#surely all celestial beings can pause time!

[sharkiegorath]

i need to rewatch the entirety of Good Omens S1 to confirm it but. did. did Crowley have unique time control powers and we just collectively never talked about it and never examined the potential implications

[chosok-amo]

OH, I'M DESTROYED : GOJO SATORU

he's your best friend— gojo satoru, he's getting married soon with kids on the way even though your heart is craving for each other, you sarcastically, jokingly tell him, “pleased? oh, I'm destroyed,” after hearing the news, he laughed, almost crying as he looks at you.

w/c. 3,4k

warning : non-sorcerer! gojo satoru. little bit angst. (idk)

p.s. when i said the reader didn't believe in god it's just for writing purposes, i, myself too believe in god. this fiction is inspired by one day series episodes 8? I forget.

“y/n, can we talk?”

there he is, satoru gojo— your bestfriend, your other half, your oasis in the desert, your everything. standing with two of his warm, delicate hands stuffed into his pocket. a warm smile makes themselves home on his handsome face. his blue eyes— satoru gojo's blue eyes, shimmered like the clearest ocean on a sunlit day, mesmerizing depths promising thousand, endless even, unspoken emotions.

each glance felt like being wrapped in the gentle embrace of a summer breeze, full of warmth and tender affection. his eyes held a universe of mystery and allure, making it impossible to look away, as if they whispered secrets of love and devotion only meant for you— hah, you wish’ you thought.

“sure,” you smile.

your hands gripping the bouquet tightly, so tight the spine cuts through your finger without you realizing. you two walk side by side into the maze behind the chapel where suguru geto and shoko ieiri weddings are held, yours and gojo's other friends. you refuse to look at him, sparing the man a glance that feels strange after all those two years living your life with no contact from him, neither do you try to reach him, at least not after the fight you have that night.

“how are you doing, y/n?”

the simple question lingers through the air for quite a time when the two enter the maze. your silken hair is pretty, falling gently, enchanting, on your back, touching the soft material of your bridesmaid dress, a blue one, the same color as his eyes— oh, his eyes.

you look to your left to fulfill the starving of your heart, take a glimpse by a glimpse of his frame. two years was too long without seeing those pretty eyes, those warm smiles, those pretty long white lashes, those . . . no, just him.

“it was fine,” lied, of course.

you couldn't find the courage to pour your heart out, you wouldn't dare. you wouldn't dare to tell your best friend how much the longing, how thousand days and nights, and each time you closed your eyes there he was before you, standing in the void inside your dream, how he all of the other people the one who you falling into the abyss to.

“turn right?”

you only nodded, his palm barely touched your lower back and your breath was already prepared to leave your body only for it to come back the second gojo pulled his hand away. the two of you sat on the concrete bench, nailed in the middle of the maze. under the moonlight, the soft glow casting a magical aura around you. the silvery light made gojo's eyes come alive, no longer hidden behind the black glasses he once wore so often.

his striking blue eyes shone with an ethereal brilliance, reflecting the moon's gentle radiance. his white locks shimmered like strands of stardust, adding to his otherworldly beauty. in that moment, with the moonlight dancing on his features, he looked more breathtaking than ever, a living embodiment of celestial grace and charm. the night seemed to hold its breath, as if time itself paused to admire the sheer beauty of the scene, leaving you both enveloped in a cocoon of serene enchantment.

he is as beautiful as ever, as breathtaking as you can remember— that's how you always saw him.

oh, but how gojo wish you could see the way he sees you. sitting before him, his oh-so-called-bestfriend, his unwavering rock, his compass, and how sometimes— no, every time, it's just 'his'.

under the moonlight, with its silvery beams casting a soft glow around you, in the heart of the maze where the world feels like a distant dream, it’s just the two of you. the stillness of the night amplifies the beauty of the moment, every shadow and glint of light painting a picture of serene intimacy. here, in this secluded sanctuary, surrounded by the whispering leaves and the cool night air, the universe narrows to the space between you.

gojo looks at you, his eyes filled with a tender intensity, wishing you could see yourself as he does—captivating, radiant, and indispensable. in this moment, under the tranquil moonlit sky, you are his everything, the silent heartbeat of his existence, the unspoken song of his soul.

“you know,” you say, breaking the silence, “i never thought we'd end up here again. thought you’d be too busy saving the world or something,” you throwing the man side glance, a little smirk playing on your lips.

gojo chuckles, the sound light and familiar. he brings the glass of almost-finished wine to his lips, takes a sip before answering, “and i thought you’d be too busy being mad at me forever,” he jokingly smiled at you.

you roll your eyes, the smirk turns into a smile, tugging at your lips. “well, you did deserve it. you were being insufferable,” you laugh a little. and without you notice, it caught gojo by surprise, a little. two years long he survived with hearing your little giggle— giggle for me, again’ he thought. eyes fixed to you as he takes another sip, smiling.

he smirks, leaning back on his hands. “insufferable? that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” your head slightly shook, “nope, just accurate,” you retort, popping the 'p' as you nudging his shoulder playfully. “you have a way of getting under people's skin, you know.”

“oh, come on,” he protests, a teasing glint in his eyes. “you know you missed me. admit it.’

“missed you?” you asked, giving the man a glimpse of 'knowing look' before smiling, “more like missed having someone to argue with,” you reply, though there’s a softness to your words. you glance at him again, the moonlight making his blue eyes shimmer like twin stars. “it's been quiet without you around.”

he laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “same old you. always ready with a comeback.”

“and same old you, always thinking you’re the center of the universe,” you quip, though your tone is softer now, the old familiarity seeping back. “well, i am pretty important,” he says with a wink, but then his expression turns more serious. “i’m sorry, you know,” his eyes moving slowly, looking for your expression, “for what happened. i never wanted to hurt you.”

for the second time, you nodded your head, eyes focusing on your laps. you finish the rest of the wine on your glass before putting the glass down on the bench and look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “i know, satoru. i’m sorry too. i shouldn’t have walked away like that.”

he reaches out, taking your hand in his. the hands he always wants to hold, straving even. the hands that always perfectly fits with his like a puzzle, the warm, your pulse hitting your soft skin a little harder every time he holds it— oh, how he loves the feeling. “we both made mistakes. but we’re here now. can we start over?” you squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch. “yeah, i’d like that.”

he grins, the mischievous spark back in his eyes. “good. because i’ve got two years of teasing to make up for.” you laugh, shaking your head as your brain begging you to let go of his hands, so you did.

shaking your head slightly, you scoff, “bring it on, gojo. i’m ready.”

he shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “you know, i really did miss you. it wasn’t the same without my best friend around.”

best-friend, fucking hate that word’ you thought.

you look at him, the honesty in his words melting away the last remnants of your anger and blossoming the garden of regret and sadness you used to grow, still. “i missed you too,” you smile so little, just like how your feelings made you feel right now. “more than i wanted to admit,” you added, jokingly.

gojo chuckles softly. “well, lucky for you, i’m back now. and i’m not going anywhere.”

please don't— you want to beg him, wishing he wouldn't make any promises, you hope he would go anywhere. at least until these feelings start to leave your body, faded, disappearing like whispers on the wind.

but you smile because feeling a sense of peace settles over you. “good,” you lie to yourself. “because i don't think i could handle losing you again,” it was a pleasure to be burn for gojo satoru, it was always a pleasure.

he looks at you, his eyes filled with tender intensity and something unfamiliar— you think, only to not realize he looks at you just like how the way you look at him. his love for you breaking all his bones and soul, but all he can do is just laugh; you were his best friend, after all. beautiful, crushingly so even, you look like the rest of my life— no, that's not how a best friend thinks of his best friend. gojo satoru wouldn't dare.

“you won’t. not if i can help it.”

the two of you just look at each other after that, with soft smiles on your faces, letting the weight of the past dissolve in the quiet night. under the moonlight, in the heart of the maze, it feels as if the world has been righted, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels as it should be.

or maybe it shouldn't.

gojo shifted slightly and reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “hey, i have something for you,” he said, his voice tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. curious, you watched as he pulled out an envelope. the paper was thick and elegant— the kind used for important occasions, a soft lavender color that stood out against the dark fabric of his suit. he handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours, sending a familiar warmth through you.

you took the envelope, feeling a mix of anticipation and dread. opening it carefully, you find a beautifully crafted wedding invitation inside. the names on it made your breath catch in your throat: satoru gojo and his fiancée.

your heart sank, but you managed to keep your expression neutral. “satoru..” your voice came out as a whisper, blending with the soft hustle of the leaves. “this is lovely,” you said, forcing a smile as you looked up at him.

satoru's eyes searched yours as if trying to read your thoughts. the grief— it's all over your eyes, the grief that is more honest to him than you ever could. but gojo does not know the reason, why are you grieving? it is because of your sorrow and he can't give you the shoulder? or is it because you, once again, are letting yourself burn for loving him? the saddest is, he doesn't know that, not that he has to.

is it still a pleasure to burn for him now?

“i wanted you to have it first,” he said quietly. “you've always been important to me, more than anyone else.” the weight of his words hung in the air, making it harder to maintain your composure. “thank you,” you replied, your voice barely steady. “i wouldn't miss it for the world.”

you smile at each other as if trying to comfort each other. “are you pleased?” he asked softly— too afraid if his voice came out louder, he would break you. please, don't say yes’ he begged his heart. just say the word, y/n’ he continued. he begged, once, twice, three time, for the past twelve years of his life knowing you, under the moonlight, to the moon that you say the words, begging him to stop the wedding. just say the word and he'll come running to you.

you groan a little, “pleased? oh, i'm destroyed.”

no, he was destroyed.

so he leaned closer, faster enough to fill his eyes with a mixture of affection and again, something you couldn't quite identify. “you know, you’ve always been my closest friend. my confidant. my anchor.” you nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “and you’ve been mine,” you said softly, the unspoken words lingering between you.

the silence between you grew heavier as you stared at the lavender envelope in your hands. with a deep breath, you carefully opened the lavender envelope, your fingers trembling. the wedding invitation was exquisitely crafted, each detail speaking of the elegance and care that had gone into its creation. the elegant script revealing the date. seven weeks from now. your heart sank further, the realization hitting you like a wave.

you looked up at gojo, the question evident in your eyes. “seven weeks?” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. “that's. . . soon.” he nodded, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “yeah, it's a ‘shotgun’ wedding,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “things have been moving quickly when you are not around,” your heart ached at his words, the reality of his imminent marriage sinking in. “why so soon?" you asked, struggling to keep the tears at bay. “you are going to be a father? is that allowed?”

he chuckled at your attempt to joke, trying to hide the sadness that was so clearly there behind his eyes. the smile on his lips didn’t quite reach them, but he tried his best to keep up a brave face for you.

he scoffs, “apparently, they did,” he nodded.

he shrugged nonchalantly, trying to act as though it didn’t bother him in the slightest. he didn’t want you to know just how much turmoil he was facing with this entire situation. “yeah, not like we had much of a choice in the whole matter . . .” the fact that he was getting married had been eating at him for weeks. all of that time he had spent with you, all the memories. in just seven short, short weeks it would come to an end. he wanted to tell you. tell you just how much you meant to him, but . . .

but what? would it do any good?

your hand is gripping tightly around the bouquet, so tight, suffocating, until— for the second time that night the spine digs itself through your skin, straight to your heart— the pain, it's unbearable, you feel like dying.

there was a long pause, the maze around you silent except for the faint rustling of leaves. you wanted to tell him everything, to confess how much he meant to you, but fear held you back. instead, you tried to focus on the moment, on the bittersweet reality of his impending marriage. “oh, my god—” you choke on your own. one hand covering your mouth before you face him.

satoru reached out and took your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “promise me we’ll always be friends, no matter what,” he said, his voice almost pleading. you squeezed his hand, fighting back tears. “always,” you promised, even as your heart shattered a little more. your hands, the one he wants to carry his heart by.

your eyes are shaking, matching his heart, it's hurting. “i'm so happy for you,” your smile didn't reach your eyes. someone once said that people's hearts appear in their eyes, gojo can see yours now; it's broken, shattered before him.

please don't be happy for me, be miserable, so i don't have the heart to leave you, so i can be with you,’ he wants to scream at you.

“oh, god, i'm so happy for you. . .”

look at you, a girl who doesn't believe in god now crying, begging, pleading while calling his name because the pain was unbearable. how is cruel love can be?

the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, the lavender invitation between you acting as both a bridge and a barrier. you took a deep breath, feeling the tears welling up, and without thinking, you pulled gojo into a hug. he stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, wrapping his arms around you in a familiar embrace.

your tears flowed freely, once, twice, thrice, the moonlight catching them and making your eyes sparkle like crystals. “i’m happy for you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of joy and sorrow. satoru held you tighter, his breath warm against your ear. “thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “it means everything to me to have your support.”

the maze around you seemed to close in, the hedges whispering secrets and memories of times past. you clung to him, your heartbreaking and mending all at once, the scent of the night flowers mingling with the salt of your tears. “i wish you every happiness,” you continued, your words barely more than a breath. “you deserve it, ‘toru. you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. his own were glistening, the usual sparkle tempered by the weight of the moment. “and you deserve happiness too,” he said softly, his thumb gently brushing a tear from your cheek. “promise me you’ll find it.”

your foreheads met, and the gentle press of his skin against yours felt like the most natural thing in the world. your breaths mingled, soft and warm, creating a delicate rhythm that only the two of you shared, a silent conversation of souls.

his eyes, filled with a depth of emotion you had always known but never fully understood, locked with yours. the moonlight bathed you both in a soft, ethereal glow, casting a spell that held the night in a timeless embrace. every unspoken word, every hidden feeling, shimmered in the air between you, a tapestry of love and longing woven through years of friendship.

gojo's hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he were afraid you might disappear. slowly, almost reverently, he began to close the gap between you. his movements were unhurried, each inch a testament to the gravity of the moment, the culmination of everything that had been left unsaid.

your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, erratic beat that seemed to echo through the silence. the anticipation was electric, every second stretched into an eternity. as his lips drew nearer, you felt the world around you blur into insignificance, the maze and the moonlight fading into the background. then, with a tenderness that took your breath away, his lips brushed against yours. the touch was soft, almost tentative, like the whisper of a dream.

oh, how empty he is to be full by you.

the contact sent a shiver through you, a spark that ignited every fiber of your being. you responded instinctively, your hands finding their way to his face, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

the kiss was everything—a confession, a promise, a revelation. it spoke of years of hidden desires, of nights spent wondering, of the unbreakable bond that had always connected you. the taste of him, the feel of his lips moving against yours, was like coming home after a long, arduous journey.

when you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, you opened your eyes to find him gazing at you with an expression that mirrored your own—wonder, longing, and a profound sense of rightness. ‘longing’, such a tender name for such a miserable state of being.

you nodded, the ache in your chest making it hard to speak. “i’ll try,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “but right now, i just need to be here for you.” gojo’s gaze held yours, the moonlight illuminating the silent understanding passing between you. “you’ve always been there for me,” he said, his voice a soft caress. “and i hope you always will be.”

the world around you seemed to fade, the only sounds the rustling of the leaves and the steady beating of your hearts. you felt a bittersweet calm wash over you, knowing that despite everything, your bond with satoru was unbreakable, saddest.

“i will be,” you promised, your voice firm despite the tears. “no matter what.”

he smiled then, a small, tender smile that spoke of shared sorrow, of the disaster from loving you, but oh how he promised, i will always be this tender for you. “good,” he whispered, pulling you back into his arms. “because i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

his arm tightly around you as your cheeks rest against his chest— he gathers you up, folds you to his heart, and looks at each other a little too long to be just friends.

[edenesth]

The Painter's Muse

Pairing: painter!Wooyoung x princess!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

'Crazy Form' Comeback Special Series | Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho |

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"Stay still, your highness."

You fidgeted in your chair, adjusting the satin dress to alleviate the stifling warmth within the famous painter's studio. The movement inadvertently exposed more of your skin, causing him to clear his throat and avert his gaze, a blush colouring his cheeks.

After enduring hours of posing, you finally voiced a plea, "Wooyoung, it's been ages. Can we please take a short break?" The subtle pout on your lips sent a rush of emotions through him, the desire to kiss you now more potent than ever.

Succumbing to your request, he nodded hastily, "Y-you're right, let's take a break. I apologise for losing track of time, princess."

In reality, both of you needed the pause to collect your thoughts and calm the rapid beating of your hearts. The artist grappled with the realisation that nurturing feelings for the princess was a forbidden path. Surely, you were destined for a match of higher societal standing, not with a mere painter. But your enchanting presence made it increasingly difficult for him to resist falling in love with you.

The intricacies of this predicament were not lost on him—the princess of Wonderland being his muse presented its own complications, especially when emotions became entangled in the delicate dance of artistry and affection.

Wrapping a robe around yourself, you opened a window to let in the fresh air while Wooyoung occupied himself with tidying up his paintbrushes and changing the water. Stealing a few glances at his familiar silhouette, you sighed, contemplating the possibility of a future with him.

Never did you anticipate that things would progress to this point. It started months ago during one of your occasional trips to the town, seeking respite from the burdens of your princess duties. The joy of blending in with the commoners, momentarily forgetting your responsibilities, was something you cherished.

As an avid art enthusiast, nothing brought you greater delight than your visits to the local art museum. Unaware of the lingering gaze fixated on your every move, you settled into your regular spot at the museum one day. Little did you know, the very artworks that captivated you were born from the inspiration drawn from you.

The painter had committed every nuance of your ethereal beauty and graceful gestures to memory from the moment you first graced the museum with your presence. While Wooyoung was no stranger to the allure of beautiful noblewomen, there was an indescribable quality about you that set you apart.

As he observed you engrossed in one of his favourite paintings—a celestial figure bearing a striking resemblance to you—he felt compelled to unravel the mystery of your identity. What had initially captivated him was your poised demeanour, but over time, his admiration had blossomed into something more profound.

