her stomach and he saw the wound, a chunk of metal embedded into her skin so deep he could barely see it. She reached for him, the blood on her hand soaking into his shirt so he could feel it on his skin.

“You’re gonna be OK,” he said, looking from her stomach to her face. “It’s OK, you’re gonna be OK.”

He had to stop the bleeding. He unbuckled her seatbelt so he could get clearer access to her and pressed his hand into her stomach, making her cry out.

“I know,” he said. “I know it hurts, I know baby, I know. Just gotta hang on for me, OK? Just hang on, you’re gonna be OK.”

Her fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt and she pulled herself against him. He could smell the blood and gasoline and smoke. He had to move her, before a fire started and made this worse he had to get her away from here.

“Just hold on,” he said. “I gotta move you…” He pulled her tight against his body and she screamed, her shallow breaths coming quicker. “I know baby girl, I know, I know, it hurts, I know, I just…”

He looked behind him to find Tommy, hoping to have some idea of when help was coming. But his brother was just standing there, watching Joel, a broken look on his face.

“Tommy,” Joel looked at him, holding Sarah as tight as he could to his chest. Her blood was warm on his skin. “Tommy, help me!”

“Joel,” he said softly. “I… I can’t, I’m sorry, there’s nothing…”

His eyes were on Sarah and Joel realized, suddenly, that she was quiet.

He looked down to her and she had gone still in his arms, her head lolling back lifelessly. Her fingers weren’t clutching his shirt anymore, she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t even breathing.

“No,” he said, his grip on her tightening. “No, no, no, no, no! C’mon baby girl, you’re OK, you’re gonna be OK, you’re…”

He looked back to his brother, Tommy crying silently. There had to be something he could do, something one of them could do.

But there wasn’t. Joel just clung to his daughter’s body until the police and EMTs came, a paramedic pulling her body from his arms before trying to revive her. 

It was no use. 

Joel stayed with her on the ambulance ride to the hospital. No lights, no sirens, no racing through the streets. There was just quiet as he looked at the sheet that covered his only child, the little girl he’d held when she first came into the world, the one who had wrapped one tiny, perfect hand around his finger when she was just hours old. 

She was still there, just a few feet away from him. He’d refused to let them take her to the morgue, the outline of her visible through the sheet. He needed to be next to her as long as possible, he couldn’t let them just take her away and put her somewhere cold and dark. He needed to be next to her, take care of her. 

They left him alone with her when he made it clear he wasn’t going to just let them take her away from him. Tommy took over then, talking with police and people at the hospital. Joel wasn’t sure why he bothered. 

What did any of this matter without her? 

Joel cleared his throat, Tommy still watching him cautiously.

“No,” he said. “M’sorry. What’s happenin’?”

“Said I got some news,” he said. “Some good. Sounds like Emma’s gonna make it, her parents are here…” 

Joel nodded. Part of him knew he should feel good about that but he was having a hard time doing it. Of course it was good that another child hadn’t died but fuck, he hated how much he’d do anything - including sacrifice that other child - to bring his own back. 

“What else,” Joel said when Tommy didn’t continue. 

“Well,” he said before he sighed and crossed his arms. “Sounds like we know the car that hit ‘em…” 

Joel stood up straight then, suddenly alert, ready to take care of it. Whoever it was had been in good enough shape to drive away from the scene which meant they were probably still alive. He’d change that. He’d like changing that. 

“They got some video from security cameras and shit nearby,” he said. “Some SUV just barreling through, swervin’ all over the road, probably drunk but…” 

He trailed off. 

“But?” Joel asked, his voice dark. 

“But,” Tommy said again. “The plate they pulled was reported stolen three days ago, they got no idea who’s driving it. That asshole ditches the car, they got no way of finding ‘em.” 

“What’s that mean?” Joel asked, looking toward where Sarah lay, still and cold under the sheet. “Are they not gonna even fuckin’ look?” 

“No, they’re lookin’,” Tommy said, putting his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Just… not sure what they’ll be able to actually find.” 

Joel clenched his jaw, his arms crossed, fingers digging almost painfully into his biceps, his eyes never leaving the place where is daughter lay. 

If the police wouldn’t get justice, fine, he would. He’d find it and he’d take it. He’d find it and he’d take it from anyone who deserved it. As long as it protected someone who needed it, he didn’t care if it killed him. 

October, 2024

There was an Oscar in his closet. 

He stood there, the t-shirts from his duffle dangling from his hand, staring at the smudged and dusty but still glimmering gold of the statuette sitting in the middle of a high shelf at the back. 

There was a fucking Oscar in his closet. 

Was this your idea of a joke? Were you trying to be fucking funny, leaving it here for him to find? 

He went to it, setting the shirts on top of the chest of drawers before getting the statue down. It was high enough that he had to stretch to reach it, and he was almost surprised when his fingers closed around cool metal. He’d half expected it to be fake, some plastic bullshit you’d put there to try to taunt him in some way, but if it was a fake, it was a damn good one. It was metal and far heavier than he was expecting as he pulled it down to examine it. You’d set it so it was facing the wall and he turned it over to see the front of it, a plaque on the base. 

Your name was engraved on it, as well as “Academy Award” and “Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role” and “The District.”

It’s not like he knew a goddamn thing about things like Oscars but this seemed real. And as much pleasure as you seemed to take in annoying - or even just puzzling - him, Joel couldn’t come up with a reason why you’d go through the trouble of making a fake one to stick in his closet for whatever reason. 

You’d just… left your Oscar in his closet. 

A while ago, from the look of the damn thing. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious it had been sitting there for awhile. It was tarnished in places and dust had settled heavily into the crevices. It didn’t seem like someone had moved it here recently. It seemed like you’d just put it here one day and left it for him to find years later. 

He just shook his head a little, going and dropping the statuette on the bed - the thing bouncing heavily before settling into the mattress - before unpacking the rest of his bag. 

He’d only been in LA a few hours and he already missed Texas. 

You’d been mobbed at the airport, swarms of photographers descending on you as you left the secured area. 

Here, at least, security and police seemed to expect this behavior. Celebrities flew in and out all the time, and it didn’t take much for Joel to usher you through the crowd, your chin tucked into your chest, your carryon bag over your arm. 

A car with a driver was waiting for you and the two of you went straight for it, you climbing in first and Joel sliding it next to you, snapping the door shut as quickly as he could. But, as badly as he wanted to get away from the chaos of this place, he was surprised when the car started moving almost immediately. 

“They’ll deliver the luggage to the house,” you said, apparently reading his mind. “Not exactly smart to just stand there at baggage claim and wait for it as I’m sure you can imagine.” 

He scoffed at that, crossing his arms and settling into his corner of the back seat of whatever fucking luxury SUV this was. 

“Someone just takes care of everything for you, don’t they?” He asked, probably sharper than he should have. 

You laughed once, derisively. 

“Something like that.” 

In truth, this whole thing made him uncomfortable. He was in a place he didn’t know, one full of people who were obsessed with his charge - not just whoever was stalking you but the whole of the world, it seemed - and he didn’t even have his fucking gun. 

He planted his feet more firmly on the floor of the car before texting Tommy that the two of you had made it to LA and were en route to your house. 

You relaxed more, now that it was just you, Joel, and an oddly silent driver. You just watched out the window, the streetlights casting a glow on your skin as the car made its way slowly through the gridlock of Los Angeles. Joel ground his teeth, his whole body drawn tight and tense, waiting for some release after the chaos of the airport set him on edge. 

But none came, the driver eventually pulling up to a surprisingly modest house in nice neighborhood. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it was more than this - a house that looked not much bigger than his own back in Austin. Unlike your place back in Texas that sat on several acres and had no immediate neighbors, there were other houses close to yours on this quiet street. It wasn’t a gated community, there was no full fence around the place, it was just a suburban house on a suburban street. 

Joel followed you inside, the lights on and jazz playing somewhere. He frowned, looking around, half expecting someone to come out and greet you. 

No one did, though, and he just hovered in the entry way, watching as you set down your bag and lit candles. 

“Can I help you?” You asked after a moment, your brows raised. 

“No,” he said, a little defensive. But you didn’t move, just raised your brows further and he sighed. “This place just… ain’t what I was expecting.” 

“Oh,” you said, relaxing a little. “Before I had Ellie, it was just me, I didn’t need anything insane. When I moved to Texas, I just wanted a place where Ellie would have plenty of space and want to invite her friends to.” 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“That’s… nice.” 

You shrugged. 

“Your room is down the hall,” you said. “There are only three bedrooms here, I’m not sure which of the spares they set up for you but one should be made up. They stocked the kitchen, too, but there’s no one here all the time like Esmo is so you’ll have to look after yourself. Just… make yourself at home.” 

The luggage was delivered not long after - his gun safely inside - and Joel went to get settled in when he found the damn Oscar. 

It stared him down as he talked with Tommy about logistics, about exactly what the hell he was getting into out here. 

“There’s fuckin’ nothing here infrastructure wise,” Joel said, his foot bouncing impatiently. The statuette rolled into his side as he sat on the bed and he glared at it before moving it to a bookshelf covered in impersonal knick knacks that sat opposite the bed. “Not even a goddamn chain link fence between the front door and the street, Tommy.” 

“Yeah, well, I told you it was a different set up,” he said, at least having the dignity to sound sheepish as he did.

“Different,” Joel said. “Not a security risk.” 

“She’s kept where she lives pretty private and you have the resources you need to handle it. You’ve got the driver,” Tommy said. “And the auxiliary guards outside. And you know what you’re doing. You’ll be fine.” 

Once they were off the phone, Tommy sent Joel a roundup of tabloid coverage about your arrival to LA and, once he got past the surreal moment of seeing pictures of himself online like that, he tried to analyze what he was seeing. Speculation was rampant about where you’d been, screenshots of tweets sharing photos of you - or someone people thought was you - scattered throughout the coverage. 

People seemed to have pinpointed the reason you were back in LA but no one seemed to know why you’d left or where, exactly, you’d been. He sighed, staring at the picture of him walking behind you, trying to shield you from camera flashes as much as possible. 

What the hell was he getting into? 

He was exhausted but it took him a while to fall asleep in the too comfortable bed, your Oscar watching him from the shelf nearby. 

So it was a rude awakening when he was jerked back into consciousness by a twangy guitar. It took him a moment to realize where he was, still dark outside, but the music loud enough that he heard the rattle of the lightbulb in the lamp by his bed. 

“What the…” he forced himself up, grabbing is gun and loading it before moving quickly but cautiously toward the main part of the house, the music growing louder as he went.

“And it didn’t take ‘em long to decide, that Earl had to die!” 

You were more yelling the lyrics than actually singing them and Joel found you in the kitchen with a blonde woman who was also singing, the two of you jumping around like you were at a fucking concert at six in the goddamn morning. 

“You’re feelin’ weak?” The two of you sang at each other, you using the handle of a spatula as a microphone. “Why don’t you lay down and sleep, Earl?” 

He rolled his eyes, lowering the gun. 

“Hey!” He yelled over the music. 

The two of you stopped and turned to face him, both of you in skintight athletic wear and covered in a sheen of sweat. You laughed and winced and reached out and tapped some touch screen, making the music stop. 

“The hell are you doin’?” He asked, looking you over and trying to ignore how fucking good you looked right then. 

“Babe,” the woman - who Joel suddenly realized he knew, a singer that Sarah had been obsessed with - leaned over and half whispered, half said to you. “There’s a shirtless man with a gun in your kitchen.” 

“Yeah, that’d be Big Miller,” you said, looking him up and down. “Shirtless but pajama pants? Interesting, totally thought you’d be a boxers and nothing else guy…” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“What’s a Big Miller?” The woman asked, her blonde ponytail reaching almost to her waist. 

“My bodyguard,” you said. “He’s a bit over the top, though because, really? A gun? Come on.” 

“You’re the one who’s got some psycho writin’ her letters,” he snapped. “The hell was I supposed to know it was you acting like a fucking teenager?” 

“This isn’t a teenager thing,” you said. “This is a ‘your friend just go dumped so you sing about murdering him and then running away to start a small business’ thing. Which you wouldn’t understand because you have no friends.” 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Why are you up this early? I got your itinerary, you don’t have anywhere to be until ten.” 

“Well actually, we have a pap walk in about,” you looked at your smart watch. “Forty-five minutes. Which is why Tanya is here. By the way, Tanya, that’s Big Miller but you can call him Joel if you really want.” 

She looked at him from head to toe and then shrugged before looking at you. 

“I’m single again,” she said. “I’d be down to find out just how big Miller is…” 

He looked quickly between the two of you and then the two of you laughed, practically falling over, hanging on each other to stay upright. 

“The look on your face!” You were still laughing, gasping for breath. “Oh my God!” 

“That’s not funny,” he scowled. 

“No, it’s hilarious,” Tanya said, straightening up. “Who knew we were such a threat?” 

“Oh, shit,” you said, turning to the stove and doing something Joel couldn’t see with a pan. “Almost burned it… Want some egg whites, Big Miller?” 

“What?” He asked. “No, I…” He looked between the two of you again. “Did you work out?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, looking back over your shoulder toward him. “We went for a run.” 

“Went?” He asked. “Went where.” 

“Just a few miles around the neighborhood,” Tanya waved him off. “Nothing crazy.” 

He put the gun down on the counter with a little too much force. 

“You went out without me?” He stalked over to you. “The hell were you thinking!” 

“That I needed to go for a run,” you said, brows raised, incredulous. “And it’s best to go before the sun is up because then it’s too hot.” 

“Do you really think you’re safe here?” He asked. “That the guy who’s been sending shit to your house just ain’t gonna come by when everyone on the fuckin’ planet knows you got here last night?” 

“I think this whole thing is overblown and that there isn’t a threat,” you said. “And Ellie isn’t here so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

“It’s really not bad,” Tanya said, looking between the two of you. “It’s a quiet neighborhood, no paparazzi or fans or anything…” 

“But we do have that pap walk in a few,” you said, pulling the egg whites off the burner and tipping them onto plates. “And we still need to drive there.” 

“The fuck is a pap walk,” Joel asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Oh, it’s where we tell the paparazzi where we’ll be and when we’ll be there so they can grab their photos,” Tanya said. “In exchange, they don’t follow us all the time. With the two of us there, there’s going to be a lot of them.” 

“And were you planning to say anything about this?” Joel asked, incredulous. “Or were you just gonna take off without telling your fuckin’ security team?” 

“You seem mad,” you said, spearing some eggs on the end of your fork. 

“I seem mad,” Joel said, grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing.  

“You seem mad,” you again, eating the eggs. “You should work on that.” 

He clenched his jaw, trying to resist the urge to yell before stalking off to his room to get dressed. Because if he was going with you on this fucking pap walk or whatever the fuck it was called, he’d need to be dressed. 

The whole thing was a surprisingly simple affair. He followed behind you and Tanya with one of the auxiliary guards, a man named Nick who’d been camped in front of your house, to some smoothie place in the city. 

He watched as the two of you got out of Tanya’s car, laughing and touching each other as you angled your bodies toward the flashing cameras while pretending like they weren’t there. It was a strange dance, Joel sitting in the car with his nails digging into his palm, his jaw clenched tight, the sense that he should be between you and the photographers you were putting on some strange performance for all but taking over. His heart raced, his chest getting tight. He was so out of control in this situation, you were so far away from him that there was very little he could do to reach you if he needed to. 

Yes, the whole thing was - relatively - safe. It was early, there was almost no one here but you, the paparazzi and a few other overly dedicated men and women in workout gear. He’d texted Tommy while he got dressed and Tommy assured him that he’d gone over this with your manager, that this was fairly typical and that, no, Joel shouldn’t go inside with you but it didn’t make him any less uneasy.

What if something happened, right now? What if the man who’d been sending you letters found you here? What if something else happened like a shooting or a robbery or any number of other, mundane evils that happened every day? He’d be too far away to get to you in time, too far away to save you and, for some reason, that terrified him. 

He’d just decided to ignore you and his brother and your damn manager and go after you, anyway, when you and Tanya came outside again, clear plastic cups filled with green shit in your hands. Joel took a deep breath then, trying to calm himself down. 

But then, a paparazzo darted forward, camera raised, getting in your face, making you flinch back. A thrill of fear shot through him, the feeling shocking and foreign now. He was too far from you, he couldn’t get to you fast enough from here. He was supposed to be keeping you safe, he didn’t have much left he felt like he had to do in this life but that was one of them and, right here, right now, he could fail. 

Joel moved quickly, throwing open the door and starting for you, but your eyes met his and you gave a subtle shake of your head, navigating around the photographer and moving quickly for the car, the illusion of you ignoring them shattered. 

Tanya drove quickly and Joel’s car followed, the only thing keeping him from beating the shit out of that photographer the fact that you were only getting further away from him. 

Joel slammed the door behind him as he stalked into your house to find you, standing in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone. 

“I got you a smoothie,” you said, glancing up for a second and looking back at your phone before you frowned and actually looked at him. “Are you OK?” 

“You are not doing that shit again, understand?” He snapped. 

“Not… getting you a smoothie?” You asked. 

“You know what the hell I mean,” he said. “You can’t just go off on your own like that, I don’t give a shit what your manager says, I don’t care how fuckin’ typical it is, you’re staying close to me. End of story.” 

You watched him for a moment before you smiled, looking like you were trying not to laugh. 

“What.” 

“You were worried,” you said. “Big Miller, afraid! Who knew it was possible…” 

“I was not afraid,” he said, probably too quickly. “I just don’t want you dying on my damn watch. If you’re outside, I’m next to you. Deal with it.” 

He stalked off to his bedroom, your stupid Oscar there in his face when got there. He grabbed it and went back to the kitchen, smacking it down on the counter, making you jump. 

“I don’t need you to remind me how fuckin’ great you are,” he said. “Put that in your damn trophy case. And don’t leave this house without me.” 

He retreated to his room and heard your shower start a few minutes later and he felt like he could relax then. He wouldn’t put it past you to try and sneak out of your own fucking house, just to spite him. If you weren’t careful, your obsession with being right and being in control was going to get you fucking killed. 

He tried not to think about how uneasy that thought made him. 

Joel stayed in his room, listening for you as you moved through the house, until it was almost time to leave for your first appointment of the day, some lunch with your agent. He found you in the kitchen again, the Oscar nowhere to be seen. 

Your hair and makeup were done and you were wearing jeans and some shirt that looked more like a corset or some kind of lingerie and it forced Joel to notice just how fucking beautiful you were. 

It still caught him off guard, these moments where he couldn’t avoid that cold fact. You were beautiful, unquestionably so, but he’d grown blind to it in certain ways. He was around you all the time now so it was a fact that faded to the background more often than not. Especially since, most of the time he saw you, you weren’t trying to be beautiful, you were just existing in the form you had. 

Now, though, you were clearly trying and it hit him hard. The sculpture of your face, the glow of your skin, the curve of your body was right there, impossible to ignore. 

“Am I allowed to leave the house now?” You asked, an almost smug look on your face. 

“No,” Joel said, more to be an asshole than anything else. 

“You’re insufferable,” you said, ignoring him and stalking toward the door, the spikes of your heels loud on the hardwood floor, throwing a leather jacket on over your all too exposing top. “The driver’s here, are you coming or not.” 

You were silent beside him until the pair of you got into the gridlock of the city. 

“You’ll have to wait in the car,” you began but he cut you off. 

“Absolutely not,” he said. 

You looked at him, a stern expression on your face. 

“There are going to be photographers there,” you said. “I’ve already been seen with you at the airport, I really don’t need someone making up some bullshit story about why you’re with me if we’re trying to keep the extra security bit quiet.” 

“Too bad,” he shrugged. “Your optics aren’t my concern. Your safety is.” 

“Because I’m sure people at the fucking Ivy are such a threat,” you snapped.  

“We either do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said. “The easy way is I come inside with you and you can say I’m a friend or some asshole on your team, I don’t really care. The other way is I put you over my shoulder and haul your ass back to the car because you don’t listen. Don’t make much difference to me.” 

“Why do you hate me so much?” You twisted to face him now, your painfully beautiful face tight in anger. “What did I ever do to you?” 

“I’m just trying to do my job,” he replied. “Don’t make it difficult and we won’t have a problem.” 

“Fine,” you sat back in your seat forcefully. “Come inside then, just don’t come crying to me when the press starts to bother you.” 

He resisted the urge to smirk. He might be in your territory but that didn’t mean he was just going to let you win every damn conflict. 

The car dropped you off in front of the restaurant and the photographers were waiting for you. Joel watched as your expression went blank for a moment and then you painted a carefree smile on your face before you opened the door, smiling and waving with Joel following close behind. 

Of course, the hostess led you directly to your table without needing to ask anything because everyone was always just ready to do exactly what you needed, all the time. Joel wondered what that must be like, to be so beautiful and so rich and so famous that the entire world shifted just to please you. 

There was a man already seated there, watching as the waiter set up an ice bucket and showed him the bottle of wine. He nodded and then noticed you there, looking you up and down in a way that set Joel’s teeth on edge before standing up and calling your name in an almost sing song voice that grated on him. 

“Hey Leo,” you smiled and he reached to hug you. You hugged him back, kissing his cheek as you did, the man seeming to notice Joel then, his face falling a little as he did. 

“And who is this you’ve brought me?” He asked. “I’m sure he’s not some hopeful…” 

“I’m sure Quinn mentioned some additional…” you trailed off. 

“Ah,” he said, seeming to understand but then frowning. “I didn’t think they’d be quite so… hands on.” 

“Neither did I,” you smiled, a little self satisfied. “But, Joel, this is my agent, Leo Musgrave. Leo, this is Joel, my shadow for the last few weeks.” 

“Good to meet you,” Leo said, offering Joel his hand. He took it, an odd satisfaction settling over him at the way his palm dwarfed Leo’s and the way the other man had to tilt his chin up to meet Joel’s gaze. “But I can assure you, she’s perfectly safe with me.” 

“Ain’t you I’m worried about,” Joel said, gripping the man’s hand a little too tightly, looking him up and down in a pointed way. An odd expression flitted over the man’s face, one Joel couldn’t place, but it passed quickly. 

“Good,” he said, smiling again before going to pull your chair out for you. “Because I know we both just want what’s best for our girl here. Speaking of which, I got that rosé you like…”

“Thank God,” you smiled, taking your seat. Joel sat beside you, surveying the area quickly, noting the points of entry and egress, where people could be concealed. “I’ve got media at one, I could use a drink.” 

The two of you talked and you ordered a salad and Joel got a steak just to spite the asshole sitting across from him. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like him but he didn’t. Something about this man rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on your breasts when you were talking to the waiter, maybe it was the way he sat back in his seat, lounging like he owned the place, Joel didn’t like him. 

“Oh,” Leo said, just as the waiter turned to leave. “We’ve got one more joining, if you could bring an old fashioned when you can, whatever’s top shelf.” 

Joel watched your face fall for a fraction of a second, the moment so fast he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if he wasn’t so used to you now. 

“Who’s joining us?” You asked once the waiter was out of earshot. 

“Remember how I said I was working on bringing in another producer for Savage Starlight?” He asked. “Someone who can make sure it doesn’t turn into the typical superhero bullshit and keeps its strong narrative structure, doesn’t ditch the character development in favor of big set pieces?” 

“Right,” you said slowly, your hand clenching around the stem of your wine glass. 

“Well, we’re bringing in the best man for the job,” he smiled, proud. “And you were a big selling point, he’s been dying to work with you again… Henry!” 

Joel didn’t turn to see who was making his way toward the table, Leo standing up to greet him. Instead, his eyes were on you. Your eyes were wide, your hands in your lap, fingers pressed tight into your thighs, breaths coming in fearful little pants. 

“Leo!” A booming voice at Joel’s shoulder said. “It’s been too long.” 

“We really should do this more,” Leo hugged the new arrival, clapping him on the back. “Everything you touch is magic, swear to God.” 

“Could say the same thing about you,” the man said, stepping back from Leo and turning to face you and Joel, though he didn’t seem to be paying Joel any mind at all. It didn’t make a difference. Joel immediately disliked him, too. He was older, in his 50s at least, wearing a sport coat and an ostentatious ring, his bald head shining and he was looking at you like you were something he could consume. “You’ve got the best talent in the industry right here. How’ve you been, sweetheart?”

“Oh, you know me,” you said, a casual and cool smile on your face, almost no sign of your momentary discomfort from just a second earlier. You got up and went to greet him, keeping your hands at his biceps but kissing both his cheeks all the same. His hand went around your back, spreading over you, his pinky slipping inside the waist of your jeans before you pulled back from him. Joel’s hands tightened into fists. “Same as ever.” 

“So, causing trouble,” he said, taking his seat. 

You laughed. 

“Something like that,” you said, sitting down and relaxing back into your chair. But the hand closest to Joel went back in your lap, clenched into a fist so tight he could see the strain of your skin over your knuckles. 

The man seemed to actually notice Joel then, looking him up and down. 

“And who’s this?” He asked, directing the question at you and Leo, not Joel. 

“Just a little added security,” your smile shifted to something almost daring and triumphant, the hand in your lap still drawn tight. “Never can be too careful anymore. Don’t worry, he’s got a very thorough NDA.” 

“Not worried about anything in particular, are you?” He asked, brows raised. “Because you could always come stay with me, my security is very good and my door is always open for you, you know that.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” you said. “But let’s not bog things down. Tell me, Henry, what brings you into this project? It doesn’t seem like your area of expertise.” 

“Not cerebral enough for me?” He asked, an almost teasing edge to his voice. 

“I’d say not up its own ass, but…” you said in a winking tone but something told Joel you meant it differently than that. 

Henry laughed all the same, as though he was in on the joke. 

“You always knew my taste,” he said. “But, truth is, I’ve been seeking out some projects that look to have the prospect of greater commercial success without sacrificing the art of storytelling. This seemed like the perfect project, especially once I knew you were attached.” 

You hummed, nodding slowly, and Joel just sat there and watched as you and your agent and this new asshole discussed creative choices and shit like points on the back end, the whole time some part of you stiff and strained. Something was off. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or irritation or that you were just caught off guard by someone else being added to the mix but something about this was bothering you. He just wasn’t sure what it was. 

Regardless, it set him on edge. He tried to focus on the potential threats from around you as you picked at your salad, more moving the food around than eating it, until it was time to go. 

Henry moved around Joel to you as you draped your jacket over your bare shoulders and Joel wanted to fucking punch him, the way he pressed into your space as you shifted away, your fingers tight on the back of your chair. 

“Now we can’t go almost 20 years without working together again, sweetheart,” he said, his hand at your waist as he held you to his side, his thick fingers pressing into the sheer parts of your top. “What we make together is too beautiful to let a little history get in the way.” 

“Let’s see if we still have it,” you smiled politely. “Then we’ll talk.” 

Henry pulled you out front with him, something Joel was cursing as the flashes started going off again, the paparazzi screaming your name. Had these assholes just camped out here for the last hour? Doing fuck all besides waiting for you to come outside again? 

“This is me,” Henry said as a car pulled up to the curb. “We’ll chat soon, yeah?” 

“Oh I have no doubt that you’ll make sure we will,” you said, a sour smile on your face. 

An odd expression passed over Henry then and he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek but Joel caught him whisper something in your ear, something that made you freeze against him, your hands on his arms to force some distance. You stayed like that as he got in the car, the flashes still going like crazy. Joel looked around for a moment, your driver nowhere to be seen in the immediate traffic, and you were out here - exposed. 

Shit. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, tucking you below his arm and steering you back in the restaurant, putting you out of sight of the windows. You were breathing fast and shallow again, your eyes wide as you stared into space. “Hey, look at me.” 

You obeyed, those wide eyes meeting his. 

“You OK?” He asked. “He hurt you?” 

“No,” you shook your head and swallowed. “No, I’m fine, just… I’m fine.” 

He wasn’t sure he believed that. 

“Can you sit tight for one minute?” Joel asked. “I’m going to find your driver, get you out of here, OK?” 

You just nodded quickly and Joel reluctantly stepped away from you to a place he could see outside, calling the driver. It took a moment for the call to connect but he reached him and stayed on until he was close enough that Joel could see him out the window before he went back to find you, his chest oddly tight at the distance, a strange relief in him knowing that you’d be where he could properly protect you again in just a second. 

But he couldn’t. 

You were gone. 

***

You weren’t really thinking when you left The Ivy. At least, not consciously.

Something else had taken over your mind, something animalistic and protective, and it only had one thought: Go.

So you went. You found a back way out, dodging servers and cooks who did doubletakes as you wove your way through kitchen until you were outside, the sunlight bright and harsh. You’d just walked after that, not picking any direction in particular, just desperate for some distance.

You weren’t really sure where you’d wound up when you finally seemed to come back into yourself enough to make yourself just stop walking. Your feet ached, there was a dumpster next to you that absolutely reeked and you realized then that you’d ditched your shoes at some point but you weren’t quite sure when. You vaguely remembered running for a bit and your shoes making you stumble but you didn’t remember taking them off. You also didn’t have your purse, probably left behind at the damn restaurant because you hadn’t been thinking, so you had no phone, no ID and no money.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You walked to the end of the alley and looked around, asphalt cutting into the soles of your feet, and peered out to the street. It was mercifully fairly quiet, a bar across from you open, the soft sound of a guitar drifting out from the open door. You darted across the road and into the bar, thankful that no photographers had managed to catch you on your unhinged run through Los Angeles.

Inside the bar was quiet, too, just a few patrons hunched over drinks and a man playing guitar at a small stage in the corner. A few of them looked up when you came in and you realized you were breathing hard. You tried to slow it, clearing your throat awkwardly as someone seemed to clock you, his eyebrows drawing together like he was trying to place you before his eyes went wide and he quickly looked back to his drink.

“Hi,” you smiled at the bartender as you came up. “I was wondering…”

“Need shoes,” he said gruffly.

You frowned.

“What?”

“You need shoes,” he said. “Can’t be barefoot in here. Not sure why anyone would want to walk around barefoot out there anyway, but…”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling again as best you could even though all you really wanted to do was cry. But you’d acted through worse. “They broke. I was hoping I could use a phone to see if I can get someone to pick me up? I lost mine.”

“You can use mine!” The man who’d spotted you before said quickly before clearing his throat. “Um… if… if you wanted.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, relieved, and taking the phone he held out to you.

It took you a moment to figure out who to call.

You wanted to call Anna. She was the only person who would get it, she was the only person who knew all of it. She was who would make you feel like it was all going to be OK.

But you didn’t have her anymore, so you ran down the list of numbers you had memorized. You knew Tanya’s but you didn’t want to leave the number of the world’s biggest musician in some random man’s phone. Justice, one of your closest friends and former costar, was out for the same reason. But you knew Quinn’s number and you did pay her to get you out of situations like this.

Well, maybe not exactly like this, but still. It was better than the alternatives.

It took a few tries before she answered the phone and, when she did, she was clearly pissed.

“What!” She snapped. “Whoever this is, it had better be good because I’m dealing with a crisis right now.”

“Hi Quinn,” you winced a little. “I think I might be your crisis.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry with relief. “What the hell happened? Where are you? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just needed a walk. Can you send Joel to come get me? I’m at…”

You paused, realizing you weren’t sure where you were. You covered the receiver on the phone and were about to ask the bartender when he gruffly answered your unspoken question.

“O’Shea’s Pub.”

“Thank you,” you smiled at him before repeating it back to Quinn. “Can you tell Joel?”

“I can,” she said. “You know, you could have just told him yourself if you’d fucking said what you were doing!”

“I know,” you flinched. “Sorry.”

She sighed.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just… don’t do it again. I’m sure he’ll be there soon.”

You returned the phone and got a glass of water from the bartender, who still looked none too happy about the fact that you were in his bar without shoes. But he was, at least, not forcing you to leave. You’d take that.

You tucked yourself into the corner booth, your feet on the seat next to you to get them off the floor, and stared out at the bar, listening to the guitarist as he played, letting your mind drift.

It had been so long since you’d been in the same room as Henry, even longer since it was close quarters. Years. Maybe a decade, even. You’d avoided him and he, mostly, let you. Every few years, a script would wind up in front of you with him attached and you never even read it, your stomach turning just seeing him listed as a producer. You just passed and he’d go back to leaving you alone.

You should have known he’d have done something like this eventually. You usually insisted on producer approval in your contracts but you’d foregone that to land Savage Starlight. You’d wanted the part so badly, wanted to be someone Ellie liked and looked up to and thought was cool, you’d made concessions. Henry was not the superhero movie type, you’d never even considered that he’d try to attach himself to this. A mistake on your part, it seemed.

“I still own you.” 

That’s what he’d whispered in your ear as he was leaving, when he had you far enough from Leo and Joel to get away with saying whatever he wanted. Just the memory of it sent a chill up your spine and made your stomach churn. You fidgeted with the water cup, trying not to cry. You couldn’t cry, not in public, not before you had press, not when you were about to be crying in front of fucking Joel. You had to focus, not let things that happened more than a decade ago get under your skin. 

It seemed like you’d hardly been sitting there any time at all when, suddenly, Joel was there, his large, broad frame blotting out the sun from the open door of the bar. 

“What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He snapped. 

You couldn’t make out the expression on his face from your spot in the corner of the booth, just a silhouette, but you looked up at him anyway, not really sure what to say. 

“Where the hell are your shoes?” He asked, his voice softening slightly. 

“I’m not sure,” you said. “I lost them somewhere…” 

He sighed and then took the seat across from you and you blinked in surprise, watching him as he crossed his arms on the tabletop, leaning in and looking you over, his eyes strangely soft. 

“Want to tell me what happened.” 

“Not really,” you said, leaning back against the wall behind you. 

He nodded to your cup. 

“What’re you drinking?” 

“Water,” you said. “I didn’t have my wallet, so…” 

Joel snorted. 

“You tellin’ me they’re not bending over backwards to give the biggest movie star in the world free booze?” 

You laughed, too, the sound thick in your throat. 

“Not exactly,” you said. “But I shouldn’t be drinking, anyway, I have press in… fuck, what time is it?” 

“About noon,” Joel said. “We got a few minutes. What do you want?” 

“Whisky?” You asked, brows raised. 

Joel looked surprised for a moment before he nodded. 

“Whisky it is.” 