You looked up, meeting his gaze as he gathered the courage to take a seat beside you, marking the first time he made his presence known. Returning his polite smile, you gestured toward the painting, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

The artist nodded, a faint blush tinting his cheeks, "I agree. After all, it finds its full inspiration in you, my lady."

And that was how you met your favourite painter and how he discovered that his muse was none other than the sole princess of the nation. Despite the initial disbelief, he came to accept the truth, recognising the unique qualities that made you different—a true embodiment of royal elegance.

Since then, your visits to town have become more frequent, driven by the desire to spend more time with your new friend. As you grew closer, he gathered the courage to request the honour of painting you in person. Given your profound admiration for his work, you were more than happy to pose for his paintings.

Now, in one of your many sessions, there was tension lingering in the air. Both of you were acutely aware of each other in a different light as romantic feelings blossomed, leaving you both uncertain about how to address them.

Biting your lip, you shed the robe and settled back into your chair, frustration evident as Wooyoung deliberately avoided meeting your gaze. The awareness of mutual feelings lingered, yet the uncertainty weighed heavily. Both of you, usually playful and carefree, now trod cautiously, reluctant to overstep any boundaries.

It irked you—the palpable connection between you, the unspoken desire—yet the circumstances demanded a careful dance around your emotions.

Deep down, you pondered the unfairness of it all. If your brother, the crown prince, could marry a palace maid, why should there be obstacles for you and a talented painter like Wooyoung? Besides, he was no ordinary artist but a renowned one. Why should anyone else dictate who you could be with?

The resolve built within you. The opinions of others mattered little. No one can tell you what to do; you were the princess, and this is the man you love.

To hell with it. You're mine, Jung Wooyoung.

Opting to revive your playful side, you deliberately shifted around, purposefully trying to get on the artist's nerves. A smirk played on your lips when he emitted a tired sigh, "Princess, please, why are you being so difficult today?"

Your scoff echoed through the studio, "You're acting as if you don't already know what a brat I can be. Admit it, you secretly enjoy it."

He rolled his eyes, visibly uneasy as you continued your antics, causing your dress to ride up and reveal more skin, "Just sit still; we're almost done."

Crossing your legs, you shot him a defiant glare, "Well, what if I don't want it to be done?"

Frustrated, he set his brush down, reciprocating your glare, "I swear, princess, if you don't cooperate—"

With a challenging gaze, you interrupted, "And what exactly will you do about it?" Your taunt hung in the air as he shot up from his seat, advancing toward you, "Will you quit being a brat?" He growled.

You grinned mischievously, "Make me."

Unable to resist any longer, he muttered, "You asked for it, princess." Without a moment's hesitation, he leaned down, kissing you hard enough to leave both of your lips tingling and bruised. This was it; he was tired of feigning indifference, tired of concealing the depths of his love for you. The pretence was no longer sustainable; he craved to have you close to him every second of every day.

You smiled against his lips, reciprocating the fervour of his kiss. He pulled you close, orchestrating a swift turn until he was seated, and you straddled him on his lap.

Breaking the kiss, you both caught your breath as he rested his forehead against yours. Tenderly caressing his cheeks, you whispered, "I love you, Wooyoung."

His arms tightened around your waist, overwhelmed with emotion at finally hearing those words from you, "Are you sure, your highness? What would the people think?"

Cupping his jaw, you locked eyes with him, "It doesn't matter what they think; no one can stop me. Now, will you submit or stand beside me?"

Biting his lip, he responded, "I'll be on my knees, worshipping you for the rest of my life. I love you too, my princess."

By the end of the day, you found yourself subjected to endless teasing from your royal tutor. It seemed like a fitting revenge for your previous interference in his love life. Secretly, you relished the playful banter; it meant that what you and Wooyoung shared was real.

Holy crap, 400+ followers already?! Thank you all, my lovelies! <3

Also, this ended spicier than I planned HAHA only Mingi's part left to go and we're finished~

Tag list: @aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 @evidive

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[heartsforseo]

Straw hats with a member who was formally a celestial dragon's sl@Ve.

A/n: hehehe I always come back... *Insert the afton's bg music* request=?? requested: <yes> <no> wc: 1,140 warning: I only write for fun so grammar could be back. + some ooc?

⭑You found it incredibly challenging to open up to others due to your reserved nature. Despite hoping that Jinbe's arrival would provide an opportunity for conversation, your shyness prevented you from engaging with him. Thus, when a celestial dragon attacked the sunny and remembered you, the entire crew was taken aback by the unexpected turn of events.

⭑Luffy would be SHOOK amid the battle and pause for a bit.

⭑He'd turn and look for you, looking for an affirmation.

⭑Would shout your name a million times until you say something.

⭑When you said yes he'd have mixed feelings (sad and mad generally). Questions would start popping up, leaving him wondering why you hadn't said anything from the beginning.

⭑After he's done with the celestial dragon, he'll drag you and push you to talk.

⭑After your explanation, becoming the pirate king and destroying all the celestial dragons would give him more reasons to do so.

⭑Zoro wouldn't hear about you being a slave. He's either lost or focused on eliminating the marines guarding the boat.

⭑So when he returned to the ship and noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere, he would be perplexed and ask what had happened.

⭑He's not good with words and comforting so he'll just shrug about it.

⭑But he'd still be worried of course. He'd mutter "You can talk to me when you need someone, you know?"

⭑You turned around, making sure that he said it. But he'd turn and walk away.

⭑He's blushing inside and out so I hope you'll take his words seriously!

⭑Unlike Zoro, Nami would be mad AFFF.

⭑She's not just mad at the celestial dragon but also you! The Straw Hats are a family, and there should be no secrets.

⭑Big sister mode activated: When you need to open up, she will be there to provide comfort and gently guide you through the process. She will support you by holding your hand and ensuring that you feel safe and supported every step of the way.

⭑After you're done explaining, she'd try to distract you about the past and would do shopping with you and Robin.

⭑Would def give weird stares to the celestial dragons the crew would meet.

⭑She's now your therapist so congratulations!

⭑Poor Ussop. Boy was already pissing then he found out about your situation.

⭑He'd feel sad after the argument. He never realized something major had happened to you before! I mean, you know how to hide it…

⭑Tried to assist you by offering you coffee and gave some words of encouragement.

⭑For example: "At least you're with us now..." or "That's alright, it was all in the past now."

⭑At one point, he was so worried that he accidentally splashed Zoro's shirt with the coffee he was supposed to give you, causing them to bicker.

⭑It earned you a little laugh, and with that, Ussop was already happy.

⭑Sanji, on the other hand, would pause on what the celestial dragon said.

⭑Whether it was true or not, he directly attacked the celestial dragon.

⭑No female should ever go through that pain. Even if he hadn't experienced it, he knows how hard it would've been.

⭑He'd shower you with praises and affection. "You did so good holding it all up..." or "You're here with us now. You can always rely on us..."

⭑He was also the one who filled Zoro up on what was happening.

⭑Would look at you from time to time to see how you're doing.

⭑ Chopper would be SHOCKED and worried.

⭑He starts thinking about the pain and wounds that you’ve gotten. It clicked to him and finally realized why you used to have a lot of scars on your back + arms.

⭑While you’re explaining to the crew your experience, Chopper went to his office and made some anti-anxiety pills ‘cause he doesn’t want you to suffer anymore. (Robin had to kick him out).

⭑Would look at you endearingly and hold your hand around the ship. He just wants to make sure nothing bad will happen to you!

⭑Other than that, Chopper would still act normal and do some silly stuff with Luffy and Ussop.

⭑Robin is Robin. She already had some suspicions about your past, but she wants to hear the truth directly from your mouth.

⭑When she heard what the celestial dragon said she was a bit shocked. Yes, she had thought about it, but another person who suffered from the world government?

⭑She wanted to hold you right then and there.

⭑If Nami’s sitting on your left then she’d be on your right. She’d pat your back and make you some tea. (Ussop’s coffee did not make it😔)

⭑After the talk, she became your therapist (w/h Nami. 2 heads are better than one they say.

⭑Will try to keep an ear out for you when you disappear on her POV and in an unknown place. (Yes an EAR)

⭑Franky was SUPERRRR shocked. Like Robin, he knew you were hiding something either. But he didn’t push through. Your business is your business.

⭑Would be the one bombing the celestial dragon’s ship.

⭑While you were explaining your past, Franky was crying loudly and was playing sad music in the corner. (He had to get moved since his crying ws louder than ur voice)

⭑After the incident, nothing major really changed your dynamic.

⭑You both were still goofy and you’d still do the “SUPERRR” pose with him.

⭑But even so, Franky is still glad that your past didn’t affect the present negatively; instead, it made you stronger.

⭑Brook is another person who'll be shocked.

⭑He didn't think much about everyone's past. He likes to mind his own business and when someone opens up to him, he'll listen wholeheartedly and give some advice.

⭑So when you open up to the whole crew he'll just listen. He'd give some side comments here and there but that's that.

⭑Like Franky, nothing would change with your dynamic. He might be a little protective but he knows that you could handle yourself.

⭑The moral of the story is to find someone like Brook.

⭑Jimbei would be mad mad AF

⭑He's Luffy but 10x worse when it comes to the celestial dragon topic.

⭑He was never captured as a slave, but as a member of the Fishman species, he understands the immense hardships that must have been inflicted upon them. Being subjected to torture at the hands of one's kind was an even more maddening experience.

⭑But even so, Jimbei would be happy that you're finally free and is with the crew.

⭑After your discussion with the group, he would politely excuse himself and usher you into a private conversation. His demeanor would resemble that of an older brother, emanating a deep sense of care and understanding, while also imparting his valuable knowledge.

⭑Safe to say you have another buddy to talk with.

A/n: I LOVE JIMBEI SO MUCH.

[eldritch-spouse]

Kalymir and tactition reader? Sort of a brains and brawn situation?

[I enjoy this. "Big dumb villain and their smart assistant that's not paid enough"-core.]

He starts pacing around the table, always does, when something you say isn't to his liking.

" DON'T FUCK ME! "

Fortunately, you were hired to be the brains to his muscle, not to glaze his metaphorical balls.

" M'lord I'm fairly certain I couldn't even if I tired. " You eye him up and down, silently asking if he's done with his bitchfit. " Nonetheless, I believe this is no time to be aggressive. You'd do well to send scouts- "

" SCOUTS?! " He snarls at the top of his rather annoyingly large lungs. Some kind of battle axe flies over your head, decapitating baby hairs. You barely blink as it embeds itself into the wall behind you. " THIS IS BARELY A PROPER SETTLEMENT! I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO EVEN THINK ABOUT THIS PIECE OF SHIT RESISTANCE POCKET- "

The King stomps forward on mighty talons, nearly swiping your pondering orb away as he gestures toward it with a fury of such might that it makes the muscles in his arms swell.

" LOOK AT THESE INSECTS! "

" Precisely. "

The demonlord looks as if his honest desire is to cut your back open and slurp the spinal cord out. Yet, in the midst of the anger constantly frying his nerve endings, is a tungsten carbide core of minimal intelligence that reminds him eviscerating you is a most terrible idea.

" EXPLAIN THEN, YOU MOUTHY CUNT. "

" I've been trying to do so this entire time. "

" THE FUCKING NERVE Y- "

" This resistance pocket- " You start, snapping your fingers repeatedly as if trying to garner a large dog's attention. " Is mixed and dangerous, m'lord. "

Although Kalymir is visibly fuming, he does listen.

You scroll through the field of view offered by the hidden summoned aid currently hiding in tall trees. It provides a top-down map feed of the location Kalymir's latest headache has been operating from. Currently, at least. People buzz from one side to another, not many in numbers but extremely well-organized and efficient, almost as if controlled by something.

" Notice there are more than just wrathful demons in the midst, this group employs humans and monsters, especially the less social of the bunch. The kind of monster you'd find hiding in darkened places, isolated but by no means uneducated. To gain the alliance of these monsters, one would need a surprising sense of- "

" I'M FUCKING SNOOZING HERE... "

Sometimes, you're the one that wants to maul him.

There's a tired sigh.

" Harmonious diversity equals no-no. "

Pause.

" I'M NOT A BABY, YOU SURFACE WHORE. "

" Putting that aside, I'm sure you've noticed by now, that they brandish weapons of ancient times. The very things that allowed the initial group to leave the Rings unscathed despite being hunted, not just in Wrath but in the territory of all the Lords you've made agreements with. "

" CELESTIAL WEAPONRY. " The warlord sneers, thoughtful.

" Yes. "

Kalymir shakes his head.

" YOU CAN'T TELL ME THEY'RE ALLIED TO ANGELS! MOST ARE DEMONS, YOU CAN'T BRIBE ANGELS INTO HANDING THEIR TOOLS OVER- " He slams both fists onto the worn and dented table, making your chair jump. " THEY'RE HARDLY EVEN SEEN. AND LIKE FUCKING HELL THESE PARASITES CAN KILL ONE! "

A smug smile tugs your lips. " But, my King, they don't need to be allied to angels to have those. "

Kalymir makes a rare effort to calm down, sharpened claws tapping at the same table. You can hear a heavy-tipped tail swing, the woosh mildly distracting.

" SPEAK! "

" The archives. "

You can hear the gears melting in his cranium.

" THE ARCHIVES... " He stands, mighty body straight as he beings putting two and two together. " THE ARCHIVES! "

You nod, arms crossing.

Not just any archives, the Royal Archives of Wrath, containing a litany of detailed instructions in old Infernal about how to dispatch different types of celestials. The same archives that guarded weapons of Eden stolen from perished angels, weapons that destroyed the limbs of the brave demons who managed to retrieve them, whose core names and sigils have been carved into the cases holding these artifacts. Those are the only celestial weapons left behind, as far as anyone knows. The type of material prize a lord of Wrath would die protecting.

" NO! " He barks once he realizes the first possibility that statement implies.

" Yes, my King. "

" NO ONE COULD HAVE BROKEN IN, YOU SNOT-BRAINED ANKLE BITER! "

Hm, that one's new.

He's right, no one could have broken in, he knows you know this, and the fact that you always seem one little step ahead of him is both infuriating to the King but also exciting.

" Correct. "

" THEN- "

" Who has access to the Royal Archives of Wrath? "

" I DO! I'M THE KING- "

" And who had access? "

As soon as you ask that, he falls eerily silent, pacing again, this time to the opposite display of weapons, subconsciously studying them as he thinks.

" IMPOSSIBLE. "

You recline on the chair, eyes closing. " Is it? "

" I BUTCHERED HIM! I HUMILIATED HIM. HIS VERY SKULL SITS ABOVE MY THRONE OF VICTORIES! "

" His offspring, my King. His descendants. " As far as you know, they were only juveniles when Kalymir murdered their father.

" ONE DIED IN THE CRUCIBLE... "

" The other...? "

Kalymir doesn't answer, he doesn't know. And neither did you, not until very recently.

You don't need to spell the implications out this time, he gets there on his own two synapses.

" YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS. " The demonlord bristles, not because he finds the suggestion ridiculous, but likely because it's going to make things a lot more interesting.

" But I am. He can't show his face, it'd be too risky, but some dissenting demons still recognize and have followed him to the surface. He then seeks the help of monsters living in the margins of societies or straight up outside of them, safer options to utilize holy weapons. And not just that, these monsters muddle our understanding of the resistance's origins and goals, adding humans to the mix just makes it all more confusing. Many of the non-demonic members are likely under contractual obligation to do this too, I'd reckon. "

The King is silent.

" Think about it. You lost track of them a long time ago. This prince-to-be witnessed the death of his father, his brother, his mother has likely died of old age. He has nothing. Nothing but a sweltering desire to dethrone you. This is his doing. "

A cruel glint settles in your eyes, belying that there is room for your frigid coldness in the boiling Ring.

" Unfortunately, he must have been too young to properly absorb his father's teachings, because this is amateurish at best. A little bit of care and thought is all you need to nip his budding plans, m'lord. "

The King smiles, drags a hand down his face, chest heaving faster as a very thunderous bark of raucous laughter shakes the entire fortress. The clapping of meaty red hands accentuates how wolfishly delighted he is.

" YOU GLORIOUS, ROTTEN WENCH! HOW COULD I NOT HAVE SEEN THIS?! "

Yes, really, how did he not see this a mile away? He should have figured it out before you, you actually had to do research concerning the past ruler of Wrath.

Kalymir damn near sprints towards you, reaching over the table to grab you up by the collar of your outfit.

" LEAD ME TO HIM, STRATEGIST. TELL ME HOW TO GET MY HANDS ON THE WORTHLES TWERP. I WILL WEAR HIS BROTHER'S SKIN. "

" Of course, my King. I will lead you to victory as always. "

" GOOD. GOOD LITTLE HUMAN. "

You're dropped back down unceremoniously, feeling a creak in your hip but remaining composed. Kalymir is clearly getting overly excited over the whole deal, you can tell he'll be obsessing over it from now on.

" WE WILL MAKE A NEW CHANDELIER OF HIS BONES. "

Satisfied, there's a pep to the demonlord's step as he makes to leave, opening the great doors to his hall.

" AND ONCE THIS IS OVER, YOU- "

" YOU WILL SIT BESIDE ME AS QUEEN. "

[devildom-drabbles]

Snippet - Last Name

How would each of the demon brothers react to MC saying that they’ll give him their last name?

“There aren’t any demons or angels that have last names, right?” MC randomly questioned the demon brother they were spending time with.  “Why is that?”

The demon explained how the beings in the Devildom and Celestial Realm were given one-of-a-kind names to distinguish them from others, unlike how many humans can share the same (first) name.  As such, having a second name was unnecessary.  Titles were more common to further establish their individuality, such as “Morning Star” for Lucifer and “Jewel of the Heavens” for Asmodeus when the two of them were angels.

“Do you wish you had a last name?” MC inquired.

The demon was mostly indifferent on the matter, but he did mention how he particularly liked MC’s last name. 

“In that case, I’ll give you my last name someday,” MC remarked in a casual manner.