You watched him go to the bar and bring back two glasses, setting one in front of you before taking his place across from you again, taking a sip himself. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

Joel shrugged and the two of you sat there in silence, sipping your drinks. The whisky was shitty but you kind of liked it that way for a change, the burn of it strangely satisfying, grounding you in your own body. 

“Who was that guy?” Joel asked eventually, looking more at his glass than at you. 

“Henry Wilde,” you said. Just saying his name made your stomach turn. “He’s a producer.” 

“Seemed like he was more than that,” Joel said, looking at you now. 

You watched him for a moment. One of the strange things about being famous was the fact that it seemed like the entire planet new your romantic history. It was disorienting, talking with someone who didn’t. 

“We dated for a while,” you said. “A long time ago.” 

Joel frowned. 

“Seems old for you.” 

You snorted. 

“Yeah, well,” you said. “It is what it is, I suppose. I haven’t seen him in a while except at awards shows and things. The breakup… it wasn’t great.” 

Joel nodded slowly, downing the last of his whisky before looking you in the eye. 

“You know it’s my job to protect you,” he said. “Someone shoots at you, it’s my job to take the bullet. Someone tries to grab you, it’s my job to grab them first. Thing is… it don’t really matter who the threat is. If he’s a threat, it’s my job to protect you from him. I will keep you safe. Understand?” 

You looked at him across the table, the seriousness of his expression, the uncanny openness of his gaze, the breadth and strength of his shoulders. There was something about him that made you believe him. He might hate you for some unknown reason but you trusted him. He would keep you safe, that you knew. 

The thought made your throat get tight and you smiled a little at him. 

“I understand,” you said. “Thank you, Joel.” 

He just gave you a stiff nod and you polished off your whisky and Joel helped you to the car that was waiting outside. Joel, at least, had thought to grab your purse and you texted Quinn about the shoes. You made a quick detour to Christian Louboutin, a sales woman running a pair of pumps in your size out to the car so you made it to your call time on time. They ushered you right into hair and makeup to touch up what you’d done to yourself that morning before bringing you in to the studio, a craft services table set up at the back. 

“There she is!” Your costar, Chris Reese, greeted you with open arms, a beaming smile on his face. You fought the urge to grimace as he hugged you, kissing you on both cheeks. “My God you look incredible, you really ought to have mercy on us mere mortals and have an off day sometime, love.” 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” You asked, brows raised. “Besides, you look pretty good yourself.” 

Which wasn’t a lie. Chris was almost unnaturally handsome - you wondered if he’d had some work done but, if he had, it was done well - with a sculpted face, dimpled chin, thick hair. He was good looking and he knew it but he seemed to love you admitting it, anyway. 

“Well, if you say so,” he winked. “Still say we’d make a beautiful couple. C’mon, just for a few weeks. We wouldn’t even need to fuck. Unless you wanted to, of course, because who am I to deny a beautiful woman what she wants…” 

“I think I’ll pass,” you said. 

“On the PR relationship or on the sex?” He asked, his British accent thick. “Because I’m happy to offer the sex with no strings attached.” 

“Oh I’m sure you are,” you clapped him on the shoulder before going to get yourself a Diet Coke. 

A production assistant came in then, calling you and Chris over to show you examples of some TikTok trends they wanted you to recreate for promos. 

It was hard to focus on them. You felt like you needed to play a character for things like this, some version of yourself that the public might want to see and be friends with, the kind of person they’d want to see on their social media feed instead of just on a movie screen. But it was hard to fall into it today. You had to say “Chris, this is the media day for ‘As We Know It’” three times before you finally settled on a take to use. 

Chris, to his credit, was good natured about it, willingly saying “I hope she plays Hot to Go” again and again until you were both happy with it. He did the same thing for some choreographed dance after you fucked it up more than you cared to admit and you tried not to feel completely humiliated by it all. 

After you posed for some photos - so many with your head on Chris’ chest or your face close to his, the faked intimacy making your jaw clench tight - you settled in for the interviews and you were already exhausted. You hadn’t counted on seeing Henry that day and, even if you had, you wouldn’t have known how much it would take out of you. 

“You alright, love?” Chris asked as you had a few minutes between interview three and four. “Seem like you’re not quite yourself.” 

“Fine,” you said, taking a sip of Diet Coke. “Just a long day.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, taking a swig of water. “God, this is the worst part of the job.” 

“Not the night shoot where we were covered in mud and it was 40 degrees outside?” You asked, brows raised. 

He barked a laugh. 

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “That might have been worse.” 

The next reporter came in and introduced himself and settled in across from the two of you and everything seemed normal, the usual questions about research and challenges and favorite parts of the film when he turned is focus to you and you had to fight the urge to frown at that. 

“This one is just for you,” he said. “Sorry, Chris.” 

“Don’t worry, I know where I stand when this one’s involved,” he smiled jovially. “Rightfully so, I might add.” 

“Such a charmer,” you smiled at him before turning back to the reporter. 

“As We Know It is familiar territory for you in a few ways,” he said, making you frown slightly. “Not so much in plot but more in the awards aspect. You famously won your Oscar - your first Oscar, I should say, since you’re the favorite this season - when you were just 20. You were the frontrunner then, too, because you were such a standout…” 

“I mean if you want to talk about how great I am, I won’t argue too much,” you smiled, hoping to change the subject. 

“Oh, I could,” he smiled back. “But more what I’m getting at… The District, which was about a teenaged prostitute working in a red light district, was a very different film from As We Know It. This is much bigger in scope while also being very intimate - framing the dissolution of a marriage around the end of the world - while The District was much more of a character study, one that caught a lot of flack for the rampant nudity and graphic sex scenes. 

“But you also had a very different connection to The District, didn’t you?” He continued. “Your boyfriend at the time, Henry Wilde, developed it as a vehicle to launch that era of your career. The movie really existed because of you, didn’t it?” 

Your eyes darted toward where Joel was standing, your fingers pressing down into your thigh. You could feel his gaze on you, could sense the tension drawn tight between you, like he was waiting there for something to shift just enough for him to jump in. 

“Well…” 

“I was wondering what that was like for you,” he said. “Being in on the ground floor like that and having something built around you and your skills versus what the process looks like when you don’t have someone in that director/producer role crafting a film specifically for you? And how does that change awards season for you?”

You dug your nails into your leg. 

“Well, I…” 

“I’ll take this one, love,” Chris said, his hand coming to cover yours and you turned to look at him and you realized that he was watching you, intently, before turning his attention to the reporter. “I’m going to lay this out for you as clearly as I can: we aren’t doing that.” 

The reporter opened his mouth to argue but Chris cut him off. 

“No, you asked your question, I’m giving you the bloody answer,” he said. “First of all, my costar here is the most beautiful woman on the planet and the single most talented actor I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with so you will treat her with the respect she’s due. She’s also a lot kinder than I am because she would just answer your bullshit question which is why I’m not letting her. Someone needs to teach you some manners. 

“I’m not going to let you sit there and say - to her fucking face - that you think she slept her way to the top,” he said, tone heated. “Because that’s bullshit. You’ve seen her films, you’ve seen her act, if you think she got here off anything beyond talent and incredibly hard work, you’re insane but, more importantly, even if she DID fuck her way to the top, who cares? Why would that be on her? She was, what, 18 when making that film? Henry Wilde was pushing 50? Never mind the fact that he bragged about recognizing her talent when he first met her when she was all of - what was it, love? 13?” 

He looked at you again, giving you a chance to answer. 

“Twelve,” you said, your grip on your leg easing. 

“Fucking 12!” He turned his attention back toward the reporter. “Can you imagine meeting someone who is 12 years old when you’re in your fucking 40s and then DATING THEM six years later? If she slept with him for the part - which I highly doubt since she wouldn’t even pretend to date me to get good PR for this movie, I know because I asked - why would that be on her? That’s on him, ask him why he was going after fucking teenagers, don’t ask her.” 

“Alright, I think that’s all the time we have,” Chris’ publicist all but jumped in between him and the reporter, cutting him off before he could go any further. “Thank you so much for coming, why don’t we just see what I can answer for you over here…” 

She guided the still dumbfounded looking man away, leaving just you and Chris sitting there in awkward silence. 

“Sorry about that,” he said after a moment. “Just think if I had to sit there and let that jackass keep going I was going to lose my bloody mind.” 

“No, I…” You looked at him for a moment. “Thank you. Why did you do that?” 

He shrugged. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked. “Meant what I said. You are supremely talented and an all around lovely person. You may not be too fond of me…” 

“I never said that,” you said quickly but he gave you a look. 

“But that’s really my own fault,” he said. “Something tells me if I came on a little less strong when we met, you and I might be friends.” 

You smiled a little. 

“We still can be,” you said. 

“As long as you don’t hold it against me,” he gave you a wink. “Even if I do deserve it.” 

You reached a hand out for him and he took it, giving your fingers a squeeze. 

“My publicist is going to kill me,” he said cheerfully. “Maybe I’ll never have to do press again.” 

You barked a laugh, already feeling lighter. 

“Let me know if it works,” you said. “I’ve got a few screeds stashed away, think I could be just unhinged enough to pull it off.”

The rest of the media day was calm, the same basic questions just asked in slightly different ways, things handled easily by your years of media training. 

There was just one other moment that set you on edge, probably because of the moment with Joel earlier in the day, the one where he brought your Oscar out from his room and forced you to look at it for the first time in years. 

“So,” the reporter asked, smiling conspiratorially. “You each have an Academy Award and I’ve always wondered: where on earth do you keep something like that?” 

“Oh that’s easy,” Chris said. “Keep mine on the bedside table but not on my side of the bed. Like to make sure the people I bring home know I’ve got one.” 

He gave the reporter a wink and she giggled and you tried not to laugh. 

“And you?” She asked when you weren’t quite so forthcoming. 

“Oh,” you said, your fingers pressing down into your thigh again, keenly aware of Joel’s eyes on you. “Currently, it’s in the back of my pantry.” 

“Your pantry?” Chris looked at you, incredulous. “What on earth is it doing there?” 

You laughed and hoped it didn’t sound too fake. 

“I just like keeping myself humble,” you said. “If it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind. Gives me something to work towards.” 

“Not me,” Chris said. “I’d wear that thing on a chain if it wasn’t so bloody heavy.” 

“I’ve got an Emmy that’s a paperweight in my office,” you smiled. “That one’s lighter if you want to borrow it…” 

“Not nearly as impressive for me if it’s got your name on it, love. Guess I’ll need to do some TV,” he said. “Get one of my own. Will you do it with me?” 

You laughed a little, more genuinely than you ever really had with Chris before. You liked it. 

“Of course,” you said. “I’d love to work with you again.” 

“And we’d love to see it,” the reporter smiled. 

Once the final reporter left, you got up, taking a moment to stretch as best you could in your outfit, the boning of the corseted top keeping you from doing too much and you were ready to be out of the damn thing, back in the comfort of your home where you could peel back the carefully packaged version of yourself that existed for public consumption and just exist without the artifice of it all. 

“Christ, media days are so long,” Chris said, cracking his back, too. “Give me back to back night shoots any day.” 

“Tell me about it,” you said. “Are you staying in town at least or are you heading out tonight?” 

“I’ll be here through the premier,” he said. “Want to walk the carpet with me? As friends, of course.” 

“Yeah,” you smiled a little. “That would be nice.” 

He gave you a peck on the cheek and a squeeze before the two of you went your separate ways, Joel sitting beside you in the back of the SUV as you stared out the window, watching the city go past. 

You did a FaceTime call with Ellie after you got changed and had something to eat, not too long before her bedtime. She told you about school, excited about making friends with a girl named Dina and proud of her grade on her latest science test. You’d promised to take her to the space center in Houston if she actually studied, so you made a mental note to see if Quinn could make some calls and get you a tour. You usually didn’t like leveraging your celebrity status for things like that - you’d gone to DisneyLand plenty of times and just worn a baseball cap and sunglasses all day, doing your best to blend in while waiting in line like everybody else - but, for something that would help keep Ellie engaged in learning, you’d pull some strings. 

Talking to her was good but it was also hard. You sat there for a minute, staring into space when the call was over. Something in you was so hollow in that moment, as though someone and wrenched your ribs apart and carved out your insides, leaving you totally empty. 

You missed Ellie. You missed Anna. You missed a life you’d never had, one that was quiet and still and let you exist in a way that didn’t include people like fucking Henry or reporters asking about some of the worst parts of your life so everyone else could know about them, too. 

When that feeling stuck around a little too long, you unfolded yourself from the couch and padded back toward your bedroom, pausing for a second at Joel’s door. The light was on in his room but it was quiet. Not that you should be bothering him, anyway. Just because he’d been kind to you that afternoon didn’t mean that the two of you were suddenly friends. 

You sighed before going to your room and getting your guitar from its place in the corner.

You took it out back to sit by the pool, tuning it quickly before strumming a few chords, trying to think of what to play. 

Eventually, you settled on Landslide. It had been a while since you’d played, it took you a little while to find a groove, but it still felt good. You’d never been an incredible guitarist by any means, but you loved playing. It felt like something you did just for you, something that no one else expected out of you. 

That was the problem with acting for a living. It helped you think and process and understand yourself and the people around you but it wasn’t something you could do on your own terms anymore, it was always something made for someone else, so someone else could profit or be entertained. No one expected you to play guitar for them, this was something you could do just for you. 

You played the song twice to get a feel for things again and just started playing music that felt right, not always whole songs, sometimes just bits and pieces, sometimes singing sometimes not as you watched the glow from the pool light ripple on the water.  

“Didn’t know you played.” 

You jumped, whipping your head around to find Joel hovering near the door, his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants with a t-shirt on this time. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t… didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

“It’s alright,” you said, looking back toward the water. “I forgot you were here for a minute is all.” 

“It OK if I join you?” He asked and you looked back at him again. 

You shrugged.

“If you want.” 

He came and sat on the lounge chair next to yours, staring straight ahead at the water, too, his hands clasped between his knees. 

“Don’t gotta stop just because of me,” he said after a moment. “You ain’t bad.” 

You laughed once. 

“I’m not great,” you said. 

He shrugged. 

“Definitely heard worse. Where’d you learn to play?” 

“I had to learn the basics for Siren,” you said. “They almost never used my real playing on the show but I needed to at least look like I knew what I was doing. I just kept learning after that. I know I’m not very good but it feels good, you know?” 

Joel nodded slowly, looking like he wanted to say something but seeming to think better of it. 

“You doing OK?” He asked after a minute. 

You looked at him, examining him closely. 

“Why?” You asked. “Do you actually care or are you trying to find something to use against me.” 

He examined you back, his gaze sharp and exacting before softening. 

“Just seemed like you had a shit day,” he said. 

You nodded slowly, looking back to the water again. 

“I just miss my friend,” you said quietly. “Ellie’s mom, I mean. She was my person, she was my person for my whole life and I just want to talk to her again. I want to tell her about lunch and about Chris and I want her to know that Ellie got an A on her science test…” 

“She did?” Joel asked and you looked over at him, his expression oddly earnest. 

“She did,” you smiled a little. “I called her a little while ago, she was very proud.” 

“She should be,” Joel said. “She worked hard.” 

“She did,” you said again and then you sighed. “It just seems so impossible that Anna’s gone. She doesn’t get to see these things, I don’t have her to talk to, I can’t get drunk with her or laugh with her or… “ 

Mid-sentence, Joel just got up and walked away. You sat there, blinking at the empty space for a moment before you huffed derisively. 

“Figures,” you muttered to yourself, before picking at the guitar strings again. But, unexpectedly, Joel was back just a minute later, two glasses of whisky in his hands and a bottle of water tucked under his arm. He handed you a glass and set the bottle on the ground next to your foot. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Just… think we need it.”

You considered him for a moment before nodding and taking a sip. He did the same before frowning a little, holding the glass away from himself and examining it. 

“What?” You frowned. 

“Nothin’,” he said. “Just never had shit this good before. Probably should have asked before taking it.” 

“Nah,” you waved him off. “It’s there to be taken, I don’t mind.” 

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a whisky girl,” he said, taking another sip. “This is damn good.” 

“I picked it up when I was young,” you said. “Meeting with producers, they liked when a girl drank like them and seemed to know her shit. I had to force it at first but… well, I guess I acquired the taste. Course, that means I’m picky now. That’s a Macallan 25.” 

Joel whistled, long and low. 

“Explains why it’s so damn good,” he said. 

You smiled a little. 

“That it does.” 

You sipped the liquor in silence for a bit, savoring the feel of it on your tongue, the heat as it slipped into your stomach. 

“What Chris was sayin’,” Joel said eventually, his voice trailing off before he continued. “That all true?” 

You looked over at him, watching him for a moment. Joel puzzled you. There were times he seemed to relish being cold or even cruel. Others - like this one - where he seemed to genuinely care. 

You weren’t sure what to make of it. 

“Yeah,” you said after a minute. “Yeah, it is. But it’s not… Look, this is Hollywood. Producers and men with power date young women because they can and the young women date them because we know it can help us get ahead. Tale as old as time.” 

“That why you did it?” He asked. 

You didn’t really feel like giving him the real answer, so you just looked back at your pool and shrugged, taking another drink. 

“Meant what I said before,” he said after a minute. “I will keep you safe. Don’t matter who, don’t matter why. If you don’t want to ever talk to him again, fine, you don’t have to.” 

You laughed once, darkly. 

“That’s very sweet, Joel, but he’s producing the movie I’m on,” you said. “I’m going to have to deal with him, that’s just how it works.” 

“Well, then, it won’t be alone,” he said. “Not while I’m around, anyway.” 

“Because you’re going to fight the most powerful producer in Hollywood?” You asked, teasing a little, a small smile tugging at your lips. 

Joel shrugged. 

“Don’t much care who he is,” Joel said. “But why not. I’d win.” 

You laughed and then sighed and, before you were really thinking about it, your head drifted over to Joel’s shoulder. He stiffened and you were about to pull yourself back and apologize but then he relaxed a little, his arm slipping around you, his hand settling into the curve of your waist. 

“You’ll be safe,” he said, so quietly that you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear it. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

You smiled a little, the light dancing on the water. For some reason, you believed him. 

A/N: I swear, I'm not trying to only publish once a month! Thank you for waiting for this chapter. I really am so happy you're here.

I hope you're all taking care of yourselves right now. There's been a lot going on lately, please spend some time looking after yourself. You deserve it (and Joel would want you to.)

Love you ❤️

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent

[oppropro]

Chapter 3

This is the conclusion to my fanfic. This was really fun and I hope all y'all enjoy it. Maybe I'll write some more stuff later on. Something shorter and more lighthearted.

Once again, All credit to @jttw-monkeybusiness for her AU story.

********

CHAPTER 3- Hired

            The only sound Sophie could focus on was that of her heavy footsteps drumming on the forest floor in tandem with her racing heart. Her mad sprint had tempered into a steady pace as she continued to run as straight as the terrain would allow her. Her legs ached and her chest felt like it was on fire. No matter how heavy she breathed, she never seemed to get enough air. Still, she had to keep running. At that moment, it did not matter to her where she was going; anywhere but there.

            She tripped over a tree root but did not lose her balance. What the fuck had just happened to her? How the hell did she wind up in a forest? That woman in the shop. Was this her fault? Was she a witch? A mare? More likely, she drugged that cup of tea, and this is all a hallucination, a bad trip. A nightmare.

            She should have fallen onto the wet pavement of her hometown. A street bustling with vehicles and foot traffic. The smell of concrete, rubber, unemptied garbage bins; all overpowered by the sweet perfume of flowering tree blossoms. Someone should have helped her up to her feet and brushed away the dirt from her scratched up face. A human; not a pig-man. And what was that thing she fell on? Some grotesque talking monkey monster? It looked like it wanted to tear her apart with its fangs. Jesus Christ! It talked. He talked. The monkey monster and the pig-man talked. None of this could be real.

            When she thought she had put enough space between her and her would-be assailant, and when she finally ran out of breath, Sophie stopped and leaned her back against the trunk of a mossy tree. The air was cool and humid, making her sweat stick to her body rather than evaporating. Now her legs hurt, her head throbbed, her chest burned, and she was shivering. With her eyes closed, Sophie managed to regain control of her breathing and rummaged through her pocket for her cell phone. She pulled it out of her sweater and opened her eyes so she could unlock it.

            Sophie dialed 112 and waited for the call to connect. Nothing. There was no signal. No data. No Wi-Fi. No matter how many times she tried, her calls were not going through.

            Unable to hold back whimpers anymore, Sophie held her phone in front of her with both hands wishing she had the strength to snap the useless piece of junk in half. All out of options, she cried out to the heavens.

            “Help! Somebody please help me!”

            To her dismay, the heavens answered.

            “Yeah, I can help you girly.”

            Sophie turned to her right to see the monkey monster standing no less than five meters away. Her heart sank.

********

            Was it fair to think that all humans were stupid, or was it this woman in particular? To be fair, Wukong acknowledged that he held a personal bias, what with this woman crashing onto him and then running off without so much as an apology for her insolence. Tracking her down was not hard, it was actually quite funny to watch her run herself to exhaustion. The distance was impressive, for a human, and he doubted that his master could do any better than her.

            Wukong observed the woman as he stalked her from the canopy above. She obviously posed no real threat. There was nothing demonic about her, though her foreign attire made her suspect. She could be a part of a demon plot; a patsy to be used as bait to lure him and his master. If she was smart, she would answer his questions and return with him to his master; then the monk will see that Sun Wukong, the great sage equal to heaven, is the fastest, smartest, fiercest, bravest, patient, loyal, and most merciful of all on heaven and earth.

            The woman below Wukong began crying for help. The chase had gone on long enough. It was time to get some answers.

            “Yeah, I can help you girly.”

            The woman looked up at him and froze. She was like a frail little deer staring down a tiger.

            “Of course, you’re gonna have to answer some questions of mine. First off, who are you and whose dumb ass idea was it for you to assault me and my master? I’m pretty sure you’re too stupid to sabotage the monk’s mission on your own, so start naming names and I promise I won’t hurt you.”

            She stood, still frozen in place, her lips quivering. Her eyes darting between him and a clearing in the forest floor, the remnants of some old animal trail. There was no way she would be stupid enough to run again.

            “Just answer my questions,” Wukong was no longer asking, he was ordering.

            The woman stared him down, regaining the slightest semblance of composure. Then, she ran off again into the forest.

            Why? WHY! Why was she making this harder than it needed to be? He was tired of playing cat and mouse. He barely had to walk briskly to catch sight of her again. This time he was going to make sure she stayed put. He extended his jingu bang out before her. He could have hit her with it, but he didn’t. She ran right into it on her own. Wukong grinned cheek to cheek as he watched the woman tumble over the staff and face plant into dirt. He laughed aloud as he made his way to her feet. His staff rested on her back in case she tried to run again.

            “I guess you are a stupid as you look, but I am in a forgiving mood so answer my questions and I will make sure you don’t hurt yourself any more than you have already.”

            The woman on the ground grabbed a fist full of dirt and debris, then with impressive precision managed to throw the filth in Wukong’s face, hitting him in the eye with a rather sharp pebble. She squirmed under the weight of his staff but could not free herself.

            “GET AWAY FROM ME YOU DISGUSTING CREATURE!” Her voice conveyed all the fear and malice Wukong knew to expect from every god and mortal alike that crossed his path.

            This was the end of his patience. He was the one who was accosted. He was the one showing mercy. He was not the perpetrator in this attack. He did nothing wrong. And yet this insolent little mortal woman thinks she can attack and insult the great Sun Wukong? He was going to get the answers he wanted from the woman and then drag her ass back to his master. But first, he was going to teach her a lesson she would never forget.

            “You think I’m a disgusting creature? You think I’m a monster? You’re the one who attacked me. But that just makes what I’m about to do you all the more justified.”

            His fur stood up on end. the knuckles in his right hand cracked. The woman beneath him cowered as he readied his strike.

********

            Sophie braced for whatever blow that monster was about release unto her. Huddled on the damp forest floor trembling in a fetal position, her eye clenched shut; she prayed for this nightmare to end. But no strike came.

            She opened her eyes to see that her prayer was only halfway answered: she was still in this strange forest, but the monster that was attacking her was now seemingly incapacitated. He was doubled over on himself, clenching the golden band around his head. He looked to be in agony. Behind the monster was the pig-man and the human who were with her when she fell.

            Sophie hardly registered the man back then. Now, riding on a white horse, with elegant robes, he looked like a prince out of a far away fairy tale. He was in deep concentration; muttering words Sophie could hardly hear. Pig-man looked on at Sophie and the monster with a seeming sense of shock. A third man was with them. A large blue man, with a not-unfriendly appearance. Sophie couldn’t remember if he was there all along or not. It didn’t matter. They were here now, and whatever that meant, their presence kept the monster at bay.

            Blue-man walked to her side and helped her up slowly. “Please, little sister, accept this apology for the behaviour of my brother.” Sophie found his baritone voice to be assuring. “We do not mean you any harm. Our master, the monk Tripitaka, simply wants to know how it came to be that you have happened upon our company.”

            Sophie looked to the man on the horse, this Tripitaka monk, and then back to the monster still reeling in pain. If she had any chance of surviving, it was with the monk. Guided by blue-man’s gentle hand, she began to follow the strangers through the forest.

            Pig-man held her backpack in front of himself, “Little sister, you dropped this when you fell. I will carry it for you until we are back at our camp.” Sophie could tell he was trying to cheer her up, make her feel better. She simply nodded in silence and continued to stare blankly ahead, hoping the second half of her prayer would come true and she could leave this wretched place.

********

            Hours had passed and Sophie was warming herself by a fire prepared by pig-man. Bajie, she had come to learn, or Pigsy as his friends called him. She held in her hand a cup of tea prepared by Wujing, who told her to call him Sandy. The cup was warm in her hands and the tea was bitter and earthy. Sophie would take sips and let the tea sit in her mouth awhile before swallowing. To her it seemed it was the only part of her existence she had any control over. She had finally stopped crying, but every now and then tears would well up and pour down her cheeks.

            Once they had arrived at camp, Sophie had told Tripitaka all about the events of her day leading up to her being shoved out a store front door and onto the monkey monster, Sun Wukong. Wukong had more titles to his name, but Sophie didn’t care to learn them. Once Sophie and the monk had gone back and forth trying to puzzle out her story, he excused himself from her presence to sit in quiet contemplation.  Sophie sat alone staring into the flames of the campfire.

            Wukong sat at the outskirts of their camp. Sulking, arms crossed, and staring daggers at Sophie. She could sense him from the periphery of her vision but refused to make eye contact.

She didn’t know if she was more afraid of him than she was angry. She was angry at him and knew he was angry at her, which made her more afraid. When Pigsy assured her that Tripitaka had ways to make sure Wukong would behave himself, that seemed to make the monkey even angrier at her. No matter what, she could not allow herself to be alone with that monkey demon.

            The sounds of Pigsy and Sandy setting up camp and preparing a meal, melded with the sounds of the forest: distant birds, chirping insects, and wind through the tree leaves. All the sounds blended together into a silence Sophie was able to ignore. She was tired of thinking, tired of existing; she wished for no more than to slip into nothingness. The only thing that seemed to keep her tethered to the reality was the crackling of the fire and the cup in her hand.

            Finally, the silence was shattered by Tripitaka’s voice. “I have come to a decision.” The pilgrims halted whatever task they were performing to look at their master. Sophie slowly turned to meet his gaze as well.

            “It seems to me that it is the wish of Buddha, as well as the wish of the Bodhisattva, that Sophie accompanies this party on our holy mission. Therefore, she shall act as my servant and assist us on our journey.”

            The monk’s declaration was met with mixed reviews. Sandy accepted the news at face value, Pigsy seemed happy. Wukong was taken aback. Sophie shook her head in denial of the monk’s words.

            “No. I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this.”

            “Master, I beg you to reconsider,” Wukong interjected. “Our journey is hard enough already. If we take her on, she is just going to be another liability.”

            Despite the protests of Sophie and Wukong, Tripitaka stuck to his conviction. “Sophie was offered a job by Guanyin to act as my assistant. I had told Wukong that whatever challenges should befall us, we must face; and you just so happened to fall upon Wukong. I don’t think it could be any clearer that you have been brought here to help keep my disciple in line, though how you might achieve that is a mystery to me.”

            Sophie looked across at Wukong, who again stared back at her. If he was angry at her before, heaven knows what he was feeling now.

            “My disciples shall assist you in your chores, until you find your own footing in this world. And then, you shall be able to carry your own weight on this journey so that you are not a burden or a liability.” The monk stared down Wukong as he finished his sentence.

            “Tripitaka, please, I just want to go home,” Sophie pleaded to the monk.

            “If it was in my ability to send you home I would do so in a heartbeat dear Sophie. Alas, the only one I know of who could perform such a miracle is Buddha and he is not here. As it were, we are on our journey to reach Buddha ourselves, if you wish to ask him to send you home you are more than welcome to accompany us.”

            Tripitaka gave Sophie a sad smile. He was trying to make the best of her sorry situation. There was no denying the truth in his words, however. If she ever wanted to get back to her home, to her mother, she was going to have to accompany the monk on his journey to the west.

[irishmammonagenda]

Boop!- Obey Me x Reader

Summary: You go on a mission to boop, as per usual chaos ensues. Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Female Reader (implied), i dont really think there's anything else but if you can see something lmk and i'll add a warning

very obviously inspired by tumblr's boop event

dividers by @saradika-graphics

"Hello Michael!" You greet, signature foxy grin on your face. Michael looks up from where he's playing Connect Four with a man in robes and waves at you.

"Hiya MC!" He puts the palms of his hands on the soft cloud ground and leans back on them, he's bare chested in the heat, though he's adorned himself with waist beads and arm bands, firm muscles on display. His long curly blond hair is in intricate braids, small ornaments threaded through it. He grins up at you, bright red eyes shining under the light of the Celestial sun. "What's brought ya up to the Celestial Realm today?"

"I am evil. I am very evil Michael." You say seriously.

The other man laughs, though not unkindly. His tanned skin shimmers ethereally under the light, dark brown eyes stare up at you, rich like soil after the morning due. Dark waves and soft curls frame his face, some soft stubble one his jawline, barely noticeable. "I'm sure you're not evil." He says kindly.

You stare at him, before smiling as well, touched. "Aww thanks! And you are?"

The man smiles, reaching his hand up, Michael takes that time to sneakily move one of the coins the man had put down a slot over. "I'm Jesus, it's nice to meet you MC."

You cough. "You're Jesus?"

"Yes." He nods, "A lot of people are shocked when they first meet me...something about expecting me to look like Da Vinci's gay lover."

You nod, dumbfounded.

Michael, sensing your inner turmoil, and also needing to keep Jesus' attention elsewhere so he could continue cheating- winning creatively in Connect 4, clears his throat, "So what's brought you to the Celestial Realm and made you claim that you're evil?"

This makes you grin, "Well, my dearest Michael....have you heard of boops?"

Michael straightens up a little bit, Jesus watches him intently, before fixing the board to its original state whilst the Archangel is distracted.

"No I have not...Why, what are they?" Michael asks, signature mischievous grin on his face. "They sound fun."

"Well I'm glad you asked Michael!" You grin, before leaning in and whispering into his ear. The added proximity made you realise he smelt of pine cone and fresh rain.

Michael giggles evilly, turning over to Jesus, before reaching a dark, jewel adorned hand and booping his nose. "Boop!"

Jesus just smiles, Crucifixion was worse. "It's your go, Michael."

"Oh of course! MC wait for this game to be over! I have...uh..business to attend to in the Devildom!"

You and Jesus share a look.

Michael looks over at you two, "You coming Jesus?"

The man smiles gently, "No thanks, I'm still traumatised from that one time when Satan tormented me in the desert."

"Oh okay...." Michael deflates the tiniest smidge before looking back at the board, spluttering. "Hey you moved the pieces!"

Jesus snorts, "Yeah, I moved the pieces back from where you tried to cheat."

"Lying's a sin." Michael huffs.

Jesus laughs, "Was that an admition of guilt?"

Michael falls onto his back dramatically, dark skin shining in the Celestial Realm's blessed light. "Ugh! Woe is me! This is worse than the time that one Irish kid got me confused with Michael Collins!"

Jesus pats his shoulder in pity. "Easter's a hard time for all of us."

Michael blinks at the scars on Jesus' palms from the nails and bites back a very bad Cross joke. "You could say that again."

After the game of Connect 4 ended, (Michael lost) you and the Archangel said your goodbyes to Jesus and began your journey down to the Devildom. Michael walks beside you, a good bit taller than you. Michael having swapped out his less than covering attire for a flowy white flare sleeved top that you'd imagine a pirate or a Victorian would wear, the lace buttons are undone for the most part, as per usual. You'd come to learn that the Archangel hated top buttons with a burning passion.

"I call Lucikins." Michael says with about as much seriousness as a 10 year old calling shotgun on the front seat of the car. So very serious.

"Fine. I call Mammon." You reply, looking up at him, as if daring him to try and boop your first man before you could. He pouts, but relents.

"I call Satan then." Michael blinks back at you with crimson eyes.

"No why?" You sulk.

Michael shrugs. "He's my nephew. I get to boop his nose it's the law."

"No it's not."

"Yeah it is!"

"Prove it then." You huff.

Michael turns around and you hear fidgeting before he hands you a paper napkin with writing on it. You notice the fountain pen he sneakily snuck back into his trouser pocket and glare at him, before reading the napkin.

The Eleventh Commandment: Thou shall let Michael boop his nephew's nose.

You hum, "Something's telling me this is fake."

Michael gasps incredulously, as if offended by the very notion, he places a hand over his breast, where his heart is. "How dareth thou! Truly, 'tis a crime against nature to speak such filth about the Holy Word. A crime against God I daresay!"

"Okayy...drama king."

Michael gasps again. "Alas! Thou speaketh such filth! Such blasphemy to thee! Thy words...such horrors! Cursed are thou amongst humankind!"

You deadpan. "I'm taking away your Shakespeare rights."

"Try it I dare you." Michael challenges, red eyes gleaming with something predatory. "You can boop Simeon."

You grin. "Yay!"

"I call Luke."

Your grin drops. "What the frickety flip that's my son."