He opened his mouth to reply but paused upon realizing what MC might’ve been implying.  A human typically would only share their last name with someone else when they were getting married to that individual.

Lucifer felt a surge of pride in his chest at the notion that MC intended to offer their last name (and their hand in marriage) to him alone.  Still, from how nonchalantly they had presented the notion, he had to make sure that both of them understood it in the same way. “You’re aware of what that would mean for us, right?” he asked them.  “It’s not something to take lightly, even if I’m not human.”  After watching MC nod their head confidently, a small grin tugged at Lucifer’s lips.  “Good.  Seeing as how you already belong to me, MC, it’s only natural that your last name would become mine, as well.  I look forward to when that day officially comes.”  (Time to start planning a real marriage proposal, Lucifer thought to himself.)

Mammon managed to choke on his saliva when he pieced together what MC likely was implying, which, on the bright side, provided him with an excuse as to why his cheeks were flushed.  All the money and rare treasures in the Devildom could never compare to the value of having MC’s last name all to himself.  “Th-The Great Mammon accepts your gift!” he declared once he finished coughing.  “If you’re gonna give your last name to anyone, obviously it’s gonna be me.  That means no one else can have it, got it?  No changin’ your mind, either!  A-And...don’t take too long to hand it over to me, ‘cause I’m ready to take it anytime.”  (Well, first, Mammon just needed to narrow down the best ring to give MC from his secret growing collection.)

Leviathan could've probably rattled off the long title of a human world anime that had a scene similar to this—that is, if he wasn’t currently short-circuiting in front of MC.  “Y-Y-Y-You’d give your l-l-last name to a gross shut-in otaku like m-me?!” he asked incredulously.  “You mean it?!  Are you sure?!”  Once MC reaffirmed their promise, Levi was certain he could die happy (but not right now!).  “Oh man, it feels like I just unlocked the highest ranking class in an RPG!  MC, I’ll wear your last name proudly and do everything I can to make sure you won’t regret choosing me to have it!  ...Uh, when I do get your last name, I mean.”  (Levi started focusing more on anime and game content that included marriage as references for how to be a good husband for MC in the future.)

Satan was left dumbfounded for a moment as he processed what MC was telling him.  “So then, you’re saying...you want to marry me at some point, correct?” he bluntly questioned them.  MC confirmed his suspicion, which brought a light blush to his face coupled with a pleased smile.  Although there was no record of a demon and human ever marrying each other, he couldn’t deny that he also wanted this with MC.  “All right.  I’ll make your dream a reality, and in return, you’ll share your last name with me.  This means we’ll spend the rest of your days together, too.  Let’s build a love so strong it’ll be the envy of all romance novels and poetry.”  (Afterward, while he was researching human marriage customs, he suddenly wondered if the cats he wanted to adopt with MC would also acquire their last name.)

Asmodeus squealed and bounced cheerfully in place before wrapping his arms around MC in a tight embrace.  Normally the concept of being permanently tied to someone would be unappealing to Asmo, but those qualms became nonexistent when it involved MC.  “I love you so much, MC!  I’ll make you the happiest human in all the three realms as Asmodeus [Last Name]!  Oh wow, my name was already gorgeous by itself, but with your last name added to it, it’s even better!  Come on, let’s get a pre-engagement photo together.  I can’t wait to brag to everyone on Devilgram about this.”  (Since MC already offered him their last name, Asmo decided that he’d be the one to get them an engagement ring.  But if MC buys him one, too, he certainly won’t complain.)

Beelzebub’s eyes twinkled with pure joy at MC’s promise.  “Really?  I’d like that a lot, MC,” he told them.  His words may have been a bit of an understatement, considering MC’s declaration filled him with so much glee that it was enough to satisfy the seemingly endless void in his stomach.  He couldn’t hold back his wide grin as he took their hands in his own and continued, “When I have your last name, we can finally be our own family.  We’ll wake up together, make breakfast together, go out for lunch together, eat dinner together...  Oh, yeah, I guess we mostly do that already, but it’ll be even more special than it is now.  Hehe, I can’t wait.”  (Despite the frequent distractions of thinking about wedding cake, Beel did take active steps to ensure that he’d be able to actually receive their last name.)

Belphegor perked up in surprise from MC’s words, the constant nagging urge to sleep vanishing in an instant.  He feared he may have accidentally dozed off mid-conversation and only dreamed of MC wanting him to have their last name.  Fortunately, the look on their face assured him that he had been awake, so his expression softened into genuine delight as he replied, “Okay, I like the sound of that.”  Rather than ending it there, his mischief (and inner excitement) got the better of him, causing him to add, “Although, if you’re planning to give your last name to me, then that also means I can take it anytime I want, right?  Even if it’s sooner than you expect?  Because I might just do that.”  (Belphie now had an unusually high level of motivation to take the next step in his relationship with MC.)

[redheadspark]

i had a small idea yesterday for the prompt session! druig with #’s 3, 15, and 18. maybe with reader after the emergence. they’re both EXHAUSTED and even though druig’s hurt, he still wants to make sure his s/o is okay after fighting. you can change things around to your liking ofc!

A/N - YAS! I do like this a lot for Druig! Thanks for requesting this, dear friend!

Scars and All

Summary - Druig seeks you out after the Emergence

Warnings - angst and fluff mixed together

“How is she?”

“I’m more concerned about you since you took a beating from Ikaris on that beach,”

Druig huffed as Phastos was looking him over with some of his equipment, being ever patient but not willing to sit through a thorough exam.  He was sitting on what was left of Phastos’s work table, his armor stripped, and was only sporting his black pants and nasty bruises along his ivory skin.  Phastos and Thena were with him and taking the proper measures to check on him, Sersi was talking to a now-human Sprite in the Meeting Room, leaving Makkari to tend to you in your shared room with Druig.  Although Druig knew that Thena would hold him down in order for him to get checked over and be cleared, he would rather be with you.

You both took a beating on that beach in order to save the world.

Druig took on Ikaris’s beams head-on, thinking for a split moment that he wasn’t going to make it out alive.  It left him both physically and mentally bruised, not to mention the mental fatigue that he endured ignorer to take over the mind of a full Celestial.  Throughout the centuries that he has been on Earth, this was truly the first time he felt beyond tired.  

Not tired, exhausted.

“Your internal organs are still good,” Phastos hummed as he scanned Druig’s backside slowly and with determination, Druig’s leg bouncing on the workstation table as he was sitting Indian Style.  Even his fingers were fidgeting while he was staring dead ahead at the wall.  He was half listening, mostly thinking about you and how you were holding up.  Seeing you on the beach covered in scratch wounds and pale to the touch made his heart sink.  Saving the world didn’t matter to him anymore, nor did stopping Ikaris and stopping Tiamat.  All that mattered was you.

He needed to see you and make sure you were alright.

“The bruises are gonna last a bit,” Phastos explained as Druig was still sitting rather impatiently, Thena was watching like a hawk and not moving an inch while Phastos placed his instruments down and gave Druig a brotherly kind of stare, “I can have Makkiar get some herbs to make a paste and make the bruises shrink down a bit.”

“Not a fan of modern medicine I take it?” Druig asked with a hint of sarcasm, though Phastos cracked a grin.

“Modern medicine is too tame compared to what we endured in the glory days,” Phastos hummed, then pausing for a brief moment before he spoke again, “Plus, we need to be careful since we don’t have Ajak to help us,”

It made the mood more somber in the room, even when it was rue.  Ajak was always there to heal them, from the smallest scratches to the more massive wounds that they would get from Deviants.  The healing was more than the physical, her soothing tones and words of encouragement for every Eternal.  Even Druig, though they both clash plenty of times when it comes to the philosophy of Eternals, admired Ajak all the more and missed her terribly.  

“Thanks, Phastos,” Druig replied with a soft smile, hopping down from the workstation table.

“Get some rest,” Thena instructed him with a small tilt of her head to him.  Druig nodded back.

“Will do,” He replied walking past both Phastos and Thena to the hallways that lead to the living quarters.  He was glad that he was cleared from needing anymore assistance, and he was not thinking about himself at the current moment.  

“Couldn’t gone worse for him if it wasn’t for her,” Phastos said to Thena as Druig was walking away, his eyes going right down the hallway and nothing slowing him down.

“She saved his life, as she should since they were meant for each other,” Thena replied in an optimistic hum, which made Druig wish he could smile from hearing that from the warrior herself.  He might have been too tired to smile, or simply more concerned about you to smile from the comment.  But it still warmed his heart nonetheless, adoring Thena all the more.

Once he made it to your shared room, He carefully and softly opened the door to see nothing but darkness.  Your king-sized bed was against the wall, you were nestled amongst the satin sheets and already sleeping with Makkari sitting by your side and keeping a close eye on you.  

Makkari, still clad in her armor, saw Druig and immediately sped over to him, She’s okay.

“Thanks, ‘Kari,” He whispered to her as he gestured his head over to your sleeping form, “How bad is it?”

Her cuts are deep, but they’ll heal in a few days, She explained to him, I know how to make a paste for her wounds to make the healing go a bit faster.  I’ll make some for you too, I think you two need some rest,

“You might be right,” he agreed, seeing her crack a smile slightly before she leaned over to hug him gently.  He hugged her back, feeling her warmth in the embrace.  Once Makkari pulled away and slipped out of the room, Druig looked over at your sleeping form with both concerns and warmth.  

Warmth that you were alive and still with him in this life, and concern that you took a beating to protect him. 

He loved watching you sleep in the past, seeing how soft and content you were as you dreamed away with nothing haunting you.  There were even moments when he would watch you and be amazed at how peaceful you seemed to be in a chaotic and ever-grieving world around you.  He loved that about you and he wished he had that in himself sometimes.  

You had enough love and compassion to fill the both of you up instantly and overflow.  

Moving without him making a single sound, Druig lifted the sheet to finally see you.  The distinct slash marks along your skin, the deep bruises etched near your neck and hips. It was all too much for him to see.  You were never one to harm a fly or start trouble, it wasn’t in your nature.  Yet now, you looked so broken to Druig that it made his heart shatter. 

Immediately he moved, wrapped you close in his arms, and avoided some of the fresher wounds.  You stirred, your head against his neck now as he hummed to alert you.

“…Druig?” You said in a hoarse tone.

“I’m right here, darlin’.  Go back to sleep,” He mumbled to you since the last thing he wanted was for you to wake up and lose sleep.  You moved your arms, grimacing from the drained energy and the tender bruises along your arms.  

“You okay?” You asked him.  Of course, you would be worried for him and his health, not even worried about your own wounds and exhaustion.  Druig loved you for your selfless heart and need to care for others before yourself, both a blessing and a curse for him to witness as the love of your life.  He kissed your forehead, feeling his own energy draining within moments from being in a safe space with you and being in one piece.

“I’m alright now,” he reassured you soothingly, “We’re both alright now.  Let’s sleep, alright?  I got ya,”

As you both slept and healed together, all you both could dream of was your future together.  No matter that there was no village to go back to, losing some of your own to both the Deviants and Ikaris at the same time, none of that mattered compared to what you two wanted in your future together.  Somewhere quiet and away from chaos, maybe near the sea or deep in the forest.  Just you and Druig against the world, scars and all.

The End. 

September Prompt Session

[666writingcafe]

New Voice Messages (Part Three)

Lucifer

"Hey. I know it's late and you're probably asleep, so you don't have to respond to this right away. I should be asleep, but I keep tossing and turning whenever I try, so I gave up on that hours ago. I'm currently sitting on the rooftop, looking up at the night sky. Well, and recording this message, but that's self-explanatory, I feel. *sighs* Don't mind my rambling. I'm both incredibly tired and slightly tipsy. I finally got around to trying the bottle of Demonus that Diavolo gave us as a housewarming gift, and it's pretty decent. I had a couple glasses of it before coming up here, thinking that it'd help put me to sleep. Obviously, it hasn't, but it was worth trying, I suppose. I at least feel like I can respond to your note without choking on my words or banging my head in frustration. *briefly pauses* Given the way you signed off on it, I'm going to assume that you trust me enough to not abuse your old name. That's also why I'm outside. Less likely to be overheard using it by my brothers. If that's okay with you. If it's not, feel free to tell me off for it the next time we meet. So, MC. *pauses again before lightly singing MC's name* Have I ever told you it's a pretty name? Saying it is comforting somehow. *clears his throat* Sorry. Like I said, I'm a bit drunk."

"Feeling more in control now. Might still ramble a bit, but hopefully not as much as before. *takes a deep breath* The first time I read your note, I ended up crying. Not because you said something wrong, but because it was...sweet? Is that the word I'm looking for? *briefly pauses as a gust of wind gets picked up on the mic* It'll have to do for now, I guess. Anyway...it's interesting how you and Diavolo said more or less the same thing, and yet I'm more inclined to listen to you than I am to him. Perhaps it's the difference in tone? I could definitely tell that he was getting frustrated with me towards the end of our phone call. I know there's a part of him that sees me as a really shiny toy, one that he's quite territorial over. If I were to leave his side, he'd throw a massive fit, I'd imagine, and he might start a war over it. Which is silly. I'm not worth fighting over. *pauses* And yet everyone seems to for some reason. It's like I cause people to lose their minds. I don't know if it's due to the amount of titles and prestige I've had or my physical appearance or something else entirely, but they seem to all go into hysteria after spending any significant amount of time with me. Except for you, MC. You don't care about Lucifer Morningstar, former Lightbringer, Avatar of Pride, yadda yadda yadda. You simply see me as me, if that makes sense. You want to make sure that I'm okay, and you don't expect anything in return. It's a way of repaying back the kindness bestowed upon you in your situation, I suppose. And it'd be cruel of me to ignore all of that and still plunge to my death. So I'm staying. *pauses* You're right. This does feel weird. You better make good on your promise, MC, or I may end up changing my mind again. *chuckles* Don't take that last part too seriously. I'm merely messing with you a bit."

"You know, I wonder what my brothers are thinking about this...offer being made to us. I already know Mammon and Beel would stay, and Belphie's going to do whatever Beel does, but I'm not sure about Levi and Asmo. I mean, you were there when Asmo was yelling at me about leaving the Celestial Realm. Do you think he's eagerly packing his bags as we speak, or--"

A Few Hours Later

"Sorry about the abrupt ending of my last message. Mammon caught me on the rooftop. We ended up talking for a while. *pauses* The two of us have an interesting relationship. Kinda similar to the one I have with Satan. Mammon's sort of my brother and sort of my son, except he didn't spring out of me like Satan did. He's the first angel I felt the need to protect. Everyone else was prepared to throw him away, even though he was merely a child. I couldn't sit back and let them treat him like that, especially not after I held him in my arms as he was crying. He was around the Chihuahua's age when that happened. *clears his throat* I apologize. I know you don't like me calling Luke a chihuahua. I really am trying not to. *pauses* So yeah. Satan's technically the third oldest, since he came into existence in my mind shortly after I took Mammon under my wing. Levi came into the picture when Mammon was a teenager, and the others when he was just becoming a fully-grown angel. *pauses again* It was actually Mammon that insisted that we take care of them, and he was so earnest about it that I couldn't say no. I mean, the fact that he was willing to do for others what I've done for him...I was quite proud of him. Still am, even though he insists on putting on a persona these days. I know deep down, he still cares about everyone. *pauses yet again* Is it weird that I feel comfortable sharing all of this with you, MC? It might be the alcohol still affecting me, but somehow I don't think it is. I...I think I've come to trust you. Completely. I haven't even gotten there with Diavolo yet, and I've known him a lot longer. *chuckles* You truly are special, little lamb. *silence* Shit. That wasn't supposed to be said out loud. I better go before I start calling you more silly nicknames. Good night, MC."

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix

[sundaynightlive]

Fresh Night Air [Book was there, it was there…](Greatwise)

Disclaimers: No age gap shit. They’re 16 and 17 respectively.

Also: I do not hate Mike or any of Will’s friends—I’m just exploring the way they might tip toe around him after all the shite he’s been through.

Realistically: I ship Byler. But I like healthy love interests MOST and whatever’s going on in ST right now is not that, so why not throw a Gareth in there?

If it’s not your thing, I get it :) I only wanted to write a sweet little happy-Will fic with LIGHT angst for like two seconds. If you’re going, have a good rest of your day <3 peace and love darlings.

If you’re staying, enjoy :)

“Gareth Emerson,” the boy introduces, and Will shakes his hand over the table. He’s still a little pissed about his friends joining another party while he was in California, but when’s the last time Mike took anything Will said seriously, ever?

He shouldn’t be surprised.

They sit back down—across from each other, no less—and turn their attention to Eddie now that they’ve all been decently acquainted. The DM claps his hands together and rubs his palms excitedly—despite Will’s initial annoyance at being completely and utterly betrayed, he actually really likes Eddie, fangs and all. He’s cool, he’s nice, and he’s the only Upside Down monster that doesn’t wanna kill or eat any of them, save for the occasional half-cup of blood that seems to satisfy him completely.

They had all been astounded at the convenience of that—blood being so filling.

Or maybe Eddie’s affliction hadn’t fully taken by the time they got his body out of the Upside Down and a troupe of federal scientists pumped him full of drugs—they aren’t totally sure.

Either way, he’s a sad excuse for a vampire, and a completely awesome dungeon master.

“Good evening, intrepid heroes, and welcome to my eighth,” Eddie pauses, as if he’s in awe of that number himself, “And best campaign yet. Drumroll, please!” Will starts a little as the boys around him (plus Erica) begin to pound on the table with their fists. Will joins them after a moment, allowing himself to grin both at the nerdiness, and the undeniable giddy excitement that’s filling his chest and shoulders.

Eddie uses his hands to push his feet up on his seat—his throne, really—and then stands, throwing his arms out wide—

“Plight of the Hellwalkers!” A cheer rises up from the table, as if any of them know what that means other than tieflings and devils and the sort. Maybe something celestial, if any of them are feeling particularly combatant. Will’s already got all these ideas forming in his brain—he’s known for being pretty creative when it comes to PC’s. Will the Wise hadn’t exactly been the height of ingenuity, but Mike hadn’t always wanted to DM a complicated character—he just wanted to run impossible dungeons and make his players sweat.