Michael's brows furrow. "He's my son too what the flip."

You gasp, bringing your hands to your mouth. "Did we?..."

Michael's eyes widen, he pulls his top up and counts his ribs, losing count several times because you keep adding random numbers in. He looks up at you.

"Did we have a child out of Wedlock?!"

You and Michael look at each other in object horror. Both conveniently ignoring the fact that Luke technically came into existence millennias before you.

"I think we did...." You place your hand over your brow like a Victorian woman seeing the ankles of her secret lesbian lover for the first time.

Michael follows suit.

"Michael....I fear we might be sinners...."

"Well you know what they say in the human world MC...." Michael sniffles, looking away from you dramatically. "Sinner sinner chicken dinner...."

You pause, breaking character. "Is it not Winner winner chicken dinner?"

Michael shrugs. "Not like I care."

You parrot his movement, shrugging your shoulders back as well, before the horror creeps back onto your expression. "But...Simeon and Barbatos also see Luke as their son...."

Michael looks at you wide eyed, grabbing you by the shoulders, "MC! We have to count their ribs!"

You put your head in your hands, "Two angels, a demon and a human with angel blood that's somehow an angel....our son is a hybrid!"

Michael gasps. "Hybrid princess?"

You do a double take. "Why do you know what gacha is." You breath out, looking at Michael in genuine fear.

"I wasn't a gacha kid don't worry! Levi was though! He'd show me his little Gacha stories that he made...." Michael looks nostalgic. "Such an adorable little weirdo....he gets it from Lucifer y'know."

"If I described Lucifer as an adorable little weirdo I think he'd skin me alive."

"That sounds like a you problem." Michael grins.

You and Michael continue your journey down to the Devildom, only this time he's giving you a piggy back ride because you annoyed him until he agreed. Strong hands hold your thighs to keep you from falling, as your arms are wrapped around his neck.

You had been 'calling' people to boop.

"I call Diavolo."

"Deal." Michael nods, trying and failing to twist his head around to face you because you're on his back and he's not an owl. "I don't want to accidentally start another Celestial War by booping the Prince and acting King of the Devildom's nose."

"That's surprisingly a good reason."

"Fuck you mean surprisingly?" Michael scoffs, though there's no real bite to it. "I'm always having good reasons."

"Yeah and I'm the spawn of Satan." You say sarcastically, human world side winning over for a second, until you remember that Satan is in fact a real person and that you are in fact now in the Devildom.

Michael laughs, "You know who Satan's the spawn of? Lucifer."

"Don't let him hear you say that."

"What's he gonna do? Bully me while I'm in a desert? Jokes on him, I hate sand and don't go anywhere near it."

"I don't feel safe anymore, we're gonna get jumped."

Michael laughs.

"I call Levi, I need to return an anime to him anyway." Michael breaks the silence.

"You borrow animes from Levi?"

"Yeah sometimes, me and Saint Peter watch animes at the gates of Heaven when it's a slow day and not a lot of souls are being guided into it."

"Nah imagine dying and waking up in heaven to see the people at the gates watching anime."

Michael sticks out his tongue, though stops when he remembers you're on his back and can't see it.

"I call Barbatos."

Michael sighs in relief, carrying you through the streets of the Devildom. "Thank God, you can have him. Good luck with that."

"Go fuck yourself Michael. I call Thirteen."

Michael gasps excitedly. "Tell her I say hi!"

"Tell her yourself."

Michael huffs. "You're so mean to me MC."

You bite his neck, really embodying your inner feral street cat. He yelps. "Don't try to steal my wife, next time I'll bite your jugular pretty boy."

Michael laughs, "I am quite pretty..." He flips his hair, the intricate golden braids and curls hit you in the face, seeing as you're still on his back. You let out a sound similar to a feral street cat coughing up a hairball, he laughs again. "Also I'm pretty sure Thirteen is a lesbian."

You perk up. "Oh yay! You should be the priest at our wedding Michael. You don't have a choice."

"Fine." The archangel huffs, his plump lips pouty. "But only if Luke's the flower boy."

"I was gonna make him the ring boy giver person." You reply, playing with one of the ornaments braided into Michael's hair.

"Even better!"

Moments of comfortable silence last before you decide to break it because you're evil and have no moral code whatsoever.

"Michael you can have Solomon."

Said Archangel halts. Dropping you off of his back before turning to look at you, now strewn out on the ground. He puts his hand over his brow like a Victorian man who just saw the ankles of his gay lover. (Probably Solomon: You'd decided.)

"No! How couldeth thou?" He sighs dramatically before it just turns exhasperated. "Those rumours just died down...."

You jump up off of the ground, wiping the soil from your clothes, "They have?! Dammit!"

Michael deadpans at you, pulling at a golden coil of hair and letting it be stretched straight before letting go and watching it bounce back up into a curl again. "I hate you."

"That's harsh."

After having separated from Michael, you sneak into your First Man's room. He sits lazily, lounging on his bed and scrolling mindlessly through his DDD. So enraptured he doesn't even notice your presence just yet until you press your finger to his nose.

"Boop!"

"ARGHH-" he screeches, jumping atleast five feet in the air before realising it was you and scoffing. "Oh...It's you...o-of course ye'd wanna boop the Great Mammon's nose! That'll cost ya!" He huffs, trying to avoid the initial embarassment of you seeing him so uncool!

"Boop!" You boop him again, he grins stupidly like an idiot inlove, before snapping out of it and putting his 'too cool for this' persona back on.

"T-that'll cost ye! MC!" He stutters, trying to cover his blush.

"Oh will it now?" You raise a brow before bringing your lips to his nose and pecking it there, pulling away again in less than a second. "Boop."

He pulls you in for a hug before you can pull away completely. You grin, having reduced the Avatar of Greed to a blushy pile of mush in your arms.

Take that Alpha Male podcasters who think women want dominant mean men who suck and hate them. Everyone knows all women want a Mammon.

You and Michael meet back up again. Michael having a scratch on his leg.

"Satan did not like the fact that I booped him at first...until I gave him an emergency kitten that I put in a cage nearby like 5 minutes before." Michael says, noticing that you noticed the scratch. "He almost bit me! He's definitely Lucikin's son!"

You point and laugh at him. He pouts, before interlocking your arms. "Purgatory hall?"

"Purgatory hall." You nod.

Michael knocks on the door. Luke answers it before gasping like a child on christmas. "Michael! Hi!" He hugs the Archangel who laughs and picks him up.

The blond boy notices you at that point, he smiles brightly. "Oh MC! Hi!"

"Hiya Luke!" You smile at him, booping his nose. "Boop!"

"Michael follows suit. "Boop!"

Luke blinks before grumbling. "I'm not a child..." He then turns his head back towards Michael who's still holding him. "Boop!"

Michael laughs. "Do MC now!" With that he quickly moves closer to you, Luke still in his arms, and the young angel boops your nose too. You all grin, laughing. Luke just ecstatic that Michael was able to visit. And he brought you too!

You end up watching a movie together, all three of you. Simeon comes home halfway through it. Having had to visit a publishers. Michael hides behind the door and when Simeon opens it, the dark skinned angel pops out, booping the poor man. "Boop!"

Simeon blinks at him. Michael smirks lightheartedly "Get booped Loserboy."

Simeon smiles, his gaze turning toward you." MC would you lie any help with your Solomon x Michael fanfiction? I heard from Satan that you two were on hiatus."

Michael groans. "Traitors!"

You laugh. "Get fanficked Loserboy."

Michael grins, putting on faux dramatics. "You both suck I'm going back into Luke! At least he's actually cool."

After a lovely movie with Luke, Simeon and Michael, you run away to a cave because why not?

After entering Thirteen's very lovely abode, and avoiding all of the traps laid out for Solomon, you finally catch a glimpse of her vibrant ombre hair.

"Hiya Tee!" You grin, pouncing on her and pulling her into a hug. The reaper, who's clearly batshit insane doesn't even flinch, she just laughs, hugging you back even tighter.

"MC! To what do I owe the pleasure babes?"

You giggle michieviously before bringing your hand up and, "Boop!"

She grins wider, bloodied emerald eyes staring back at you so lovingly, hints of playful devilry in her expression.

"Oh let me try! Boop!" She says before pulling you in for a kiss that makes your knees feel weak.

When you both pull away to catch a breath, you breathe out breathlessly. "That was a super boop....an evil boop even..." You say, face burning red, you know she feels the red hotness of your cheeks.

She just laughs. Tilting her head, some strands of hair falling into her face. "You want another one?"

You've never nodded quicker in your life.

"How in Diavolo's name did you get in here?" Lucifer asks, looking up from the work on his desk. He quickly closes over the confidential files and paperwork, turning his head to Michael once more. Blood red eyes narrowed at their counterpart's.

Michael approaches the Demon at a speed that could rival Mammon's. In an instant he's beside the raven-haired man. "Awww Lucikins don´t worry about it! Boop!"

Lucifer swallows thickly, and flicks his gaze to Michael. Despite having the glare of a thousand suns on him, Michael continues grinning. "Did you...did you just boop my nose?..." The Avatar of Pride asks in a low voice.

"I'm not too sure if I did..." Michael puts his fingers to his chin in mock thought, before grinning, pointer finger in the air. "I'll have to do it again to make sure!" The Archangel exclaims before booping his younger brother on the nose. "Boop!"

Lucifer growls. "Michael-"

"Yes, Lucikins?"

"Michael I am going to kill you."

The elder only laughed, "Awww classic Lucikins! Still in his teenage angst phase!"

"I did not have a teenage angst phase." Lucifer glares, huffing embarassedly, turning away and picking up his quill in an attempt to turn away from this god awful conversation.

Michael gives him a knowing look. "Don't make me pull out the photos."

His head snaps back to his elder brother. "What photos?"

"The photos of you with the wolf cut, the ones with you and the eyeliner, the ones where you're all dressed up in your little emo costumes..." Michael wipes a tear from his eye. "Oh...you were so adorable! Always threatening to murder me...! Glad to see that my wittle baby brother hasn't changed!" The Archangel exclaims, pinching his younger brother's cheeks and making them squish up, Lucifer felt his face flush with embarrassment. Michael laughed, he looked like a chipmunk!

"...'m no' a 'ittle ba'y bro'er! you'r tw' minu'es ol'er than 'ee!" Lucifer tries to shout, but with Michael pushing his cheeks together, it comes out muffled and distorted.

"All I heard is that you said I'm the best big brother in the three realms and you love me very much!"

Lucifer glares at him. A glare that doesn't hold any weight seeing as Michael is still squishing his cheeks together and he still looks like a chipmunk.

With enough squirming and fighting, Lucifer finally manages to get out of his brother's grip, he rubs his cheeks, staring daggers at the angel. "I would never say that. I'm not your baby brother. I'm not Lucikins. You're two minutes older than me yet two centuries more immature." He says venomously.

Too bad Michael's poison proof.

The Archangel laughs, "You're not my baby brother? Huh? Who's bed did you climb in when you were scared of the thunder back in the Celestial Realm?"

Lucifer bristles, swallowing thickly, "That's irrelevant."

"Sureee." Michael grins, though it's softer around the edges, Lucifer feels it too.

Lightning flashes in the Celestial realm. Long before Mammon had even been born. Thunder roars, a small whimper sounds. Lucifer sits in his bed, covers over his head, gripping a pillow tightly. Barely even a cherub, he takes the slight break in the storm to gather the courage to waddle over to his twin's bed.

"Mikey?" Lucifer whispers in the darkness, gripping onto the poles of the bed with his tiny pale hands. "Mikey...you awake?" He says through gapped teeth, a slight lisp in his voice. The gap between his two front teeth would close with time.

The sheets rustle, a young Michael groans, also barely a cherub his voice is as high pitched and childlike as his brother's. "Luci...go to sleep..." The slightly older cherub says, eyes still closed.

"Can't Mikey...'s too loud.." Lucifer whispers, black hair sticking to his forehead in a slight sheen of sweat. As if to prove his point, thunder roars again, lightning flashes. Lucifer whimpers, gripping the pole tighter.

Michael sits up sleepily, short curly hair tied in the tiniest protective braids possible, some small blond coils escaping their confines at the edges of his head. The older cherub wipes a small, chubby hand over his eyes and yawns before opening his duvet up just enough so that Lucifer could climb in.

"Make sure...go to sleep Lucikins..." Michael whispers tiredly, covering his yawning mouth before abandoning his teddy bear and putting his arm around his little brother instead.

Thunder sounds again. Lucifer stiffens and lets out a small sound. "Mikey...'m scared..." He grips onto his twins matching pajamas tightly with his tiny little hands.

Michael grins sleepily, red eyes staring into his twins same coloured ones. "Don't worry Lucikins! 'm always gonna p'tect you! That's wha' big brothers are for!"

The thunder still sounds, Lucifer still stiffens slightly,but surrounded by the warmth and comfort of his twin, he manages to sleep soundly.

After all the madness and badness. (Devil face emoji) You and Michael meet up in a Devildom café.

"That was productive!" The Archangel grins.

"Indeed it was Michael....indeed it was...." You say, a blissed out look on your face.

Michael arches a brow, "Is that one of Thirteen's leather jackets?"

"Maybe..." You say dreamily, playing with the sleeves.

Michael just laughs at you. "Get it, I guess! Anyway wanna watch Gilmore Girls with me? I need to catch up with Raphael...he's a few episodes ahead of me."

"Of course I do."

Michael brings his hands together in an imitation of a fly on a wall doing the hand thing. "Excellent."

.

.

.

"Do you think Luke's going to grow up to open a coffee shop?"

"Nah, he'd open a bakery."

this is utter bullshit and utter dogshit idek

[munsonsreputation]

WATCH THAT SCENE!

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: [2.3k]

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, mild cursing, overall fluff!!!

summary: the kids need help learning how to dance for their formal and you're their last resort, but they should've known not to count your suave boyfriend eddie out.

The sun had begun setting in the small town, the burnt twinge of orange and yellow tumbling over the sky where clouds grew drabber and the bright blue following behind. The air was the perfect kind of crisp that blew smoothly against your legs and face, easing the warmth that had developed from the hours of stretches, flips, kicks, and jumps.

All of the others girl had left the parking lot, only leaving you behind, though Chrissy was kind enough to offer you a ride, but you knew Eddie was going to there any minute. And so you beamed when his van came turning into the school zone, the music slowly being turned down as he saw you standing outside the gym already approaching his car.

“How was practice, baby?” He hailed out towards the open passenger window, smiling widely.

You rolled your eyes playfully, opening the door to toss your things into the backseat before settling into the soft velvet cushion beside him. Eddie was already jutting his chin out towards you when you giggled, holding a hand on his cheek to stabilize yourself and pressing your lips together.

He tasted like mint and cigarettes. A combination that you’d never get sick of because despite how much you hated that he smoked those cancer sticks, he always chewed a piece of gum before ever trying to go in for a kiss with you.

“I can’t wait to shower.” You groaned, combing your fingers through your oily hair when he finally started driving away from the school.

Cheer practice was always muggy and gross. Getting tossed in the air time and time again, then proceeding to touch the sweaty mats that everyone practically laid on and touched made you feel icky. It was always routine for you to get into a shower after practice and scrub the living daylights out of your skin.

Eddie looked over at you, cursing under his breath a little at his forgetfulness.

“Shit! Sorry, babe, but Henderson called—he asked if we could swing my Joyce and Hops.”

You shrugged, shaking your head not bothered by the pit-stop since it was always nice to see the kids especially since you were so busy these days.

The only time you really got to see them was if Eddie had a campaign that ran late or on weekends when Eddie was in charge of dropping them off and picking them up.

“It’s fine, as long as I get a shower in the next few hours. Did he say why?”

He shook his head, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “He sounded panicky and annoyed. A lot of voices and music in the background, though.”

“Well, panicky and annoyed, isn’t unusual?” You quipped, and he cackled, switching lanes to take the route.

“We’ll find out in a little bit.”

The Byers-Hopper living room had now been infiltrated by all the younger teens, including the older ones: Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, and Steve. The older four had been called to by Dustin, begging them to come over and show them a few dance moves that they could use for the winter formal.

But bless Dustin Henderson’s heart, because while they might have had a few proms and formals as dance experience, none of them were “experts” at dancing — or at least none met his standards.

For god's sake, even Nancy and Jonathan, who were a couple since forever, looked like a pair of stiff bodies moving back and forth when they tried to demonstrate how to dance when a slow song came on.

And you would think that someone as charming as Steve would have some sort of groove when it came to dancing, but Jesus, no, he looked even more rigid and awkward.

Don’t even get them started on Robin, who bursted out in laughter when she tried to dance with Steve but failed within the first three seconds because she had accidentally stomped on his foot thinking she was leading.

It even came to the point where they confided in Hopper and Joyce who had arrived home from work to their living room furniture pushed against the walls to make room for a makeshift dance floor. A cassette played loudly through the radio and everyone seemed to be a jumbling mess.

Well, the mess became even bigger when Hopper and Joyce tried to show them a move or two, which just ended up with everyone laughing and burying their faces in their hands at the scene. El, Will, and Jonathan cringed more so than laughed, but now they knew their parents were probably the worst dancers than themselves at than alone was a core memory.

That’s when Dustin threw in the towel and decided to make a call to his dear friend Eddie. Eddie who was about to leave his trailer to pick you up from practice so you could get home and shower, then finish the movie you two fell asleep to last night.

But nevertheless, Dustin sounded frantic and desperate, begging for him to bring you over and alas Eddie gave in.

The boy finally saw the van pull into the driveway and shot up from the couch where he had been resting, watching through the window.

“Shut the music off, Steve!” He shouted, stumbling up and towards the front door.

Everyone rose their brows, Steve following Dustin’s instruction and pausing the cassette that El had let them borrow for the day’s impromptu dance party. Before you and Eddie could even knock on the door, it was pulled open.

The scene of everyone staring at the metal head and cheerleader, quite shocking actually—more shocking than the stares in the hallways at school, which were pretty dreadful already.

You side-eyed Eddie suspiciously wondering what he had gotten you both into before looking back at Dustin.

“Hi?” you squeaked suspiciously, twiddling your hand in the air to greet everyone who waved.

The boy smirked, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you inside roughly without a second thought.

“Dustin, what the hell!” You shrieked having no choice but to move with him in order to avoid tripping over your own feet.

Eddie rolled his eyes, stepping inside and shutting the door closed.

“Henderson, you’ve got three seconds to tell me why you’re dragging my girlfriend like a rag doll.”

Dustin apologetically bowed towards Eddie, dropping your arm and gesturing to the open floor.

Everyone else was either leaning up against the wall or sitting down on the couch, trying to get some rest after the young boy practically forced them to keep dancing until they had something, but nothing was good enough for the damn twerp.

“You know how to dance, right?” Dustin stared at you, and you bounced on your heels, nodding your head slightly.

“I mean, cheerleading does require some dancing but—“

Dustin shushed you, causing you to furrow your brows, and looked around dumbfounded at the action. Steve and Robin were already shooting you sorry looks as they muttered something about his tone and needing a smack to the head.

“Henderson, just tell us why we’re here?” Eddie rubbed at his temples.

He plopped on the empty seat next to Max who looked rather peeved at being stuck there all afternoon when she could have been at the arcade playing Dig-Dug.

She turned to him, gesturing in the air with annoyed hands. “Dustin wants us to learn how to dance for this weekend’s formal.”

Lucas pipped in, looking at the crowd before settling on you. “No one knows how to dance except you.”

A small smile grew upon your face, looking around the room at the sullen faces that were offended at Lucas’ words — mostly Hopper and Joyce, because back in their day, they were pretty darn good dancers if they said so themselves.

Eddie sat up from his spot on the couch, shooting a deceitful look at Lucas while gesturing fondly to himself.

“What? You don’t think she’s the only good dancer around here do you?”

Mike grunted, mumbling under his breath, “You sure don’t look like you knew how to command a dance floor.”

Everyone seemed to agree with Mike, which was extremely rare, even for Hopper who didn’t like the kid all that much.

You crossed your arms, shaking your head at the little shitheads and more offended that they thought your boyfriend couldn't dance.

“Hey! Did you forget Eddie is in a band? He practically eats, sleeps, and breathes rhythm.” You reasoned with a tilt of your head, trying to sway them.

Everyone tried to stifle their laughter but failed terribly. I mean could you blame them?

Eddie played metal music, not that pop disco shit that would be playing at the formal, but that’s because they thought wrong about him. They all thought they had your boy all figured out as the stereotypical metal head that couldn’t dance to save his life, but you were about to make them eat their words.

Contrary to popular beliefs, Eddie was quite the dancer, and a good one at that. He knew how to keep up the pace and swoop you off your feet so smoothly you’d think he was a professional in his past life.

You shot Eddie that look, lifting your shoulders with the silent offer as he looked almost coy before nodding at you, scooting off the couch and shaking his arms off getting himself warmed up.

You glanced at Steve, pointing at the stereo, “Hit it!”

Eddie moved across the floor to you effortlessly, hands going for your hips while you draped yours over his neck — you were like magnets easily finding each other. Your feet slid back and forth, one after the other, following Eddie’s lead that flowed with the music.

“How did you guys know Eddie and I love to dance to ABBA?” You called towards your friends who watched in astonishment.

“You can dance?!” they screeched, eyes widening as they all straightened up in their seats and off the walls, watching with the utmost surprise and shock.

You began to giggle as your boyfriend spun you around into his chest, swaying you both while he placed a kiss on your cheek before spinning you back out.

“Just like the songs says, you just gotta feel the beat.” Eddie rose his brow at them, moving your hips in his hands before you shook your head at his playfulness.

“C’mon, we’ll show you.” You told them, pushing at his chest so that you could skip on over towards Dustin, pulling him to the center of the living room with you.

Eddie went for Max, tilting his head for her to follow his lead and not be so nervous.

“It’s really all about keeping the pace and the beat.” He instructed, looking down at their shoes and Max did her best to not step on his sneakers that were already pretty beat up.

“And loosen up,” you chided, nudging Dustin a bit, “relax those shoulders and move those hips.” You instructed, showing him to roll his shoulders back and swirl his lower body as if he was hula-hooping.

After a while, they started to get the hang of it, easily moving across the floors without stepping on each other’s feet and not being so tense.

“Great, now you two try!” You nodded, handing off Dustin towards Max.

It was awkward at first, the both of them laughing as they didn’t know where to put their hands, but quickly it became natural with what you and Eddie had taught, the basics of keeping up with the rhythm and singing along.

You huffed with hands on your hips, looking around the room for your next student, while Eddie had already grabbed Joyce who was a giggly mess.

“C’mon Mr. Hips, I know they don’t call you king Steve for nothing.” You teased, tiptoeing towards your friend and pulling him along with you.

Before you knew it, the living room was a lively dance floor. Bodies grooving along to music without even second guessing if they were doing it right and just having fun with each other as they sung and tried not to bump into the pair beside them.

“Maybe we should open up a studio and start teaching some classes?” You suggested with a grin, resting your chin on Eddie’s chest, staring up at him.

He chucked, pecking at your nose sweetly, “Don’t get ahead of yourself babe, you know my dancing services are limited to you. This was just a special occasion.”

“Do you have any other talents you want to reveal?” Dustin nudged him with his elbow, prompting Eddie to smirk toward him before looking back at you.

“I can do a pretty gnarly lift, exactly like that one in Dirty Dancing.” He bragged, still pretty surprised at himself that he was able to pull it off.

The girls in the room gasped, including Steve, “No way!”

“Yes way,” You bit your lip with a giggle, remembering that one afternoon you and Eddie had spent together trying to get it down after you had watched the movie.

Steve dropped Robin’s hand, wandering over to the stereo and pausing the track before picking it up by the handle and walking towards the front door. Everyone stared at him, waiting until he sighed, one hand on his hip as he looked at you and Eddie.

“You guys need more room than this. We’re moving outside and that lift better be top tier.” He warned towards Eddie, walking out the front door as everyone else followed his lead.

You and Eddie laughed at how ridiculous it all was — surely none of the kids were going to attempt to pull off a lift in the middle of their formal dance, but it was sure gonna be funny watching everyone else have their try at it.

Eddie hoisted you up, prompting you to laugh into the crook of neck, “C’mon baby, I’m about to blow their socks off.” He said, kissing your cheek with an obnoxiously loud smooch before carrying you out the door.

So maybe you didn’t get to go home and get that shower or finish that movie as soon as you would have liked to, but you sure did get to dance that afternoon away with the love of your life and that in itself was a win.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: i have been neglecting my beloved eddie for far too long and this has been sitting in my drafts since forever so here ya go!!! yes eddie is a dancer and that is not up for debate -- yeah my man loves his metal music, but the second he hears a good pop tune he's pulling his gf up and they're dancing like no one is watching.

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @the-alchemys @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Deep Blue Part 1: Into the Deep✨

Diver! Joel Miller x marine biologist! OFC

Series Masterlist

A/N: Here is my submission to my ocean writing challenge! I originally thought this would be a one shot, but I thought of other parts I want to write, so I hope you enjoy part 1! 💙

Summary: Cleo gets more than she expects when she is gifted a spot on a great white shark diving experience. Little does she know, her friend, Jenna, was trying to play match maker all along with a certain hot diver named Joel Miller.

Rating: 18+ Only MDNI

Word Count: 6.4k

Tags: Cleo is the original female character of this story, diver! Joel, switching POVs, flirting, a little bit of grumpy Joel, feelings, eventual smut, diving with great whites in California, Joel owns a boat, no use y/n, no outbreak au

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The California sun beats down on Joel’s tanned skin, the summer breeze throwing around his tousled curls from the wind of the calm seas. He walks along the wooden deck, hauling some diving gear to his boat called Deep Blue. She was one of his most prized possessions, the first boat he got to make a business out of. Nothing beats sailing out to sea and diving with the beautiful creatures of the deep. Call it a sport or a hobby, but he’d stay out on the tides all day if he could, and sometimes he did.

   He grunts as he hoists the expensive, heavy gear over the edge of the boat, tossing some brand new fins and regulators over the side. As he starts walking back to his white Chevy for more gear, he hears a high pitched voice calling his name down the dock. 

   Christ.

   “Joel, wait up!” Jenna yells loudly, her flip flops flopping against the sturdy deck.

   He groans and stops in his tracks, turning around to face the nuisance of his day. “Hi, Jenna,” he mutters as he rolls his eyes.

   “So, will you do it?” she asks with big hazel eyes, pushing him to say yes. 

   “Do what?” he scowls.

   “Will you take her out?”

   “Take who out?!” he barks.

   “The girl I told you about! Come on, Joel. She’s dying to dive with some great whites, and you’re the only guide I trust to do that,” she whines pathetically.

   He sighs with an annoyed expression and crosses his large arms over his broad chest. “Why doesn’t she just buy a ticket like a normal person then?”

   “She’s not just a normal person, she’s my friend!” she laughs out, stomping her purple flip flops into the edge of the deck.

   “Well, tell her to get on the list. I’ve got customers waitin’ to be taken out on the water.”

   He starts moving again, brushing past her until she grabs his bicep and holds him back. “But Joellll, she’s wanted to do this ever since I met her. She deserves a private tour. Can’t you just give her a chance?”

   “Are you tryin’ to set me up on a date or somethin’?” he asks with one eyebrow cocking up high on his forehead while his dark eyes narrow at Jenna. 

   “Duh! She’s like my best friend. And she’s totally your type,” she smiles, her blonde ponytail blowing softly in the salty breeze.

   “No,” he says harshly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to get done.” 

   He tries to walk past her, but she steps in front of him with her arms crossed over her aquamarine colored tank top. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs defeatedly. “You’re not gonna stop askin’ until I say yes, ain’t that right?” 

   “Nope!” She laughs loudly as she twists her hips in place. 

   “Christ,” he mutters. “What’s her name?”

   “Cleo, and she’s a total babe! Like she’s a knockout. Totally your type, like I said earlier. She’s a new marine biology graduate. She’s a killer diver, extremely smart, gorgeous, and she’s super sweet,” she beams.

   “I don’t know, Jenna. I don’t really…”

   “You don’t really what? Date? Well, you should! Come on, do it for Jonas,” she begs, puppy eyes simmering into his skull.

   “Jonas ain’t the one houndin’ me about this, you are. You beg your boyfriend this much for things? Jesus Christ,” he mutters while he pinches the bridge of his nose in mere frustration.

   “Well, sometimes,” she giggles, “but this is about you!”

   “Jenna, I’ve got a business to run. I’ve got payin’ customers waitin’ for me to call ‘em back. I can’t jus’ take one of your friends out on a dive for free jus’ ‘cause you want me to,” he hisses.

   “I promise you I’m not asking for no reason. This would mean the absolute world to her. And hello, she’s single and hot, and you need to get laid! You’re rotting away on that boat, Miller. Pretty soon you’re gonna shrivel up and…”

   “Jenna,” he warns with the tick of his jaw. 

   “Joel Miller, please! Come onnnn, just take her out once. Promise it’ll be worth your while. Please, please, pleaseeeeee,” she whines.

   “Alright, alright!” He holds a hand out to stop her from running her mouth anymore and sighs, carding his fingers through his slicked back tousled curls as another groan escapes him. “This Sunday. Have her here, at my boat by 9:00 in the morning, no later than that.”

   “Yes! Thank you, Joel! You’re the best!” She throws her arms around his neck and gives him a big squeeze until he pushes her off annoyed, readjusting his button-up shirt by the blue collar. 

   “She doesn’t even know you’re tryin’ to set her up, does she?” he huffs.

   “Nope!” she giggles.

   “Goddamn it, Jenna,” he groans. “You owe me big time.” He points an accusing finger at her, and she just gives him a big toothy grin in return.

   “Yeah, yeah. Just wait till you meet her. I won’t owe you a damn thing after that!”

   She runs up the dock to go find Jonas, and Joel just stands there and sighs, muttering curse words under his breath while he hauls himself back to the truck. 

   “She better be worth it, Jenna,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head while he clenches his jaw. 

   This would be a long week. 

   Joel sets the scuba gear out on the back of the boat, preparing the oxygen tanks and BCDs all while getting ready for the trip out to Catalina. Right on the outskirts of the island is a little alcove where the great whites love to hang out early in the day. 

   He sighs while he checks the air in the tanks, cursing under his breath from Jenna getting under his skin. He should be having a fully booked tour today, not taking some girl he doesn’t know out on the water for free. It was a favor he was doing, a nice thing he shouldn’t be doing. Even though Jenna was his friend, he didn’t need her begging him to take out one of her friends. 

   He’d thought about canceling all day yesterday, paced up and down the dock while clenching his jaw and flexing his fingers into tight fists. Jonas had asked what was up, but all he had to say was Jenna’s name before Jonas started rolling his own eyes, too. 

   It’s not that Joel is against dating or taking girls out, but taking just one out on a private tour is going to cost him later. He likes to do the great white tours with big groups. He’s never done a private one yet. This would be his first, and he wouldn’t lie that he was nervous as hell that it was a woman he was taking out. But the bit about you being a marine biologist made him feel a little better. Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as he was expecting it to be.

   He lines the colorful fins up next to one of the white leather seats and hoists the anchor up on the deck. As he leans over to stock the ice chest full of waters, he hears light footsteps down the wooden dock and then a young woman clearing her throat. 

   Just when he dumps all the waters into the ice chest, he hears your voice for the very first time. “Excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Joel? I think this is where I’m supposed to be, but I just wanted to be sure I was in the right spot.”

   He stops what he’s doing and pushes himself off the ice chest. “That would be me,” he murmurs from the floor. When he gets a strong hold on the back of the boat and pulls himself up, he gets a good look at the woman that stands in front of him. 

   “Are you here to…” His mouth parts open and he chokes on his own words. His eyes go wide when he sees you standing there, a pink beach bag over your shoulder with a nervous smile splayed across your pretty face. 

   He can’t believe his eyes, blinking once, twice to make sure you’re even really standing there in that short blue summer dress that barely grazes your tanned thighs. His eyes slide down your body, taking in the beauty that stands before him. 

   Your hair reaches your shoulders, summer kissed highlights coating your beachy waves. Your eyes are absolutely stunning, shimmering diamonds that remind him of the deep blue sea. The sun hits them at just the right angle, making them sparkle like the glistening ocean surrounding him. Your body is tanned, toned, mesmerizing like the siren call your voice gives off when you speak. And your smile. God, your beautiful smile. He thinks you look like an angel, like you were sent just for him. He doesn’t know you, not yet, but now he’s thinking he shouldn’t have given Jenna such a hard time because he thinks he’s just found the most beautiful girl in the world. 

   He blinks a few times, slowly registering that he’s just standing and staring like a mad man when he should be helping you onto the boat. He clears his throat and holds out a hand, waiting for you to take it. “I’m Joel Miller, captain of the boat and also your diving guide. And you must be…”

   “Cleo,” you finish for him with a slight blush to your warm cheeks. 

   “Cleo…” he repeats slowly, memorizing the color of your aquamarine irises entirely, mapping out starfish in your deep blue ocean eyes. 

   You latch your hand with his, and he swears he stops breathing for a couple seconds as your soft fingers mold to his rough, calloused hand. You seem to lose your words as you just stare up at him, blinking those thick, long eyelashes his way. 

   Jenna’s really done it this time.

   He helps you up onto the end of the boat, leading you to the edge of one of the white leather seats where you set your bag down.

   He glances at the waterproof watch on his left wrist and looks at the time. You’re fifteen minutes early. What a good girl you are. “You’re early,” he says with surprise in his voice, looking up from his watch to the beautiful girl that stands before him.

   You shrug your shoulders and give him a half smile. “It’s only considerate to be early. Besides, I wanted to get a good spot before anyone else showed up in case I lost out on a good seat.”

   He cocks an eyebrow at you and leans against the metal railing. “Other people?”

   “Yeah, aren’t these tours usually fully booked?” you ask, confused at the question.

   “Sure are, but looks like you’re the only one today. It’s jus’ you and me, darlin’.”

   Your mouth drops open, wide eyes landing on his while you look totally baffled by the statement. “No other people booked?”

   “Nope,” he half smirks, crossing his arms all proudly as he watches the gears in your head grind and tick.

   “Oh. That’s ummm… wow,” you stutter, still baffled at the response. Jenna clearly didn’t tell you anything other than you had a ticket for a great white shark dive tour. 

   “Is that a problem?” he asks, trying not to laugh at your shocked expression. 

   “Oh, no! Not a problem at all! This is just kind of incredible that I even got a spot today and that no one else booked. Lucky me,” you laugh.

   “Lucky you,” he smirks, deciding he won’t tell you the real reason you got a free tour. At least not yet he won’t. He’ll let you enjoy the afternoon without bringing up Jenna. 

   “Oh, wait a second. I have something for you.” You dig in your little beach bag, reaching in and pulling out a plastic container. “I made these last night. Thought I could indulge everyone in a little snack for the trip, but looks like it’s just you. So, these are for you.”

   You hand him a small container of fresh chocolate chip cookies that look delicious. The soft cookies looking like they could melt on his tongue. He takes one look at the batch of cookies, then back at your shy smile. He thinks you’re so sweet. “Now, how did you know chocolate chip cookies are my favorite, darlin’?” he asks with a crooked smile.

   “I dunno. Guess it’s just your lucky day,” you beam, eyes all starry and dreamlike. 

   He carefully opens the clear lid and snatches a fresh cookie from the top, popping it in his mouth slowly. The cookie is warm, gooey, the chocolate melting on his tongue. He silently groans as it slides down his throat, his taste buds coming to life. He’s never tasted anything quite this good, especially for something being his favorite dessert. He has a major sweet tooth, but he thinks he might be sweeter for you now. 

   He finishes it off and swallows, licking his bottom lip clean as he closes the container and grins your way. “These are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted. Thank you. Think they might all be gone by the time we get back to shore.”

   You giggle, flipping your long locks over your shoulder as you bask in the moment. He thinks you’re absolutely breathtaking with the sunlight glowing down on you right now. “Glad I made them then,” you smile.

   He sets the cookies down inside the helm and walks back out, stopping right in front of you. “So, you been divin’ before?” he asks with a curious expression.

   “Mhm. Loads of times. I’ve been certified for a while, just haven’t had the opportunity to do something like this before. It’s really exciting! And great white sharks of all things? I’m so lucky,” you gush.

   He chuckles to himself, admiring your wide grin and big beautiful eyes. He would have a hard time saying no to this one. “Yeah, nothing like gettin’ up close to those beautiful creatures. Definitely incredible,” he replies softly.

   “So you’ve been doing this a while now? Doing shark diving tours?” you ask curiously, crossing a tanned leg over your knee while you patiently await an answer from him.

   “Sure have. A little over three years, but been divin’ way longer than that.”

   You nod your head, a small smile curling over the edges of your glossy pink lips. He thinks he could look at you all day long. 

   Another moment passes and he almost forgets he has a schedule to make. “Well, should probably get goin’. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

   “Yeah, probably should,” you reply.

   He smiles shyly at you and nods to the red cooler in the back of the boat. “Got some cold waters in there for you if you need anything to drink. Snacks are up in the cabin. Oh, but before we go, let me show you around the boat.”

   He leads you around his boat, showing you all the safety and emergency procedures, showing you the bathroom underneath the first level, giving you a tour of inside the cabin and a quick rundown on how the steering works in the boat in case there was an emergency.

   He finds that you’re a quick learner, knowing your way around a boat pretty well. Impressed is an understatement, he’s quite enamored with you already. A beautiful marine biologist who’s definitely a knockout, just like Jenna had told him. Maybe he should start listening to her ramble about things more often. 

   When he finally sets off to Catalina Island and gets out far enough to where there’s no one around, he glances back and sneaks a peek at you. He watches you looking in awe out on the blue horizon, catching sprinkles of ocean water in your sun kissed hair, getting lost in your gentle smile when you see a dolphin jump out of the wake of the water behind the boat. Yeah, he’s hooked already. 

   The water is calm today, barely any waves that rock the boat back and forth. It’s just a peaceful Sunday morning, one that might turn his world upside down. 

   When he looks back again he freezes, eyes blowing wide when he sees you slipping your sundress down your thighs, only now wearing a revealing coral pink bikini that accentuates the curve of your ass, the cleavage of your full breasts. 

   He chokes on his own spit, having to tear his eyes away from the tanned beauty that stands before him. But he still watches you with the flick of his eyes in the mirror, spreading sunscreen all over the soft skin of your body. He wishes he could help you spread the lotion on your back, run his fingers over your long neckline, lather it down your long legs, tangle his fingers with your hair, kiss the delicate skin of your collarbone…

   Cleo, Cleo, Cleo.

   He shakes his tousled curls and runs his fingers down his jawline, catching the edge of his greying scruff. He needs to pull himself together, has to stop getting distracted by you. Jenna was more than right, he’s a fucking goner.  

   The salty ocean breeze kisses your tanned skin as you stand at the back of the boat, your hair tangling from the wind blowing against your shoulders. The water is crystal clear, shades of vivid blues bouncing over the soft waves. Today was the big day, diving with great white sharks along Catalina Island. The moment you’ve been waiting for your entire life. 

   You’re a recent graduate of Scripps Institution, getting your Master’s degree in Marine Biology, specializing in sharks. You never even imagined swimming with great whites would be possible, that was until you were introduced to Joel Miller. A dreamy boat captain and dive master that took people out on excursions to dive with the beautiful creatures of the deep. 

   He’s easy on the eyes. Sandy brown tousled curls threaded with silver locks, a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard he likes to slide his fingers through. His shoulders are broad, toned abs glistening in the sun over smooth, tanned skin. And his eyes. God, those big, beautiful brown eyes. Golden honey irises that glitter like gold in the ocean sunlight. He’s such a dreamboat.

   You don’t know how you got so lucky getting a private tour with him, but you were eternally grateful for this rare opportunity. Great white sharks and a handsome, broad diver? What more could you possibly ask for? 

   You slide your skin tight wetsuit on and peel the thick layers over your bright pink bikini. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, even when he’s throwing the anchor out into the cold blue water. A couple minutes later and he’s right at your side, flicking his eyes over your figure. 

   “Need a hand with that?” He nods to the back of your wetsuit, and you slightly turn for him. 

   You gasp when he places his large hands on you, one gently sliding around the curve of your hip and the other slowly zipping you up. His warm breath blows down your neck, clouding your mind as his meaty hand lingers for just a few seconds too long on your hip. 

   He circles around and starts handing you your buoyancy compensator. “So, a marine biologist, huh?” he asks, flicking his honey eyes over you again. 

   You blush and nod. “Mhm. Just graduated this spring with my master’s actually. From Scripps Institution of Oceanography.”

   He cocks an eyebrow up and lets out a low whistle. “Impressive. That ain’t an easy college to get into. I guess congratulations are in order.”

   You laugh while you adjust the straps around your buoyancy compensator. “Thanks. I definitely worked hard to get in.”

   “I’m sure you did, sweetheart.” He flicks his amber eyes up to yours and then gets back to work on feeding the oxygen tank into the back of your BCD while you try to fight off another deep blush to your cheeks.

   After he gets your gear aligned on your back, he sheds his white t-shirt and throws it to the side. You have to avert your eyes from staring at the toned, tanned abs that appear in front of you, have to bite your lower lip when he slides on the skin tight black wetsuit and grabs his own BCD and oxygen tank, gearing up without as much as one grunt from him. Strong. He’s so strong.

   “Check my oxygen tank, will ya?” he asks nicely, turning his broad back to you while you assess the tube and all the cords, making sure none were tangling around each other.

   “Looks good, Joel.”

   “Thanks, sweetheart.”

   Sweetheart. You absolutely love that nickname, but maybe he’s just being nice. He doesn’t sound like he’s from California, but from down south somewhere. Maybe that was common there, just some southern hospitality. 

   You smile up at him and brush it off. “No problem.”

   “Your computer workin? he asks, checking out the digital numbers on it.

   “Mhm,” you nod.

   “Good. Now check your regulator,” he instructs.

   You click on the button where air blows out, showing him the equipment is up to speck. “Check,” you reply. “You’re very vigilant, you know that?” 

   He chuckles and shakes his head. “Have to be, sweetheart. It’s my job to keep you safe. I know you signed a waiver, but it’s still my responsibility to keep you safe out there. The ocean is dangerous, even if you are an excellent diver. Anything can happen, jus’ gotta be prepared for the unknown. And I’ve dealt with a lot of stupid, irresponsible guests on my boat. But you won’t be one of those, will ya?” 

   He cups your chin for two seconds too short, making it a point to say you’re not those stupid divers. And the way he looks at you all invested and adamant makes your thighs clench together. “No, sir. You won’t catch me slipping out there. I wouldn’t dare,” you say confidently.

   “Didn’t think so, darlin’.”

   Darlin’. Jesus, you’re sunk. 

   He hands you a clean scuba mask and leads you over to the metal ladder at the back of the boat. He stops you for a second, putting a large hand on your shoulder as he turns you to look him straight in the face. “Before we go in, I wanna make somethin’ clear. Want you to stay real close to me. Don’t stray off. This is great white territory, their territory. You make one wrong move and you could be in a world of trouble. You don’t mess with them, they won’t mess with you. We clear?” he asks in a deep, serious tone, eyebrows fused together as his eyes stay fully focused on you. 

   You nod and give him a thumbs up. “I got it, Joel. Promise I won’t stray off, and I’ll respect their territory.”

   “Attagirl,” he smiles, patting you softly on the back of the shoulder while you fight to keep your voice composed.

   Attagirl. He just called you a good girl basically. Damn it, you weren’t supposed to fall for the shark diver, but look at you. You’re basically soaring off the cliff at this point. 

   He takes his large hands and starts double checking your gear, making sure all cords are secure and that you’re safe during the dive. You can see he’s very protective already. You watch him slide his hand over your regulator, watch the way he’s so careful with the equipment, with you. It makes butterflies start again low in your stomach. 

   “Do you ever get customers that freak out in the water?” you ask, watching his eyes flick to yours and a small smile tug at his plush lips.

   “All the time,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s kinda crazy that they pay all this money, and then some just decide to stay on the boat. I had this guy that freaked out under the water before, had to get him out quick ‘cause he was attractin’ a large female shark. And I can’t tell you how many have climbed back on the boat after jus’ five minutes out there. I’ve had a lot of ‘em bail. A bit disappointin’, but what can you do? Guess it’s their money and their experience. They can choose how they wanna spend it,” he sighs, running a hand back through his wild sandy curls.

   “That’s too bad. They missed out on a great experience,” you say, eyes still locked on his.

   “Sure did. You’re not gonna bail on me are you, sweetheart?” He cups your chin, running his calloused fingers smoothly over your skin, making you gasp when he smiles warmly over at you. 

   “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smile.

   “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, dropping his hand from your chin and turning back to the vivid blue water.

   That’s my girl. Oh no, you’re hooked. Hook, line, and sinker. He’s got you right where he wants you, like a baited fish.

   You step closer to the back of the boat, letting the salty sea water spray your teal colored fins. The air is calm, waves barely lapping against the top of the water. It’s an absolutely perfect day to dive. “So, you’ve been coming around this area a lot?”

   “Mhm. This is one of my main diving areas. It’s perfect. Not too far off from a colony of sea lions, a coral reef just a little north of here, and this is the main area great whites come to feed,” he says, leaning against the edge of the sturdy boat.

   “That means you’re familiar with the sharks?” you ask with hope filling your eyes.

   “I suppose so,” he smiles, slicking back his curls with ocean water. “There’s a large female great white that has stayed close to the area. And there’s a couple of juvenile ones that stay near her. I reckon those are her pups.”

   Your eyes light up, and you smile widely at him. “That’s incredible! Have you named her? The female.”

   He flicks his eyes once over you and chuckles to himself, surprised you’re so eager to learn about the sharks. “As a matter of fact, I have. I call her Wavebreaker.”

   “Why’d you pick that name?” you ask, leaning your head to the side to assess his soft features. 

   “She likes to breach a lot when she’s huntin’. Comes up to the surface a lot to say hi, I suppose. Maybe she recognizes my boat,” he shrugs, smiling out to the crystal clear water.

   “Guess she recognizes when she’s safe around someone,” you say shyly, fighting yourself for throwing in anymore compliments, like his honey colored eyes.

   “Guess so,” he smiles, the soft breeze of the salty ocean blowing against his slicked back hair.

   “Alright, c’mon. Let’s go in. You ready?” 

   “Yeah, let’s do it,” you smile giddily. 

   He leads you to the very edge, flippers almost submerged by the cold water. “Remember, stay close to me. Keep those pretty eyes on me.” Before you can choke a response, he nods his head to the water and jumps in, causing a big splash to form around the bubbling water. 

   You waste no time and go after him, jumping in to feel the breath of icy water slide down your entire body. You pop your head above the surface for just a couple seconds, adjusting your mask and fixing your regulator, then you follow him into the dark depths of the sea.

   You start to glide through the clear blue water, following after Joel as you dive deeper and deeper, bubbles from the regulator blowing above your head. You pass thick spots of green seaweed, swim past large schools of colorful fish, take in breathtaking sights of pink and orange shaded coral reefs, and glide past a few sea lions that seem to be in a hurry. It’s all so beautiful, so magical under the water. Like a breath of fresh air, somewhere where you could stay forever if you could.

   You follow Joel to a wide open area, making sure to stay on the heels of his rubber flippers. He makes sure to look behind himself every few seconds, making sure that you’re alright, safe. Just the sight of him checking on you makes your heartbeat pick up and your mind reel around impossibly fast. You decide right now that Joel is a protector, period. 

   You lose sight of him as an assortment of calico bass pass you by, getting lost in the flurry of bright colors that hypnotize your mind. Out of the corner of your eye you see a dark shadow lurking beneath you, but when you look down it’s gone. You gasp. That must’ve been a shark, but it was too quick to catch a glimpse because you were too involved with the other school of fish. 

   A few seconds later Joel grabs your shoulders and turns you to the right, letting his fingers linger there on the wetsuit, but you swear his fingertips imprint down to your skin. His touch even burns like fire in the sea.

   Before you know what’s happening your eyes grow wide, your mouth would’ve dropped open if you weren’t sucking in oxygen from the regulator. Right there in the near distance is a beautiful, giant great white shark. That must be Wavebreaker.

   She swims with grace in the water, her pectoral fins wide and almost shimmery under the glow of the sun shining down into the water. You watch her make circles in the distance, finally see the other juvenile sharks join in the shadows.

   You can’t stop yourself from being so giddy, watching them swim in the salty water, large black eyes scanning the area, assessing the waters for prey. 

   You try to go a little closer, but Joel grabs your hand and pulls you back behind him like he’s shielding you from the inevitable. He takes his time letting go of your hand, keeps the space between you closed up, feeling his body heat reverberate right down your veins, like Joel seeps through your skin. 

   Jesus. He really did have a strong effect on you. He might as well just toss you to the sharks at this point. You’re completely hooked on him.

   You stay idle in place, gently kicking your legs while you breathe through the regulator, captivated by the enormous beauties in front of you, watching them swim with no thoughts of the two humans in their realm.

   You’re speechless, watching your dreams come to life in front of you. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, and you don’t think anything else will ever live up to this beautiful, encapsulated moment right now. And it’s all because of Joel.

   Your eyes flicker over to him, but he’s not watching the giants that peacefully swim through the clear water, he’s looking at you. If you weren’t underwater, you’d probably drop your mouth open and blush at the sight of him staring at you. His regulator is in the way of seeing his mouth, but you see he’s smiling just a little at the girl in front of him. That girl being you. 

   He takes your hand in his and leads you forward, silently gliding through the water while you take in this perfect moment. He keeps his hand in yours this time, not letting go until the oxygen is almost up and the two of you head towards the boat, where you can breathe fresh air again. 

   When you breach the top of the water, you drop the regulator from your mouth and shout at the top of your lungs. “Joel, that was incredible! Did you see them? They were ginormous! And the juvenile sharks? Oh my God that was so amazing! The size of Wavebreaker and how docile they were in the water! I mean, fuck!!” You can’t keep your excitement in, and Joel just smiles and stares at you with these captivating brown eyes, ones that say he’s completely enamored by you and wants you to keep talking because obviously he is enjoying your enthusiasm for the love of the ocean.

   You go on and on, and he doesn’t stop you one time, not until you’re completely done blabbering on. “Glad you had fun, darlin’,” he smiles, helping you up out of the water, his hand lingering on the side of your hip softly. 

   You take your fins and gear off, peeling the suctioned wetsuit from your sun kissed skin and watch him do the same, more gracefully than you. He sets the BCD and oxygen tank down on the deck with ease, carefully setting yours next to his and dismantling the oxygen tanks. You just stare at him, watching his big hands work while you stand in a foggy haze.

   Salt water drips from his slicked back sandy locks, his huge biceps flex every time he twists and turns the tops of the oxygen tanks. You think he’s just the perfect diver and boat captain. Seriously, how did you get so fortunate?

   “So, how’d I get so lucky to get a private tour with an experienced shark diver? Aren’t these things usually sold out?” you ask, leaning against the metal railing, your fingers dancing over the cool edges.

   He chuckles and shakes his head. “They are usually fully booked, but your friend might’ve pulled some strings.”

   “My friend…?” you ask, pondering just who could’ve pulled these kinds of strings. You think and think, knitting your brows together and crossing your arms over your chest.

   “Mhm. A blonde, annoying, intolerable girl sometimes,” he chuckles to himself, shaking out cold water droplets from his slicked back curls. It suddenly dawns on you, only one certain person would have the nerve to pull this kind of stunt. Jenna. 

   “You mean Jenna?” you ask, cocking your head to the side.

   “Yep. That’s the one,” he nods.

   “Wait, how do you know Jenna?”

   “I work with her boyfriend, see her around the docks all the time.”

   “Oh, I see. She didn’t tell me she was friends with you.”

   He shrugs and smiles over at you, the salty breeze catching his slicked back sandy curls. “Known her for a while now. She was real adamant about gettin’ this tour booked. Persistent little thing, ain’t she? The girl’s been houndin’ me about it nonstop for weeks now. Couldn’t get the girl to shut up. Didn’t know what all the fuss was about until she told me she was tryin’ to book it for her pretty marine biologist friend that happened to be single.”

   “Uhhh, oh.” Fucking Jenna. “Shit, Joel. I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” you apology hurriedly. He puts a large palm out to silence the rest.

   “Ain’t gotta be sorry, darlin’. Consider it a favor that doesn’t need repayin’.”

   “But… are you sure? She just asked you for a lot, giving your Sunday up for me. I…”

   “Hey, it’s fine. Really. She didn’t tell me jus’ how smart and attractive you’d be. My, you’re even more gorgeous than she said. Words don’t do you justice, sweetheart. Absolutely breathtakin’.” 

   You stand there speechless, your mouth slightly parted open as you inhale the salty sea air. “Oh. That’s… well… thank you,” you gulp. “She didn’t tell me how handsome my diving guide would be,” you blush. 

   He cocks an eyebrow up and a crooked grin spreads wide across his mouth. “Oh, stop. Darlin’, you’re gonna make me blush,” he laughs. 

   You shift your weight and cross your arms across your damp low cut bikini top. “So, what do I owe you? I know you missed out on extra business today. Let me repay the favor.”

   He shakes his head and laughs. “Consider the favor paid. I got to take out a pretty girl on the waves. Your company is enough for me.”

   Your wide-eyed stare doesn’t falter when those words rush out of his mouth. God, Jenna really did you a huge favor. “You’re sweet, Joel. At least let me buy you a drink?”

   One eyebrow cocks up, and he crosses his large arms over his broad chest, tanned skin shimmering in the sunlight. “I mean, I could take you out for a drink,” he smirks.

   “Joel!” you giggle.

   “Cleo!” He mocks you, playfully jutting his bottom lip out at you as you give him large puppy eyes.

   “I’m being serious here,” you laugh, shaking your head back and forth. “Please, let me buy you a drink. You’ve been so kind and had to put up with Jenna. I owe you,” you say adamantly, not going to take no for an answer.

   He smiles a wide grin and nods your way. “Alright. Sure, sweetheart. I’d love that.”

   “Then it’s settled.” You smile at him, watching the way his eyes flick over your bikini clad body, a bit of a deep blush coloring his cheeks while he gets back to work putting away the diving equipment. 

   When he finishes up, he turns back to you before disappearing into the cabin of the boat. “You know that bar called Waves on the Rocks right by the boat docks?”

   “Yeah, what about it?” you ask, wrapping your teal towel around your shoulders to block out the chill of the sea. 

   “How ‘bout we go for that drink when we get back? That is, if you’re not busy after this,” he says with hope threaded in his warm caramel eyes, his thick fingers hooked behind the back of a metal pole.

   “Let’s do it,” you smile, making yourself stay still to keep from showing just how excited you are. You’re going on a date with Joel Miller, the hottest diver you’ve seen. You’d have to thank Jenna later. 

   “Great, it’s a date,” he muses, turning back into the inner cabin before you can get your own words out.

   “It’s a date,” you whisper to yourself, smiling like an idiot the rest of the ride back as you glide across the dark blue ocean with the wind blowing through your long locks. 

   You didn’t just get to see a great white today, but you just might’ve also caught the hottest diver around. You were ready to see where this would go. 

[gayghostrights]

heyyyyyy uhh, feel free to ignore this but

could you write john and arthur going to a park together!.?? please??? if you do then ill have an excuse to finally draw it <333

okay, I couldn’t not do this. It’s too cute.

“It’s fascinating, really. She was quite the prolific poet but most of what we know of her work is in fragments so—“ Arthur says, cutting himself off to pause and listen for John’s footsteps. It takes him a moment to realize John is trailing behind. 

“John?” He asks, stopping so John catch up, “are you alright?”

“Yes, I…” John says, hurrying to catch up to him,  “got distracted” 

“By what?” 

“Nothing,” he says, “let’s go,”

“Tell me,” Arthur presses, his voice filled with amusement, “you are my eyes, after all,”

“It’s a park, Arthur. There’s a set of two swings with worn rubber seats. Beside it is a small structure with overlapping, multicoloured bars. Some of the colour has worn off in parts, giving the impression that they’re well used. There are beds of flowers running along the chain link fence, although I’m not sure what kind of flowers they are. The sun has nearly set, so only the street lamps and the moonlight illuminate it. Its…interesting” 

“Interesting?” Arthur says, chuckling, “do you mean to say you want to play on the playground?”

“No,” John says, crossing his arms and huffing, “of course not,”

“Because we can do that, if you’d like. It’s cool enough that most people would rather stay indoors than walk outside and late enough that most children will be in for the night,”

John stares at the ground, trying to feign disinterest despite the smile tugging at his lips, 

“okay,”

“Okay?” Arthur says, gently teasing him

“Yes, Arthur,” he says, already heading toward the swings. 

Arthur follows the sound of his footsteps, the gravel noisily shifting underneath them. 

The swing’s chain groans when they sit down. Arthur sways slightly, rocking on the tips of his feet. 

“How…how do I make it go?”

“Oh, like this,” Arthur says, pushing himself back with his feet and then pulling himself forward. He leans back, pumping his legs to gain momentum, “you just move your legs,” 

John tries to mimic the movement, nearly toppling over before catching himself at the last second. 

Arthur laughs, the resounding growl from John more endearing than intimidating. 

“Here,” Arthur says, moving to stand behind John, “hold on tightly to the chains, I’ll give you a push,”

John obliges, his knuckles white from his grip. He jolts forward when Arthur’s hands touch  his back. 

“Okay, now pump your legs like I showed you,” Arthur says, stepping back to avoid John as he swings back, “yes, like that! Good job,” 

John quickly gains momentum, the wind rushing past his ears as he cuts through the air. 

“Jesus,” Arthur says, jumping out of the way. John slams his feet into the ground, sending rocks flying haphazardly as he drags them through the stones. 

“I don’t like it,” John says, scrunching his nose, “my stomachs feels…odd,”

Arthur laughs, “it’s called motion sickness. It  happens sometimes,”

John grumbles at him, the disappointment written across his face. 

Arthur wipes dirt off of his pants, dropping into the other swing unceremoniously. 

“We can just sit here, if you’d like”

“Alright”

They fall into comfortable silence, the only sound between them the groan of the chain from Arthur’s slight swaying. 

“I can feel you hesitating, John,” Arthur says, “what are you so loudly thinking about?”

“I… it doesn’t matter,”

Arthur sways sideways, bumping his shoulders against John,  “just say it,”

“Did you ever bring Faroe to this sort of park?”

Arthur smiles sadly, recalling doing just that a hundred times. The memory is bittersweet, her smiling face and infectious laugh vivid in his mind. 

“Yes, I—“ he says, sighing, “she loved the park, the swings especially. She was… well, she was a bit of a thrill seeker, if I’m being honest. Always demanding I push her higher and higher until I was too afraid she’d fall off ,” 

“She was like you then,” John says, 

“Yes,” Arthur says, chuckling, “I suppose so,”

John swings sideways, bumping his shoulder into Arthur’s and then moving away. He bounces back, digging his toes into the gravel to hold himself in place, unsure of what to say as he presses his shoulder against Arthur’s

Arthur leans his head on John’s shoulder, the memory still tugging at his heart 

“Arthur, I’m—“ John’s says, after a moment. 

Arthur moves away, taking a final second to feel the grief threatening to consume him. He allows himself to think of her fondly, for just a moment. 

He clears his throat, and asks “shall we give it another go?”

He takes a few steps back, launching himself forward with as much force as he can muster. He’s airborne in a second, the swing creaking with each movement. 

John breathes out a laugh, watching fondly as Arthur moves through the air, a look of boyish glee on his face as he gets higher and higher. 

“C’mon, John!”

“No,” he says, gruffly.

“This was your idea!” 

“That was before it made my stomach hurt,” 

Arthur slows to a stop, tiling his head back and laughing, “fair enough,” 

[lilzyex]

Bloodstains of a past life ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚. M.S

(Chapter 1)

In which

Julia went to a bonfire party where she met a sort of strange set of triplets. She never heard their name before. Never even saw their face, but they felt so familiar. Everyone around them knew them well. Even her closest friends which was weird. They never talked about them. But now it seems as if they attended her high school for years.

pilot Chapter2 Chapter3 Chapter4 (tbc)

I was finishing my eyeliner when I got a call from my friend Ava I quickly reached for my phone and picked up the call “hey” I say

“Yo Julia quickly! We already bought the booze and you have 10 minutes to get to the park before we literally go without you.” Ava said in a sarcastic tone

“Alright alright! I’m almost ready I’ll be there in 15.” I say opening my mascara with my teeth holding my phone in one hand “did you guys buy jäger?” I say taking the mascara out of my mouth putting it on my eye lashes

“Yes, don’t worry we thought of you. But you’re paying gas now because we bought the booze” Ava said

“Alright” I chuckle and hang up the phone on the other line I could hear Ava yell “15 MINUTES JULIA! We’re not waiting 50 years for you mate. Some ppl are already texting me if we’re on our way!”

I look at myself in the mirror one last time checking myself out I look at my black shorts with dark nylons and a white crop top. I did a curly hair method on my hair and looked at my gold jewellery

I quickly take my bag and I close my room door.

I rush down the stairs of my house where I meet my mom “be back by 11!!” She says

“Mom” I whine “at least 12? Please Ava can be out until 1am!” I complained reaching for the front door

“I don’t care what Ava can or can do! Be back by 12 jesus”

“Bye love you” I say closing the front door behind me

It was a really sunny day and it was extremely hot outside my eyes squinted at the brightness of the sun

After 10 minutes of walking I see Ava waving at me from the back of Oliver’s car. I wanted to sit at the front but it already was taken by Abigail

I open the door of the car “hey!!” I say sitting down next to Ava

“Hi!!” Ava hugged me and raised the bottle of jäger “My baby!” I giggle as I take the bottle in my hand pretending it’s my baby “ok alcoholic.” Oliver said sarcastically “Oliver you should be the last person to say that” Abigail defended me as Ava and I chuckle in the back seat

“So how long until we get there?” I ask as Oliver started driving

“About 20 minutes” Oliver said “juli you’ve already been there. You’ll see!” Ava said “I literally don’t remember. Why couldn’t we go to the usual place? The forest that isn’t too far away from town like 5-10 minutes?” I ask

“Oh Chris said that cops go there often and he told us it’s better in the other forest more aesthetic also. Oh did you bring your camera!” Ava said

“Yeah I did.” I realise she said the name chris “who’s chris?” I ask confused. Knowing there’s no chris in our school or town as I know of

Ava and Abigail look at me funny. “Julia hello? Chris sturniolo. He literally is in our history class?” Abigail said

“He’s so hot!! Oh and also he’s a triplet! I’ve never met triplets. But they’re all SO hot.” Ava said

“What?” I became even more confused “yeah their names are Matt and Nick. Too bad Nick is gay.” She explained “Wait it’s not even that bad! We can try to set him up with Oliver” Abigail said Oliver immediately rolled his eyes “Abby stop”

“No this is great! Finally a hot gay guy for you!”ava giggled

“How do you even know he’s gay for fucks sake?” Oliver groaned “oh Stella told us, she tried to flirt with him. Didn’t end well” Ava tried to hold in her laugh

I get a weird wave of Deja vu when I heard the name Sturniolo. I knew them from somewhere, but definitely not fucking school.

I look out the window trying to forget the feeling I have in my chest.

17 minutes later we arrive infront of the woods and we call Bryan who invited us in the first place because he wanted to get with Abigail. We all know it even she does, but she’d never get with Bryan he’s not her type at all. And also he’s a fuckboy. But the invites to the coolest high school parties even tho we weren’t really considered popular in our school were worth it.

“Hey Bryan” Abigail said on the other line we heard Bryan’s voice “hey sweetheart, so where are you guys?”

Abigail awkwardly giggles and says “in front of the woods. Where exactly are you guys?”

“I’ll send someone to get you. Are yall next to a fallen tree?” He asks

“Uhh yep” Abigail says

“Alright. Matt! Can you go to the broken tree a few friends of mine are waiting there they don’t know their way here”

I heard on the other line.

Matt.

A few minutes later I see a tall brunette walking towards us. I could barely see his face but some I could sense some fear inside me for my reason at all

“You okay?” Ava asked “uh. Yeah” I say keeping my eyes on the brunette

“Hey” Matt said looking at Ava chris Abigail but when his eyes met mine his eyes went wide.

“Mary?” He said with a concerned look on his face

I scrunch my eye brows “No im.”I pause “im Julia.”

He tried to laugh it off “oh. You just look.” He tried to get any excuse he could out of his mouth, but still completely shocked by her looks “you remind me of an old friend of mine.” He said “anyways let’s go” he made us following deeper into the woods

The walk was akward when Ava whispered into my ear “girl did you see that?? He totally wants you!!”

I shake my head “stop”

Moments later were being greeted by Bryan who is already handing Abigail a drink “thanks, we also brought some booze” she said grabbing Oliver’s backpack taking out a bottle of vodka and jäger

“Oh that’s great!” Bryan said practically eye fucking Abigail

Matt went to sit down next to his two brother who were sat at the fireplace

Suddenly chris and nick looked at me with horror in their eyes

“If we do kill someone tonight we have to keep a really fucking close eye on that girl her name is Julia. But I don’t fucking believe her.” Matt whispered to nick and chris

“Fuck that’s Mary. You turned her into a vampire?! I thought you killed her!” Nick whispered with a pissed off tone

“I didn’t! Okay. She was dead when I left her.” Matt said “what the fuck.” Chris sipped on his drink

An hour later I found myself sitting next to the fire with Abigail sitting across from me was Matt and chris.

Chris was talking to Ava while Oliver went for another drink.

I felt eyes on me again when I looked up from my drink to see Matt staring at me. The eye contact lasted what felt like minutes and none of us broke it.

I felt a strange feeling in my stomach. I swear I met him before. It’s almost like I know everything about him but at the same time nothing. I look at his bright blue eyes, the eyes I remember looking into maybe in a dream.

Maybe im just drunk. I said to myself, and I continued the conversation I had with Ava.

“Guys! Did you guys know that the story of the bitten Mary was in this woods?” Bryan yelled out as he leaned against his best friend Lucas

A few people agreed and yelled out. A few people started scaring each other.

I sat there confusion washing over me, why did he call me Mary?. I knew about the story but I thought it was a made up story to scare people into not going into the woods alone.

“What?” I asked Jake he smirked at me and sat down next to me “dear Julia. The bitten Mary is a TRUE story about a girl who died in this woods. She got attacked by a wolf” he explained as a few people came to sit down to hear the story, Jake put his arm around my shoulders “people say her spirit is angry and is stuck in this exact woods. And if you’re alone she’ll kill you but only young people because she’s mad that she died at a young age.”

“And how can she even kill people she’s a ghost?” Some girl said not believing the story

“She’ll bite you and drink your blood until you die. Don’t believe me? Go deeper into the woods and you’ll see.” He said

“Alright someone give me a shot I wanna see if your bitten Mary isn’t an excuse to flirt with Julia.

She takes a shot and gets up to walk deeper into the woods “good luck!” Jake Bryan yelled

“Should we go scare her?” Jake said chuckling

“Nah fuck that I know she’s already shitting herself walking there” Bryan said chugging his beer after.

2 hours later im wasted, my legs feel weak as i feel a warm sensation in my throat. I can’t help but smile at Ava while she’s talking to me and that buzz in my head I love the most.

“I’m gonna go get another drink” I giggle stumbling towards the tree where the alcohol is on the floor

The rest of the night went pretty well before I realised I was supposed to be home an hour ago I look over at Oliver to see him drunk “fuck! Oliver why are you drinking you’re supposed to drive!” I said seeing Oliver sitting with Nick “it’s okay I can drive you home.” Matt said

I turn around my intention is telling me not to let him drive but we had no other option “thank you” I sigh out of relief “I quickly drag Oliver in my drunk state almost making us both fall I see Ava and Abigail next to the drinks

“Guys we’re going home Matt is driving us since Oliver got fucking drunk” I said “msorry” Oliver chuckled

“I’ll take him” Matt said

The drive home was pretty quick since I almost fell asleep. Finally we got Ava home now it was time to get me and Oliver home. A few minutes later we were in front of my house and when Matt stopped the car I said out of pure frustration “who the fuck are you guys?” Matt turned towards me so he can look me straight in the eyes “were in history class together don’t you remember? You remember right?.” He didn’t take his eyes off of me

It was almost like he wanted to hypnotise me or something “no I don’t. I’ve seen you in my life” Matt look confused “yeah. I’m kind of a quiet type of person. Unlike you.” Matt said turning around quickly

I get out the car slamming the door behind me and slowly getting into my house so nobody wakes up.