Eddie’s a different story.

Will’s running all kinds of characters through his brain when he notices Gareth looking at him. Will would’ve thought he’d be chatting with all the other boys, or even with Eddie since the two of them seem to be pretty close—but no. He’s looking at Will.

Hesitantly, Will makes eye-contact with him. Gareth doesn’t seem bothered about getting caught staring. Will’s brows furrow—this is… weird. They just met not even five minutes ago.

What? He mouths.

Gareth holds up a finger, like he’s gonna tell Will in a second. Will’s confused by this (because when are they gonna have a second?) until Eddie announces today’s session is all about working on PC’s, and in order to keep the campaign interesting and fun, he’d like them all to leave the room and come back in one by one so he can get a brief idea of each character, by the end of today, and hopefully by next session, have everything ready to go.

And then he says—

“Gareth, you first. And then Mike. And after that I don’t care who goes when—figure it out.” Gareth gives Will one last glance. He raises an eyebrow. Then, he absentmindedly looks over at Eddie, and finds he’s staring daggers into the side of Gareth’s skull.

What is happening?

Still perplexed, he leaves the auditorium with his friends, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being discussed in the room they left behind. He picks at his clothes—his nice, plaid button-down and his khakis. He feels kind of stupid—everyone else has a Hellfire t-shirt of some sort—all his friends in a baseball tee, and some of the older members in what are probably older t-shirts. All Eddie’s school-allocated budget must go towards them—Will’s certain they probably don’t get more than fifty bucks, if that.

“So?”

Will starts as Mike throws an arm around his shoulders, completely oblivious to how that affects him.

“Isn’t it fucking awesome?”

Will snorts at the profanity—Mike’s been cussing more and more since he started tailing Eddie like a lost puppy. Will assumes he thinks it makes him sound cool—not that he has anything against cussing, it’s just a little funny to him that Mike never talked like that before.

“Totally,” Will says, letting a little sarcasm seep into his tone, “You just couldn’t resist breaking your promise, could you?” Mike’s eyes widen—deer caught in headlights.

“I–it’s—you never said anything about extracurriculars!” Mike tries, and Lucas and Dustin burst out laughing at the lame attempt at an excuse. Will rolls his eyes, shrugging off Mike’s arm.

“Asshole,” he mumbles. Lucas and Dustin roar with more laughter as Mike looks for other excuses—Eddie this, Dustin that—

“Dustin didn’t promise me anything,” Will points out, and Mike groans.

“Dog house!” Erica is teasing, “Mike’s in troooooubleeeee.”

Truth be told, Mike’s not in trouble. There was certainly an initial sting—the only thing Will had asked of him had not been honored—but beyond that, Will’s not fond of holding grudges, especially given he knows full well how quickly life can go from bad to worse.

It’s just fun to watch Mike squirm.

“I’m sorryyyyyy,” Mike whines, “But Eddie’s just so cool and I couldn’t say no!” He puts both hands on Will’s shoulders, shaking him lightly. Will bites his lip to stifle his grin—the way Mike is pouting at him for forgiveness is equal parts adorable and hilarious.

“Forgive me?”

Will shakes his head, still biting back that grin.

“Figure out how to make it up to me—then we’ll talk.”

Mike straightens up, puts two fingers against his forehead, and dramatically salutes. Will loses the ability to stifle his grin and fully laughs at this ridiculousness.

They’re alive, they’re friends again, and Will’s desperate crush is dwindling by the day seeing how happy his sister is. Will couldn’t stay mad at his best friend for anything, and he won’t go on liking him, either.

Things are okay. Things are on their way to good, again.

“Wheeler—get your bony ass in there.”

And that’s Gareth.

“You—” he points directly at Will, exactly like Will figured he might, “Can I steal you for a second?”

Will stands. He doesn’t miss the confused look that Mike gives him, but he does choose to ignore it, mostly because he’s equally as confused. Gareth motions for Will to follow him outside, and sensing no danger or malintent, he decides there’s no point in saying no, especially since he’s not certain how long he’s gonna be sitting bored on this bench otherwise.

“Okay,” Gareth says, once the doors are shut firmly behind them. The night air is cool and nice on Will’s skin. He wants to take a deep breath—relish in all this comfort of being home, of being able to breathe—but he doesn’t know if Gareth would clock that weird reaction to just stepping out. So he tells himself he’ll take that moment later. “I had a crazy idea, and I wanted to know if you’d be down.”

Will raises an eyebrow.

“I’m listening.”

“So, totally shoot me down if you have a better idea, but I think it would be sick to play as angels—you know, since it’s a hell campaign—but specifically an Angel still in line with Heaven’s order, and a fallen one. So, they like, know each other super well, but also are at odds with each other, and like, one’s trying to convince the other to fall and vice versa.”

Gareth looks at him expectantly. Will stares back, trying to comprehend how Gareth even…

Gareth must have read his mind.

There’s no other explanation for how spot on that idea is compared to all the concepts he’d had running around in his own head mere moments ago. And not only that, but Gareth is looking at him like… how did Will not notice he looked like that, before? Why is it only now that—

“Hello? Earth to Byers?” Will starts. Right—he has to answer.

“Yeah—I mean, that sounds awesome,” he manages, cheeks growing pink in embarrassment. He looks away from Gareth’s cool gaze, unsure how to handle the feelings he’s feeling at this moment. Excitement, anxiety—and a myriad of other things he doesn’t feel right naming yet.

“Awesome,” Gareth repeats, slugging him lightly in the shoulder. Will’s whole stomach jumps into his throat.

This cannot be happening.

“So, if you’re down, I’m free tomorrow night. We could kick it at my place and talk background and logistics and shit.”

That’s a terrible idea.

“Sounds great,” Will says, and in his mind he’s repeatedly kicking the shit out of his own kneecaps. He wishes he were a stronger man, but the idea of playing a character that’s not only complex in his own way, but has a strained relationship to another PC? It’s too good to pass up. Plus, Gareth already talked to Eddie, so Will get’s to play under a DM who’s capable of managing that kind of storyline—it fills his chest with something downright palpable.

“Fuck, I’m excited,” Gareth says.

“Me, too.”

Will wonders briefly if his internal criticism of Mike’s cussing was spoken way too soon.

-

Gareth’s bedroom is a dream—Will would call it a loft, but that’s not exactly what it is. It’s adjacent to the attic, an alcove that sticks out from the roof and makes the house look both magical and completely ridiculous. All sides of it are fitted with windows, and in between those, the walls are a deep, navy blue. For the most part, it’s immaculately clean apart from misplaced shoes and a sock or two.

The slivers of walls which are not windows are covered with intense shelving that holds both an extensive collection of cassettes and vinyls, and books. Will wouldn’t have guessed Gareth was a reader, but by the looks of it, he’s practically a library.

The carpet is soft, the bed is big and covered with an enormous quilt. There are soft white Christmas lights hanging throughout the space, creating an inviting glow. Gareth tells Will to drop his bag anywhere, so Will finds the most out-of-the-way corner he possibly can, and sets his stuff down gently. He’s absolutely enamored with the space, but he’s trying not to show it. He could only imagine the teasing that would ensue if he told Gareth the bedroom he spends every night in is like Will’s own personal heaven.

To Will’s further dismay, Gareth plops down on his bed and pats the space next to him. Never in his life did Will expect to be sitting in bed with a cute boy who’s also basically a stranger, but here he is, swallowing his own nervousness and settling down. It’s unbelievably soft. Will let’s his mind wander to what it must be like to sleep there, and then quickly snaps himself out of it.

That’s creepy, he scolds himself. Stop.

“So, did you think of anything in the last 24-hours, or do you wanna start with just the general idea I had?” Gareth asks—and it’s so impossibly normal for how abnormal Will feels. He’s so stiff he might as well be made of wood. Jesus—even his fight or flight is starting to act up.

“Well,” Will says, deciding he’ll force himself to relax by talking, “You know how angels are, like, usually a patron of something? Like, they have a specific purpose, or whatever? I thought we could use something like that to determine our proficiencies, and stuff. I was also thinking that I could be the straight-edge angel and you could be the fallen one? But that’s totally up to you—your idea, your rules.”

Will fidgets nervously with his own hands. Gareth is… actually listening to him. His expression is attentive. Will’s not used to that—so he keeps rambling.

“Also—I like the idea of a sibling dynamic but I thought it would be better if it was strictly a best friends thing? I feel like a lot of D&D overdoes the, like, “you were my brother” thing but meaningful friendships or whatever can be so much more impactful because you choose your friends and stuff, and for a character to choose their person and then lose that person and find them again but still be at odds is just—Sorry, I should shut up. I just realized I’ve been talking for way too long.”

Will wants to melt into the bedspread—hell, he just might.

Gareth grins at him, shaking his head.

“No, totally keep going. You’re brilliant.”

Yup. Melted. Absolutely a liquid. Will doesn’t think he’ll ever be a solid again.

-

Will starts spending an ungodly amount of time with Gareth, but it’s not his fault. His own friends are great, and he spares them every moment he can, but it’s been a long time since being with them has ever felt like this—totally and completely void of tension. His friends… they haven’t been giving him attention freely. It feels weighed down by this notion that they’re forced to hang around because everything they’ve been through.

It’s not fair to think of them that way—he knows they’d still care for him, regardless.

But that pity is stuck behind their eyes. And they won’t talk about things in front of him, like how they’re feeling, how they’re doing. Once, he was hanging around Lucas and Dustin, and they left the room after uttering some lame excuse. Curious and a little hurt, Will had pressed his ear to the door to find Lucas venting about Max, and how she was doing, and how he’s trying to hang out and have fun but she’s all he can think about—half-paralyzed and totally blind, all alone at home when he’s not with her.

It’s selfish, he knows, but he couldn’t help feeling offended. He can be a shoulder—he knows he can be a shoulder. He’s not going to break down the minute someone else needs a hand. They’ve been plenty good for him—he can do the same.

He just needs a chance.

But they won’t give him it, so he loses himself in the simplicity of a brand-new friendship. He and Gareth start just talking over the campaign, and the D&D stuff, but it soon evolves into much more than that. It starts with a book—

“Gertrude Stein,” Will muses, slipping the collection of poetry right off the shelf. He lets it fall open in his palm to a random page. Gareth had gotten bored of devising background and trying to locate biblical information without a bible—so he’d flopped over on the bed and hidden his face in his pillows.

Will had rolled his eyes at him, and went looking for something to entertain himself.

This is where he finds himself, now.

They read a little Gertrude Stein in English, and Will remembers it fondly. He’s not a huge poetry guy, but Stein’s poetry is so ridiculous it actually manages to interest him. It was also generally impossible for most of the class to read aloud, because of it’s insanity, but Will excelled at it. He read it so well, and so succinctly in class, the teacher herself had been shocked.

Maybe his trauma had rewired his brain for nonsensical poetry.

Book was there, it was there. Book was there. Stop it, stop it, it was a cleaner, a wet cleaner and it was not where it was wet, it was not high, it was directly placed back, not back again, back it was returned, it was needless, it put a bank, a bank when, a bank care.

Gareth looks up at him from the pillows curiously, and Will grins in his direction. He begins reading with the utmost conviction, as if anything he’s reading makes a lick of actual sense.

Suppose a man a realistic expression of resolute reliability suggests pleasing itself white all white and no head does that mean soap. It does not so. It means kind wavers and little chance to beside beside rest. A plain.

Suppose ear rings that is one way to breed, breed that. Oh chance to say, oh nice old pole. Next best and nearest a pillar. Chest not valuable, be papered.

Cover up cover up the two with a little piece of string and hope rose and green, green.

Please a plate, put a match to the seam and really then really then, really then it is a remark that joins many many lead games. It is a sister and sister and a flower and a flower and a dog and a colored sky a sky colored grey and nearly that nearly that let.

Will finishes the poem—called Book—and looks back up at Gareth, who seems to be stifling a laugh. Will raises an eyebrow.

“What?” he teases, “Didn’t get that? I’ll read another one.”

Suppose it is within a gate which open is open at the hour of closing summer that is to say it is so.

All the seats are needing blackening. A white dress is in sign. A soldier a real soldier has a worn lace a worn lace of different sizes that is to say if he can read, if he can read he is a size to show shutting up twenty-four.

Go red go red—

Suppose and Eyes is cut off abruptly by a pillow smacking into Will’s chest and falling over the book he’s holding out—an accident which has Gareth absolutely howling with laughter. Will retaliates immediately, tossing the book to the floor and going after Gareth with a pillow.

The rest is history.

They hang out after school, they go to record stores and diners and swimming in the pond behind his house. They have an absolute blast role-playing ex-best friends while becoming best friends, all the while, Will’s fondness growing exponentially every time they share breath. They spend nights at each other’s houses, they talk for hours, they read together, they listen to music together—Will even get’s a little bit into metal, even though it’s not totally his vibe. Weeks and weeks pass—then months. They know everything about each other like the backs of each other’s hands. Will’s friends start making comments about it—Mike especially—and light-heartedly complain that Will is “replacing” them when that is certainly not the case.

They could never be replaced.

But being around Gareth is like magic, up until the moment it’s not.

“Hey… can I talk to you about something?”

Famous last words, but Will is so full of pizza and so content with his back pressed into Gareth’s bed, head resting lightly against the outside of the boy’s knee, that he doesn’t quite grasp the connotation.

He wishes he had—that there had been warning.

“Sure.”

“So… after the earthquake—”

Will should’ve known then and there this was headed in a foul direction, but he was none-the-wiser. He was still half-engrossed in Emily Dickinson, who had grown to be his absolute favorite poet over the last few months.

“Eddie told me everything that happened. And he told me what happened to you.”

This is where it hits him. Will jerks away from Gareth’s knee like it’s scalding, hurt painting over his face as it all crashes over him.

None of this has been any different.

“Will?”

“Are you serious?” Will asks, horror growing in his chest, in his tone. Gareth’s face screws up, a look Will knows all too well—a look he only sports when he’s thoroughly confused.

He must be stupid—Will’s reaction shouldn’t be confusing to him at all.

“I just wanted—”

Everything is tainted. The way Gareth looks at him, acts with him, the way he chose Will out of everyone from that stupid table that first day of Hellfire—he knew. The whole time.

Will is some pathetic charity case who needed a real friend. And he let Will think, this entire time, that he actually liked Will for himself. Not because Will desperately needed to be liked, not because they were bonded by some shared hell, not because Will had suffered, but because Gareth liked him.

It had all been a lie.

“How could you?” Will asks, shakily. He feels tears gathering in his eyes, and he hates himself for it. Now he’s gonna cry like the broken, traumatized baby he really is. The one Gareth has always seen in him. He’s just proving a fucking point.

That’s all he ever does.

“How could I—”

“I can’t believe I let myself be another fucking charity case,” Will hisses, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as he scrambles to his feet. Gareth seizes his wrist.

“Will—”

Will’s stronger than Gareth—he doesn’t look it, but there’s a lot of muscle beneath his clothes. He makes sure of it—he doesn’t wanna be the victim of anyone or anything ever again. He wrenches his wrist out of the boy’s grasp, pointing at him accusingly with the other.

“You. Suck,” Will snaps, doing his best not to yell. He doesn’t wanna get worked up enough that Gareth sees just how deeply this has stricken him, and part of him, a naive part of him, hates how devastated Gareth already looks. “I can’t believe I thought you actually liked me. I’m so fucking stupid.”

And with that, he snatches his bag up off the floor, and gets the hell out of there.

It’s only when he’s home, past his mom and his brother, and in his bedroom with the door shut tight, that he crawls into his closet and muffles his sobs with his teeth bared into a sweatshirt.

Heartbroken.

-

“Hello?”

“Don’t hang up!” Will should absolutely hang up. It’s been three days of nothing—avoiding Gareth at school, refusing to speak to him, neglecting to answer the phone even when he was nearest to it.

And now, just when it so happened that nobody else was home, Gareth was on the other end of the line.

“I should so hang up,” Will snaps, already angry. He didn’t wanna be reminded. He’s been so fucked up the last few days, it’s almost like Gareth dumped him. In a way, he kind of did. Or, Will did.

Whatever, the details aren’t important. What’s important is that Gareth lied to him. Extensively.

“Listen—I need to talk to you, but I wanna do it in person, okay? Please—just ten minutes of your time, and if it’s not fixed, I’ll never talk to you again. Except at Hellfire. But that’s it! Okay?” Will wishes he had the balls to say fuck no, but it’s too difficult. He allotted months of his life to Gareth, and as much as he hates it, can attribute a ton of his recent healing to him. Being carefree and spending time with Gareth had been exactly what he needed most days to get out of his own head, to stop thinking about things that couldn’t be helped.

A breath of fresh night air, one might say.

Looking back at that now makes Will nauseous, but he swallows it down. He doesn’t exactly want his and Gareth’s time being good friends to forever be tainted by the fact that it had all been out of pity, but Will doesn’t know what he could possibly say to make that better. He sighs into the phone.

“Get here ASAP. And ten minutes is all you get!”

“Sir yes sir!”

-

“Thank you for letting me talk,” Gareth says. Will crosses his arms over his chest. He’s got no intentions of letting Gareth step foot over the threshold, and Gareth seems to be able to tell.

“Ten minutes,” he says firmly, and Gareth nods quickly.

“The first thing I should’ve done when we started hanging out is tell you I knew about the Upside Down,” he says quickly, and yeah, he’s got that fucking right. “I’m really sorry that I hid that from you—I guess I didn’t think you’d wanna talk about it, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have talked about it. I’m sorry.”

“Decent start,” Will says begrudgingly.

“Second, I did not choose you as my D&D partner because I felt bad for you,” Gareth says, and then his face get’s all screwy, and he starts shifting his weight back and forth, like whatever he needs to say is really hard for him to say. He looks left, and then down at his shoes, and then crosses his arms over his chest and let’s out a breath he’d been holding—

“Spit it out.”