Soon I changed my clothes and brushed my teeth and went to bed.

(A/N : did yall see the tvd reference 😜 sorry if there’s any mistakes I didn’t re read this)

[the-moon-devi]

🦋Channeled Messages from Spirit 🦋

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Use your intuition & pick which mood board is calling u!

Decks used: The HooDoo Tarot & The Love oracle

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Pile 1:

Channeled Messages:

••••••••••••••••••••••••

♡ Flower dress- cottagecore

♡ The color pink??

♡ breadwinner

♡ shame

��� gossip

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Cards pulled: Father of Baskets, 9 of sticks, the sun, son of knives, bottom of the deck; justice

You carry yourself respectfully,and you come off lady-like/ feminine. But I feel like you don't bs around, people may think your not very smart. People comment on your looks alot (maybe your hair) to make you feel self conscious about your appearance. (Cuz' their jealous) The first card that came out for you was the Father of Baskets and the energy I'm getting is maybe a father or perhaps a boss or love interest either way I feel like this person tries to tell you what to do and wants to keep you in harsh situations or puts you in harsh situations. You may find yourself in a position to defend yourself and your ego. This may have something to do with your reputation or how others view you this person could have been sneakily putting out rumors about you. I'm getting you deserve justice for this and your going to get it. Honestly, this could even be a legal battle your going through. I'm getting like legally blonde vibes from this pile. I feel like people think your too pretty to be smart. They try to pick you apart and get mad once they realize your more mentally strong than you gave off. This man gossiped and talked about you so bad. I feel so hurt and betrayed for ya'll. You could've trusted this person and talked to them about your emotions but they were very two-faced to you. You may have learned they were doing this to you because you were eavesdropping. If you haven't then you will and I'm getting the energy that's it going to come out pretty soon. Alright pile 1, I hope this helped and you guys cuss this person out because you have every right to. 😘😡

Pile 2:

Channeled Messages:

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

♡ falling/ Tower card moment

♡ unexpected

♡ confusion

♡ lost

♡ tired

♡ starseed

♡ scorpio

♡ necklace

♡ overestimated/ exhaustion

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Cards pulled: The lovers, 5 of cups, ace of knives, 3 of Baskets, 5 of sticks, the high priestess.

Oracle: coffin- growth,change liberation,change

Heartbroken- deeply hurt,sad,seperation,breakup, feeling lost grieving mourning,

The runner- fear of intimacy, listening to ego

Ascending- transcending, obstacles, learning expansion, new phase, preparing for union

You are very confused right now, I feel like you guys hit rock bottom or you were just thrown down a hole or like a maze where you keep going around in circles. It could feel like something or someone is chasing you. I just had a dream similar to this, so this message could really resonate with this pile. You may be scared of a love interest hurting you, because we have the lovers card here, this person could have actually hurt you and left you feeling disappointed in love. That experience is what could have put you in this tower energy. I think your ancestors sent you into this to get clarity on something that's spiritual. You have the ascending card and the High priestess. Your in a maze and you have to find a way out instead of running from what your scared of face it head on. That thing your running from could be the thing that's going to protect you. You also have the 5 of wands there could be some spiritual warfare going on for you this may be affecting your mental. This is such a complex pile and I love it because your message is very deep. I felt the need to go on pinterest after channeling and I saw a cross necklace with Jesus and a picture that said Evara. Evara means gift of God. Your very connected to the ETHERS and your being called to pull out that ace of swords to beat whatever enemy you have. You have the gift of God and you are protected. You may be in some type of religion it doesn't have to be Christian, you could be like a witch/ apart of some type of cultural group or in a cult. I'm getting vibes like that. I feel like you work very well with dark energy. Because you are of light & dark and know how to transmute. Something could also be affecting your sleep or, you could literally avoid sleeping because you feel attacked in your dreams. I did also channel starseeds before I pulled your cards. You could be confused on why all of this is happening to you and this could be why. A certain celebration also could have not turned out the way you wanted to. There could have been a fight or smth like that. Theres also a few of you who are going through this because your running from your person, and they are trying to protect you. Im getting a lot as i close this energy out but yall are tired try to go to sleep. You could get alot of psychic downloads which leads to overstimulaion & paranoia try to journal and speak aloud. Maybe even psychic attacks. Some of you also could have lossed a partner. Im so sorry. I hope this helped in some way, and I pray for mental/ spiritual insight for you. Pls do some protection/banishing wrk if ur in2 that. 😘🔮

Pile 3:

Channeled messages:

••••••••••••••••••••••••

♡ Thick/ nice shape

♡ Monochromatic/ Luxury

♡ Natural hair

♡ single mom

♡ callou/ Arthur

♡ writer

♡ Family by dream girls

♡ the box- Roddy rich (this is so random ik 🤣 but maybe there's a message 4 u 🤭)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Cards pulled: Son of Baskets, 2 of knives, Mother of baskets, 4 of wands, Hierophant,  Father of swords

Oracle: Photograph- looking at your photos, missing you, Nostalgia, make new memories

For those of you who chose this pile, you could have children or your pregnant. While I was started channeling I started rubbing my stomach so maybe your expecting. I also started remembering shows from my childhood like callou and Aurthur (2000s babies know). You could be a young parent reflecting back on your childhood because your energy pulled  the Photograph oracle card and this represents old memories and Nostalgia, I kinda got like a melancholy feeling from this like you miss it. Your now realizing your entering a new phase in your life. You may be having/ have a boy too since both of those shows have little boy as the main characters. I feel like you have two options with the two of swords here. You may not know the specifics of each option and feel like you don't know enough about either to choose. 4 of wands here im getting family but also you have the hierophant and this card represents traditional values. The hierophant can also represent marriage so you could be getting married and starting a family with the father of knives soon. (I'm seeing 717 as I'm writing this) look up that number it could have a meaning for you. This person could feel you have very mothering energy. Your energy is the mother of cups. I see you and this person have built a very solid foundation. You may be worried about being pregnant or whatever your case is but whichever turn you make you'll be fine. I'm also getting your family will have your back no matter what. You may be worried about being a single mom or conforming to traditional roles of being married before you have children. You could have this mindset because of your family. It was a pleasure reading for you guys, yall energy feels so venusian & Lunar. Best wishes to you and your decision! 🌺🦋

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Catch ya later lovelies! Til' next time!

𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 xx🤎💋

~𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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𝓓𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓓𝓮'𝓛𝓾𝔁𝔁𝓮 (masterlist)

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©𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵 (Do not copy or steal my work)

[lolahasmoxie]

Cuddle Monster (E.M.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Childhood Best Friend Reader

Warning: (smacks fanfiction) This baby holds so much fluff! Kids! Cuddling! CASUAL INTIMACY UP THE ASS!

Word: 487

Notes: I'm a second-grade teacher, and my kiddos still love to give hugs. I also have friends with kids the same age. Not gonna lie; some warm kid hugs just make my soul happy. This doesn't really push the story forward at all; it's a pleasant little interlude.

Also, my edible JUST kicked in. Enjoy!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /

@kimmi-kat @feltonswifesworld87 @mrsmunsonxquinn @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @hahahafucku @emilyroxy @ihatepeanutss @mackyboo21

Ronnie Wayne Munson was his father's child.

Whenever you watched Ronnie, it was like seeing your best friend grow up all over again. But the similarities ran more profound than just sharing the same hair and colored eyes.

It was how they both poked their tongues out while in deep concentration to how they would fall asleep in full starfish mode; you enjoyed every bit of Ronnie Wayne Munson.

Especially the fact that he inherited his father's love language of physical touch.

Every time you were at their home, Ronnie would take you by the hand (after his father had welcomed you properly with a kiss) and had you sitting on the couch as soon as he could. Then he would proceed to climb into your lap, tiny arms around your neck and his warm body pressed against yours, as he told you about his day.

You'd had to chastize Eddie once or twice as he sat next to you on the couch. His arms crossed over his chest, and a pout on his plush lips, as his son slept in your arms.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?"

"You came to see me; I should be in your lap."

"Eddie, he's 4!"

"I mean, this level of disrespect in my own home is appalling. I will NOT let it go unanswered.”

“Jesus Christ, get over here you giant baby.”

Weekends are a sacred time for you and Eddie, but you can hear his tiny little feet creeping into your bedroom like clockwork every Saturday and Sunday.

You feign sleep, trying to hide your giggles as Ronnie huffs and puffs as he tries to climb into your bed. He always comes to your side of the bed since Eddie sleeps like the dead, and eventually, you pick him up and gently place him in the middle.

His warm, tiny body curls instinctively into you. You run your hand up and down his back to coax him back to sleep. You let out a yawn when Eddie stirs next to you.

"You two left me out? What's a guy got to do to get some damn cuddles in this place?"

"Eddie, the sun isn't even up yet. Can you wait until, like, 9 am to be weird?"

"Nope, cuddle me, NOW."

"But we're so warm and cozy here." You give him a sleepy grin, closing your eyes as he grumbles while inching towards you and his son.

"Gonna file a complaint with the Union, I tell ya. Can't get a cuddle from my woman. Can’t get a cuddle from my own begotten progeny, my very own flesh and blood..."

"Go to sleep, Eddie."

"Not until you tell me you love me."

Silence.

"Please?"

"Fine!" You lean in, and in seconds, Eddie's plush lips are softly pressed against yours. His arm lands on your waist, both of you creating a soft cocoon for Ronnie. "I love you."

"I love you too, Princess. Can I tell you something?"

"Tell me."

"This, all of us. It feels really nice, right?"

"It feels perfect." You feel lips against your forehead and calloused fingertips trace lazy patterns as you slowly fade back to sleep. "Wouldn't change it for a thing."

[ottpopfic]

Asteroids

---

Leo is alive, and Jason is alive. Because this time it stuck

And it continued to stick, for years

And Leo tried his best not to take it for granted, he would take Jason in any way he could. He loved him, he knew he did, he loved him back to life over and over again in his fool's errand. Leo didn't question why Jason did it back, he didn't really care as long as this time it just continued to stick

It was like an orbit, for years. Two asteroids in space, flying through the darkness around each other, unwilling to let go of their shared gravitational field because they were finally there together. It didn't matter if Piper was going to disown him from the pining, as long as it continued to stick. If all he could have was the orbit then Leo would take what he could get

Leo's anxiety spiked when he didn't know where Jason was. He knew he felt the same by the look in his eyes when he arrived back home to the Way Station. They shared a room, but not a bed. Jason always wanted to be touching him in some way. It became natural, the everyday norm, but Leo was too scared to jinx it by confessing. To tempt this hair's breadth of an opportunity that maybe this time the fates would just let him have him

He knew it wasn't healthy, he couldn't help it

They orbited for ages, but gravity kept pulling them closer with each rotation. It took them three years for their flight paths to finally crash into each other

It was close in time to when Jason died for the first time, when Leo was gone warning Camp Jupiter and the other man was on his quest. Jason is at Camp Jupiter and Leo had held the stress of it in his jaw all week, trying to distract himself through the sleepless nights. When Jason finally made it back to him it was with a rough landing

Leo was the only one awake, sometime around four or five am. He heard Jason hit the roof, and the Way Station tumbled the blond into the main room without much fanfare. The larger man lies on the ground outside the workstation with a groan

“Jesus Christ dude you good?” Leo asks, pulling his welding mask up and turning off the torch. Jason just rolls over onto his back to starfish on the ground and groans again

Leo takes a moment to get off his welding gloves and shut down the station, the last thing they need is a fire. It also gives him a beat to collect himself, he knows he's been a sleepless wreck. By the time he's done and turns back around Jason is watching him with lightning focus

“What?” he asks, whipping welding grime and sweat off his arms and face. Jason licks his lips

“Come ‘mer” he calls, and makes a grabby hands at him

“Did you hit your head again” Leo teases, but he goes to him anyway “What the hell was that landing?”

“It's like five AM” Jason mumbles, reaching for Leo and pulling him down onto the floor with him “I've been up since six AM yesterday, cut me some slack”

[read more AO3]

“Why are you flying if you've been awake eleven hours?” Leo asks concerned as he kneels down next to the blond “That can't be safe”

“I didn't want you to be alone tomorrow,” he says, rolling towards Leo like a flower following the sun “I didn't want to be without you”

Tomorrow, the anniversary of Jason's first real death. 

Leo feels his heart clench in his chest, the tension in his jaw makes it pop. The date he's been trying not to think about, that he was trying to overwork himself through. It's been six years and neither of them has ever handled it with much grace. And here Jason is, flying stupid from California to make sure they were together for it. To make sure Leo knows where he is

“Come on man,” Leo says instead of what he wants to say, pulling Jason into a sitting position by his arms “Let's get you to bed” 

“Come with me,” Jason begs, he looks a bit loopy from fatigue 

“Jase-”

“I was talking to Piper, about us,” Jason presses on, pulling Leo closer from where their arms are connected 

“What about us?” Leo lets himself go to him, ever in orbit, even as the hot lump of dread settles in his gut

“It's been years,” Jason pulls him onto his lap on the floor, Leo’s scrawny legs on either side of Jason's muscular thighs “We’re not going anywhere”

“How do you know that?” Leo hisses, worried that even talking about it could set the cycle in motion again. Because he knows in his bones if the world decides they still have to play prophecy, if it goes back to storm or fire, Leo would do it all again. He would keep trying, chasing instead of running for the first time in his life 

Jason trails his hands up from where they interlock, resting on Leo's upper arms cool and firm. He's studying Leo's face, that look of devotion back in his eyes. Because as much as Leo denies it, as much as he pretends it's not there; Jason speaks best through action, and his actions have been telling Leo that he loves him back for a long time.

It scares Leo, more than a little bit. 

“I don't,” Jason confesses “I don't know that. But we're here now?”

“Is that what Piper was saying?”

“No,” he grins, that one that shows a single canine and makes his scar pull attractively “She's back to cussing us out in frustration”

“So same old?”

“Same old,” Jason licks his lips again “But she mentioned something, about three being the lucky number. It got me thinking”

“About us?”

“About us”

Six years since the first death, three years since the last one. 

“What about us?” Leo presses, voice quiet like maybe this time something larger than them won't hear 

“That it's been so long,” Jason's gaze is intense on his face “That we’re still here. That we can have, more”

“More?”

“Leo” his hands are on his shoulders, solid and sure, he's getting lost in the possibility of those blue eyes “I want more, more of us”

It's the first time they've spoken about it, out loud. It almost blows Leo over.

He can't help it, Leo kisses him. Two asteroids in the same gravitational field, slamming into each other and becoming something new. A planet, a moon or star, it didn't matter as long as they were together

Jason clutches at Leo like he can't believe he's real, like that time when Leo had just gotten him back for good. His grip was tight and rough, first clutching at his upper arms, then pulling him in impossibly tighter by the waist until one hand made it up to the nape of Leo's neck to hold on. Leo opens wider, his hold on the other man's jaw pulling him closer as Jason groans 

When they reluctantly separate for oxygen, faces close and breathing the same air, Leo can feel himself trembling 

“Leo” Jason breaths “Leo Leo Leo”

“M’ right here” he breaths back, voice soft like it would break the bubble there in, tell the fates they broke spades, and Jason brings him into the next kiss as desperate as the first

They kiss like that for a while, trying to merge the shattered remains of their collision into their new celestial body together. Bruising grips on each other, mouths only separating to grasp for air. Leo feels drunk on the other man, the feel of him and the smell of heat lightning, the pattern of his heartbeat against his own. Alive and whole, safe in his arms. 

Leo eventually has to pull away as he overheats. He brings his face as far away as he can to pant out into the open air, the temperature of his breath is visible and fire licking up his face and into his hair. Jason isn't detoured, pressing his face into Leo's neck. He licks a long stripe against the femoral artery, nips under his jaw, and then presses his nose hard against his pulse point.

Leo’s being reeled back in my strong arms before he's done venting out the heat. He can feel how his internal temperature is scalding, but Jason acts like he's desperate to get broiled alive. He has one arm around Leo's waist and the other snaking up his shirt, hand splayed between his wing bones holding him as close as he can. Leo turns his face away to continue to try and pant out the heat, sucking the cooler night air into his lungs and letting his breath steam out of him. That just gives Jason more access to his neck, and Leo can't stifle the low moan that's forced out of him when the blond clamps his teeth around where his collarbone dips from his shoulder and sucks. 

“Jace,” he pants out, he's going to catch fire at this point “Jace, Jason please”

Jason whines again, one of the feral noises he does high and desperate, and goes back to nipping. Leo has to grab the other man by the hair to pull him back so he can let his face catch fire again, the only part of his body not flush with him. Jason doesn't look afraid, pupils blown wide and expression filled with awe. A few sparks of static dance between the strands of his blond hair, one inside his open and panting mouth. As soon as Leo stops smoking Jason is back to kissing him

“I'm gonna burn you” Leo whines into his mouth

“No you won't,” Jason says back just as close, the blind trust and longing make Leo moan into him

“You won't” Jason continues, kissing back down Leo's neck and towards his chest. Leo takes the opportunity to throw his head back and try and vent more heat “You won't, I'm always safe with you”

“Fuck, Jace”

“Gods, you're here” Jason pleads, his forehead pushing hard above Leo's heart. He can probably feel his rabbiting pulse against his face, he's still trying to pull Leo closer “You're really here like this , I'm not dreaming “

Leos folds himself over the curl of Jason's body, hand moving over his hair and neck and back, energy trapped in their dwindling momentum 

“I'm here” he pants “You're here too”

“I'm here,” Jason says back looking up to meet Leo's eyes but not taking his face off his heart. His cheek is pressed in against Leo's chest, eyes looking up and pleading. Leo smooths his hands through Jason's hair and then down the side of his jaw and back up again. The blond lets out a sigh and folds back into Leo's chest. His face pressed above his heart, breathing him in through his nose.

They stay like that for a while, curled and clutched close. Leo's hand in Jason's hair and Jason's face in Leo's chest, until Leo folds down to rest his forehead against the top of Jason's head, breathing him in in return

A single celestial body orbiting a gravitational pull. Together in the new planet of their own making 

[miserymerci]

Dear Desolence (Good Omens S3 take)

Seven months after a change in leadership, Heaven slips up and "accidentally" released Jesus Christ onto the Earth before their plan is ready. Hell is in shambles, angels in Heaven are dividing, and they can't seem to shake off that stupid Book of Life crap. It would do some good to throw it off a cliff.

When Muriel is assigned to find the missing Son, Crowley is pulled into the storm, Aziraphale risks his all, and two equally-misguided children of two big, ineffable entities face what "humanity even means"

Chapter One: Ready for Duty

(Word count: 22,445)

Jesus has gone missing. Muriel is assigned to find him, but in an effort to reach out to Crowley, Muriel realizes that he needs a little pick-me-up. Cue the girls' day out! Meanwhile, the Archangels try to keep Jesus's disappearance a secret from The Metatron.

Lower Galilee, Nazareth: 6 CE

“What’re you doing here in Galilee?”

Aziraphale choked on his stew. 

The first thing he probably should have said was: ‘That’s none of your business, snake,’ and then the second thing should have been, ‘now crawl back to whence you came,’ followed by a very unfriendly strike over the head— but with a mouthful of vegetables, it was difficult to make the whole thing look professional.

He sniffled and chewed carefully.

“Having a meal,” he said.

“Well,” said Crawley, looking around the inn, “I can see that.” 

Aziraphale swallowed, pushed away the bowl, and then hastily got up from his seat. He had nearly finished his food anyway. The last few bites didn’t matter— he had already been caught red-handed.

“I’m here on business. Angelic business. What about you?” he brushed over his wool tunic and spared another glance at his adversary, who continued to stare at him blankly. 

Glasses were such a bothersome invention.

Crawley mulled over his question. Aziraphale doubted he had to think about it for very long, but Crawley rather enjoyed the suspense. He was very good at keeping Aziraphale guessing.

“Demonic business, if I had to put a label on it. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on the Romans,” said Crawley.

“Galilee isn’t exactly a hotspot for Roman control.”

“Not yet it isn’t,” Crawley shrugged, “but it still counts. It’s near the area, anyway. I have an excuse to be here.” 

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, turned, and exited the inn.

In truth, Aziraphale never saw Crawley often. Since the incident in Uz, he’d been… well, not flighty. Busy, more like. He had lots to think about, and lots to do, and lots to solve. A busy angel was a fulfilled angel, Michael always said. 

Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with himself.

The bright sun brought little warmth to his skin. In the aftershocks of summer, darker clouds had begun to roll by. It would rain within the next few weeks. Then, the autumn crops would finally take root, and Aziraphale’s assignment would end. He wasn’t used to staying in one place for very long. He had tried not to be twitchy about it, but something in his chest urged to flutter and twist. Maybe it was homesickness. What a silly thing. 

“You know, everyone knows about the Messiah,” said the demon following him.

Crawley lingered to his side; almost like a herding dog, the way he was leaning into his space. He spared a watchful look at the people passing on the streets before turning back to Aziraphale. When he did, that cheeky smile was on his face.

“Good grief,” whispered Aziraphale to the sky.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you don’t have to be so anxious about keeping secrets. I already know so what’s the big deal? You keeping an eye on the kid?” 

“That’s not really your business,” said Aziraphale, wringing his hands. He continued walking, looking over at the clouds or the far hills or anything else that could coax his nerves. 

Crawley retreated, vanished, and then came back to his other side.

“Figs?” he offered, and Aziraphale startled.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Buy figs? You don’t like figs?” 

Aziraphale scoffed to himself and waved away the demon. It didn’t do much. Instead, Crawley welcomed himself into Aziraphale’s bubble with a funny expression. Maybe calculating, maybe just teasing— it was hard for Aziraphale to pinpoint.

“I… do! I mean don’t come to me thinking you can get something out of me. I’m here on assignment, fine. I’m keeping an eye on the Messiah, fine. But that’s all you’re getting from me.”

Crawley was quiet for a moment. He trailed Aziraphale up narrow steps, weaving past a group of kids running out of a nearby entryway. The smallest child was being tugged along with gleeful giggles. All of their knees were caked in dirt.

Aziraphale paused, turned, and watched Crawley lean against the wooden column holding up the little building’s eaves.

Crawley raised his eyebrows.

“You think I’m tempting you for information?” he asked. 

“Well,” began Aziraphale, hesitantly, “I find it hard to believe that you just want to talk… are you saying that I should enjoy long walks with my adversary and sharing a warm meal with the Serpent of Eden? I got a very harsh scolding, you know, for letting you slip past me.”

Crawley grimaced and tilted his head this way and that.

“Ehhgh, when you say it like that, it does sound pretty awful of us. We are pitting against one another. Usually.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He glanced down at his fiddling hands, caught himself, and instead used them to smooth down his tunic. 

Morals were always a push and pull for Aziraphale. There was always a right and always a wrong— and they always depended on who told them. If an angel told Aziraphale something and a demon told Aziraphale another thing, what was Aziraphale to do other than believe the obvious? But hadn’t Crawley and him worked together the last time they met? He had disobeyed Heaven. Did that still make him a loyal angel? Obviously not, but what was he to do? Confess his sins? Fall? If he could be not-quite-an-angel, then Crawley would be not-quite-a-demon. But the other had been adamant on only temporarily being on the same side. 

Ah, there he went again— a headache crept up at the thoughts he had been trying to avoid since Uz. 

“I… wasn’t around to witness the birth of the Son.”

In his peripheral vision, Crawley’s face twitched, as if he hadn’t expected Azriaphale to speak up at all. His foot slipped as he tried to stand up properly, but he recovered quickly.

“Oh yeah? I guess Gabriel realised the last birth you observed had almost been a muck up,” said Crawley, slyly. 

“I know!” blurted Aziraphale. He clasped his hands together against his chest. “Oh, I felt awful. Gabriel went through the trouble to send me away so I wouldn’t be around for it, I’m sure. I had to go to Egypt to ‘observe the Red Sea’. As if it’s going anywhere? Moses parted it a millennium ago and Gabriel had been concerned about it eleven years ago?” Aziraphale noted Crawley’s blank look and hurriedly added, “Not like he was wrong to be or anything of the sort. It’s just a shame that I wasn’t back when I needed to be. To help, you know.”

Crawley frowned. 

“Riiight,” he said, in a tone that made Aziraphale want to hide his face forever. “I know. So what’re you doing here watching the boy, if the Supreme Archangel Gabriel wanted to keep you away?” 

It would be embarrassing to admit to this demon that Aziraphale’s assignment didn’t have anything to do with the Messiah. Gabriel had been so apparent with his stretched smile and gleaming eyes to steer clear of the plan that was unfolding. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s division. However, he could see that the few angels who were assigned the boy weren’t clapping their hands with joy at the whole thing.

Aziraphale was ashamed enough already. He didn’t want to hand Crawley salt for his wound.

“At-a-distance mission, I suppose,” said Aziraphale, knowing he’s supposed to be blessing the harvest, “but he is interesting. ‘Son of God’ and all that. Gabriel must have been thinking about how that title puts a huge target on the boy’s back and, well, I—… I mean, he is just a kid; the Messiah.” He realised he had taken his eyes off the demon, and caught him picking at the figs’ stems one-by-one.

“That’s obvious, angel. They all start as kids once. I just hope he won’t grow up to be a prick.”

“The Son of God won’t be a prick. He will be as forgiving and loving as his Mother, and will lead humanity with bravery and benevolence. That’s what the Plan says.”

A challenging look sparked in Crawley’s eyes. For a moment, Aziraphale felt something in his stomach twist (because he was saying that God was good and gracious to a demon’s face), but then those teeth bared at him like a snake, and Aziraphale stubbornly held his ground. 

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” said Crawley in a rumbly voice, “that that little boy has such expectations on his shoulders? If he messes up, then what? It’s not like people come back the way they were before. Something always goes missing somewhere. If you ask me, it would be easier to forget the guy and stop trying to act human all the time.”

“Act human?” 

“We both know you’re an uptight, prissy agent of what your side thinks is right. It’s all you angels are. You’re fussy with your drinks, fussy with your food, and fussy with your duties. What’re you doing down here wasting your existence away living with people when you could just go home? Leave the Earth to the demons and just smite any sign of life from above? Would make you a real angel, you know– being cruel and mysterious like that.”

Home. 

Aziraphale had just been thinking about “home” again; what it was, what it meant to him. The fluttery, sickly feeling drew attention to his chest and spread down and around until he swore his skin was buzzing. Did he miss Heaven? Those bright halls and those endless skies? It had always been his home. He had never seen anything quite like it on Earth. 

He swallowed the mysterious feeling and said, eyes fixed on the ground, “you’re just trying to tempt me, Crawley.”

And just like that, Crawley disengaged and rolled his eyes. 

“I could be,” he said with less heat, “you wouldn’t know. I’m the enemy, remember?” 

“I don’t understand if you want to get rid of me or not,” admitted Aziraphale. “Why do you talk like that?”

“Why do you always look at me like I’m shameful?”

Oh, goodness. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all. But Aziraphale didn’t have the words right now, like his entire body was paralyzed, and he had left his mind in the clouds. He couldn’t correct him because he himself couldn’t say what was correct. 

He had tried to make an effort today. This was the first time, after all, that Crawley had really reached out to him, but Aziraphale just couldn’t understand. He didn’t truly know his quirks, really, or his sense of humour, or the way he liked to spend his time. Crawley likely couldn’t even read him, either. It seemed like they had just made a muddle of things in their attempt to find common ground.

Maybe Aziraphale did miss Heaven. Maybe this was homesickness, as close as Heaven was to “home”. But then Crawley bit into one of the figs, the seeds cracking and popping against his teeth, and vanished with the crowds— and Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with himself.

Oh, how this distance was unbearable.

Present Day, Heaven

What was distance? 

Aziraphale tossed and turned that question in his head often. Of course, there were many dictionaries in the world. Aziraphale had witnessed the first one being written amidst a dry summer in Mesopotamia, where it had found itself sunken into a watery tomb.

But all words came with definitions. Not all of them came with meaning. 

So if you were to ask Aziraphale what ‘distance’ was, he would quote the Oxford English Dictionary: 

‘Distance (/‘distəns/ : the amount of space between two places or things’. 

But then again, ‘distance’ came with a plethora of other definitions. And while they would all technically be the truth, it would also be a lie.

‘Distance’ came with feeling. Surely poets, not as old as he, could mix up the perfect lull of words to describe it. Aziraphale could not. 

Could not. 

So the only thing he could do was stick it to something. There was a distance between Aziraphale and Earth, for example… a distance between Heaven and the Earth and further Down, for another. 

Distance was for places, and distance was for people, and distance was for thoughts. Distance was connection and the lack thereof. 

Aziraphale would not be able to tell you where he stood. 

It was certainly not lonely in Heaven. Aziraphale had never once thought throughout the last few months that he was alone. Heaven had eyes, and Aziraphale had eyes, and eyes could close a distance.

Eyes for seeing and hands for holding and mouths for— oh… lights! Lights could close a distance, and Heaven had plenty of those. And, as per the eternal ways, ceiling lights in Heaven never went out. Angels on lightbulb duty were only given this task so that even the lowest of cherubs could pretend to be busy (this was a recent discovery to Aziraphale, who had found this fact atrocious. He was outvoted 1-to-4). 

On this particular day, one light dared to flicker. 

Aziraphale blinked apologetically and turned away from it.

He continued down the Heavenly Halls. The ceiling light that had flickered was likely glaring at his retreating back at the attempted murder. But really, Aziraphale hadn’t meant to do that. He should be cherishing the silence right now, not–

“Supreme Archangel,” said an angel coming up to his left, breaking all of Aziraphale’s wishes, “Sir, you are aware you are late to your meeting, yes?” they turned down at their clipboard, flipping up a few pages, “if you do not wrap it up in approximately eight minutes, you will be behind on your–!”

“–Archangel Aziraphale!” said another, to his right. “There’s been another pressing issue that we need to add to your schedule. It’s about–.”

“The schedule is already full. I can’t fit anything else in,” mumbled the angel on the left.

“Then make some room! There, there’s a little slot between the platoon training and the weapon inspection,” said the right angel.

“I suppose so… well, then, I’ll put that in for you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded ahead.

All of Gabriel’s duties had seemed so stagnant compared to this. Had Aziraphale ever actually seen him do anything of importance? Gabriel had hovered more than planned, in Aziraphale’s distracted memory. Perhaps he never noticed because he was too busy not getting caught by Gabriel in the first place.

The next time Aziraphale blinked, he was in another room entirely. That was a funny thing about Heaven: its lack of doors. Most believed it was just a hassle in the grand scheme of things (Who wanted to reach out for a door knob, anyways? Who wanted to use their hands to make an effort, to touch solid ground, to open a door? Why go through the trouble?). 

Aziraphale swallowed and looked up.

"Late again, Aziraphale," said Uriel.

Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows, smiled, and neatly placed the folder he had been carrying onto the table.

“So I am,” he said. “Giliel had needed assistance in their new position. None of the other scriveners had the spare time.”

Michael smiled back at him. 

"The lower ranks have been experiencing a flux of changes in the past several months. It’s not our responsibility to coddle each one,” Michael crossed one arm, blinking slowly at him as if they were perfectly in their element, “let the officers do their jobs, Aziraphale."

"Am I to blame for wanting to make sure that there are no breaks in our formations?" challenged Aziraphale.

Michael snorted, the action forming into a sneer. 

“Ironic,” they said.

"Please leave the arguments for later, Your Reverences," said Saraqael, as if watching Michael’s and Aziraphale’s odd bickering had become boring over the past few months. "The matters of this meeting are far beyond a squabble between cherubs."

Aziraphale nodded (Mostly because Saraqael is looking at him to take the lead). He opened the absurdly-thick folder in front of him that read 'Meeting Notes', paging through delicately before he settled on an empty page.

The Metatron cleared his throat. For the first time during that meeting, Aziraphale looked up at the floating head.

“Thank you for gathering on such short notice. Your flexibility and resolution will be rewarded with good news: the Second Coming is almost among us. In a few weeks–"

"Already?" Aziraphale blurted. He looked surprised at his own interruption, and he glanced around at the table. No one said anything, so Aziraphale took a deep breath and continued, “It took eleven years for Hell to concoct the Apocalypse. We are only a few months in."

"Honestly. Do you really believe us to be as incompetent as those creatures? Of course we would have the advantage, Aziraphale,” said Michael.

“What advantages?” asked Aziraphale.

Sandalphon hummed, but it came out more like a goose honk.

"Fall jostled their good-thinking ability, for one,” said Sandalphon. "Brewed for far too long in the sulfur. Mushy, those ones. Brain soup."

Aziraphale threaded his hands together tightly and watched the way that Saraqael stared at Sandalphon.

“…Gabriel used to laugh at that one,” said Sandalphon.

Michael sneered again.

"Enough," said The Metatron, finally. "Be thankful that any of you play a part in God's Great Plan. It would be just as easy to keep this information solely between The Lord and I."

Aziraphale’s eyebrows scrunched. He manifested a pen and scribbled something down in his notes.

"No need for that, I'm quite sure. Do go on. Unless anyone has anything else to say," said Aziraphale. He tried to ignore the way Uriel’s lips twitched and how Michael’s look withered.

"Very well. Thank you, Aziraphale,” said The Metatron. “We have the Son of The Almighty under supervision. Since the failed Apocalypse, he has been carefully raised in a quiet confinement. The Almighty does not want his judgement to be influenced, unlike what happened with Hell’s botched attempt.”

All eyes turned to Aziraphale's end of the table. The angel quietly added to his notes. 

Uriel turned back to The Metatron. 

"You mean to say that we've had the Son of God under our jurisdiction for almost five years? And nobody ever thought to tell us?"

"Why wouldn't we have The Almighty's Son?” Michael asked all-too-quickly.

Uriel whipped around at them, titled their head, and then leaned closer.

"And... you knew of this? That we had the Son?"

"More or less,” said Michael. “Not my place to say, is it?”