“I thought you were cute!” he says, all his words running together, so much so that it takes Will a second to process what he’s even just said, “And I wanted to hang out with you and I thought that if our D&D characters shared a backstory then we’d spend a lot of time together and I’d be able to make a move but I felt bad about making a move knowing stuff about you you hadn’t shared with me so that night I wanted to kiss you so bad but I wanted to talk about what I knew first so that I wasn’t kissing you and then bringing up your childhood trauma because that wouldn’t be smooth at all, but then I messed everything up and—”

Will’s not sure what happens to his body. First of all, he’s absolutely floored at the notion that he wasn’t a charity case or anywhere near that at all—this boy was attracted to him and wanted to be around him. That’s so far out in left-field it’s practically a home run. Second—Gareth likes him? Like that? In small-town, middle-of-nowhere Hawkins, Indiana, a cute boy likes him? And it’s not Mike Wheeler, feelings-denier extraordinaire, or someone Will would rather eat glass than hang around with?

God, it’s Gareth?

He completely loses track of his ability to command his own body—he steps forward, puts both hands around Gareth’s face, and kisses him right on the mouth to shut him the hell up. Will’s never kissed anyone in his life, save for one girl in California, just to prove his own disinterest, but he makes it work. Gareth certainly doesn’t seem to be complaining, the way his arms move securely around Will’s waist and he kisses back with fervor.

They break, both void of breath. The kiss wasn’t exactly long, but all the excitement has Will’s ribs heaving. He presses his forehead into Gareth’s, blushing like crazy and avoiding the eye-contact Gareth’s trying to prompt from him.

“You’re such an idiot,” Will manages between breaths.

“Kiss me again.”

“Definitely.”

-

It was only a few weeks later that things started getting bad again, but they were heavenly weeks of sneaking around, sharing looks when no one was paying attention, and kissing in dark corners. Will started feeling whole again, like the places and things that the Upside Down had stolen from him were things that Gareth could replace, curling up on couches with him, meeting his mom, holding his hand, and treating him like someone who was already whole.

And though he wished, ached to ignore the warning signs, he told Gareth immediately when The Mind Flayer felt like it was slithering closer, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck and tugging at the corners of his mind.

And Gareth had been there, as fresh as summer night air in his lungs, all the way until the end.

[chaikachi]

Treasure is a Rosegarden Song

HEAR ME OUT OKAY. I've known for a while it could be sort of linked back to them, but it felt easier to brush it off as a general whole team reunion song... Until today's new episode.

⚠ SPOILERS AHEAD, YE HAVE BEEN WARNED ⚠

We got a very big win today with the Bees, they even got a whole new song that Casey has confirmed is bmblb part 2 (check her twitter, i'm not linking it lol). Which... really makes you wonder if they'd have that many Bees songs back to back, right? An argument can surely be made for it being a song about Yang and Ruby as that's the first reunion in Ultimatum that we see, but the lyrics don't really imply a sisterly bond. It could be Renora as the other couple that had a hint of a reunion that scene... but they didn't have a proper one. We got it and their confession in the following episode.

Which leaves the only other focused relationship dynamic in that moment: Ruby and Oscar

And why would it be an RG song? Well, they're the only 'pair' that got separated in v8 that didn't end the volume together. The teams were split down the middle with very clear foils:

Yang to Blake Ren to Nora Weiss to Jaune Ruby to Oscar (Also Ruby to Yang but this ain't about them)

But when Atlas fell, Ren and Nora were together in Vacuo. The bees made it to Ever After. Jaune and Weiss did too... but Oscar and Ruby? They're the only ones that are still apart. And this song is one about absence of another and awaiting a reunion. So lets dive into the lyrics proper, shall we?

Night and day, I've waited

For starters, the sun and moon symbolism that's been thrown around for them since their introductions. Yes, the Bees also have a celestial union going on, but again please bare with me.

All alone in crowded rooms I'm incomplete, my life is paused When you're not here

This is the longest portion of the analysis as the line "all alone in crowded rooms" is so heavy.

It gets tricky when we can't see Oscar's state rn (i will come back to him in a minute tho), but we do know Ruby's. We know that she is preoccupied with a lot of things. She's weighed down by Penny's death, by the internalized expectations she has to be just like Summer, this perfect hero from a fairytale, and is alone in her burdens as a leader. Romance is likely the last thing on her mind. But she is feeling loneliness, isolation, and left behind. We can see that in all past volume examples quite literally (like the above photo, the dance, Brunswick farms, her team not wanting to explore Atlas after their first mission, etc.), but it's really being driven home in recent episodes between the Blacksmith (Carpenter?) and Ruby's reaction to the Bees.

"You're doing this all alone?"

Also just... the way they're all positioned in this scene is so intentional. Yang and Blake are together and they are warm by the fire. Weiss is drinking some piping tea and smiling at them. And Ruby is sitting alone at a table with an empty chair, draped in a teal/green cloth, furthest from the fire. Remember the song "Cold" and how it's used as a metaphor for loss, loneliness, and grief throughout the show? Yeahhhh.

Recognizing Ruby is alone in crowded rooms begs the question of who in the cast makes her not feel that way. Well, anyone that's spent any amount of time looking at RG knows their entire dynamic is built on relating to and respecting each other for their similar positions. That out of everyone, Oscar has been the one to see through Ruby's mask and got her to actually open up about her grief. On the opposite side, Ruby helps Oscar in much the same ways he does her. By constantly watching his back, standing up for him, and reassuring him that despite the merge he is his own person... but he is also someone familiar with this feeling.

By virtue of being an Oz, he's already alienated. He joined the party late and doesn't know everyone as well as the others. He's also the youngest of the bunch and that's a lot of pressure that Ruby is familiar with.

So out of every pairing in the cast, these two are the ones that feel the most alone in crowded rooms and, by extension, less alone when they are together.

Though I walk this world I am nowhere to be found Every thought's of you And for now, you're not around

The singer here is saying that they don't feel present or grounded because of the absence of someone else. Their thoughts are with the person they are missing... but the wording about 'walking this world' is so specific when RG is the only pair split between worlds.

If this is from Oscar's POV, then he isn't found on Remnant. He's found in Ever After because that's where Ruby, and therefore his thoughts, are. The reverse POV also works, but in Ruby being very prioritized with the state they left Remnant in and her team consistently trying to pull her back to what's happening right in front of them.

But that's alright I'll be just fine I'm not concerned With sands of time

Sands of time is another very specific wording choice. Hourglass being associated with time is a give-in... but knowing what we know now it could be a lot of things. The Ever After is messy with time; we're seeing that firsthand with Jaune. But with Ruby and Oscar being the only ones still separated, there is an anticipation and a 'waiting' happening.

Beyond sands of time, Oscar - who has clock gears as a constant motif for his character design - is surrounded by sand as far as the eye can see in the deserts of Vacuo.

If forever comes and goes, I won't pay it no mind

Oscar is Oscar, do not misconstrue me here. But who, out of everyone in the cast aside from Salem, is most familiar with the concept of 'forever'? The one currently merging with a man who's lived a thousand lifetimes.

Hour after hour, I spend Dreaming that your voice will wake My slumbering ear Numb and lost I wander with No place to go, just aimless 'til You reappear

This is much like the earlier verse talking about loss and being directionless without their light to guide them. This song has some parallels to a few others, but for now I want to talk about Sky is Falling, which we know is an Oscar song:

Our world, lost without a soul Losing all control, not getting closer Every day is just another dose of torture (Torture) Now we pay the cost, the race is lost This nightmare's our real life

This can easily be linked back to wanting to wake from a bad dream and feeling lost without a (smaller more honest) soul being present. Later in that same song:

Lost all my hopes and dreams

Being numb and lost without hope. Ruby being the embodiment of hope.

Watch my life flash by in scenes And it seems there's no soul on the video screen

I am aggressively reminded of Arkos and Jaune watching Pyrrha's training video on a loop. Would bet actual money Oscar is doing the same of Ruby's broadcast back in Vacuo... because he was the only big name in the cast that wasn't shown watching that video when it went live.

Cold soaked as I'm standin' in rain Feelin' nothin' but pain until I see you again

Once again tying into feeling lost without the other.

Back to Treasure:

'Til you come in view I keep watch with these sore eyes Looking through the tears As the days creep slowly by

Emphasis on seeing each other again which can also be linked to the above stanza from Sky is Falling as well as Until the End with rain and tears being almost synonymous. (Until the End and Treasure have SO many parallels that I can't talk about all of them here without it becoming a whole separate post. Maybe later tho!)

Nothing's gonna shake my faith I know you're coming back real soon to my embrace

The emphasis on embrace when RG was the only pair that didn't get a hug.

Though time goes by so slow I'm never letting go I won't give up, if I spend my life I know

The time motif again followed by "I won't give up" paralleled to Ruby's line in her broadcast where she says "Even if Atlas falls, you can't give up."

"Atlas" also meaning Ruby. "You" being Oscar and the rest of the people still fighting. Oscar, who took up her mantle of leadership in a way through his costume change and actions in v6 after Ruby stepped into Oz's role.

And then lastly, the song's namesake:

'Cause the treasure of my life Is being by your side

Treasure, by definition, has two different meanings.

noun 1. a quantity of precious metals, gems, or other valuable objects. verb 1. keep carefully (a valuable or valued item).

The song at face value is talking about treasure as the verb. The act of treasuring or cherishing something precious. But much like some other double meanings in this song, a very strong argument can be made for the noun definition as well.

Ruby, who's first name literally means 'precious red gemstone'. Ruby, who's eyes are Silver and how that has tied into Rosegarden since their very first meeting. Oscar, who's eyes glow Gold with his own magic. Who's first name can also be easily associated with the colour by way of the award show statues of the same name.

If those are symbolisms associated with Oscar and Ruby, while Yang and Blake get a song called bmblb for being the same colour as bees and having a confession in a garden... then I think there is no other duo that the song Treasure can be about.

[leviathans-body-pillow]

A proposal (Lucifer x Mc)

After lesson 60-7 when Mc stays the night with Lucifer.

Mc is gender neutral with they then pronouns.

Warnings: slight ptsd

You and Lucifer laid together in each other’s arms. Both of you trying to capitalize on the little time you had left together. Tomorrow was the party and in the morning they’d be leaving you again. It was now or never to try and spend some quiet time together.

Lucifer groaned at the sound of his D.D.D buzzing. He let go of you for a moment to roll over and grab it off his night stand.

Beelzebub: We should make Mc officially part of the family. We can bring it up to Diavolo tomorrow.

Lucifer: Are you serious?

This had to be some sort of joke. Lucifer rubbed the bridge of his nose at the thought. You notice his irritation, scootching over to cuddle back up to him.

“What’s the matter Luci?” You cooed running your hand gently over his chest.

“My foolish brothers, have they said anything strange to you today?”

You paused to think for a moment, they say a lot of strange stuff on the regular so it’s hard to say. “Strange how?” You definitely needed some clarification.

Lucifer shook his head . “Beel texted the group chat proposing we make you an official family member.

“Ah yes, him and Belphie were talking about it earlier.” You said leaving out that you may have been the one to put the idea in their head. Honestly you didn’t think they’d take it so seriously.

“I’m not sure how he thinks that will work. We can’t very well adopt an adult human.” Lucifer sat up rubbing his temple. You sat up as well facing him.

“No but you could marry me.”

Lucifer laughed under his breathe before he noticed how dead serious you were. His face changed from one of slight amusement to one of sorrow. There’s a deep longing in his eyes but the way he frowned made your heart ache.

“Oh mc…” Lucifer sighed not able to meet you gaze.

“Don’t you want to marry me?” You can’t help the way your voice cracked. Your tried not to take his reaction as rejection but it broke your heart all the same.

Lucifer was silent for a moment, he needed to collect himself before answering. He took a deep breathe before turning to face you. “Mc I love you. Before I say anything else I want you to know that I cherish you above all else in the three realms. I would love nothing more than to marry you and claim you as my own.” Lucifer cradled you face in his hand, looking deep into you eyes. You could still see the sorrow deep inside them.

“But?” You asked, you just knew there was a but.

“But, I’m a fallen angel, a demon and you’re a human. Even if Diavolo would approve of our marriage, the Celestial realm will never allow such a thing. They would start a war to prevent our union.” Lucifer looked so tired.

“How can you be so sure?” You sniff as tears freely fell down you cheeks. You’re just being childish, you knew he’s right.

“Because they’ve done it before.” Lucifer’s eye lost focus as he stared off into the distance not really looking at anything. He relived the celestial war. The clashing of metal, the blood mixed with white feathers. He saw himself holding your crumpled form that same as he held Lilith in her final moments. Micheal stood triumphantly over you.

“Lucifer?” You called to him, “Lucifer, come back to me.” You shook him gently trying to snap him out of his trance.

He almost gasped, his eye refocusing on you as he came back to reality. “Mc?” His eyes became glossy with tears, but they never fell.

“It’s ok, you’re ok Lucifer we’re safe.” You hushed him, running your hand threw his hair and down his cheek. Lucifers shoulders slumped as his relaxed into you touch. You pulled him into your arms holding him close.

“Mc I’m so sorry, truly I want nothing more than to marry you.” Lucifer buried his face in the crook of you neck, holding you tightly as if you’re about to disappear.

“Luci I’m sorry, I just don’t want to leave you again.” You started to cry desperate to hold onto him.

“I know starlight, I don’t want to leave you either.” Lucifer won’t cry, not now not in front of you. He’ll hold it in until he’s back home alone in his study late at night when the house of lamentation is still and silent. For now he has you in his arms and that’s all he needed to keep himself together.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Desecration

Pairing: Gabriel x Fem. Reader

Summary : Gabriel. The archangel fucking Gabriel. He who refuses to sully the temple of his celestial body in any shape or form. And now, he has been ordered to take a day off. What started out as a forced holiday ends up in a night of many delightful firsts. 

Themes : Slow burn | Smut

Warnings : Mention of Alcohol | Kissing | Foreplay | Casual sex / One-night stand | Light dirty talk | Hand job (Gabriel receiving)

Word count : 5.6k words

Minors DNI | 18+

This is part one of three separate fics, each with a different theme and a different character. The second, featuring Thranduil, and titled Temptation, will be up tomorrow, at the same time. 

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all  here

One entire day.

The Creator gave Gabriel time off after that entire debacle following the child of the Adversary and what should have been the war to truly end all wars. Everyone was roused up and angry, and the heavenly authorities didn’t like that. A decision was made, and everyone was given time off to cool off and clear their heads.

And Gabriel?

One day, twenty-four hours, were given to him—well, forced upon him, in his mind at least—to walk amongst mortals, loosen up, and indulge in everything they enjoyed. Gabriel shivered. To desecrate the vessel of his celestial body was unseemly. Vile, even. But, the Creator insisted, and Gabriel agreed. Very, very reluctantly.

Gabriel thought, "How does one indulge oneself?"  For his subordinate, Aziraphale, it was easy. He had lived among mortals since creation, and indulging was second nature to him.  Fine food and drink, dusty old tomes, tartan—those were just some of the things he liked. Next, there was that bottom dweller, Crowley. Now he would indulge in many things, especially Aziraphale. Oh, they would like to pretend as if nothing were going on, but everyone knew. The Creator knew too, but they didn’t care. They once even privately admitted to finding Crowley rather amusing. 

But enough of that. Where did all of this leave Gabriel?

At a complete loss, he finally gave up and let his feet take him anywhere and everywhere. Gabriel wandered around London, peeking through windows, sniffing out the scents wafting from bakeries, restaurants, and everything else. He found himself listening to street musicians and had his portrait painted. A beautiful one, if he said so himself. And he did say so himself. He was, after all, the Archangel Fucking Gabriel.

The hours melted into each other, and Gabriel grew to enjoy the many distractions that mortal life had to offer. By nightfall, his stomach growled. Gabriel was being told he needed to eat.

"You’re making sure I make the most of this, aren’t you?" Gabriel grumbled as he turned his eyes towards the heavens.

I said, enjoy yourself. The Creator’s voice was as clear as a crystal bell on a summer morning. And I’m making sure you get a little bit of motivation for it, so to speak.

Gabriel knew arguing was futile. As was rolling his eyes. The Creator saw all and heard all. Even the thoughts in his head. You can curse me all you want, they cackled, but you still have to go through with this. There was a pause. Another ten hours, in fact. 

It was only nine p.m. still.

Gabriel groaned, shook his shoulders, and composed himself. He walked into the nearest café and found himself a seat. The menu was extensive, but he was not in the mood for alcohol. 

"What will it be?" You asked as he looked around, trying to figure out what he should do next.

When he looked up the first thing that popped into your head was sculpted marble, long-limbed, strong and dark. The next thing that popped into your head was, get it together, you blithering idiot! He’s just another customer, that’s all.

Gabriel stopped his dithering, deciding to ask for suggestions. "I have no idea," he mumbled, scanning the menu again. "Anything you suggest? But," He lifted his finger. "Nothing to fuzz up the mind."

You huffed. That left out all of the cocktails. And the heavy stuff. Gabriel even waived off all offers for coffee, and he was not in the mood for tea. You grinned and pick up a mug in the end. "Hot chocolate it is, then."

Gabriel watched, thoroughly fascinated with the process. His mouth watered and a sigh rose from the back of his throat when the rich scent of cocoa powder wafted into the air. "And do you drink this with those tiny white things?"

"What?" What tiny white things? You look down at the mug in your hands and see tiny white blobs floating on top. Oh, he was referring to the marshmallows. "You don’t drink them," you said, trying not to raise an eyebrow. "You eat them. They’re quite nice."

"Fascinating," Gabriel said, rubbing his hands together with surprised glee. The prospect of consuming something he once saw as gross matter appealed to him greatly. "Would this count as a meal?"

This time, an eyebrow of yours was raised. "I... what?"

"I’m not from around here," Gabriel added quickly. He was told to enjoy himself, but without giving his true identity away. "Um, this is all new to me."