Before they could begin to really argue, Saraqael sneakily waved a hand. 

Uriel and their chair blasted off to the other end of the table. They knocked into Aziraphale, who stammered ungracefully.

Michael hung on to the edge of the table for dear life.

"We had everything under control, and if we had needed your assistance, then we would have sought it out. Do not fret. The raising of Jesus is none of your concern,” said The Metatron.

Aziraphale sniffled.

The Metatron continued, "The Son will soon be on Earth. You will continue preparing for battle. Hell's forces are itching to destroy every value we've spent millennia protecting. Heaven must meet them halfway. If we want to finally triumph, it would do you wise to worry about what is happening Up here than down there."

Aziraphale thought about the power struggle happening Down Below, but kept his mouth shut.

"With all due respect,” said Saraqael, in the tone of someone who was at least trying not to sound unkind, “all Heaven has been doing is preparing for war. We have done all we can in our formations and drills. I see more paperwork of weapon assignments than I do ceiling lights these days. What’s the point of rechecking a file that has already been checked, rechecked, and further checked? There’s already a division for those duties.”

‘Humans have done it for hundreds of years: the reevaluation of works dozens upon dozens of times,’ thought Aziraphale, ‘What was it? The scientific method?’ 

Certainly worked for many things. It just so happened that Aziraphale was one of the places that it didn’t apply. 

"This is the part you play. It is decided by God,” said The Metatron, and that part of the conversation was over.

At Sandalphon’s delighted expression, Aziraphale sent one nervous finger down the side of his pen’s feather.

"Ineffable,” sighed Aziraphale, smilingly.

The Metatron smiled back at him.

"Ineffable," he agreed.

Whatever tension that was starting to build subsided. It seemed like Aziraphale had chosen his words correctly this time.

Close to his left, Uriel leaned over to look at Aziraphale's notes. They had been curious, lately, about Aziraphale’s note taking— he hadn’t been thrilled at first, but then he learned that there was little he could hide from Uriel. Aziraphale tapped his paper, shared a look with Uriel, and then said, "I have a few questions."

"Every meeting," groaned Michael.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and levelled his gaze with The Metatron. They stared and stared, until finally, the Voice of God hummed, and Aziraphale had won the face-off today.

"Well, Aziraphale?”

"Where is Jesus, when will he be sent to Earth, and how will he be sent to Earth? I believe those are justifiable questions, yes?"

Slowly, The Metatron nodded. It was probably a nod, anyways. As just a head, it looked more like a bob.

"I understand your curiosity. However, we are too close to the Second Coming for us to want to… risk our plans. Where Jesus is being held is not information relevant to your role. I already have angels assigned to transport the Son when we are ready to do so. However..."

A miracle split through the air, like a light zap— less like a sound. In the middle of the table, a folder appeared. Aziraphale beckoned it over with a hand. As the folder slid within reaching distance, Uriel straightened quickly and reached over for it the same way Aziraphale was.

Aziraphale flicked his other hand. Uriel and their chair rocketed back towards Michael. 

“Guh…” Uriel or Michael said after the collision settled.

"You want to send him to... Iceland?” Aziraphale asked gently. He raised his brows, not looking up from its contents.

“No mosquitos– hm, just don’t tell the All Creatures Big and Small Department. They could put up a fuss, and that’s the last thing Heaven needs. The mosquitos’ original designer is a demon now, however. For good reason. Pesky pests,” said The Metatron. 

Sluggish nods and murmurs made its way around the table.

Aziraphale blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then blinked again.

"Well? What does it say?" said Michael.

"This file will go to our twelfth degree courier. They will know what to do, so there’s no use in explaining the process. Would only be tedious work for an Archangel. Simply deliver the folder, yes?" After a moment, when Aziraphale did not reply, The Metatron added, "Supreme Archangel?"

The folder shut slowly, delicately, as if the contents were dynamite and closing it could spark a fire. Aziraphale nodded, even though the orders were suspicious. Why the twelfth degree courier? Wouldn’t it make more sense to hand it to the captain of the division? Then again, Aziraphale had hardly been a messenger in his early days, and had been more interested in his own purpose.

"Quite right," hummed Aziraphale, registering The Metatron’s words and raking through his mind to remember who the twelfth degree messenger was, “this information will be safely delivered to Orel..."

“Very good,” said The Metatron.

"...by Sandalphon."

"Sorry?" said Sandalphon.

"Don't be," replied Aziraphale.

The Metatron scoffed, bobbing its head from left to right, and Aziraphale furrowed his brows.

"Well, I hardly think this is appropriate. I gave you an assignment, Aziraphale, and I expect you to be the one to complete it."

"A folder with 'Second Coming' printed on it being delivered by the Supreme Archangel?" said Saraqael, squinting over at it. "That will turn heads. It would be safer to keep such a key component to our success on the down-low."

Ah, that was likely why the messenger chosen was so specific; hidden well in the midst of numbers to help with the secrecy of the entire plan. Aziraphale smiled at Saraqael, but they didn't return it. Sandalphon had already been eyeing Aziraphale, something dark and gloomy in its already-dark-and-gloomy eyes, and finally moved to reach for the folder.

Aziraphale tossed it, letting it land into Sandalphon's hand safely— possibly thanks to a little miracle. He likely would have fretted about being too reckless to such an important thing. It just-so-happened that Aziraphale wanted it out of his hands as quickly as possible.

"And I," said Aziraphale, "can't think of any other angel that will keep it better protected than Sandalphon."

Sandalphon's lips twisted and widened into a smile. Aziraphale returned it with a hum.

The Metatron glanced over his audience, clicked his tongue, then said, "Very well," then, to the lower Archangel: "Sandalphon. Deliver the folder immediately. You’re playing a crucial role in the Plan, and any failure will be dealt with equal reprimand. Any other... questions?"

No one took the bait. Aziraphale likely would’ve, seven months ago, when he felt defeated and inspired all at once– like red wine against his tongue every morning and every night. He couldn’t risk it anymore, now that he had his feet on the ground.

The Metatron smiled at his angels.

“Amen,” he said.

Sandalphon sent himself off to his duty.

No one would ever utter anything after the meeting was declared over. Aziraphale, in his more-than-six-thousand years of existence, had had many more meetings in Heaven than he could bother to tell. Exchanging pleasantries was decidedly a human thing. It was never written in their rules, but instead smudged into the small dents a finger would leave in paper. And Aziraphale was very good at reading the fine print.

Sandalphon was different. He didn't know what pleasantries were in the first place. And much like how pleasantries were a man-made concept, magic was, too. 

In fact, the angels often shook their heads at the word. ‘Magic’? How silly the humans were to make up a term to excuse the existence of great wonders that they couldn’t explain. Maybe that was the interesting thing; how when approached with something unknown, they make it known with a name. Those who do not search for answers will not receive them, and those who do tend to hit solid ground. The thing about magic is that it can happen even when one is looking. To expect to be deceived only ensures that you will find deception.

Angels were awful at magic. Especially Aziraphale. Thankfully, what he lacked in magic, he made up for in miracles.

Sandalphon stopped right in another angel's way. He looked the angel over once, then twice, then said almost accusingly, "Morel."

"Orel, actually," Orel corrected, unfazed.

The Archangel leaned in, and Orel leaned back. He handed them the folder with a smile.

"Directions from The Metatron."

A flash of understanding crossed Orel's face, breaking through their initial blankness. They looked down at the folder, flipped it open, and closed it just as quickly.

"I will get onto it right away–," Orel started to say, but Sandalphon had already vanished.

Magic was messy. It spilled and splattered on white floors and was almost impossible to scrub clean. It was alarmingly human, because it had obvious flaws, and because it was unpredictable. That was terrifying.

Miracles were more clear-cut. Miracles were direct. You would have to know what you want for a miracle to be a miracle.

When Orel walked into the elevator, there was a milky-white button just above the 'H', a button that only appeared when Orel wanted it to. They clicked the button. The doors shut.

The elevator remained motionless. Orel waited patiently, keeping their arms to their side, until the doors opened once more. One step told Orel that they were in a different place than they had entered from. 

This was their duty, and once this was done, Orel wouldn’t serve any other purpose to the plan. They were just a screw in a machine for the greater good.

"State your business," said an angel, to the left of a door. Something glinted at their waist.

Orel didn't seem disturbed. Instead, they turned to the second angel at the right of the door. They presented the folder toward them with an outstretched arm, and the second angel took it. 

The first angel peered over the second's shoulder.

"It's time to send him down. The Metatron's orders," Orel announced as the two stationed angels shared a look.

In this small, white room, it was easy for it to feel strangely like this was a dead end of Heaven. Heaven didn't have dead ends. If it did, it would start feeling as if it were a cage, and Heaven was a little more complicated than that. Heaven was always endless, even when you hit a wall.

The first angel moved from their position, revealing a light switch behind them. They reviewed the folder once more— because mistakes could cost the winning side, and nobody wants to be the loser.

One perfectly-placed miracle can change the trajectory of an entire story. Isn't that magical?

They flicked the light switch on.

On Earth, there was a single angel stationed.

But it wasn't very lonely, so they didn’t feel too bad about it. It was a very important job that had many more pros than cons. Like, for one, they got to read books— fun ones and sadder ones and ones with lots of words. The ones that weren’t too wordy had pictures with more colours than one could ever imagine in Heaven. Their new favourite colour was green— or maybe purple— but blue was pretty as well.

They could feel the rain, the heat of the sun, and the dirt that got stuck under their fingernails. And then, when it got really cold, snow flittered down to the earth as if it were on angel wings, landing and melting into the waiting cups of steaming hot chocolate below. 

And the smells. Well, actually, the smells left a lot to be desired. Some of them were pleasant, like old books, and others were bitter and cutting like spoiled milk. Smells were the most confusing of all of Earth's specialties.

But best of all, there were the people.

In this particular building, coffee brewed, and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen hidden behind the counter.

People liked coming to places with coffee. Coffee was a necessity for human life, and took a lot of shapes and forms. It was almost as important as sleep, which humans also needed to sustain life. But then, coffee wasn't a replacement for water (even though they're both drinkable liquids. How odd), which humans also needed to sustain life.

Even though the concept was confusing, Muriel grew to love coffee shops. Really, just Nina's coffee shop, where they've played board games like Monopoly (Muriel liked the top hat the most), and had gathered around one of the tables to partake in a seasonal gift-giving event that was meant to honour the birth of Jesus Christ.

Lovingly, Muriel had gifted Nina a pack of instant coffee from the market so that she wouldn't have to work as hard to keep up with the morning rush. Nina, just as lovingly, explained that instant coffee wasn't actually 'instant'.

In the cosiness of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, Maggie folded onto one page of a magazine and flipped it over for Muriel to see.

"Here," Maggie tapped one of the images, "do you remember this one?"

Muriel leaned closer. Quickly, their face brightened, "Oh, yes! London's spinning wheel. We saw it the other weekend."

Maggie snorted, but shook her head in good humour, "Well, yes, it's pretty much a spinning wheel. But it's actually the–."

Some magazines that were fanned out on the table crinkled and shuddered as Muriel patted their palms against them in excitement.

"Oh! Oh, don't tell me!”

Muriel hadn’t ever been assigned anything about human culture before. They had annotated documents that had already been annotated, were given half-finished reports on miracle usage, and never had their meeting notes used by their higher-ups. The closest thing they could think of that was ‘human’ would be the communication documents that would rarely be sent Muriel’s way— along with Aziraphale’s trust in them with the bet between God and Satan. 

Despite their colleagues taking up most of the work, they not only had a fierce passion for literature, but for learning as well.

Through Muriel’s focus, Nina placed an iced coffee next to them.

“Eye-ced coffee for you,” said Nina. Muriel's eyes glittered before Nina had even finished her sentence.

"The London Eye! See? Didn’t I say I knew?” they said. 

Maggie gave Nina a look– something bordering between fondness and chide– who shrugged.

“Just doing my job,” said Nina.

"Thank you very much for the drink.” Muriel sent her a grin, something they did often in their presence. They picked up the drink and rocked it. The unmixed cream swirled and danced as it crept down the ice, much like the clouds that they had grown accustomed to watching.

Nina didn't linger long. With a fleeting smile, she returned to the front counter to tend to a squad of teenagers who had just entered.

Muriel swallowed and turned back to the magazines. But something had shifted now; and Maggie had become used to recognizing when Muriel was really thinking about something. 

At Maggie's questioning look, Muriel shrugged and waved around one of the magazines dismissively, "Nina does her job very well,” they said.

"And?" prodded Maggie. She turned to grab her latte and took a long sip.

Muriel's lips pursed, frowning at the magazine in their hand, not really reading the words. It wasn't as if it really mattered if they did, anyways. They would eventually. Anything with words that landed in Muriel's hands always ended up finished. Maggie's previous set of magazines had already fallen victim to Muriel's eyes, until, eventually, Muriel had memorised it all— and Maggie had had to dig up new ones.

“I think it’s that I wish that I had a job? To do well in, I mean,” Muriel took their fingertips and glided them along their lips just to have something to do. “It makes me feel… strange… thinking about it.”

Maggie glanced up from a magazine.

"Is watching over the bookshop not your job?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes!" flustered Muriel. "Yes. Of course. I've been doing an excellent job watching over the bookshop. No one's really checked up on me so I don't really know–," Maggie's expression twisted into a wince, "–but I'm sure that just means that my performance has been satisfactory. No one at work writes for unimportant purposes like check ups. Everything has a purpose.”

Maggie nodded slowly. It was an odd nod though, like she was trying to understand, but couldn’t. Luckily for Maggie, Muriel didn’t know all of the humans’ expressions yet.

Muriel turned back to their coffee to watch the swirling cream. 

"But oh... well, I just wish I had a little direction. Someone to tell me what to do so I could do it." 

"You've been amazing at learning about all these landmarks. You know Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, The London Eye..."

Muriel leaned over and pointed at one of the pictures on a magazine neither of them had touched yet, "That's The Shard."

"Right,” said Maggie, causing a grin to split blindingly across Muriel's face. "Not only that, but it took you like– a week to learn about ancient Rome and Greece. That's impressive. And theatre production– you learned that one in a few days, even if you didn’t like it that much. And the discovery of a fashion sense: a place where I’m pretty sure no angel has ever ventured before.”

"You really think so?"

"Of course I do, Muriel. You're my friend. I'm always looking at the best of you."

Muriel was relieved to drop the subject. They leaned back in their chair and reached out for a strawberry jam biscuit from their plate (that they had forgotten about in their studying) to carefully inspect.

Yes, the people were the best of all.

People were all sorts of funny and weird. Sometimes, they would yell, or cry, or swing their hands at one another. Other times, they whispered, or laughed, or held hands. There were no patterns or set lines. Not usually. If there were, people tended to walk over them anyway— so did they really do anything? The patterns and the lines?

People were hard to read.

"You know, I don't think we had you study that one," Maggie said suddenly.

"A fashion sense?" Muriel asked, worried. They tugged at their jumper to get a good look at it, trying to find something wrong, but Maggie waved her hands frantically.

"No, no. I meant The Shard."

"Oh!" Muriel watched Maggie drink as they talked. Her latte was a lovely shade of tan, reminding Muriel of the uniforms up in Heaven. "I used to be able to see it Up in Heave— I mean... Where I moved from. The other human settlement. Greece, probably."

"Right," Maggie agreed, but shook her head anyway. "The Shard. From Greece."

Muriel nodded.

"Maybe we can start some human geography next month," suggested Maggie with a tentative smile.

It had been difficult for Muriel to ask for help in studying everything the humans have done and what they were currently doing. The last thing they had wanted seven months ago was for their cover to be blown, but just three months ago, Maggie herself had brought up the idea– and who was Muriel to say no to such an offer? Especially since Maggie had insisted in exchange for her rent (Muriel had denied her money offers. From what they read, Aziraphale didn’t take the money, so why should they? It’s not like they needed it…).

The sound of trumpets echoed through Muriel's head. With a startled gasp, they jumped out of their seat, their iced coffee almost tumbling down. They flung out to catch it, but their hands were far too jittery. Maggie came to their rescue.

"What happened—?" Maggie began after the cup was steady.

"Well— oh— um!" Muriel's mouth hurried to form a cognitive thought, but they accidentally backed into a man waiting in line, and all roads were lost. "A little something came up! My telephone is ringing, as it does. I will talk to you later, Maggie and Nina! T-T-Y-L!"

And then Muriel was out of the coffee shop.

Nina opened her mouth to say something to Maggie. One glance at her flushed face made her reconsider, and instead, she leaned over the counter, amused.

"...we haven't gotten very far on abbreviations,” said Maggie.

Muriel skipped off the curb and almost got hit by a car.

"Watch it!" yelled a man with his car horn blaring. Other cars followed his noisy lead as Muriel scrambled across the road, calling out 'sorry's the whole way.

They turned over to The Dirty Donkey (Nina had taken Muriel to see what it was like. Muriel stepped in for only a moment before walking right out). Its windows flashed a familiar white, the doors flying open only a second later. Muriel forced themself to look away and focus on just getting to the bookshop's doors.

Muriel had only owned one key in their entire life– but searching for it now taught Muriel a lesson about excessive amounts of pockets on pants.

"Muriel," greeted Uriel, their shadow casting over the panicking angel, "having trouble?"

"Not at all," Muriel replied kindly. They finally aimed the key into the keyhole correctly. With a click, the door opened, and they gestured for the Archangel to come in. "I am so delighted to see you, Archangel Uriel."

Uriel passed by them. They looked around the bookshop– maybe looking for something, maybe judging it– while Muriel stepped in after them. The door closed with a chime.

Uriel blinked slowly like a tiger.

"Quaint. I have an assignment for you."

That was something that Muriel had been waiting to hear since they were bound to the bookshop.

"Oh, anything. What is it?" Muriel clasped their hands together. "Oh! And would you like a cup of tea?"

Uriel fixed a narrowed look onto the lower angel. With a sniff, Muriel pressed their arms to their sides and straightened. The Archangel let the silence stretch until it was the perfect temperature of uncomfortableness.

"A few hours ago, the Son of God dropped from our radars. We believe he was sent to Earth. As the angel stationed here, we believe you to be the best candidate to retrieve him and give him back to us," said Uriel.

Muriel nodded frantically, wide-eyed.

"Yes. I can absolutely do that. I won't let you down, Archangel Uriel."

Uriel was tight-lipped. They tilted their head, narrowed their eyes further, and then hummed. They only made it halfway to the door when Muriel made a strangled noise.

"Except…,” they said, “I might have a few questions.”

Uriel stared at them.

"What.”

"Well, for one, the Son of God– who I’m assuming is Jesus– is dead," Muriel explained carefully, looking away from Uriel's blank face. "Has been for two millennia, now, actually. And also–! Where would I start to look for said-dead Jesus. Who has been dead for… you know, like I said… two millennia now."

Uriel looked up at the Heavens. For a moment, something sharp glinted in their eyes, but they dropped back down to meet Muriel's.

"You've heard of the Second Coming, yes? As a scrivener?"

"Well, omens and prophecies aren't really my responsibility. It's more of a 10th-degree-order-scrivener-and-up sort of thing."

Uriel chuckled at that. Their smile was crooked, but it was more amused than anything. Strange and brittle, but amused. Muriel flitted their eyes across the bookshop and pressed their lips together into a line. 

Uriel's expression slid off their face.

"You're serious?" Uriel asked. Muriel nodded curtly, and the Archangel's nose pinched. "That's ridiculous."

Muriel made a face.

"It’s always been this way,” they said.

Uriel took a moment to gather themself. When they finally did, they turned to the doors again.

"Jesus is back. Alive. Find him and bring him to us. Understand?"

"Yes!" Muriel smiled. "Yes. Of course. Uh, but... could you tell me what he looks like?"

"It's the Son of God. You'll know."

Muriel cleared their throat, trying very hard to keep their smile steady. "Course," they said softly as Uriel reached for the handle of the door.

The Archangel paused, glanced over their shoulder, then looked distantly through the window.

"Don't forget what your duties here are for. You’re an angel. Act like it."

That could mean a lot of things for Muriel; acting like an angel. Did Uriel mean to keep themself busy? Or was it more like… ‘Muriel, hunt down and extinguish evil!’ or maybe, ‘you’re doing an awful job passing as a human’. 

But Uriel was gone before they could ask, leaving the scrivener all on their own in the almond-smelling bookshop.

Leaving the scrivener all on their own... with an assignment!

"Yes!" Muriel whooped.

The last thing that Maggie had expected was Muriel's sudden exit, looking to be more frazzled than Maggie had ever seen them. The second-to-the-last thing that Maggie had expected was Muriel to practically fly down the bookshop's stairs as Maggie passed by.

"Where are you going?" Maggie asked, paused a few feet away on the pavement.

"I'm—."

Muriel tripped.

Maggie jumped the distance between them, the magazines she had been carrying flapping ungracefully to the ground. The sacrifice was in vain, though. Muriel righted themself up without Maggie's help, looking as if nothing had happened. 

"Ah, bugger," Maggie sighed, watching her magazines flutter from the passing cars.

"I'm sorry!" Muriel said. They took a moment to gather themself before diving in to help their friend. "I'm sorry," Muriel said again, once they had gathered all the magazines, their smile never faltering.

"It's all right," said Maggie. She held a hand out and pulled the both of them to their feet. "Are you okay?"

"Ah! What's the word? More than okay!"

"Great?"

"No– tremendous," Muriel's face brightened even more. "Oh, Maggie, it's a miracle– well, it wasn’t. I don't think it was a miracle— but it's very very good news." Maggie nodded along. Muriel took that as a good sign to continue. "I was given an assignment! Me! Archangel Uriel needs me to find the Son of The Almighty, here on Earth!"

Maggie made an 'o' shape with her lips, head tilted up as if to fall into a nod– but she was still missing something. She frowned and glanced off to the side.

"Oh, that's..! Well, I have no idea. Does that happen often?"

"No! Isn't that great?" Muriel answered.

Maggie scrunched her eyebrows together. In her moment of thought, Muriel caught something absolutely crucial. 

They squawked and said, “Well, actually– because you see, Uriel is one of my bosses, and Archangel is their first name. Andddd ‘Son of The Almighty’ is just a code word for… um…”

“A super secret project?” suggested Maggie, not believing them.

“Exactly.”

"Yeah, that's pretty great, Muriel,” said Maggie after a moment. “Where will you go?"

Maggie had begun to move. Both of their arms full of magazines, they walked together down the street to The Small Back Room.

"I don't know," admitted Muriel. "But I'm sure Mr. Crowley will have some ideas."

Maggie paused, almost making Muriel run into her. "Mr. Crowley?" she repeated after giving them an odd look, leading them the final few strides to her shop.

Muriel nodded, their enthusiasm never faltering. They watched expectantly as Maggie opened the door. Maggie went in first, but held the door open with her foot to let her friend in. The door closed behind them.

"I'm not too sure you'll find him. I mean, I haven't seen him since Mr. Fell left. It's like he's vanished off the face of the Earth," Maggie said as they made their way to the shop's front counter.

Maggie placed down the magazines. Then, she turned around to Muriel, who had a pinched look on their face. 

Muriel shook their head.

"No," they said, "no, that's not right. Mr. Crowley lives in a flat in Mayfair. I've read it in Mr. Fell's diaries. I have the address."

The magazines that Muriel had started to hand over to Maggie fell to the ground, slipped in Maggie’s moment of surprise.

"Ah—!" Maggie ducked down to pluck them all up. "You— what!? Wait— you've known where Mr. Crowley was all this time and you never told Nina and I? And you read Mr. Fell's diaries?"

"Oh, yes. He has plenty of them. I've read all the books in the bookshop. Except the ones near the back."

Maggie frowned at that, but didn't question it further. She placed her elbows onto the counter and stared at Muriel. When Muriel didn't elaborate on anything, she sighed.

"Okay. So, here's what I'm hearing," Maggie took in a deep breath, then splayed her hand out. "You're going to march over to Mr. Crowley's flat, ask him to help you find, uh, Jesus Christ, and he's just going to say yes?"

"Yes."

"I... don't think he'll want to help you, Muriel.”

Muriel frowned.

"Why not?"

Maggie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She shook her head once, twice, and then tried again.

"Mr. Crowley hid himself away for a reason. It doesn't feel right of us to barge in and tell him what to do,” she said.

Muriel considered that. They looked down at their nails, which were worn-down and bitten, and said, "Because Mr. Fell is gone?"

Maggie swallowed. She turned to the magazines. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

Muriel straightened, reaching out toward Maggie, but caught themself. Their eyes fell down to look at a splinter in the counter’s wood. They began to pick on it.

"I know that you and Nina feel bad about how your advice to Mr. Crowley didn’t work out, but I have to try. This is an assignment," Muriel said. "My assignment. And Mr. Crowley has been down here for six-thousand years–"

"–he's been what!? Actually, why am I surprised?–"

"–if anyone can track the Son down, it's him! I need him to help me, Maggie. For Heaven’s sake."

Maggie pursed her lips. Muriel stared at her, begging, trying to pour all sorts of feelings and emotions into their eyes— something they had seen plenty of humans do in the past. It must have done the trick, because Maggie’s shoulders sagged with a sigh.

"I don't think I'll ever understand your lot," she said, finally.

"I’m just like you and Nina," replied Muriel.

Their friend snorted.

"You sure are."

The address that Muriel had dug up had led them through a series of twists and turns around Mayfair. Even with Maggie’s help in deciphering which streets to take, one step forward made Muriel step three back, only to then turn to the left— no, the right— maybe take a loop? 

Humans’ streets were confusing. Muriel didn’t often like to explore the city alone.

When Muriel did find the right building (it was rather big and obviously demon-esque with its many windows and drab colour scheme. How had they missed it before?), they were forced to go to the front desk. Aziraphale hadn’t written which flat Crowley had taken residence in, and even the receptionist had been surprised to hear Crowley’s name (“Fourth floor, ma’am, and take a slight left– but I hardly think he’s home, these days.”).

Then came the problem of getting in.

Muriel didn't often talk to people other than Maggie or Nina. Maybe, if they had, they would have a better idea of how to knock on someone's door.

What they should have said was: 'Hello? Mr. Crowley, it's me, Muriel. I need your help. Can you please open the door?' Who is it? Muriel. The why? They need his help.

Another option would’ve been: 'It's Muriel! Open the door and help me, or else I could be demoted to numbers that are yet to exist.' Again, it's Muriel. The why? Failure would mean serious trouble– a nice mix of kindness and urgency.

Muriel said neither of those things.

"POLICE!! OPEN UP!!"

Ah.

Muriel only found the courage to gently knock on Crowley's door, despite their yelling. 

The lights on this floor were dimmer compared to those on the lower floors. They hummed as if their bulbs were ready to burst. Maybe, if Muriel listened hard enough, they would sound like the ceiling lights in Heaven. Instead, Muriel could hear two people arguing, too muffled to make out any words.

Muriel swallowed and knocked again.

"A-hem! Mr. Crowley! You're under arrest!'

A harder knock cracked the door open. Muriel gasped, hesitated, and then quickly lost to their curiosity. They pressed their palm to the door and coaxed it further.

"I'm... coming in…!”

The door fully opened. With it, a gentle mist casted over Muriel. It cooled the nerves beginning to buzz beneath their skin, but it was too chilly for the middle of February. Muriel shivered and rubbed their arms as they stepped into the shaded room. The door shut, unprompted, behind them.

“Okay,” whispered Muriel, “that’s probably a normal human thing…”

It was dark. Muriel had only seen darkness at night. Even then, in the bookshop, the moon would peak between buildings, and the streetlights continued to glow until the humans returned home.

This type of darkness was self-made. 

The curtains were closed tightly. Few slivers of light squeezed through them, fighting against the black silk to reach into the flat. It outlined vibrant, green plants that climbed up and up to the ceiling, tracing the walls, coiling around frames; twisting; turning; wild like a pit of watching snakes.

The finest house plants one could find in London had made itself into its own jungle.

Muriel took a deep breath. They brushed away a curly stem and ducked beneath another to go deeper.

"Mr. Crowley…?" Muriel called softly into the almost-darkness.

The plants were muttering something to them; something that couldn't quite be put into words. Something like the way thunder roars before lightning, or the squeal of a burner before the fire spins out of control.

Leaves slowly shifted out of place. They curled away or tipped up a little higher, and Muriel walked through a newly-formed path past a dewy desk and into a hall with a ceiling so high that it made them feel dizzy and small.

In hindsight, the tall ceilings were very Heaven-like. There was no reason to be afraid.

Muriel noticed a flash of light colours in the dark and curiously leaned around a squeaking plant. Past the mist, the wings of a statued demon were flaring fiercely, arching at the furthest joint to block the skies from its downed opponent. They took a small step closer (despite the plants’ flustering) and read on the plaque that the flailing creature underneath the demon’s claws was an angel. 

They swallowed.

Just behind them, another plant whined softly, and Muriel turned to see it beckoning them back down the hall. In their curiosity, they had strayed from the path unfolding around them. 

The plants had led Muriel to a door. The paint was chipped near the knob. Muriel could spot the little claw marks dipping into the flesh of the wood, jagged and frantic, as if a fight had happened here– but the scars were old and blunt on its edges.

A leaf fluttered in their peripheral vision, making Muriel jolt. They gave it a single look of betrayal and turned the loose doorknob.

The plants hushed. For the first time since Muriel was left on Earth, they became uncomfortably aware how misplaced they were.

Something was sleeping here. 

Crowley laid silent on the bed, arm slung over his eyes. Condensation from the mysterious mist dampened down his hair. The air was heaviest here; wet; stuffy. Muriel didn’t need to breathe, but the temptation was almost irresistible. 

Muriel focused back on Crowley. They could have easily mistaken him for another statue. One thing that Muriel continued to doubt themself over was the stillness of a human in sleep. They were kind of like snakes, weren’t they? Capable of striking? Looking too much alike to their dead counterparts? The uncertainness of closed eyes made Muriel dramatic, and odd. They cleared their throat and tried to remember what Maggie had taught them about pulses.

They eyed Crowley’s chest, found the rise and fall of it, then quickly moved back up to his face. 

The idea that something was wrong was just a silly thought. Crowley was breathing just fine, and Muriel was… well, not really breathing, but doing fine too. They were fine.

Muriel watched Crowley go through the humans’ breathing motions and tried to mimic the movement.

The angel inched a little closer, cautiously, but Crowley didn't stir from his slumber. The plants shook. And because Muriel was not fluent in plant language, they took it as encouragement.

Muriel reached out–

–and they were on their back.

Something dug into their arms. Claws pinned them to the cold, unwelcoming Earth. Above them, the plants cried out and rattled down to the stem. They were only shadows in the dark.

The world went fuzzy– like a million pins itching at their eyes– and the houseplants were squealing– something like an animal. Muriel had helped take in a trio of kittens on the side of the road, once, in the middle of the night. The veterinary clinics had been closed. The kittens, hungry and cold, had sounded like this then, too.

‘Focus, Muriel!’

Their head buzzed. The hissing bubbling from the thing’s throat spilled through teeth. It could drip and drip into Muriel’s eyes and claw there, until it got to their brain and claw that, too. 

Suddenly, they lost all their courage.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” they yelled over the noise in their ears, “Don't take me to Hell!"

And then, as quickly as it started, the descent to darkness stopped.

"Muriel?"

"Yes!"

Muriel had screwed their eyes shut somewhere during the whole ordeal. With great effort (and with a very shaken conscience) they peeked just as the shadow retreated.

Crowley sat back on his heels. He was frowning, but not at Muriel. The plants that were leaning in to watch withered back. They were almost ashamed— more so frightened, really— to have been caught in their spying.

Head tilted up at the leaves, Crowley's eyes drifted off to Muriel's.

Muriel winced.

Crowley inhaled sharply. He turned toward the bed, picked up his sunglasses, and smashed them onto his face.

"What are you doing here?" Crowley asked.

"Wh... well, I–."

Muriel needed a little more time to think. Words they thought of could only jumble together uselessly. When Crowley stood, they proceeded to sink further against the floor. He raised a brow at them.

Muriel cleared their throat. 

"I need your help," Muriel tried to say bravely. 

Crowley waved away the plants that were still crowding their space. He pulled his hand up and snapped, the condensation that had been caught on his corporation vanishing along with the motion. He was now completely dry. It seemed like the cool mist that was there when Muriel had first entered was long gone.

"If this has anything to do with Heaven, then you should leave,” he said.

When getting in an argument, one expects to be yelled at. When following a beat, people will make it into a rhythm that is predictable, and, therefore, comfortable.

Muriel had gotten into arguments in Heaven before– if one angel yelling and the other angel standing there counts as an argument, that is– but whatever the case, yelling meant an argument, and an argument meant anger. People who argued were angry. People who were angry yelled.

Whatever anger Crowley had was so much worse.

Crowley spoke in a low, steady tone. It was tauntingly delicate– maybe as if it’ll break him, but far more likely that it was at bay for Muriel���s sake.

"I really need your help Mr. Crowley," Muriel said, finally, after they figured out how to sit up. "You know Earth better than anyone. Archangel–" the plants squealed and quivered. Muriel glanced up to see Crowley's darkening expression, "–Uriel–" Crowley turned to look off at a wall, "–asked me to–."

"Get up."

No point in arguing. Muriel quickly scrambled to their feet, chewing their nails. Crowley fully faced them. With a jolt, Muriel pressed their arms stiff to their sides.

Crowley made a face.

"Er, don't do that."

"Do what?" Muriel asked.

He made little circles in the air with his fingers. "That little soldier thing. You look like a board," he said.

Muriel didn't know what to do with their hands. They crossed them behind their back, then tried clasping them together at the front. Finally, Muriel decided to mirror Crowley by shoving their hands into their pockets.

Crowley sneered openly this time. It was gone before Muriel had the chance to think about it.

"I," started Crowley, in that same angry-voice Muriel had noticed before, "do not want anything," Crowley neared Muriel, "to do with there," he pointed Up, "or there," he pointed Down.

Muriel blinked, stunned. Crowley leaned in closer at their silence.

"Do I make myself clear?" he pressed.

The angel slowly nodded. But even as Crowley turned away from them and began herding up the plants, Muriel couldn't shake something.

"Your home is very scary," they said.

"What?"

"It's empty. It feels empty. There's something missing. I mean… there’s a lot going on. Too much going on… but it’s this gritty feeling, like it’s cutting out my chest.”

Crowley was quiet. He glowered at Muriel, but they were too busy taking in their surroundings. The plants seemed to shy away from their gaze. Painfully, one of Muriel's hands rubbed at their chest.

"I don't think I’ve ever felt love like this before."

Something in the room made a shuddered noise. Muriel, alarmed, looked at the plants, but they were deathly still.

"Get out," choked Crowley.

Muriel startled as Crowley darted towards them. They scrambled backward, where plants that would have been in their way moved to clear the path. They stumbled out into the tall hall together, to the wild living room, and up until Muriel could see the front door over their shoulder.

"Agh!" cried Muriel, frustrated and desperate. "Mr. Crowley, please listen–!"

"You come to my flat demanding me to help you in whatever sadistic business Heaven is up to? No!" Crowley spat. "Do you know what I am? How did you even find me? There's a reason why I didn't want to see you around."

If Muriel continued to back up, they'd hit the door– thankfully that wouldn’t be a problem. Miraculously, the door opened up for them. 

They stepped out into the hall.

"Mr. Fell had–!"

Crowley hissed. With one jerk of his hand, the door slammed in Muriel's face.

"I honestly don't know what you expected," Nina said. She took a bite of her chowmein and chewed as Maggie whacked her shoulder.

"Nina!" chided Maggie.

"I'm just telling the truth!"

Nina turned to Muriel, who had their head in their hands. If there was one thing she knew about Muriel, it’s that failure was always a tough thing to face. She clicked her tongue and reached out to touch them tentatively on their shoulder.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, though," sighed Nina. She managed a smile, but didn’t receive one back. "You can only say so much to someone else before it becomes one-sided, yeah?"

Muriel winced. They leaned back in their chair, scanning the empty coffee shop.

Nina was taking her lunch break. She didn't use to have a lunch break, but Maggie had nagged her senseless about skipping meals, and they had reached a delightful middle ground. As in: Maggie had barged in at midday, hands full of whatever takeout she had come across that day, and gifted it to Nina. For the first few days, Nina made it a point to give back the cold, untouched meals. Maggie's determination had been endearing, though, and Nina found that it didn't hurt to entertain her (“Food is too expensive to waste. I guess I’ll just have to eat it,” she had said, making the other two snicker).

And it had made Nina feel much better, too.

"I... don't understand," Muriel said. "The way he’s acting– Mr. Crowley– It's confusing me."

"There's still a lot of things you don't understand about Earth," comforted Maggie.

Muriel pursed their lips and said, “I know you meant good by that, but it makes me feel… not good.” They began to pick at their nails, not really knowing how to describe beyond that, feeling pathetically un-human. “I feel sad for him. He’s struggling, I can feel it. Or, well, I can’t feel it– it’s a little complicated. Like I want to help him not struggle… Does that make sense?”

Maggie nodded slowly. "You want to make him feel better."

Muriel sighed, their shoulders dropping in relief.

"Yes," they said, "and, well, whenever one of us is not feeling well, we always go out on a girl’s day out."

Nina sputtered on her next bite of noodles. Maggie, ever helpful, patted her back sympathetically as she coughed. Nina put her hand up.

"I'm okay. Thanks, Angel," Nina wheezed. She smacked her fist onto the table to ground herself and then looked at Muriel. "You're telling me that you want to take Mr. Crowley on a girl’s day out?" 

Muriel smiled. All the doubtfulness that had been gnawing at them blinked away.

"Yes! It always helps me when I'm sad. Mr. Crowley doesn't have anyone else but us to take him on one," they said. “Girls’ date! Day out on the town! Let’s do it!”

Maggie and Nina exchanged a glance– one of those glances where they could say something that would completely ruin someone else's day. These glances usually don’t happen in Heaven. In fact, Up There, the glances were vocal and held no secrecy at all. Because of this, it wasn’t easy for Muriel to read the room.

"Oh, please, Nina and Maggie!" pressed Muriel when they didn't respond. "I'll do anything! I'll even try those disgusting shop snacks again!"

Nina snorted, shaking her head. She tried not to smile.

"Those were decorative fruit. They're made of styrofoam," Nina explained.

"Well, is normal fruit made of styrofoam?" asked Muriel.

"Normal fruit is made of fruit, I think," said Maggie.

Muriel supposed that made sense. If all fruit was made out of styrofoam, then Adam and Eve would have never wanted to eat it. Fruit must be enough to be willing to risk it all. Then again, if the fruit had been styrofoam, they wouldn’t have known until they took a bite… How many bites had they taken again?

‘Enough to be exiled by God,’ Muriel’s mind provided, helpfully.

“We can schedule something for tomorrow?” said Nina. She knocked away some celery bits to the side of her bowl. “I’m not sure if we can fit that much into a couple of hours.”

“I know,” said Muriel, now familiar with the quick passing of time (especially when they got into a good story), “but this is crucial. What if Mr. Crowley takes off to the Americas overnight and we never see him again? Then he’d never feel better.”

Crowley was still an enigma for Nina and Maggie. Even though they could spot a lovesick gaze from a mile away, their familiarity with him stopped at his shadowy companionship with Mr. Fell. Maybe he was just shy, or wasn’t very partial to people. Nina likely wouldn’t be if she were a demon. So it was entirely possible that a supernatural being would simply disappear if they couldn’t be worth the trouble. 

Besides, if Crowley was able to befriend Mr. Fell despite them being demon and angel, then Crowley couldn’t possibly be one of those stereotypical demons with the barbed tails and pitchforks.

Muriel leaned in and smiled.

Nina blinked away her train of thought and scoffed to herself. 

“You know what? Fine. I’ll close the shop early– but just this one time,” she said.

“Then I’ll do the same,” said Maggie, too smiley for her to even pretend to be disappointed by closing shop early. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The hierarchy in Heaven wasn't hard for an angel to wrap their head around. Understanding what they were in Heaven was supposed to be easy. Knowing what others were in Heaven was even easier. 

This meant that those who came into contact with angels ranking lower than themselves could stretch their wings with ease, and those who came into contact with angels ranking higher than themselves should tuck their wings behind their legs and pray for the best.

There weren't many angels who ranked higher than Michael. Just two: Aziraphale, for one, and he was an idiot as far as Michael could care to admit. The second was The Metatron; a much more worrying symbol of authority.

Michael paced back and forth. The glassy walls helpfully reflected their own image back to them: The little coil sticking out of their otherwise-perfectly-put-together hair; the golden dust brushed down only one cheekbone; and for some reason, the cuffs of their sleeves wouldn’t stay unflipped. 

They forced themself to stop. As calmly as they could, they put their hands together at the tip of their nose and closed their eyes.

"What happened?" asked Michael, slowly. They turned to look at an angel observing them. 

This angel stiffly jolted. They spared a nervous glance around and said, "According to the protection unit, the two angels on duty received a document ordering them to launch the project.” Michael groaned. The Archangel began to pace again, and the courier angel stammered to continue, "My division verified that the twelfth degree courier delivered the file. Was this incorrect?"

"No. What was not correct was them letting go of–!” 

Something made a scribbling noise; rough pen on paper. It made Michael’s ears ring. Their gaze peeled off of the courier and onto a second angel who was standing behind them.

"What are you doing?" snapped Michael.

The second angel startled. They sent a worried look toward the courier angel, who ignored them, before turning back to the Archangel.

"Eight degree scrivener," they said, finally. They wiggled their stark-white pen. "I write everything about the Second Coming's progress, my Archangel. It’s my assignment from The Metatron."

"Okay," said Michael. "Okay. Stop writing."

"Any… reason why, your Reverence?” said the scrivener.

The courier finally turned their head to give the scrivener a look that appeared awfully dismayed; maybe scolding, maybe a warning– and Michael's expression pinched right as they expected it to.

"Are you questioning me? I say do not record it, do not record it."

The scrivener flinched. They let the clipboard and pen flit out of existence. When the courier returned their attention back to Michael, the Archangel already had their back turned to them.

"I do not want to hear either of you talking about this conversation– or anything about the missing Son. This is Archangel business, now. Await your next orders," said Michael. "Dismissed."

The two angels briskly made their way out of this plane of Heaven.

The footsteps ceased. The ceiling lights hummed. The clouds floated, thin and wispy, below.

Michael forced themself to watch them travel sluggishly along. Clouds were a bother, these days, in Heaven. They had served a purpose once. Those days were long behind them now. There was no reason for their existence that Michael could think of (unless they thought of them as another layer between them and Earth. In that case, it was good to have a clear label somewhere).

Higher places existed beyond the clouds.

Michael took one fisted hand and pressed it into the glass. The weight of it wasn’t flimsy. It was stubborn, as if it were made to live for as long as time allowed it. When Michael tested it further, their hand shook with effort.

The glass, admiringly, remained.

"…You didn’t have to do all that, did you? Eliel and Shirel meant no harm."

Michael jerked away from the glass. They fixed a nasty glare onto Aziraphale and straightened their cuffs.

"Lurking, Aziraphale? Hardly praise-worthy," they harrumphed.

Aziraphale briefly quirked a brow at that, but Michael caught it before it disappeared. They crossed their arms.

"Well?"

"You are keeping the Son's disappearance secret from The Metatron," said Aziraphale, more observation than accusation. 

Michael turned to face the glass. Their eyes strayed off to the side, where Aziraphale’s reflection was watching them.

"Hardly," said Michael. "The Voice of God is supposed to know all, because God knows all, and God would surely share everything with Their Voice. It is our duty as The Almighty's Archangels to... smooth out these bumps as we row."

"In the road," Aziraphale corrected gently.

Aziraphale neared Michael and took a cautious place by their side. He blinked at them, peeked down at their ruffled cuffs, and then turned to the glass.

"Saraqael is keeping an eye on any miraculous activity on The Globe," said Aziraphale. "If he’s down there, we will be the first to know. Sending down any more angels could cause an imbalance Down Below, and we are certainly not ready for a war."

"We are ready for war. It’s been our assignment for seven months,” scoffed Michael.

"We don’t need a war,” said Aziraphale, absentmindedly.

"So you’ve said before.”

The clouds used to move in a way where it was near impossible to see the ground below. It was a practised march, where if one part lacked, other parts made up for it. It had been mesmerising; it had been constant; up until it became an expectation. Something had changed recently. Michael wanted to find out what as soon as possible.

Michael turned away from the clouds to look over at Aziraphale.

"It doesn’t work that way, you know, Aziraphale. Telling Hell not to attack is like telling the sun not to rise. Not only is it inevitable, but it wastes time that could have been spent doing something about it," their tone became lighter. "But that’s okay. I know you were never really into strategies in the first place, with your plans never going as you wanted them to."

Aziraphale blushed this time, only exposed by the lights above. He squinted down at the clouds.

Michael's lips twitched up.

"You think you have control here after your promotion. But truthfully, you’re here so The Metatron can keep an eye on you. Keep your friends close and enemies closer, yes?” when Aziraphale didn’t reply, they said, “You are still the incapable, poor Principality who was tempted by a demon. Your sins remain. Beg for forgiveness, Aziraphale, but I fear that everyone knows you’re out of chances."

With that, Michael vanished, leaving Aziraphale to stand alone.

The Archangel's gaze faltered. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let the exhale rattle in a place deep in his corporation’s ribs. There was the start of something there, like a flutter– something small and sickly in the small cavity of his chest. He rubbed at it. Then, after discovering that that was only worsening its effects, he frustratedly balled up the button-up beneath his palm.

Something chimed. Aziraphale straightened up. When he turned, another angel dipped their head to him in greeting.

Aziraphale recognized this angel from over the past few months– one he hadn’t had the time to properly meet until his promotion. It had been for the best to form allies in this uncertain place. This angel had been one of the first, and had rarely left him alone since (if they could help it).

“Hello, Visiel,” he said, and Visiel smiled a silly smile. It was one of those expressions that was supposed to be comforting. Aziraphale was thankful for the attempt, but didn’t feel great beyond that.

“My Archangel,” they replied. “Saraqael requests your presence at The Globe,” then, as if they were sharing a secret: “they’ve located the Son.”

"This is a joke."

Muriel smiled sheepishly at Nina as they pushed aside a leaf that had sneakily shoved itself into their face. The plants in Crowley's flat were just as overgrown as they were nearly an hour ago, and the room was still shrouded in darkness. This time, though, the mist was absent.

"Ah, yes," replied Muriel, then stuck their finger up as if they had just thought of an excellent point. "Well, no. Not a joke. Mr. Crowley has been asleep the whole time, you see. The plants probably grew restless, as plants do."

Nina shook her head the same time Maggie nodded.

"No. No, I don't think they do," mumbled Nina, even though the only plant she’d ever had was a cactus. She shoved past a Monstera deliciosa leaf and shouted into the jungle, "MR. CROWLEY! MR. CROWLEY, YOU SORRY SOD, GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE!"

The plants quivered as they softly squealed in surprise. Nina and Maggie stared at them.

"Did you hear–" Nina started.

"Did they just–" Maggie interrupted.

They didn't get to think about it for too long. The sound of something shattering echoed from a different room. The group shared a look– and thank God that Muriel had been studying human expressions, because they were able to recognize the look of collective agreement. Together, they neared the opposite way Muriel had once gone in search of the noise.

"These plants are beautiful," whispered Maggie.

Before Muriel could agree (because now that they weren’t alone anymore, they realised that the plants were actually rather kind and lovely) someone close-by mumbled something. It was low and dark and muffled.

Muriel hoped it was Crowley, as himself.

The plants helped guide them to a wall, then shifted their stems to flutter toward a cold draft coming from a slightly ajar door. The rambling became louder and louder.

"–honestly. You can't even grow this big. It's not possible. What the Heaven are you–" Crowley’s voice dipped in and out. “–is that a fig!?”

Muriel gently pushed the door open.

It was the kitchen. Muriel hadn’t seen it before, but they were relieved they hadn’t. The smell of alcohol clung to their nose in an attempt to kill it. Muriel recoiled, covered the lower half of their face, and then scanned the room.

The kitchen was filled with more plants than any actual kitchen supplies. Aziraphale’s kitchenette had been decorated nicely with various clutter, including kettles and pretty pots and pans. The counters here were barren from any of that. There were bottles askew. The surfaces had splotches of something fruity and sticky. For a moment, Muriel had half a mind to just leave.

Muriel blinked. They looked up at the small painting of a grumpy-looking toad with a chef’s hat on for courage and then turned to Crowley.

Crowley was on his knees. He busied himself in piling up shattered pieces of a black pot. Dirt smudged across the floor in the process, and one tiny, shaking, spout-of-a-plant was in the middle of the wreckage.

"–this flat is mine before it's yours, you know. Out of it for a little while and you decide to– what, mutate?– what is this?”

Crowley flicked away a bulb of something onto the ground. Then, he twisted his torso to grab a large plant behind him and brought it down to the floor. He fixed a weathering stare at it. One that, even through his sunglasses, the plant seemed to shiver at.

"Shrink," said Crowley. He shook the poor thing.

Muriel’s foot kicked at an empty wine bottle. It spun once, then twice, then stopped facing Crowley.

The demon had started to glare at it the moment the damage was done. Slowly, that same glare rose to his three intruders.

"I locked the front door," said Crowley, incurious.

"Yes," said Muriel. "I unlocked it."

Crowley quickly turned to Nina and Maggie and said, "And you two are still alive. That's nice."

Nina looked him over with a raised brow while an offended expression passed Maggie's face. In their shock, Crowley rose to his full height and shoved one hand into his pocket as he examined the room (even though he likely wasn’t looking for anything specific).

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Maggie after she found her words.

"As rude as ever," mumbled Nina, crossing her arms.

"You broke into my flat!" said Crowley, "Which, by the way, I never asked for the company. Could've left a note at the door. Would've gotten back to you within the next century or two."

Crowley stepped over the mess on the ground, stalking closer to the others. Muriel took a tentative step back. Thankfully, Maggie and Nina made up for it by keeping themselves rooted.

"But considering that this is a blatant violation of privacy, I would appreciate it if you saw yourselves out."

Nina’s jaw set. Something was happening in her eyes, as if she were arguing with herself. They shone, then squinted, then hardened in only a few seconds. She abruptly went off to the nearest window and shoved away its curtains.

Sunlight poured in. Then, the window latch clicked and opened.

Crowley immediately scowled. He looked around at his plants, which perked up with delight at their first proper touch of sun in seven months, and decided that he should have just stayed in bed.

"I can smell your misery," Nina said, making Crowley turn back to face her. She placed her hands at her hips and clicked her tongue. “And you look like shit. I want you to take a shower. We’ll get you an outfit from your closet, and we–” she made a circling gesture with her palms, “–are going to sort out all of this with a nice day out.”

Crowley raised a challenging brow.

“You’re kidding,” he said, after a moment, but it seemed like there was no punchline here. Maggie crossed her arms and had the same expression as she did when she had stayed behind with Aziraphale in the bookshop, back with the demon horde. Even Muriel had caught on and made a point to nod sternly. “I– hn– huh? This is ridiculous.”

"You heard her! Off you get, Mr. Crowley," said Maggie, trying to wave Crowley out the door. "It’ll be fun."

"Fun?" groaned Crowley.

"Maybe we'll do some cleaning afterward," added Nina, looking around at the wasteland of a kitchen. "Do you have any disinfectant?"

"Well–"

Maggie shook her head.

"Oh, nevermind that. We'll take a look around ourselves. Muriel, grab something nice for him to wear,” she said.

And then Crowley was ushered out of the kitchen into the office, Nina following close behind. Muriel skipped a few steps ahead of them. They thanked a leaf that politely moved out of their way (Crowley’s jaw dropped at that) before saluting to the rest of the group.

"Muriel, ready for duty!" cheered Muriel. "Now where is the ‘closet’? …Oh! In the bedroom, of course."

Crowley began to say something, but Muriel was already wandering away.

"Now, hang on!" he flustered.

The plants behind Crowley dared to snicker. He glared glarefully at them and then turned back to his intruders. Nina and Maggie were looking at him, but Muriel was still trying to remember which way in the plant labyrinth the bedroom was. He snapped consecutively for their attention.

"Oi! Stop. There's nothing in the blasted wardrobe. I miracle in all my clothes."

Muriel opened their mouth with a silent 'oh'. They had never considered that to be a possibility before. It had seemed like such a futile thing to use a miracle for. Nina, on the other hand, looked absolutely appalled.

"Your clothes aren't real?" Nina stared at Crowley's rumpled outfit cautiously.

Crowley pointed at her.

"No. No, that is not what I said," he pressed matter-of-factly. "Secondly, I do not need to take showers. And thirdly, I am an occult being— and occult beings do not go on your… feel-good… fun-times…” 

“No? Seems like your scene, being rebellious and all,” interrupted Nina, trying to think of what she was taught about demons in Bible camp.

“Stereotype,” said Crowley. He didn’t want to explain how it was more complicated than that. Other demons tried to be feel-good, fun-timey, but they were all too stupid to not come off as creepy in their attempts. Crowley just didn’t feel like it right now. “A very hurtful one, in fact. Now. Out.”

Crowley didn't bother watching, instead turning his back to them to lecture the previously-snickering plant in a low, whispered hiss.

Maggie put a hand on Nina's shoulder.

"Nina," she whispered– almost as if she was about to launch into a speech about how sometimes things don't work out– but Nina wasn't ready to back down.

With a reassuring smile to Maggie, Nina stepped toward the demon. He had gone quiet now. Nina cleared her throat.

"I know you need time. These things... they're messy," Nina paused, watching Crowley's face pinch. He continued staring at the Ficus elastica. Nina took a deep breath, her brows rising, "...but it honestly smells like an unsupervised party in here and you've gone and grown a jungle in your sleep. Give it a chance. If you really don't like it, then... Well, then, we'll never bother you again. I swear this’ll be the last time."

Crowley smacked his lips and glanced up at the ceiling.

Maggie brushed past the plants to the window hidden behind them, letting the curtains in the office open. The sun spilled golden colours past Maggie and Muriel, past the good-intentioned leaves, past Nina, and pooled itself right before Crowley's feet.

Crowley took a step back.

Muriel knew very little about Crowley. But they had known Aziraphale through their duty as angels. They knew that Aziraphale believed in them. In their attempts to be useful, Aziraphale had never put them down for trying, and he had certainly never brushed Muriel to be the type to sink his teeth into someone. In fact, the things they heard from the other shopkeepers only comforted Muriel’s view of him: he was kind, he was tolerant, and he was almost like an angel, the way he gave (granted that it wasn’t one of his books). 

But there was something going on here that Muriel didn’t very much understand. The way Muriel felt about Aziraphale was different from the way Crowley felt about Aziraphale. 

Nina had explained it to them, once. Muriel had thought they had gotten it at the time. Now, they rubbed their chest, and weren't too sure anymore.

"…Alright, then," said Crowley.

London never truly rested.

At all times of the day, people walked, the cars roared, and even the birds never shut up. They always prattled on with their funny little pastry-stealing grabbers. If you gave a bird a cookie... Well, a mouse?

Mice were quite nice, actually.

Well, if you gave a bird a cookie, they would eat it without a second thought. Would make a big fuss about it, too, as it ate, because birds were fussy like that. That’s why they don't have hands. It was funnier when they stomped around like a bowling pin. Something had to keep the birds' cockiness in check.

A pigeon pecked at a biscuit crumb, dropped it, and flew away when Muriel neared.

Crowley, Nina, and Maggie followed them along the pavement. As the cars whizzed by, Crowley stared longingly at each and every one of them.

"–but then, it turned out that he was his dad!" Muriel was saying. "Which, by the way, is a human word: dad. It's short for father, I think. Humans are so funny, trying to be little gods like that," they waved a hand as they talked. "But then he was devastated because–"

Crowley nodded along. He was obviously not listening. He took a moment to readjust his tie. The wrinkles in his outfit had been miracled away, and he smelled an awful lot like coconut and strawberries.

"Yep," said Crowley in the middle of Muriel's rant. "Funny things, humans."

Crowley must have said something right, because Muriel's smile brightened. Before they could start rambling again, Maggie looked over her shoulder.

"What are we thinking for nails?" she asked.

Muriel and Crowley swivelled their heads to look at her.

"I mean…” added Maggie, quickly, “if you'd like.”

"Oh, yes!" Muriel agreed, and then turned to Crowley. They stuck their finger up. "You see, it's a human thing. They don't actually mean their nails, they mean painting them– or putting something over them that has paint. It is just the best. Oh, but it's not the paint you put on walls. It's nail paint. For nails. We get them done every girls’ day out."

Crowley, who was staring at Maggie, blinked out of his silence.

"You know, no one told me what we’d be doing. I was thinking maybe… eh, I mean… lunch, probably." Crowley said as they continued walking.

"No offence, but I've never seen you eat anything. At all," said Nina, and Maggie nodded beside her.

Muriel smiled at Crowley and said, "Don't worry. I don't eat anything either. We can just look at the food."

Crowley was quiet after that.

Muriel had gone down this street many times during their time on Earth. Maggie had been the one to bring them here for the first time, and she had bought them a little bracelet with their initial on it (It had meant so much to Muriel. They had gifted Maggie a bottle of their Heavenly nail polish reserves). They had gotten their nails done then, too. That’s how Muriel had begun to meet other humans.

They arrived at a blue-tinted door. It was soft blue that probably needed another coat of paint. Hanging pots of morning glories and cranesbills seemed to shudder at their arrival. Muriel glanced curiously at Crowley.

Just beside them, Maggie’s necklace jingled as she sped up to the front of the group to open the door. The bell above it chimed.

“Come on in,” she said.

The air conditioner hit them in the face. An overpowering odour of polish wafted through the salon, grabbed them by the throat, and shook them like rag dolls. It was glorious. The first whiff of it was always the best, in Muriel’s opinion. 

It wasn’t the best place to go for sensitive noses– or sensitive eyes– but Muriel preferred the pastel palette. Especially since the bookshop lacked them. The walls, a stark white, had candy-floss-blue and bubblegum-pink waves painted at its bottom. Above, buttery-yellow, five-pointed stars were painted on the ceiling. 

Crowley gagged. He tried to hide it underneath his hand, truly, but Muriel managed to catch it.

An elderly lady who appeared to be cleaning up her work station lifted her head to look at them. Recognition fluttered past her face. She smiled, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with the motion.

"Nice day, isn't it, Lucia?" said Maggie as the lady neared.

"The weather?" Lucia pondered. "It is perfect."

Lucia turned her crinkly smile towards Crowley as she leaned over the front desk's computer.

"You were at the Whickber Street Shopkeepers' Association meeting a few months back. I would remember a face like yours," said Lucia.

Crowley frowned further. 

"You were there?" he said.

"My grandson insisted I come with him. Something about having a good feeling? Well, it must have been something, if I can't for the life of me remember what happened that night."

Crowley swallowed. Maggie stepped in, her hand hovering over his arm.

"This is Mr. Crowley. He's joining us," Maggie spared a glance at Crowley, who was still staring straight ahead, and smiled at Lucia tightly. "Just for today. To see if he likes it."

Lucia tapped the keys on the computer slowly. Her fingers appeared unsteady and frail, and that might have worried anyone else who came in hoping for nicely-painted nails. What many wouldn’t know is that she was rather good at her craft. She had found a passion for it late in life, and retired so she could do what she loved in her last few years.

"Of course,” she said, “Come, please sit down."

Crowley had invented naming all the sub-sub-sub-shades of colours. Red wasn't just red. Red could be carmine, mahogany, and vermillion... but carmine, mahogany, and vermillion could not simply be called 'red'. Like how a square was a kind of rectangle, but a rectangle couldn't be called a square.

Crowley wasn't sure who invented that one. Probably an angel, if he had to put money on it. Maybe even Gabriel himself.

But now Nina was passionately advocating how cinnabar would clash too much with Crowley's hair, and that scarlet would be all-too bright– and, yet again, Crowley's actions patted his shoulders and bit him in the arse.

Nina leaned over to look at the progress of Maggie's nails. The lady doing them smiled nervously at her hovering and continued to apply little bees. Nina nodded approvingly. Then, she got back to analysing the five bottles of different reds before Crowley.

"What do you think of this one?" Nina pointed meaningfully at a reddish-purple polish.

Crowley frowned down at it, shook his head aimlessly at Nina and Lucia, and then shrugged. Unhelpful.

Nina put a hand to her cheek.

"Maybe something other than red?" Maggie suggested lightly, noticing the growing distress in the room.

Muriel twisted in their seat across the room and accidentally jolted some closed bottles. The man doing their nails 'tsk'-ed loudly.

"Sorry," Muriel said to him. The man waved dismissively, but they took the time to line them back up anyway. Muriel looked at Crowley, thought about his reaction, and then said, "What about stars?"

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but the noises died deep in his throat.

"What about stars?" he challenged.

Wuh-oh. Had Muriel misread the room? For all they could know, he hated space, because wasn’t that one step closer to Heaven? Muriel cleared their throat and peeked down at a little speck on the ground.

"Well, you've been over here brainstorming for five minutes. If you don't like it, then we'll wipe it off and that's that," said Nina.

Maggie laughed at that. Nina frowned.

"What? What's funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," Maggie said in a voice that told them it was most definitely something. "It's just that... you were the one fussing over colours."

"Not helping, Angel. Just a big fan of colour-coordination."

"Great," drawled Crowley. "Because something is going on over there. Might need a colour-coordination professional."

Crowley pointed over at Muriel, who had a big grin on their face as Nina looked at them, then at their nails. Maybe they were rainbows. Maybe someone had slaughtered a unicorn.

"What's that you got there?" Nina asked.

"Oh," giggled Muriel. "Remember The Flood?"

"No, I don't think she would," Crowley chimed in quickly without looking.

Nina ignored him.

"That a rainbow?" she tried instead.

"Yes! I thought a little bit of everything would’ve been fine. I mean, aren’t rainbows supposed to have all the colours, anyways?"

Nina nodded, as if convincing herself that the colours weren't actually all that bad. If anything, there may have been some sort of charm in the half-neon, half-pastel, not-in-the-correct-order rainbow. Would Nina choose it for herself? Err, no… she’d have to be blackmailed for it to even be a possibility. 

“Whatever makes you happy, Muriel,” said Nina, finally.

Lucia grabbed the tips of Crowley's fingers and guided them down to lay flat on the table. Crowley looked up at the old lady. She offered him a pleasant smile.

"Should we do what your friend recommended, young man?" she asked, even though Crowley was thousands of years older than her. 

Crowley let a deep breath run through his lungs and ease somewhere deep in his ribcage. These were ridiculous human fears. Crowley had endured worse things than painting his nails. He’d done it himself a handful of times in his existence, and had even found some enjoyment in it. But he wasn’t feeling right. Maybe even a little sick; like he was being fed on a full stomach; like he’d been so rudely awakened and then jostled out of his body.

He shrugged, then choked, "Ye– ah.”

"Colours?"

Crowley gave her another shrug. A mesh of noises came from his mouth, none of them real words, and he finally decided to quirk his head shortly to the side.

"Just whatever, really,” he said.

His difficulty didn't seem to phase the kind, age-worn grandmother. As if she'd worked with customers far stingier than Crowley, she went straight to work. Each stroke was as careful as the last. Whatever shake that had been in her hands vanished as if it were never there in the first place. 

The black nail polish she used wasn't truly, completely, black. It was a deep, dark blue that reflected the ceiling lights in its shine.

Crowley stared.

He stared until Lucia placed his hands under the nail dryer after that coat was completed.

Maggie was the first to shift in the silence that had taken over the salon. Nina, Muriel, and Crowley watched her as she dramatically displayed her nails for the rest of the room.

There was a gathering of 'ooo's and 'ahh's that everyone but Crowley joined in on. 

"How pretty!" Nina fawned. Her smile grew into something so genuine that Maggie immediately needed to return it tenfold.

Nina came close and took Maggie's hand in hers. The base colour was a soft brown, decorated with skulls alternating between white and pink. Nina’s orange nails, a teddy bear design centred on her middle nail, paired for a silly sight beside Maggie’s. They snickered like it was all just one big joke.

"Isn't it just?" Maggie sighed.

And then Lucia was taking Crowley's hand away from the dryer and returning to work. Crowley's eyes snapped down to watch, but Muriel had just begun to talk. He lifted his heavy head.

"Can we please get frozen yoghurt after?" asked Muriel.

"It might be a little chilly out for frozen yoghurt," Nina replied.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind. I've been thinking about paying the local froyo place a visit for a while now. I’ve been thinking about their watermelon," said Maggie as Crowley's hand was led back underneath the UV lights. Crowley kept focusing on the others.

"Have you ever tried frozen yoghurt?" Muriel said to Crowley suddenly.

Crowley blinked at them, then glanced up.

"Nah. Not a big fan of cold treats."

"But you've never tried it. You should. You don't have to eat it if you really end up not liking it," Nina placed her hands to her hips. Crowley recognized the unsaid statement instantly: 'if you don't try this frozen yoghurt I'm going to make you try.'

Part of Crowley wanted to challenge that. Crowley was a challenger, after all, and he didn’t feel in the mood to be particularly nice– but he also wasn’t in the mood to be particularly nasty, either.

Crowley’s head tilted to one side and didn’t reply. 

Lucia hummed in satisfaction. Crowley turned from glaring holes into the walls– something he had been doing for a few minutes, now– to look at her. He caught her eye, but she gestured down towards Crowley's hands.

Crowley swallowed. Slowly, he followed the movement.

Against dark blue, against undulating lighter blues and whites, yellow sparkles of stars rested.

Their next stop ended up being a quaint, little froyo shop that was wedged between a big building and an even bigger building.

The shop smelled like waffles and vanilla which was strange, because not an ounce of waffles or vanilla was displayed. Maybe it was just the sweetness of everything that made the illusion. The walls were a drab grey that didn't do a very good job telling people that it was a froyo shop. If a tourist came by, they’d probably assume it to be a furniture store. 

The teenager at the counter didn't spare them a glance as they walked in. Muriel, as chipper as ever, beelined right to a stack of paper cups and passed them out one at a time.

Crowley put his hand up in protest at Muriel's offer. Nina immediately gave him a blank look, but he spoke before she could voice her potential threats.

"The floor is sticky. It's ruining my boots," Crowley nodded his head toward Muriel. "Surprise me."

And with that, Crowley was moving to the nearest table. A chorus of 'shh-tick, shh-tick, shh-tick' followed his footsteps. Muriel reached out for his retreating form, but there was no point. 

"Ah," said Muriel. "Okay..."

"Don't mind him too much, Muriel. New things like this can be very tiring to humans," said Maggie.

Muriel brightened at that.

"Oh, is that right? Ah, of course," they shuffled and their tone turned into something that could have been all-knowing, "of course. Well, I'll just have to make Mr. Crowley the best frozen yoghurt cup known to humanity."

Maggie snorted at that. Muriel grinned.

Crowley had liked the flavour of espresso, Nina told them once. Espresso was kind of nutty, kind of bitter, kind of tangy– not that Muriel knew what that tasted like. A good rule of thumb that Nina had taught them was that if it smelled acrid, then it probably was acrid. But it was socially unacceptable to smell all of the flavours. Also, it was a frozen yoghurt place. Everything was supposed to be sweet.

Muriel bit their lip, uncertain now.

"Focus on our task, soldiers," whispered Nina as she pressed her cup underneath one of the machines. White yoghurt swirled down into it. She glanced up at Maggie and Muriel and then tipped her head sneakily toward the demon sitting a few feet away.

Maggie came close, sparing a worried look at the object of their conversation.

"Does he look any happier?" asked Maggie, softly.

"Hard to tell with those bloody shades on," huffed Nina.

"I think it's going splendidly," said Muriel.

Muriel shifted to the right, away from where they had huddled, to fill Crowley's cup with something red. It read ‘cherry’ at the top, and sometimes cherries smelled bitter. That was probably a good start.

"Do you think Mr. Crowley is of the almond sort?" asked Muriel. "Or maybe sprinkles? Chocolate chips?"