"Are you from some far-flung corner of the world no one knows about or something?"

Say yes, say yes, rang The Creator’s voice. "Yes," said Gabriel. "From a very remote town in," the Creator pitched in again. "A-alaska? in fact."

"Well," you say as you shake your head and pass the mug to him. Gabriel held up the mug, took a deep breath, and sighed. Now I know why Aziraphale likes living here so much. "If you’re looking to eat, this will go well with it."

Gabriel inspected the slice of chocolate caramel brownie. He sniffed and took a bite. The flavours that washed down his throat were a delight to the very soul. "Oh lord," he mumbled, as if in prayer, and took another bite, another sip of hot chocolate. Gabriel was overcome, even enraptured. The smell, the texture—nothing could compare. 

And he was never going to look down on Aziraphale and his love of mortal indulgences again.

The brownie and hot chocolate put him in a fine mood and loosened his tongue. Gabriel grew curious about you and asked many questions. "So why do you work in a place like this?" he asked finally. 

"I like the hours, I get to sleep in most mornings," you said, as you wiped down the counter. "And the pay is good, so--"

"It’s a win-win for you?" This is what he picked up from Aziraphale.

"It is, yes."

"And the people who come here?"

"A blur of faces, actually." You walked to the other side of the counter and made yourself comfortable on a stool next to him. It was a slow night, but Gabriel aroused your curiosity. Why not make the most of it? "They tip me, give me no trouble, and I pay them no mind." You picked up a glass of water and sipped. "Save for you."

That piqued his curiosity. "Really?"

You leaned in, your eyes narrowing to thin slats. "You’re the first person I’ve met who’s never heard of marshmallows before."

Gabriel leaned in and played along. "You’re kidding." 

Your lips were so close, you were sure if one leaned in any further, they'd be kissing the other. "Mm-mm," you mumbled and pulled back, helping yourself to some olives. "I’m not kidding. Just about everyone I know knows about marshmallows."

"There's always a first," Gabriel said, holding up his mug.

You clinked your glass against it. "Yes. Yes, there is. So tell me, what is a man like you doing in a place like this?"

Gabriel kept up a lively chatter while doing his best not to give much away. "And they messed up all our plans," he said, in light of Aziraphale and Crowley meddling with the end of the world. "Now we have to start all over again."

"It was just a small business project," you say while trying not to gawk at Gabriel. The way he carried himself was very much in the image of a man in charge, very much the image of a raven-haired god that had stepped out of some Renaissance artist’s studio. You gulped and looked away. "And no one was affected by it, so it can’t be that bad."

"Oh, if you only knew," Gabriel exclaimed as he finished the brownie and requested another. The taste did wonders for him, put him at ease. He looked around, first at the other tables, then at you, how you moved, how your wool sweater and leggings clung to you in the right places. Gabriel flushed, wondering what was going on with him. "And the worst part is, they got to run wild again. No consequences at all."

"Such a terrible pair, getting away like that," you swallowed hard and averted your gaze when Gabriel flashed the type of smile that any rational person would have labeled as a weapon of mass destruction. Trying not to hum, trying to ignore yourself going weak at the knees, you continue. "But since your boss isn’t mad, I suppose it’s not that big of a deal?"

The Creator and their ineffable plan. "No," Gabriel mumbled. "No, they’re not. In fact, they insisted I take the day off to recover from the whole debacle."

"That’s a great boss you have there."

Gabriel flashed that jaw-dropping smile again. "Indeed." He caught the faint hint of red tinging your cheeks and smile even more, his heart slightly aflutter. "Indeed."

The minutes seemed to melt into each other. Gabriel let you get back to work, content to hang around and savour all the food on offer while you were occupied. His body was a temple that should never be desecrated, that was what he always believed. But here, now, eating all the delicious food, and drinking soothing hot chocolate, he was convinced that a little desecration may not be so bad after all. When the time came to close up, and for him to pay, he was pleasantly surprised to find a shiny new credit card in a shiny new wallet.

You go over the company name on the card, "Gabriel, Celestial Holdings." Interesting, you think, but it doesn’t matter so long as the sale goes through. Much to your relief, and Gabriel’s, it did. "This is the name of the company you work for? And is your name Gabriel?"

"W-what?" Gabriel looked at the card, trying not to gawk. When he reached out for advice, all he got was white noise. The Creator had gone silent. Not knowing what else to do, Gabriel just nodded. "Yes," he said vigorously. "Yes. That is the name of the company. A family holding, if you will. And yes, my name is Gabriel."

"Y/n," you introduce yourself. "So is your dad the boss?"

"You could say that, yes."

"And the two who caused that epic mess?"

"My brother," Gabriel said of Aziraphale. "And a friend of my brother," he said of Crowley. "Curse my luck."

"Nepotism?" You purse your lips and return the card.

He came up with the only answer he could think of, one he’d heard Crowley give in such a situation. "In our line of business, nepotism is the only way to go."

"I see." You locked up the register and waited until your boss came out to close the shop. Gabriel watched too, realizing the night had to come to an end. He didn’t want it to come to an end. He flushed again when you smiled at him. 

"Is there anything else to do around here?" said Gabriel, as nonchalantly as possible. He never truly acquired the art of interacting with humans the way Aziraphale and Crowley did, and he hoped it wouldn’t show. "I have another," Gabriel looked at the time and calculated how many hours he had left. "Six hours left before I hit the road."

You looked up from rummaging through your purse. "Go on," your boss said. "Have some fun before heading home."

You lean over the counter, your mouth set in a grim line. "If you’re up to no good…"

"Nothing of the sort," Gabriel said calmly, raising his hands. "I just like spending time with you, that’s all."

There was this energy coming off of him, something you couldn’t quite describe, speaking to your gut and telling you to trust him, and there were plenty of places you could take him, all public and still full of people even at such an ungodly hour. "Alright," You grab your coat and your keys. "Follow me."

                                                     💫

Gabriel was enthralled. You showed him the sights and took him on a train ride.

He sat close to you, looking around, talking to those around him. Gabriel was so full of energy and considerate. If he felt a conversation was going on for too long he’d make excuses before turning to you with a grin on his face, as if nothing made him happier than to talk to you.

It made you happy to have him talk to you, to have his attention solely on you. After a pleasant train ride, and a pleasanter walk, you took him to a twenty-four-hour movie theater. It was a completely different experience for an angel who had never seen a film before. He had seen acting during a stint in ancient Greece, but modern movies were a novelty he had not experienced till tonight.

Finally, after some back and forth, the two of you settled on a romantic comedy. Gabriel couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, especially during the romantic scenes. "Do people kiss someone like that, just because they’re acting?"

You nod over your popcorn. "Yes. Yes, they do."

"Interesting," Gabriel said as he leaned over to dust off a piece of popcorn that had fallen onto your blouse's collar. His fingers grazed against your throat. It was such a simple act, yet it made your pulse scramble, and your cheeks flush. You quickly face the screen, all too aware of Gabriel’s gaze on you.

Strange, how such a reaction could enchant him so. "We don’t have such things where I’m from."

"Really?" You shake your head in disbelief. "No films? No kissing?"

"No."

"No?" Your disbelief only grew as you gestured at the screen. "Then how do you know if the actors are even kissing?"

"I've been... taught the concepts," Gabriel said primly, his cheeks flushing with a sudden sense of embarrassment. "But I’ve not personally partaken in such acts, um…"

He was stumped. Here he was, a celestial being that was older than the universe itself, and he just admitted to never having been kissed before. Him. The Archangel fucking Gabriel. Oh, he could just see Crowley cackling over his wine now.

Gabriel wished for nothing else but a rock to crawl under.

You leaned in, and tilted your head to the side, your eyes filling with growing mirth. How you struggled to hide your smirk. And shock. This walking, breathing god of a man had never been kissed before? Unbelievable. You curl up in your chair, your chin resting on your fist. "You’ve never been kissed before?"

Gabriel seemed to shrink into his seat. "Yes," came the barely audible mumble.

Far-flung corner of Alaska indeed. "No girlfriend? Boyfriend? One of each?"

"Neither." Gabriel coughed, and straightened himself, trying to regain some sense of dignity. "Ever."

You take in those too-full lips of his and lick your own. “Would you like to?” You ask, stunned by your own boldness. “To kiss someone I mean?”

“I-” It was his turn to blush. “Yes,” Excitement washed over him, his senses coming alive at the thought of such an experience. To kiss for the first time, to feel for himself what mortals celebrated in poetry was something he no longer wanted to miss out on. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

You go over his admission, and then the time. You still had four hours left with him. Why ever not? 

"Come on," you take Gabriel’s hand and stand up. "Let’s get out of here."

He stood up and followed you out onto the aisle, his fingers impulsively lacing around yours, squeezing it gently when he felt your palm tremble against his.  "Where are we going?"

"To kiss," You whisper, just enough for only him to hear. "But only if you want to go through with it that is.”

Gabriel knew he may never get another opportunity like this, certainly not with someone like you. And he was told to enjoy himself. "Alright, where do we go?

                                                       💫

The cab ride to a nearby hotel was filled with anticipation. The both of you kept stealing glances from each other, then quickly turning away with red-tinged cheeks. At one point, you felt a hand graze your thigh, and a jolt go up your spine.

Gabriel felt it too. Anticipation, and a sudden, not-so-delicate sexual tug arrowing in neatly into his gut when his eyes skimmed over your thighs. His pulse was racing, he felt all hot and feverish and did his best to dampen it. It was just going to be a kiss, he kept telling himself. Nothing more. He looked at you and turned again quickly.

No no no. This wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t let it. He was an Archangel, for crying out loud. He couldn’t sully his vessel this way.

But was that really true? Couldn’t he let go for just a few hours at least? He was given the freedom to do so after all. Gabriel gulped and loosened his tie. He kept looking out the window, counting the minutes until the cab ride ended and the hotel came into view.

"And here we are," you say as the cab starts to slow down, startling him a little.

Gabriel insisted on paying for the taxi. He insisted on paying for the hotel room, and a sumptuous breakfast in bed for you. "You shouldn’t have to, you know," you said while you waited for the room to be booked. "I could have taken care of it."

"I insist," said Gabriel, pocketing the credit card. "It’s the least I could do."

He took your hand as you led the way to the elevator. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Gabriel grinned while the two of you stood on opposite sides of each other.

You cock your head to the side and study him. "So tell me, what will you do when you go back?"

"Go back to work, get cracking on the project again." He actually felt uncomfortable now, at the thought of ending the world.

"You look unsure now."

Gabriel, once certain that ending the world and the other side was the way to go, was now filled with doubts. True, the world was filled with darkness, despair, and misery, but it was also filled with joy and hope, and as he very recently discovered, you. He gulped. "I am," he confessed. "I thought our--" what was that word Crowley used? Oh yes. "Demolition plans were the way to go. And now…"

"Now you think this site deserves another shot at redemption, so to speak?" You said simply, just before the doors opened to the top-floor suite.

"Yes," Gabriel flushed with embarrassment. How quick he was, to pull the trigger on everything. And how oddly grateful he now was, that Aziraphale thought differently. Aziraphale and Crowley, obviously, but the demon would never hear that. If he did, then Gabriel would never hear the end of it. His eyes then went wide at the views that greeted him. "Oh my word," he gasped as he admired the night skyline, the lit-up buildings, and the full moon up in the sky.

You couldn’t hold back your awe either. "My word indeed."

You joined him by the window, the both of you staring out into the night sky like a pair of awe-struck children. "I’m so glad I decided to take this day off," Gabriel mumbled happily.

"I’m glad you decided to take the day off," you said as you gazed into the night sky.

A hand brushed against yours, startling you, and reminding you why you were here. "Right." You look around for the perfect spot. The chairs looked cozy but would grow uncomfortable in a while. The carpeted floor was out. That left only one place. The bed.

Gabriel’s gaze followed yours. A kiss was always perfect in bed. That’s what he had read about, anyway. "Perfect," he said as made his way over. "Jacket and shoes?"

"Off. Same for the socks." You mumbled as you slipped out of your boots and socks. "I'd never been a fan of socks and shoes in bed."

"I’ve heard of that," Gabriel shucked off his jacket, leaving a pair of well-toned arms neatly outlined in a fitted shirt. You gulped when sculpted back muscles flexed under crisp white cotton as he undid his tie. The urge to run your hand down that powerful back grew so strong. 

"Do mortals actually like that?" Gabriel went on, oblivious to the effect he was having on you. His shoes were the next to go, as were his socks. "Socks in bed?" He winced. "Very unappealing if you ask me."

"Mhmm.” You hummed when he made himself comfortable, and the bed suddenly looked so tiny in the process. So tall. You didn’t even realize how truly tall Gabriel was still now. He caught the way you were looking and raised an eyebrow. You felt like giving yourself a good smack to the back of your head. "Very unappealing," you said as you join him, sitting on the side of the bed.

And what a comfortable bed it was, even though it was just enough for the two of you and what had been planned to happen. You found your gaze drifting over his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves. Gabriel turned his head and caught you gawking again. You squeak, not knowing where to look. A shy smile tugged at his lips. He shifted and turned to his side. "So," said Gabriel, as butterflies fluttered in his belly. "How do we go about doing this?"

You tap your cheek with a finger. You better start with the basics. "Right." You sit up and encourage him to do the same. "You face me like so," You gulped when your eyes drifted to those lips of his. Oh, to feel those lips on yours. "And close your eyes."

Gabriel closed both, and then abruptly opened one. "And then what?"

"Just close your eyes, silly." You giggled when he shook his head and shut both eyes. "Or you’ll ruin the moment."

You then leaned over and placed your hands over his cheeks, letting your fingers trace over every bump and line. You felt his jaw clench. So strong. So very strong, and so very tense. "Relax," you whisper and lean in. "It’s nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about? Nothing to worry about?!? His first kiss was nothing to worry about. Gabriel was about to open his eyes, to protest, and then the air was knocked right out of his lungs when your lips pressed against his.

Gabriel could barely breathe, he could barely even think. All he could focus on was the softness of your lips, the taste of buttery popcorn still lingering in your mouth. The kiss felt so light and exuberant and left him feeling more than a little dizzy. His hands left his sides to glide up your waist while his mouth opened over yours. Gabriel felt light-headed again, this time when his tongue slipped past your parted lips and dipped into the warmth of your mouth. He felt like he was floating on air. A kiss should have been a mere trifle to a being like him, but there you were, robbing him of every thought, of every breath, just with the softness of your lips.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly when his nose accidentally bumped into yours. Gabriel stopped for a breather, chest heaving, to gather his thoughts. He felt greedy and wanted more. He debated if he should take the initiative and kiss you. 

The sight of you all flushed, your pupils all dilated, made up his mind for him. “It’s alright,” you murmured before Gabriel dipped his head and dragged you in for another kiss.

This time it was a kiss that was rough and hungry leaving you breathless and gasping for air. Gabriel felt sure of himself now. Pure instinct was driving him along, and something else. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. It made him want more than just a few kisses. "To hell with it,” he mumbled, his mouth greedy for yours.

It felt like a dam had burst and suddenly Gabriel was all over you. His kisses were demanding, his mouth plundering, taking all you were willing to offer him. His arms circled your waist in a vice-like grip. Your entire body trembled when your name blew through that sinful mouth of his. It felt soft and luscious, and you heard him groan when you answered him in a low purr. Feeling his lips skim over your chin, down your neck to the hollow of your throat made you gasp, especially when teeth gently scraped over your skin. When you reached up and grabbed onto his collar, to pull him closer, he moaned, “c-can I t-touch you?”

Your hands guiding his was too much for him. The softness of your skin beneath his palms turned his bones to water. Gabriel let his hands glide up your waist, let his fingers curl over your trembling belly. When he dragged you in again for another kiss, his fingers hooked around the hem of your sweater. You didn’t wait for him to ask. You simply helped him lift your sweater over your head before tossing it to the side. On the next kiss, you felt his hands reach back, then struggle with the clasp of your bra. “Let me guess,” you smirk and move your own hands to your back, to help him. “You were just taught the concepts?”

Gabriel, red in the face, nodded. “Exactly.”

You chuckle and toss your bra to the side as well. That was when Gabriel took the time to really see you.

Merciful creator, he thought. All his life Gabriel thought the earthly vessel that held his being was to be left without blemish and untouched, and devoid of any mortal influence. But seeing you like that, your lips already bruised, your eyes darkened with lust, well, it made him think that experiencing earthly delights and desecrating his body may not be such terrible things after all. He cupped your cheeks, taking his time to pull you in with a kiss.

This kiss was soft, tender, almost lazy. Gabriel pulled you onto his lap, holding you flush against him, a soft hum rising at the back of his throat. You felt every shaky breath he took, and relished every tingle as his hands went up and down your spine. When those hands cupped your ass, squeezing on soft flesh, you press yourself against him even more.

Gabriel took his time to savour every precious second. His heart raced when you arched into him. His pulse scrambled when you whimpered with each breath you took. More. His body kept screaming More. On impulse, he moved his hands up, to your hair, yanking on it and pulling you back. Warmth spread in his belly as he kissed his way leisurely down your neck, and in a move that surprised you both, he had you under him in a heartbeat.

“Very good,” you giggle, a gasp ripping through you when a cool hand glided over your ribcage.

“Well, I aim to please,” he replied huskily before dipping his head to taste.

Gabriel felt like he was pulled into a tunnel of darkened desire. His lips moved over a nipple, his tongue twirling around the already tender bud. He moaned, deep and throaty, when your legs hooked around his hips, when your fingers raked over his back. He trembled with desire as he moved from one breast to the other, a hand ready to take over what his lips left unattended.

And it still wasn’t enough. Gabriel, hard as ever by now, wanted to experience your body in all its glory. He placed a tentative hand over the waistband of your leggings, his eyes never leaving yours. “Can I?” he asked in a soft breath.

You say “yes,” as you lift your hips. Your body started to throb when warm fingers grazed against your flesh, goosebumps rising over your skin as Gabriel pulled down your leggings and your underwear, leaving you exposed.

He gulped as his eyes raked over your body. “Merciful creator,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

And he was still dressed. That had to be remedied, and quickly. You squealed when a shirt button popped and nearly hit you in the nose, so eager was he to get out of his clothes. His shirt was disposed of, as were the rest of his clothes. Fully naked now, Gabriel towered over you, like a perfectly sculpted statue come to life. You just wanted to reach out, and run a hand over his torso, but he put a stop to all by pushing you back into bed and crushing your lips with his.

Your skin felt so soft to his touch. If he had more time, Gabriel could have worshipped your body, as he rightly believed so. Alas, he didn’t have that time, so he did everything he could to make it count. He caressed your tummy when your arms went around his shoulders, groaning when you hooked your legs around his hips and your slick heat rubbed up against his cock. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked. “We may never see each other again after this.”

Having been pulled into a darkened tunnel of need, you assure him that yes, this is what you want. Gabriel dipped his head and kissed you again, his hand clamping down on yours and pinning it to the mattress. You had to help him, guide him, your entire body trembling at that intrusion. Gabriell’s moan was deep and ragged as his cock pushed deeper, throbbing around your velvety walls. You felt so good, so hot, it took every ounce of willpower he had not to just plunge in. Feeling your walls clench around his cock almost undid him, almost undid you. “You feel so good,” you breathed, biting your lip. “You feel so good inside me.”

That put a smile on his face. Gabriel moved, slowly, hesitantly, trying to get a feel of what kind rhythm you’d like. His thrusts were shallow, gentle, dragging out mewls every time his hips ground into your thighs. “H-harder,” you beg, “You d-don’t have to be gentle.”

Gabriel simply let go, gave into the madness that threatened to consume him. He slammed his hips against you, moaning every time you arched back or whenever your fingers raked down his skin. He dipped his head for a kiss. “I love how you taste,” he breathed. “You could intoxicate a man just by those lips alone.”

Your eyes nearly rolled back when he grew rougher with each thrust. Clinging onto him, your kisses deepening as he rode you relentlessly. Gabriel felt he was reaching the point of no return. He tightened his grip on your hand, caging you against the mattres. The sounds escaping his lips matched yours, the sheer pleasure of his hips slapping against your thighs made him plunge into you like a wild beast. Gabriel surrendered to the void, no longer caring of about if he got into trouble for this, for what he was doing to you. How could any of this be wrong when it all felt so right?

The room seemed to spin like all around you. You could feel your pussy quiver. Your muscles started to tighten, as if readying to snap. “D-don’t stop,” you beg. “Please don’t stop.”

Gabriel pressed himself into you, his lips sinking into your neck. He felt the beckoning pull, of a taut cord that was about to snap in two, and  then--

And then it felt like your body had splintered. You threw your head back and cried out his name, your entire body shaking violently as you came. You were vaguely aware of Gabriel fucking you while you orgasmed, and when his embraces grew intense, too intense, you quickly regain some control and force him to his knees with you straddling him. Gabriel sputtered in utter confusion. “Wh-what? Did I do somehting wrong?”

You smile as you pull away from him, one hand wrapping neatly around his cock, the other gripping onto his shoulder for support.. “You did nothing wrong, I just prefer this.”

Gabriel moaned, buried his face in the crook of your neck as you pumped his length. The air was peppered with words uttered in a language you didn’t understand, but Gabriel was enjoying himself, you could feel it in the way he thrust his hips everytime you pumped his cock. When he was close you felt it, his cock stiffening, his breath catching, his hand moving above yours, as if to guide you. The bite along your neck went unfelt. You felt more than heard the deep moan, a spurt of warmth pouring over your hands as his body trembled voilently

His chest heaved, and gleamed with the faint sheen of sweat. Gabriel tried to find a sense of equilibrium, then pulled you into his embrace, wanting your lips over his again, before laying you back in bed. The both of you lay there, blissed out and exhausted, content to stay as you were as time slowly ticked by. 

There was no talking this time, just blissful silence. You hummed as your fingers traced their way over flawless skin, as if trying commit each bump and line to memory. Gabriel may never come back, you thought, but the memories of tonight would remain sweet and evergreen to you. When he stirred, you curled into him even more, sighing contentedly when his nose brushed against your hair.

Gabriel glanced at the time. Barely an hour left. He stayed with you, not wanting to leave until your eyes closed. You barely heard a whispered goodbye, barely felt the kisses that brushed over your cheek.

When you finally woke up, your entire body aching, there was a beautifully penned note, with a gold feather on top of it. The letter was sincere and heartfelt, and thanked you for everything. You grinned and stretched yourself, loosening the sore cricks in your body, before heading to the bathroom to freshen up for breakfast.

[windsweptinred]

Metamorphosis Part Four

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

They sat upon the black sands together, watching as the tides rolled in and out. Occasionally Dream would reach out, harnessing the lunar pull, practising making the waves soar. Then feel his mother wrench them back from him, hoarding the power feebly to her breast. He would stop for a while, he meant to cause her no more distress, but the lure of the celestial bodies was heady and impossible to ignore for long. The novelty of learning, instead of knowing, exhilarating. 

Besides him, Hob sat fascinated, causally making the sand rise and fall at whim. How ironic, Dream thought, that soon Hob would control the sands of time and creation that slipped further and further from his sway. 

Letting the sand drop once more to the beach below, Hob paused for a moment, before turning to Dream, "Hey love… I've been thinking. Do you need a moment?" 

Dream raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"To mourn?" He promoted softly. "They were your parents." 

Mourn? He looked to the sky, the stars winked back supportively. He sent a surge of love and sorrow intermingled, a desire to make his mother proud into the darkness. Only to have it slapped back. A flood of resentment and anger following in response. His Father, he did not even attempt. He had never had the patience for the bundle of fantasy and wishes that had been his third born. Dream shook his head remorsefully. 

"We loved them, though our love was a foreign thing to them. They were ancient, desolate beings. Here before The One Above All thought true existence into being. Any care for creation they once nurtured, withered long ago. They will go together, and I pray they can find peace." 

Hob seemed to ponder on his words for a moment. Eyes dimming a little.. Before his lip twitched and he looked at Dream with an amused grin." I wonder what my parents would think of me now? Look at me Ma! About to become the personification of existence. And Pa always said I'd never see past four and twenty with my lack of sense." He gave a little huff at that. Before a soberness crept into his expression," The personification of time itself … Shit. I'm not sure I can do this."

Dream leaned his head on Hob's shoulder. He had few words of advice to calm his fears. For once as lost about what was to come as his lover. 

"From what I gather, we have been 'doing this', walking this path together since June the seventh, 1389 my love." He leaned forward to smirk at Hob cheekily. "Apparently a human peasant had the audacity to take one look at me and decide right then and there he was keeping me."

Hob let out a guffaw at that. Reaching out to flick Dream on the nose. "That's right, poppet. Doomed from the start you were."

He then flung himself back onto the sand, hair sprawled about him, a wistful look on his face. "As nice as your realm… Old realm is duck," He gave Dream an apologetic look. "I don't half wish we could be back home in the New Inn right now, tucked up by the hearth. My nerves are going crazy." He gave an embarrassed huff. "Just being somewhere warm, familiar, preferably with a lot of alcohol at hand would help." 

Dream stroked his hair soothingly. He wasn't even sure if they could return to the Waking. He had no more answers than Hob did. He looked thoughtfully at the sands surrounding them. But maybe… He gave a tentative call, only for them to respond weakly to his summons. A few grains lazily rolled towards him. 

"Perhaps, I can craft one last dream?" 

He put his palm to the ground, calling out wordlessly... Help me Daniel. Please. To his immense relief, he felt an instant swell of joy great him in response. A giddy happiness swirled about him on the breeze as the sands began to lift about them. Dream pictured his wish.. And he felt Daniel eagerly begin to weave. 

…… 

Hob inhaled the familiar smell of wood smoke and rushes unfurling around him.

Opening his eyes, he watched brick by brick as the White Horse rose up about him. He ran a hand over his jaw, feeling a thick lustrous beard. The Inn was empty, yet the feel of community, merrymaking… home, love remained. Soaked into the walls. 

Hob turned, and there was Dream, his Dream. As he had first known him. As he had first loved him. Dark silky hair brushing his shoulder teasingly. Long, black tunic covering everything save the tantalising hint of a long, pale neck. 

"Hello Robert Gadling."

He gave a lopsided grin, making to reply… But was interrupted by a white goat trotting its way merrily between them. Bleating excitedly. 

Hob raised an eyebrow, sending Dream an disbelieving glance. 

"You ditched my mates but kept the goat?" 

Dream smirked, rolling his eyes playfully before waving a half hearted shooing gesture at the animal. 

"Capricorn, be gone, impatient creature. You will meet your new master soon enough. "

Hob blinked, watching as the little beast pranced and bucked, before dispersing into stardust. Pondering on it for a moment, before shrugging it off...Not now. 

He felt a hand at his chest give him a firm shove and he fell, with graceless thud, arse first into a chair. Staring up at an entertained little leer. Oh, this was familiar. 

Dream closed in on him, hitching the skirts of his dark tunic up, revealing the beautifully contrasting pale, slender legs beneath. Clambering  up onto Hob's lap and sliding slowly until they sat chest to chest, knees bracketing Hob's hips. Hob grasped at his slim waste, wrapping his hands about it. Marvelling still at how they met and overlapped in the middle. He ran his hands up and down Dream's lithe torso, mapping the slender muscles beneath the fine fabric. Mouth watering as he felt two erect buds beneath the weave. Dark mother, nurturer. He lunged forward, biting at the chest below through the material. Revealing as Dream's breath hitched and he arched encouragingly into Hob's teeth. 

Reaching impatiently for Dream's high collar, he tore the cloth, watching it rip, a jagged line tearing down, revealing the hairless, smooth dip of Dream's lower stomach. With a growl, he latched onto a sweet pink bud, biting and sucking his claim. Dream threw his head back, the column of his perfect neck arched, letting out a high keen. 

Two nimble hands grasped at his hair, yanking it back harshly. Dream leaned forward, nipping at the lobe of his ear and tugging gently with his teeth. Before licking a sultry trail from shoulder to ear, leaning in, whispering, "Will you claim your Night now, All Time?"

Hob purred thickly, grabbing Dream under the armpits and hoisting him with ease onto the table, drawing Dream's skirts up and over his hips. 

Running hands up Dream's smooth thighs, he watched in awe as galaxies trailed in its wake. Grabbing at a knee, he leaned in kissing and nuzzling his way up, delighting as every pore of Dream's skin glimmeried delicately like starlight. He bit into the joint of thigh and hip, and watched as a supernova exploded about the mark. "You beauteous creature."

He felt two hands tugging at the shoulders of his tunic with impatience. Grinning, he drew back, pulling it off and tossing it aside without flair. Falling into Dream's embrace, two long legs encasing his hips, arms wrapping securely about his shoulders. He drew Dream into a tender kiss, tasting the sharp crisp air of a winter's eve on his breath. 

They broke apart all smiles and soft giggles. Dream gave Hob a mischievous look, aurora borealis dancing across his eyes, before wracking his nails down Hob's shoulders, vines sprouting, blooming, withering and fading from the marks. Letting out a joyas laugh at his findings. He repeated the action, clawing gentle trails all the way down to Hob's wrists. 

"Enjoying yourself my darling? " Hob purred, skin gleaming golden, beaming with joy. His hair, trailing lightly across Dream's pale chest, flamed from his natural dark auburn to a vivid red. Dream twined a strand about his finger, before tugging lightly at it. Hob purred and ground forward. Smirking, Dream grasped a handful and yanked, the hair darkening further to a deep rich burgundy as Hob flung his head back back, eyes clenched in pleasure.  Between Dream's fingers, the hair continued to shift, strawberry blonde, a warm ivory and then returning once more to russet brown. 

Fumbling at the binding of his breaches with a growl, he freed himself before lunging forward, grinding up against Dream hips. The feel of their skin colliding seared through him, every nerve ending burning intensely. Then a wave of utter tranquillity swept over its path. Dear god. Was this what the meeting of fire and water felt like? The merging of heaven and hell. Each caress, each drag of body against body scorched and soothed. He couldn't take it, he couldn't stop. He bit an impassioned shout into Dreams neck. Below him, Dream fared no better. Trilling and screeching with each grind. Breathing hotly into Dream's ear, he kissed the lobe before asking thickly, "My Night?". Dream reached up, cupping his bearded jaw, twilight eyes flaring. "My Time." With that, he aligned himself and space and time were as one. 

….. 

A great hand rose forth from the nothingness, unknowable yet known to all. With a great snap of its fingers,  a chorus of angels raised their voices in harmonious jubilation. A crowd of demons hooted and catcalled with malevolent glee. In the vast unknown, ancient creatures of chaos woke from their slumbers, peering curiously… 

Time opened his eyes. 

Hail the Father 

Within his pupils, great wheels turned.

About his skin, the great serpent Ouroboros artfully crawled.

He was Robert Gadling, mortal born, shy of 700 turns of  Terras wheel. He was Time, older than death, older than breath. He was the gaps between the words of the Book of Destiny, the beat between seconds. 

He reached out and felt the planets turn. Further, felt the life of all between first and last gasp. Further still, past, present and future. First linear, then circular then eternally lopping in figure eight. 

He stood before a man, seven times over, stared into his eyes and whispered, "So much to live for Robert Gadling. Nowhere to go but up." 

……. 

Night opened his eyes. 

Hail the Mother

Within his pupils, moons waxed and waned. 

About his skin, countless galaxies gracefully glided. 

He was Morpheus, Endless born, as old as imaginings. He was Night, who had always been, long before the light of the creation. He was sky and shadow. The space between galaxies. The infinite darkness, without boundaries. Limitless. 

He reached out and heard the song of stars, moons and suns. Further, the thunderous chant of the planets of countless galaxies. Further still, the serenading of the omniverse. 

He stood before sleeping fantasy, nestled safely in a bed of clouds, and whispered into his ear. "Wake now, sweet third and ninth born. My Dream is over, yours begins."

……..

Time opened his eyes

He felt the hard nip of wood digging into his thighs, two legs about his hips in a vice grip. Himself buried deep within his love. With each hard thrust, his consciousness became clearer. He was completely nude, glowing like a solar flare. He was making love to the most exquisite being in the omniverse. 

He grasped at the table below him, feeling it creek at his strength. The legs grinding into the floor in a matching rhythm to their own. Below him Night's skin shone luminous. His hair, spilling about him like liquid midnight. Eyes dark, pupils a breathtaking solar eclipse. 

The room about them was thick with smoke. No chimney, Time thought with mirth. From its cloudy plumes, the ghosts of years long past took shape. Hours, days, years flew by around them as time reenacted itself in a hazy grey. Out of the corner of his eye, Time saw himself and Night as they once were, meeting and parting over and over. 

Beneath his grasp, the wood of the table began to shift, as grain formed back to bark. From the beams of the walls, branches sprouted, bud and blossomed. From the floor, roots broke free of earth, wrapping about each other in a binding embrace. Through the gaps in a great verdant canopy, the universe erupted in celebration. Comets dancing across the sky in a vivid display. The Zodiac circled them in a melodious sway as the constellation Lyra played sweetly. A tear escaped Night's eye, and moonflowers sprung from the ground where it fell. Blooming about him like a floral halo. 

Within him, he felt a great seed split, sprout and grow, surging as his thrusts became erratic. He drew his hands up, placing them on his lover's abdomen, moonbeams gleaming gently through the gaps in his fingers. 

"Do you accept the creation I offer thee, from this day forth my Darkness?" 

Two eyes of breaking dawn met his gaze. 

"To have and to hold, to love and to cherish within me my centuries."

He thrust once, twice. Night threw his head back and the voices of exuberant stars joined his passionate cry. Plunging once more into the endless abyss, Time felt the seasons shift within him. Autumn, winter, spring then finally summer. Creation exploded with life…

"My Night" 

"My Time" 

………. 

They waltzed, arm in arm upon the sand dunes, as dawn broke upon the horizon. Swirls of sand and stardust dancing about them like a hail of ethereal confetti. 

Night draped in a glistening gown of celestial bodies. Intricate lace of constellations and trailing swathes of stars. Time, robed in vibrant folds of greens, golds, browns and reds, forever shifting, merging and blending. Like the ever changing palette of the land. 

Time looked into his beloved's eyes. 

"Do you know what's fucking brilliant, my Darkness?" 

Night leaned in closer, 

"Chimneys!" 

Night threw his head back and laughed. 

(Art by the phenomenonally talented @kat-wick of her vision of the new Night and Time.)

(Just the epilogue to come now... And I finally get to wake poor Daniel up. 😅)

[jj-5656]

Mercy On Me

With; James Potter

A/N: FINALLY. I am so sorry for how long this shit took. Honestly, I was expecting this idea to be short and sweet. Nearly 7k words later and here we are. Appreciate all your ongoing support, and I hope you enjoy!<3

Summary: The one where the two bumbling idiots are blind to the others’ affections amongst their argument, and James gets wasted. 

TW: Drinking, cursing NOT YET PROOFREAD

      Rain patters harshly against the pane of your window, with thunder grumbling every now and again. Wind whistles through the air outside, cutting through the comfortable silence of your bedroom. You love this weather. Finding solace in the sound of the rain and the grey hue that elicits in your bedroom. It helps you focus, convenient now that you’ve spent the past couple hours finishing up on homework assignments and studying for your upcoming Astronomy exam. The dynamics of the celestial sphere and the names of stars making up a series of constellations swim through your mind, yet theres’s an incessant fear you’ll manage to sit down in your desk come Tuesday and forget every piece of information you’ve just relayed. 

James Potter, one of your dearest friends, isn’t nearly as accommodating to rainy days. It means quidditch practice is canceled, you can’t meet up in the courtyard for the groups’ daily catch up, and you’re banished to the confinements of four walls. He’s sprawled across your bed, rotating through doodling, practicing new charms, and bugging you. 