They put something bright green into the cup. The colour seemed to surprise Muriel. The label, after all, had read ‘apple’, and weren’t apples red? Their brows scrunched together in wonder, and they made sure to stick their own cup underneath that one, too.

"Liquorice. He probably invented them," said Nina, finally. "But the circle ones. There’s a difference. Anyways, I did promise to keep out of his life if this all didn't work out, so maybe I am a little worried."

Maggie turned to Nina with a gentle smile. 

Muriel noticed that Maggie smiled the most at Nina, even if Maggie was friends with Muriel, too. There was a flutter that went through Muriel’s chest. Somehow, they knew that the butterflies weren’t anything that they were personally feeling.

"We'll have known that we tried our best. Don't beat yourself up for it, Nina, Love," said Maggie.

A chair squealed across the floor horrendously. They looked back at Crowley, who was slouched down his chair. He was probably eyeing them out of the corner of his shades. Maggie, quick to the damage control, offered him a strained smile while Nina coughed into her wrist.

Maggie cleared her throat. Cheeks pink, she moved over to where Muriel was currently pouring sprinkles into their cup. Muriel offered her a scoop-full.

Maggie grimaced. "No, thanks."

Nina began to fish her wallet out as she and Maggie placed their cups onto the weight at the counter.

"I think that maybe a walk in the park would be a nice way to end things off today," Nina said to Maggie. “Look at his face– I think we may be pushing it.”

Muriel stood behind them. They were looking between their own frozen yoghurt and what they had chosen for Crowley. They nodded, satisfied, but the pleased expression was smacked off their face.

A Heavenly horn echoed in their head.

"End things off? It's barely four. We never end off our days this early," said Maggie. "You know what he needs? A little taste of window-shopping."

Maggie shuffled her shoulders and Nina groaned, but she couldn't help but smile.

Muriel, frantically, twisted around to look at Crowley. He had already gotten up. He squeezed through the group to get to the teenager in front.

"Bathroom,” he said.

"Second door down, sir," said the worker. "Let me give you the key."

The teenager ducked down. Something went ‘clunk-clink ting dwowowow’, and he hit his head on the way back up. Crowley sniffled. Finally, the teenager handed Crowley the head of a golfing club. The rest of it, presumably, had been lost somehow. 

"Nn–," grumbled Crowley, looking weirdly at the key dangling from it. "Thanks."

Muriel’s heart dropped as they watched their only lifeline slink away. They turned to the shop's window right as Uriel appeared from across the street. Uriel's stony face didn’t twitch as they scanned the buildings.

Muriel knew that they couldn’t hide from the Archangel, and without even confirming where Muriel was, Uriel began to march over.

"Right. Muriel, where's your–?" Nina turned. There was no 'Muriel' to be heard of. She continued turning and spotted Muriel already out the door, two unpaid cups of frozen yoghurt in their hands.

Nina and Maggie stared at the teenager. The teenager stared back.

"Guesstimating here: Thirty total," he said.

Maggie sucked in air through her teeth.

"That was a lot of sprinkles," she told Nina.

Nina furrowed her brows. She glanced between Maggie and the poor teenager.

"Twenty-five,” she said.

Muriel, both hands preoccupied by frozen treats, rushed over to the left– away from the shop's windows.

Uriel watched them, unblinking. They stepped out onto the busy road. A car honked, but miraculously swerved away last-second. The crowd uncharacteristically parted until Uriel was face-to-face with Muriel.

"How is your progress?" greeted Uriel.

Muriel tried to smile, but it was difficult when they felt like they were being choked. It wouldn’t do to stand here like a silly goose. They used both cups to gesture to the shop.

"No Son in there!"

Uriel looked down at the frozen yoghurt, then narrowed their eyes. Muriel doubted that they had ever tried human food before. Somehow, this made the situation feel even worse.

"I see that," said Uriel.

Muriel swallowed. They let out a quiet breath that Uriel raised a brow at, but despite the preparation to talk, nothing came out. Muriel stared until the Archangel crossed their arms.

"This is frozen yoghurt," squeaked Muriel. "It's fun to look at. It’s for humans."

"Thirty-seventh degree recording scrivener. We have reason to believe that the Son has landed in a human settlement to the east called Dover."

Muriel shook their head quickly, as if just awakening. A lifeline, finally.

"Dover! Dover. Of course. I can go to Dover. I know exactly where that is," then, for good measure: "Dover."

"Then you should run into no issues."

"No issues. None at all."

"Uh-huh.”

Uriel looked down at Muriel's hands, where the cups were wrinkling under their grip. Muriel snuck another experimental breath. A car honked close-by. Muriel startled. Uriel did not. 

"Get a move on,” said Uriel.

Before Muriel could respond, Uriel sent a pointed glance back over their own shoulder, toward the froyo shop. Their nose crinkled.

"Go to Dover. Find the Son. Hand him to us," the Archangel looked down at Muriel, "You are not to do anything else other than what we've already told you to do. We’ll handle the rest once you’ve done your part."

"Of course, my Archangel."

Uriel didn't immediately leave. They stared at Muriel as if something else could be said to them, but whatever it was was lost. Something sparked in Uriel’s eyes; like they had just uncovered a dark secret, and Muriel feared that it may have had something to do with them.

Muriel made the mistake of blinking. When they opened their eyes, Uriel was gone, and Maggie, Nina, and Crowley were filing out of the shop.

"There you are! The hell did you run off to?" asked Nina.

"Mm! Might have... needed the fresh air, actually. I'm–" the group neared. Even though they were all looking at Muriel, Muriel's gaze drifted off to Crowley. His arms were crossed, but his face was strangely lax. "–I'm feeling a little homesick, I think."

Nina's expression softened. On the other hand, Maggie looked especially panicked, now, nervously turning from Muriel to Crowley to Muriel again.

"Well... there's a park not too far from here," Maggie said gently. "St. James’s. We can take the little detour past that nice fashion boutique."

"Would've been faster if I took the car," said Crowley.

"It's not supposed to be fast, six-shots-of-espresso-in-a-big-cup," Nina rolled her eyes. "It's supposed to be enjoyed."

"Well, I enjoy things best when I'm going sixty over the speed limit," the demon snipped back. He turned away, then did a double take. "Six-shots-of-espresso-in-a-big-cup?"

Muriel laughed. It shook slightly around the edges, but the group hadn’t completely fallen apart– so the mission could still go on. They glanced down at the frozen yoghurt still in their hands and hastily offered Crowley his own.

"This is frozen yoghurt," they said as Crowley took the offering.

"I see," he replied.

Crowley stared at the yoghurt. It had melted. All that remained was a mush of brown slop and two yellow, circular pieces of liquorice staring up at him.

Together, the ragtag group made their way through the streets of London.

It was a little silly, really, how they looked to the normal passerby.

The black-clad stranger in the dark sunglasses in the middle of winter? Good chance he’s hiding something, maybe even from himself. Whoever conceals their identity in public is surely not to be trusted at all.

The warmly-dressed one’s carefully-embroidered cardigan gave the impression of passion. There was something strange about her walk, like she was certain but uncertain; kind but unkind; like a secondary school English teacher. 

The stranger right behind her was scanning the streets as if she were looking for her next target. That or she had a resting angry face, which didn’t make it any more comforting– other than the fact that she was walking around with someone who was skipping. 

The skipper turned, smiled at the rest of their weird little group, and patted their big cargo pants. Maybe the skipper was secretly carrying around knives in one of their many pockets. It would make more sense than the mix of night and day going on here.

Well, best not to speculate. Walls have ears, you know.

Not by design.

They passed by the windows of shops too expensive for their wallets; but the experience laid not in what they had, but what they could have.

Sunglasses considered every outfit on display carefully. It was as if he was actually considering buying one of them, but with no wallet to speak of, maybe his threats were worth more than any amount of money he could provide.

"See anything you like?" English Teacher asked him, but Sunglasses just shrugged.

"Lots of inspiration," Sunglasses replied. He didn’t sound impressed.

The suits and dresses and boxes of jewellery were impressive. Only someone with lots of spare money to spend could throw it here (or very passionate advocates for the divine). But Sunglasses knew that some of these shops were just tourist traps. He had gone down here on occasion, and had more-often-than-not been in the presence of someone who could sniff out a cheaply made product.

(“It has a stench, really, like it’s musty… even if I washed the poor thing, I’m sure I would smell it in the back of my mind. No love put into it at all.”)

"I want that one," Skipper awed, pointing towards a set of jewelled bee earrings that sparkled reflections of light in every direction.

Sunglasses turned to look at them, "you, quite literally, could have them."

"Oh, but that's not the right way," said Skipper, looking genuinely worried. "We’re supposed to say we want it but not actually get it."

"Sounds like a torture method," mused Sunglasses.

"You're no fun," Resting Angry Face chided him.

"It's his first time, Nina," English Teacher said, and, just like that, the illusion cracked.

Crowley glared at a particularly-overdone set of light gloves. It had strange gems and flowy patterns, and the sight of it was like dipping donuts in maple syrup. His eyes flicked up in consideration before he frowned again.

"I'm plenty of fun," said Crowley. "But I'm not up for looking into an expensive boutique like I'm a dog looking for something to drop on the ground."

Nina snorted. "You do have an imagination, don't you?"

"Don't doubt my imagination. It's gotten me through some serious scrapes."

As a group, they turned the corner, passing the last of the sparkly windows and escaping from their voluntary torture. Crowley recognized this stretch to the park’s steps. He frowned, faltered, and then continued.

"Oh yeah?" laughed Maggie. "Like what?"

"Hellfire, for one," said Crowley. 

Maggie's smile awkwardly dropped from her face.

"Oh."

The sun was glaring between the trees, hiding along the edges of the park. Muriel found that it was always the brightest right before it sank into the ground. It was ironic, in a way, but maybe fitting for the situation. There was still some time before they had to call quits on this mission.

Nina pressed her shoulder against Muriel's as they bounded down the steps. The angel startled.

"Are you okay?" whispered Nina.

Muriel frowned. They glanced at Nina, then at Maggie and Crowley behind them, who appeared to be focused on the Christmas roses that had just started to bloom.

"Yes," said Muriel. The trees dotted them with shade as they crossed into the park. "I'm just... thinking."

"Dangerous thing: thinking," said Nina, dryly.

Muriel pursed their lips together. They glanced up at the sky, where the clouds, thick and heavy, were beginning to creep up on them. It wouldn’t do any good for them if it rained now. 

"Muriel?" Nina tried again.

"Sorry," said Muriel. They found that their voice had come out strangled, and tried again, "Sorry… I have this feeling in my chest."

"Still thinking about–" Nina's eyes flicked up. "–about home?"

Muriel nodded, gnawing at the inside of their cheek. 

"I’ve never been away for so long. It's only seven months. It should feel like nothing to me…” they said.

"But it's different," said Nina, graciously filling in the blanks. "New things can be nerve-wracking, if you've only ever been–" another glance, "–you know. All your life."

Muriel swallowed.

They didn’t know all that much about Earth and its humans before this mission. It was embarrassing, really, knowing how unprepared they had been. Had Heaven done it intentionally? Maybe it was all just a test. Replacing Aziraphale, after all, was already a tall order. He had been associated with the higher-ups since day one.

It was hard to tell, and even harder to ask. 

Even though Muriel had to keep their mission– whatever that had been over the past seven months– a secret, they could hardly even do that properly. Their human friends knew it. 

"Well, most of my existence, anyway,” replied Muriel. “I've been occasionally sent to Earth– um, close to The Beginning. But never for long periods of time. It was just... you know, maybe a few minutes. A few hours. Most of us had assignments like that, back then."

"What changed?" asked Nina.

"Oh, I don't know," Muriel admitted, softly. "The Almighty was still brushing out a few kinks. Needed to make adjustments, maybe. Heaven had some– err– missing spots to fill. The world was still new."

Nina stared at Muriel from the corner of her eye. She looked them up and down, glanced thoughtfully at the approaching lake, and then seemed to rethink something.

Muriel frowned. "Did I say something wrong?" they asked.

Nina tilted her head. Nina had promised, early on in their friendship, to be honest with Muriel. Even though she often chose to spare Muriel’s insecurities, Crowley’s return seemed to have pushed her.

 "It's hard to look at you and see an immortal,” she said.

Maggie rushed to their side.

"Mr. Crowley is glaring at all the plants. I think he's trying to set them on fire," whispered Maggie.

"'m not," grumbled Crowley, faintly, behind them.

Maggie scoffed to herself, leaned closer to Nina and Muriel, and said in an even quieter voice, "I think he's getting restless. Does he even like walks in the park? Doesn’t that seem not-very-demonic? Ugh, I hadn’t even realised at the time. Maybe we should have done some research before assuming. Oh, Nina, I'm so sorry– I don't want to give up on him, either."

Nina quickly placed a hand on Maggie's shoulder. 

"Calm down there, Angel,” she said. “It's all right. Let’s think about this… First of all, he probably needs the sun. He’s not a vampire. And what could we have possibly researched? The Bible? We’re doing the best we can, yeah?"

Maggie's pinched expression eased, but not by much.

Nina swished her thumb repeatedly over Maggie’s back. She hoped that it was a comforting gesture. Maggie had been the first to use this technique on Nina, found that it had helped her, and had tried to sparingly return the favour ever since.

“Crowley’s an adult, anyways. I mean… technically, right? If what Muriel said was true, then he’ll be able to survive… It can’t fall on us. What he chooses is his choice. No point trying to control him.” 

Muriel closed their eyes. Nina was very good at talking. Nina was reasonable and did smart things that Muriel wouldn’t have thought up. The warm words built at the cavity in their chest, up and up, into a little ball that would dissipate if Muriel exhaled– and then a hand jostled them out of their thoughts.

Muriel looked up at Crowley, then at the fence right before them.

"Thank you," they said.

Crowley’s face twitched. For a moment, Muriel feared that Crowley would snap at them; but the hand he had used to block Muriel from walking straight into the water’s surrounding fences slipped right back into his pocket. He stepped back.

"Look," said Maggie, pointing. "There's Abigail."

Abigail skittered over the surface of the water, excited to see familiar faces. Ducks were clever like that. They were almost like humans, but with wings and beaks and smaller brains. They were also much kinder than geese. And less toothy. 

The three of them squatted at the lake’s edge to meet the mallard.

"Hello Ms. Abigail," cooed Muriel. From their pocket, they produced a baggie of peas. "Where’s your friend?"

Muriel poured some of the peas into Maggie's and Nina's palms. They had a slight sheen left behind from defrosting in Muriel’s pocket. When Muriel tested its strength, the pea smushed with ease.

Abigail flailed her wings. She stuck her head through the fence’s bars and attacked the squished snack from Muriel’s hand.

Muriel had only known the mallard for about four months now. Maggie and Muriel found her trying to sit on other ducks in their sleep. Abigail hadn’t taken part in their autumn migration. Instead, she chose to stay in St. James’s until her flock returned for wintering, and Muriel had familiarised themself with Abigail’s more-grey-than-orange bill. 

A quack– sounding like a smokey wheeze than anything– made Abigail turn her head. From somewhere further into the lake, another smaller mallard lazily drifted through a group of waterfowl toward the excitement. Abigail's ferocity towards the peas subdued.

"Hello Ms. Lottie," said Nina. She tossed the peas over the fencing. Abigail, graciously, allowed Lottie to peck at it.

Muriel grabbed onto the fence, pushed themself up, and swung over to the other side. They teetered on the bank. Maggie stared at them nervously (she never liked it when Muriel did something risky). With a reassuring smile, Muriel knelt down carefully at the lake’s edge, keeping one hand on the bar behind them.

"It looks like she's doing better," Muriel said as they peered closely at Lottie's wing. They leaned over to move aside a few askew feathers to check the injury, and Lottie nicely continued to nibble on peas.

"Getting braver, too," said Maggie. She wiped her palm off against her pants, then looked at Nina. "She'll be able to join her flock for next year's migration, I’d think."

"Your wing will be all better by then," Muriel promised Lottie, who only looked at them with beady eyes and mushy peas sticking out of her beak. 

Nina had told Muriel that sometimes, when something was injured, it may not heal the same as it was before. Bones were tricky like that. Sometimes bones forget their original form, and mould around what little space they were given underneath the skin. Lottie’s little bones, thankfully, would not have that problem.

Abigail and Lottie, the wild ducks they were, took the last of the peas and paddled off together. They weren’t meant to be friendly. Muriel learned that animals outside of human domestication were just made to survive. How interesting it was, Muriel had thought, for something to unintentionally provide to the rest of the world by simply existing.

The sky was darker now. The clouds had snuck up on them, just like Muriel had predicted. Muriel hoped it wouldn’t rain. They didn’t feel like getting their corporation wet.

Yet, the group lingered at the side of the lake. Maybe everyone else had felt the change of tone, too, or maybe they were procrastinating on ending this mission like they were. Muriel had the sudden urge to check on Crowley. But instead, they stayed in place, watching how the ducks made ripples that waved out behind them, stretching down, down, until they died at the water's edge.

Muriel reached down for them.

The world spun. 

Muriel was strikingly cold— strikingly wet— strikingly ripped from the trance. They crawled against mud and slipped face-first into reality. Something was stinging. They gasped, choked— something awful shot out of their nose.

"AZIRAPHALE!"

The name came naturally. It was tossed to the frigid sky. It froze mid-air and dropped dead to the ground like hail.

And, suddenly, Muriel knew they messed up. This was the worst possible scenario that could have happened. How had Muriel chosen every little thing that could tick Crowley off? How come they had said the wrong words every time? How had they fallen in such an embarrassing way, when this entire mission relied on them not to?

Muriel sat frozen in the lake. Water dribbled down their skin, and their clothes, and their burning nostrils, and they felt pathetic. No one said anything.

They lifted their eyes.

Crowley stood the same way he had been for most of the day: casually, brows furrowed, lips tilted downward– but his hands trembled in his pockets. He swallowed a few times too many. Muriel felt their stomach plummet. For the first time, they feared that they may throw up.

Crowley smacked his lips, glanced at the lumbering clouds, and then turned and walked away.

"My Beatitude," greeted Visiel, bowing their head. They took a folder that had been tucked under their armpit and offered it to the Supreme Archangel. "The files that you asked for."

"Thank you, Visiel," said Aziraphale.

Visiel smiled at him. It seemed like another one of those days, to Aziraphale, where Visiel was hesitant to leave his side. Aziraphale tried not to mind it too much. Visiel, after all, seemed to look up to him– and Aziraphale would rather have that than the opposite.

Aziraphale took the beige folder and turned back to his lone desk. He placed it down, opened it, and began reading.

Visiel shuffled closer. They hovered at Aziraphale’s shoulder; maybe curious, which wasn't unusual. Visiel always tried to make his business their business.

"Yes?" said Aziraphale.

Visiel twitched out a smile. It was an awkward attempt, like they had tried to practise it and had failed when it was the right time. 

“I’ve already made myself familiar with its information. Shall I summarise it for you?” they said.

Aziraphale blinked. He huffed out a laugh and replied, “That’s quite alright. I think I’ll manage.”

“But this will spare you the time. You’re marvellous at writing notes, anyways, so let me help.”

Goodness. Aziraphale snuck in a breath and smiled faintly at him.

“Well…” he said. He furrowed his brows, glanced up at Visiel’s hopeful expression, and then leaned back onto the edge of his desk. “Of course. I do value your effort, you know.”

Visiel’s next smile was genuine, but smug. So did it really count?

"The demons are still bickering over who will be the Lord of Hell. The tides turned to Dagon, after Hastur's attempt to sway the demons by trying to ban the use of nursery rhymes– apparently, demons love Humpty Dumpty– anyway, Leviathan discorporated one of Dagon’s messengers and framed Hastur, so now they're at each other's throats, but some of the demons are quite liking the drama. Granted that they’re smart enough to not be squished along the way," said Visiel.

Aziraphale nodded along, flipping through the pages and trying to catch some words for himself. He settled the papers down onto the desk, pressed a flat palm to them, and then flung the contents up. The papers shimmered into holographic screens around them. Most of them frayed along the edges, but what quality was one to expect from something made in Hell?

"There's a reason you're the Lord of Files!" Recorded-Hastur snapped. Aziraphale squinted at the suddenness. “For being an expert on paperwork, you’d assume you’d know how to spell your own title properly.”

Recorded-Leviathan clicked his tongue.

“Yikes,” he said, tilting her head to Dagon.

Recorded-Dagon bared all of his teeth on a different screen. He swung a look at Leviathan, betrayed, and then glared back at Hastur. Faint snickers around them echoed.

"You can’t spell either! They put you up ‘ere because you couldn’t do anyth’ng else–!" Recorded-Dagon began, but Visiel talked over the raging demon’s next words.

"It’s fascinating, watching them squabble. What a bunch of squirmy animals. I knew they had a few feathers loose, but not even being able to communicate long enough to reach an agreement. How funny," Visiel laughed to themself, "finding the need to fight all the time."

Aziraphale hummed.

"You remember Job, yes, Visiel?" Aziraphale mentioned off-handedly, looking between all of the screens. He focused briefly on Hastur spitting insults at one of the Erics. When he blinked, the Eric had already discorporated from something he hadn’t seen.

Aziraphale scribbled something down onto a paper that wasn’t there before. Visiel watched his pen swoop and twirl.

"Of course," they said. "I was observing with a squad, for if anything went wrong,” they took a moment to consider their words. "But of course, nothing did. My Beatitude."

"I'm not offended,” said Aziraphale, automatically.

The tension that had started to build in Visiel’s shoulders smoothed out. They looked prouder, now; reassured. They stepped closer and nodded their head, thankful.

"The demons were very cooperative then, I would think. Heeding The Almighty's will. That didn't take much of a fight," said Aziraphale. He tried to keep his eyes on his notes. Somewhere, one of the demons on the recordings were giggling.

"That's different," said Visiel confidently. "Satan issued that order, but which was agreed upon by God. It was an…”

They trailed off. 

Aziraphale froze, because his mind helpfully tried to fill in the blanks for him, and where it had wandered felt almost like an epiphany. Aziraphale thought too much these days. Other days, Aziraphale felt like he couldn’t think at all. 

He turned carefully and smiled at Visiel, “Yes?” he coaxed, as if this was a casual conversation.

"…Well, we had our orders,” they said, “and they had theirs. 

Aziraphale folded the paper he had been writing on into a pristine square. He blinked and tilted his head in what he hoped was a comforting way. He reached out with the paper in his hand, which had changed into a white envelope, toward Visiel.

They took it.

"Would you be a dear and deliver that?" said Aziraphale as he rounded his desk. He closed the folder, and all of the floating screens sucked back to where they belonged. The faint remaining smell of sulphur tickled his nose. "And bring this to the archives, yes?"

Helpfully, Visiel nodded. They took their free hand and made a pulling gesture from the sky. In a blink, the folder vanished.

"You can count on me, my Beatitude," said Visiel, and Aziraphale knew that he could in this regard. The angel turned, paused, and then spun around on their heels, "Oh... Actually, my Archangel, is storytime still happening tomorrow? It’s only that Adiel and the others missed the last session, and they wanted me to ask..." they trailed off.

Aziraphale drummed his fingers quietly against the side of his desk. He glanced around the windowless room, pretending to be in thought, and said, "Tell them I still have plenty of stories to share."

Visiel smiled. They looked over Aziraphale one last time and then disappeared.

Angels didn't need sleep. Sleep was a source of energy, wasn’t it? Maggie had explained that humans have a certain amount of energy before they have to replenish it– like a recharge. Like… when you drink coffee, the cup empties until you pour more.

Something like that…

Muriel gently closed the book they had finished reading. It had been one they had already read; but they had hoped its familiar story would calm their nerves. It had been a book Muriel found in a drawer upstairs on their third week on Earth.

They traced the spine, felt a little dent in the hardcover, and pressed The House At Pooh Corner to their chest.

Muriel felt tired. It was a horrible thing. Muriel wasn’t human– Muriel was an angel– and they didn’t know how angels replenished their energy (if at all. They hadn’t known it to be possible. Maybe they were… different).

The thought wasn’t comforting. Maybe they needed to read another book.

They sat up in one of the comfy chairs and scooted up to the edge of the seat. They reached over to grab the tea, made an hour ago, but still warm to the touch, and tried to focus on the feeling.

Maybe their tea was defective, being hot after all this time. Maybe they could try to make another cup; they had been getting better at making it; but none of their end results had looked quite as pretty as Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale.

Muriel pressed their lips tight together.

It was horrible, being an angel in some… weird… unknown… human… Muriel sighed. They were being ridiculous, but they couldn’t find the words to describe the knot in their throat, or the buzzing that was spreading to their arms. Muriel was hot but cold and sick but alive. The longer they thought about it, the fainter their head became.

Aziraphale would have known what to do. He had helped to track down the Antichrist, went unpunished by Heaven, and had built up this little bookshop for himself. 

It was unlike Heaven, though. Heaven had some rhyme and reason in their order. Muriel still couldn’t figure out Aziraphale’s sorting system (and they were normally very clever at deciphering algorithms).

They stood to lean over the desk, closed the curtains, and decided that trying to sleep wouldn’t hurt.

“Muriel.”

Muriel jumped. They shoved the poor book onto some random surface and stumbled away from the chair.

"Archangel Uriel!" chirped Muriel in greeting. The Archangel had appeared right behind them, in the middle of the bookshop– but it was likely that Muriel just hadn’t heard the door chime. 

Uriel's brow twitched. "Hello," they said.

"Whhhat can I do for you?"

The Archangel took a long, excruciating moment to look over the bookshop and its surroundings. Muriel knew they didn’t have to make such a big show of the whole thing. It did a good job in shaming them, though.

A streetlight's glow crept in from the door's windows. Uriel, backlighted, turned to stare darkly at Muriel.

Muriel leaned back against the desk.

"I see that you’ve yet to leave the shop," said Uriel, finally.

Muriel grimaced at that. They made a wild gesture with their hands and then decided that was just making them look like a fool.

"Just some preparations. It's what humans do. So there is no suspicion from the other humans," they explained.

Uriel only hummed. They stalked the bookshop, examining the bookshelves and the untidy papers that had long since started to dust in Aziraphale's absence. They were looking more closely this time, it seemed. Some level of care had crept into their movements.

The quills and inks were Aziraphale's. That decorative pillow was Aziraphale's. All the little ornamental boxes tossed along the shelves and tucked away between a book or two were all Aziraphale's.

Uriel turned to Muriel.

"The Son, Muriel. Where is he?" they asked.

Muriel picked at their nails unconsciously.

"Yes, you mentioned that he's in Dover? You see, all the humans are asleep at night. It's what they do– so– so it'll be a little harder to get to Dover tonight. Because people are weird like that. Tired."

"The miraculous activity in Dover keeps setting off our private alarms," Uriel said. "It would be best if you started the journey," a head tilt, "now."

"Of course," said Muriel.

"If I catch you tomorrow morning lazing around in this… bookshop… then I will have no choice but to replace you with a better-suited candidate," said Uriel.

Muriel nodded. They ran a nervous tongue over the ridges of their teeth.

"Probably with Michael," mused Uriel. They were likely joking, but their casual tone sent Muriel reeling. They looked up at the sky. "That would be a sight to behold. Michael down on Earth trying to figure everything out."

Uriel smiled. Quickly, Muriel cleared their throat, and they blinked out of their strange mood.

"Surely one as high and respectable as Michael won't be sent in the place of a scrivener," said Muriel.

"Hm," Uriel looked at them– really looked at them– looked at them until Muriel squirmed. "It could be possible," they said, slowly, "like how a Principality can become the Supreme Archangel."

"I see," Muriel replied, dumbly. 

But Uriel wasn't focusing on the scrivener anymore. They looked around at the clutter and mess and, with one finger, swept up a line of dust that collected on one of the first books Muriel had finished. 

"Leave for Dover," said Uriel. 

Muriel couldn't do anything but nod. They watched as the Archangel turned gracefully and set off to the lift Up.

And then Muriel was alone again.

At the end of the day, sometimes all someone needed was a nice cup of tea, a comforting book, a well-loved chair, and the home around them. 

There was comfort in familiarity; and Muriel had months to build up a schedule. Months of reading and exploring and finding places to broaden their horizons. To see, hear, taste, smell, touch–

The phone across the room 'ring-a-bring'-ed.

Muriel startled, looking at the phone strangely. They had never once heard a peep from the thing– even when they had tried to make conversation with it (Nina came in to tell her that the phone wasn't the thing talking, but the person on the other side of the phone. Clever humans). But now it was yelling like its life depended on it. 

Muriel fumbled with it. It slipped out their hands twice and the coils tangled Muriel’s fingers thrice. ‘Ring-a-bring!’ it went, ‘ring-a-bring!’, like an alarm, and Muriel pressed the speaker to their ear.

"Hello!?" Muriel called out, still hearing the ringing echo.

"Aziraphale? It's me, Anathema. I found something that might interest you."

[tatertotsafterdark]

Marking - Scott Howl x Reader

18+ MDNI. READ “CONTAINS” SECTION BEFORE READING.

|| Being a struggling college student sucks. Luckily, your werewolf boyfriend doesn't mind helping you de-stress - even if he gets a little too into it.

CONTAINS: AFAB READER, GIVING!SCOTT, RECEIVING!READER, BITING, MARKING, HICKEYS, OVER THE CLOTHES, NO AFTERCARE, MENTIONS OF MIDTERMS

Word count: 1k

Author’s note: IK I switched this fic from what was planned at the last minute but shhhhh... tried to put some characteristics of the Monster Prom writing style but I don't know how successful that was. Based mainly off the first Monster Prom game. (Ignore how the gif is monster roadtrip okay byeeee have fun reading or don't)

Midterms, midterms, midterms. Jesus fucking Christ. That’s all your life has been for the last few weeks, working on gradually revising your notes and studying for those God forsaken tests, worth a part of your grade that’s way too big. You slam your flat palms onto the desk in your small apartment, giving it a good couple of smacks. You’re frustrated, unable to grasp the topic you’re reading through. Why the hell did you have to take a math class? You hated math. Your major didn’t really use math, either. 

You groan as you hear a knock at the door, lifting yourself on to tired legs. Who visits this late at night, especially when you have a giant sign on your apartment door labeled “DON’T DEAD OPEN INSIDE?” You’d think by now people would catch on to your witty ideas of decoration and lack of availability. Maybe studying for midterms wouldn’t be so hard if you’d stop making interior design into your impromptu passion. 

Your hand quickly twists the knob, without giving much thought to check if there was some kind of evil monster or a serial killer or a Jehovah Witness outside of your door. Luckily, it’s none of those - it’s Scott! You manage a smile as his tail wags, and step aside, nonverbally inviting him inside. You can do that since he’s not a vampire. He quickly enters, wrapping his muscular arms around you.

“Dude, where have you been?!” He yells out, a large and toothy smile plastered on his face. You can practically hear his tail wagging, and you can definitely hear it hitting into his backside as it wags. 

“Studying.” You reply, returning the hug weakly and shuffling back over to the living room, lit only by a singular lamp (setting the aesthetic is an important part of studying, after all). You didn’t realize it until now, but your desk was piled with sticky notes, flashcards, notebooks, highlighters, pens in every color under the sun, and empty energy drink cans.

“Studying? Who even studies anymore?” Scott cocks his head, making that stupid-yet-so-damn-cute face at you like he always did when he was questioning your totally normal decisions. 

“I mean, c’mon, when was the last time you got some sun, bro? Your curtains are never open.” Scott says, a small pout on his lips as he looks down at you. You opt to ignore the comment about your currents, and instead huff and walk over to your desk.

“It doesn’t matter when I last left my apartment or opened the windows or anything like that. What’s important right now is that I teach myself everything my professor has been trying to teach us for the past few weeks.” Your ass hits the office chair a bit hard, which sends it backwards. The back of your chair hits Scott’s front, stopping it in its place. 

“You haven’t even showed up to the gym recently! You’re not getting any exercise.”

“I’m not interested in exercising. I want to pass these dumbass exams, Scott. Plus, there isn’t an exercise in the world that I actually like.” 

“Yes there is, bro, you know that.” 

“Great, Scott, then go ahead and tell me because you definitely know me better than I know myself.” You roll your eyes, and the action could probably be heard just off of the nasty tone you dip down into using. Swapping sleep for caffeine isn’t good for your mood, note to self. 

“Well, Polly says that sex burns calories, so therefore, it’s exercise.” 

You freeze up for a moment, thinking about the implications of the sentence that just slipped out of Scott’s lips. Was he implying that you two-? 

Before you can think much longer, one of Scott’s large hands is slowly massaging your chest, and the other is in between your thighs. He may be a bit academically challenged, but at least he wouldn’t be totally lost in an anatomy class. You can’t help but lean into the touch. It’d been ages since you’d gotten any action, even before you started obsessing over getting good grades on your midterms. Scott’s large fingers rubbing slow circles over your clit is enough to melt your brain, getting it off of finding derivatives, even if it was only for a temporary amount of time. 

“Shit- don’t stop- please.” You manage to get your voice to work in between pathetic squeaks and whimpers, and Scott simply speeds up in response to your words. You close your eyes, soaking in the much needed feeling of human contact. Two of Scott’s fingers find their way to the hard bud that’s developed under your shirt, gently twisting and pinching it as your moans get louder.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, and before long, you feel fangs on the tender flesh. Love bites are completely welcome, of course, so you don’t complain. You run your fingers through his hair as he finishes you off, giving you much needed release without so much as undressing you.

“There, bro! Now you’ve got your daily workout in. Your studying is going to be way easier now.” Scott says with a proud smile, turning your office chair around to face him. The way his face drops, you can tell he’s totally marked up your entire neck to the point even a turtleneck wouldn’t be enough to hide it. Oh, shit. 

“Well… a workout is exactly what I needed. Thanks, bro.”

“Anytime, dude! Just, uh, make sure you have that color corrector stuff you were talking about the one time.” Scott laughs, turning on his heel and walking to your kitchen. You rub your fingers over the bite marks, and the fact that they’re indented into your skin is enough to tell you that any amount of color corrector wouldn’t be enough anyway. They trail up to just below your ear, so you’ll just have to hide away in your room and study for a few more days until they fade. 

You take a deep breath, turning away from Scott as he opens your fridge, and picking up one of your colorful pens for the umpteenth time that evening.