He’s antsy. Your best friend is much like a hyper active child, and with no outlet for all his damned energy, he’s opted to pester you all afternoon. You try to block out his absent-minded humming and the scratching of his charcoal sketch sticks, but Prongs never makes blocking him out very easy. You swivel your chair to shoot him a glare when his rubber blending tool makes contact with he back of your head. 

“Can I help you?” It takes everything in you not to flick the shit-eating grin adoring his face now that he’s gained your attention. 

“Does it say anything in those books about dying of boredom? Because I’m starting to feel faint.” 

“Can't you go bother Pads or Moony? Why have I been chosen to bear the weight of your undiagnosed ADHD?” 

“You’ve been at this for hours, you’re not finished?” 

“Not even close, Jay. You know this exam is important.” 

“Can’t you at least take a break? Let’s take a nap.” He yawns, stretching over the expanse of your mattress. And while the prospect of sleeping beside him sounds tempting, you shake your head. It’s bad enough his offer elicits butterflies throughout your gut, when he’s merely seeking the company of a friend. 

“What about important exam are you not gathering?” He rolls his eyes, reaching down to grab the tool he’d used as a weapon and begin sketching again. Though not without a series of muttered complaints. 

You’re irritated. It’s not like you enjoy spending the better half of your day doing schoolwork. If you could afford it, you’d be right next to him and fast asleep ages ago. In a boarding school where you’re surrounded by peers for 80% of your day, there are times you wish to be alone. You regard the time to yourself as a chance to reset, considering your fragile social battery. Potter finds the notion completely foreign, and couldn’t possibly fathom why anyone would choose to not be around other people. You’re a little moody, sure. Which might be why you find his drumming of the charcoal against the book particularly distracting. 

After a few beats of deep breaths, you confront it. “Would you mind, Ringo?” He pauses, looking just past the pages to send you a cheeky smile. Your attraction only angers you further. It’s bad enough your feelings are unrequited, he could at least try to look less fucking good looking all the time. 

“If I weren’t being ignored, I’m sure I’d be less intolerable.” 

“Why don’t you go find Sirius, I’m sure he’s bored. Or even Lily, sure she’s studying in her own dorm.” He’s not particularly thrilled with your tone in regard to your shared red-headed friend. His crush on Lily, though having been topic of conversation every time he opened his mouth, was fast and fleeting last year. He hadn’t regarded her anywhere close to that sense ever since-Since forever ago. Additionally, James Potter hates feeling needy. Like you don’t want to share his company. Like his affections are too smothering, unrequited. 

“I’m not sure why you have yourself so worked up.” There’s a twinge of venom to it, you’ve unknowingly struck an insecurity. Your brows furrow with frustration, unaccustomed to his attitude. 

“Not all of us can thrive off our athletic reputations, or effortless grades.” You almost regret it as soon as it’s said. You hadn’t been looking for an argument, but you’ve definitely found one. 

“What's that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, loosened tie covered by the fabric of his robe. 

“James, I didn’t-” 

“No, you did.” He moves to sit up on your bed, hazel staring daggers into yours. Daring and unkind. It twinges something close to nausea in your stomach, though your blood still boils. “What did you mean?” 

“I mean you don’t even have to try! Your marks are near perfect yet you rarely study. And if anything, you have quidditch to fall back on for an excuse.” He scoffs, nothing short of disbelief and indignation. 

“So what, you think I don’t work for what I have?” You’ve definitely struck your nerve, but the bastards been disrespecting your social boundaries all day, and it’s most definitely gotten to you. 

“That’s not what I said.” 

“But it’s what you meant.” He stands, looming figure no longer comforting as it usually is. He’s almost intimidating, glaring at you as if you’ve just cornered him. 

“I only mean athletes get treated differently, sometimes. It’s not you fault it’s, just not necessarily fair to the rest of us.” There’s that scoff again, a roll of his eyes as he wets his lips.

“You’ve lost the plot, mate.” 

“Well of course you wouldn’t notice! You are one James, how would you be able to see it?” 

“I’m glad that’s how you regard me, y/n. Freeloading off quidditch as if I don’t work hard as well?” There's a tone of distaste as your name crosses his lips, it feels like a punch to the stomach. 

“Again, that’s not what I said.” You stand too, shoulders tensed with anger. 

“Whatever. I’ll see you later, considering I’m such a bother.” He’s out the door before you can open your mouth to respond. You jumped the sound of your front door slamming, collapsing back into your chair with an exasperated sigh. 

**********

Dinner is undoubtedly awkward. The rest of your friends are enveloped in conversation, but you and James keep to yourselves for the most part. Unfortunately, you were the last to make it to the Great Hall, and the only open seat was beside the only boy you’re currently at odds with. Mary’s been trying to get your attention the past ten minutes, Pads too. An evident ‘what’s with the tension’ but you and Prongs brush them off. 

Landon O’Connor is a friend of a friend. A fellow Gryffindor that photographs many of the school events and quidditch matches. James knows him fairly well, which is why he’s astonished the brunette boy approaches your table with a curt nod to James with his eyes only on you. Aiming to sit in the awkward gap between you and him with a kind smile. 

You have to grip the table to steady yourself when you’re pulled swiftly into Jame’s side. The boy has wrapped his leg around yours from under the table and pulled you toward him. Shooting a look to the bewildered photographer, he ignores your heated gaze. The group snaps their heads to watch as James squares his shoulders, eyes darting to yours for only a second before he offers your peer a gentle smile. 

“Evening, everyone. Doing alright?” There’s a chorus of commonalties Landon nods along to before his eyes land on you, flitter to the brooding chaser, and then back to you. 

“Y/n, still studying for Sinistras exam?”

“You kidding? I haven’t stopped.” He chuckles, settling beside you and allowing the group to fall back into their own discussions. Though you get the feeling they’re most definitely paying attention to how this is gonna play out. 

“You’ll be fine, you’re a smart girl. Besides, a couple friends of mine are meant to get together to review the material in the courtyard tomorrow. You’re more than welcome to join us.” A pleased smile pulls at your lips, falling immediately when James scoffs into his chalice. 

“Alright, Potter?” The boy nods, arm brushing against yours when he turns to face the both of you. 

“Fine. It’s just, y//n typically studies alone. Doesn’t appreciate any distractions.” You bite your lip, matching the boy’s challenging stare. There’s that same venom in his words, anger still prevalent from your argument. You break away first, offering another bright smile to Landon. 

“Actually, I’d love to join you guys. The company’s fine as long as it’s productive.” James feels his skin run hot when you shift on the bench to face completely away from him. Your attention solely on the bloke to the left. 

“Isn’t there a photography meeting during evening hours on Thursday’s, O’Connor?” You can feel James loom closer to you, and by the look on Landon’s face, his expression is not nearly as welcoming as before.

“Well, yeah. But today’s was optional and I thought-”

“I’m sure the lads are probably wondering where you are, yeah?” Irritation is heavy in his tone, it’s an apparent but unspoken  ‘get lost’. 

“Right, probably.” The brunette surveys your friends, not letting their quickly averting eyes go unnoticed. “Y/n, if I don’t see you at the library tomorrow, will I be seeing you at the party this weekend?” 

“Definitely. Good seeing you.” There's a shared grin between you both as he stands again, a hope he hasn’t been scared off indefinitely due to the awkward encounter. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, love.” James actually laughs this time, shoving at Sirius’ shoulder when the raven-haired boy kicks him under the table. Landon either doesn’t notice, or chooses to disregard it in lieu of being polite. 

“Could you be any more rude, Potter?” 

“Must be the privileged athlete in me.” 

“Must be!” And with that, you’re both silent again. Flushing under the bewildered looks of the rest of the Marauders. They get to talking again, a feeble attempt at concealing their eavesdropping. 

“You know, I’m starting to understand the whole ‘cutting tension with a knife’ phrase.”

“Shove it, Pads.” Both of you heat even more having said it in unison, only making the boy across grin even wider. Hands raised in a half-assed surrender, doing little to hide his amusement. 

**********

You feel much better about next week’s exam after studying with Landon’s group. Though the boy was fairly distant during your time in the library. It was bad enough you and James were at odds, now the bastard was scaring other boys off. What was the reason anyway? Potter had never made a move, never insinuated any interest despite your own. Sure, it hurt, but you wouldn't resent him for seeing you only as a friend. It made his distaste for O’Connor’s flirting nonsensical and infuriating, As if he didn’t necessarily want you, but didn’t anyone else to have you either. 

“Y/n/n, darling. Where are you? I’m risking poking an eye out with this eyeliner.” Sirius usually gets ready with the girls, arguing your pregame is much more fun than that of the boys. He maneuvers around the rest of your friends getting themselves ready amongst you and Marlene’s dorm. Arguing over which one of your tops they’ll be stealing for the night, or adding the finishing touches to their makeup. Sirius drags you onto the mattress beside him, offering the eyeliner stick in silent pleading. You oblige, tilting his chin up to begin. 

“Look up, Siri. Stop looking at me, especially like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m wounded or something.” You’re both quite enough so the girls singing along to the music from the record player or in the middle of conversations can’t hear. The raven-haired boy sighs, doing his best not to blink too hard and ruin your work. 

“It’s just, you and James haven’t spoken in ages.”

“It’s been two days, Pads.”

“That's a new record for the both of you. I can’t stand the constant moping, you’re both killing my buzz.” You laugh despite it all, rolling your eyes with fondness for his melodramatics. 

“I’m not sure he’s interested in speaking to me at the moment.” You hold up a tissue from your desk for him to wet with his tongue, wiping at any excess liner under his lash line. 

“Trust me, you’re all he’s been talking about. He’s not particularly happy with how things ended between the both of you. As are you, I’m sure.” His eyes dart over to your mirror, lips upturning in a pleased smirk at your handiwork. 

“Of course I hate to fight with James. I was in a bad mood and I just wanted to be alone. I should have communicated that to him.”

“Then why don’t you say so?” 

“Well what was that stunt he pulled at dinner the other night? Arguing with me gave him no reason to take it out on other people.” Sirius chuckles, shaking his head and reaching over to grab the bottle of liquor on your desk. 

“I think he would have given O’Connor lip had you been fighting or not.” You cock your head, about to press on when he passes you a shot. Holding out his own glass for you to clink. “To the first shot of the night, and most definitely not the last.” 

You hum, connecting your glass to his before throwing your heads back. Cringing at the burn in your throat and the shitty taste. “I’ve never understood your affinity to whiskey.” 

“Mends the soul or something, I don’t know. Alcohol is alcohol.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before standing, nodding his head toward the door. Marl’s Lilly, and Dorcas are already headed out to the common room as you follow suit. 

********

It’s well into the party when Remus approaches. Collapsing onto the well-worn couch beside you. You greet him with a warm smile, stretching before resting your head on his shoulder. He was your partner for beer pong, and you’d played against Sirius and James. Needless to say, you’d lost and both had to drink  more than your stomachs were comfortable with. 

“Alright, Rem?” You wrap your arm around his, enveloping him in warmth because he’s almost always chilly. He shakes his head, smile etching over his features. 

“We suck at Pong. I think I can literally feel the beer sloshing around in my stomach.” You groan, hiding your face into the fabric of his sweater with self-pitying chuckles. 

The game hadn’t been too awkward. You hadn’t spoke much to Potter over the course of the game, but laughed along with him at Sirius’ tipsy smack talk. His lingering gaze had etched a lump in your throat a couple times, but you’d choked it down with more beer. Hence the comfortable, warming buzz. Remus presses a kiss to your head, digging in his pocket to retrieve his usual chocolates. You oblige instantly, because he’s right, they always make you feel better. 

“Love.” He breaks the comfortable silence, surveying your cheekily drunken peers with admiration. “If I asked you a favor-” 

“Anything, Moons. You know that.” He hums, pressing the side of his cheek into the top of your head in acknowledgment. He’s never minded affection with you, and you’re more than grateful to be one of his few exceptions. 

“Would you talk to Prongs?” 

“Rem-” 

“For me?” His palm opens to offer you another chocolate, and you scoff at the clear bribery but snatch it anyway. “Sweetheart, he’s practically moping in the corner. Won’t even be Pad’s partner anymore. And you know how much James hates to break a winning streak.” 

“It’s his brooding athleticism, I suppose.”

“Y/n.” It’s a warning, a push to forgive.

“He was a jerk, Remus.” 

“You know how he can get, love. Some things you have to lay on him easy. Our Prongs is quite stubborn.” 

“You can say that again.” 

“But so are you sometimes, yes?” You meet his eyes, feeling properly chastised. “You know it’s only because he cares about what you think of him so much. He hated hearing you thought less of him for something he couldn’t possibly control.” 

“But that’s not what I meant, he should know that!”

“Perhaps our boy isn’t as self assured as he lets on sometimes.” His words send a pang to your heart, you know better than to believe Potter isn’t almost always in need of reassurance from his friends. “Regardless of how it was intended, you’ve both hurt one another. Yes?” 

“Yeah.” You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling terribly guilty. And rightfully so.

“So will you go comfort him? Because he’s just about trollied, and will not stop whining about how much he misses you. It was cute at first, but now it’s beginning to become quite irritating.” 

“Fine. But only because I love you.” 

“We both know that’s not your reason.” He scrunches his nose at you, teasing. You pull away with feigned disgust. 

“Oh, shove off.” 

Potter’s across the room in an arm chair, moping just as Moony had said. Even worse than you’d imagined, actually. A pout on his lips as he takes swigs from the beer in hand. Heart aching at the sight of him, it becomes clear just how much you’ve missed him too. He doesn’t notice once you approach, even when you rest your hands on the arm of the chair and bend at the waist to his level. Tapping his knee so he’ll lift his gaze from his lap. James goes from a deep frown to fighting a grin at the sight of you. A definite pinking to his cheeks, from the alcohol or your presence, you’re not sure. 

You wish to slap the voice inside of you that aches to press your lips to his. 

“Hi.” He’s beaming now, hand instinctively reaching out to push a stray strand of hair from your face. It risks your knees giving out right then and there at the gentleness of it all. 

“Hey, Potter. What’s up with the moping, Sirius needs his partner.” You nod to the game ahead, cheering along when Sirius scores. A large, warm hand slides up your forearm, and you tilt your head back down to see his hazel eyes staring up at you with an emotion you can’t quite read. Fondness fills you to the brim at the sight of it. 

“I’m not in the m-mood.” There’s an adorable hiccup that sounds between the last word, the ache in your heart growing tenfold. “Where’s O’Connor? Thought you’d be with him.” It’s genuine, there's no self pity or ill-intent behind his words. Instead, it’s almost solemn. Much unlike the James you’re accustomed to. 

“I’m sure he’s around somewhere.” You shrug, clear in your indifference. “But I wanted to check on you.” The corner of his lips twitch upward, but he bites it away. Another squeeze to your arm he hasn’t found the strength to release just yet. 

“It’s okay if you want to go hang out with him, Y/n. I’m fine. And you’re angry with me.” 

“I’m not angry anymore, James.” You can’t help but run a hand through his unruly curls, smirking when he leans into the touch. 

“You aren’t?” You shake your head, crouching to get more comfortable. 

“I mean, I was. I didn’t appreciate you putting words into my mouth. But I understand why you got defensive. It wasn’t fair of me to be rude just because I didn’t want to communicate needing some time to myself. I’m sorry, Prongs.” 

“I’m sorry too. Really sorry.” He runs a thumb over the arm still in his hold, eyes averting to observe the line of goosebumps it elicits with a soft smile. You fear you’re much too smitten of him for your own good. He pats the arm of the chair for you to sit on, and you comply. Looking at the partygoers around you. It’s comforting, despite longer participating in the festivities you’re still enjoying the atmosphere. 

Eventually James shifts, settling his head over your thighs with a contented sigh. He waits a beat, taking hold of your wrist and plopping your hand atop his head. You shake your head with a scoff, pretending to be irritated with his silent request. Fingers coursing through the strands of his hair once again. You catch Remus’ eyes across the room, sticking your tongue out to ward them off when he leans over to Sirius, the pair staring fondly. James doesn’t notice, hazed from the alcohol and the scent of your perfume. 

The rise and fall of his broad shoulders slows, so you lean over to meet his face. 

“Don’t fall asleep down here, Prongs. Don’t think I’m able to get you to bed otherwise.” The corner of his lip curls up despite his closed eyes, and you’re quite sure you’d be able to watch him for hours. 

“Can we go to bed, then?” 

“James Potter leaving a party early? Why, I must be dreaming.” He ignores your teasing, pulling himself off you and standing to his full height. There’s a slight wobble to him, one he has to balance by grasping either arm of the vintage chair. Consequently putting his head only inches front yours. A wave of pine and mint consumes you, along with a faint, lingering scent of whiskey. His eyes follow yours, having caught them averting to his lips. James smiles, one of his cocky, smug concoctions that urges you to smack or kiss him. Combative urges you usually tend to get when in his presence. 

“You’re trollied, Jay. Let’s get to the dorms before you lose your footing for good.” Your tone is light in teasing, missing the fall of his features as you duck under his arm and get to your feet. 

“Should we say goodnight to Moony and Pads?” The taller boy rubs at his eyes, letting you adjust the glasses he’s just pushed crooked. You look around the room, landing on the pair who are pouring another round of shots for your shared group of friends. James doesn’t notice, busying himself with fixing your necklace to bring the clasp to the back of your neck. Praying he doesn’t notice the goosebumps running over your skin, you nudge him toward the stairs with a gentle shake of your head. Knowing he’ll most definitely insist on another shot in lieu of being left out. 

“I’m sure they’ll be up soon, cmon.” He’s surprisingly easy to persuade, allowing you to take hold of his arm and guide him toward the steps. 

It’s a bit of a struggle. He’s nearly twice your size, so any miss-step he makes in his drunken stupor is a threat to both of you. 

“Gryffindor house truly is the best. Don’t you think, lovely?” A hiccup before he goes on. “I mean, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Wouldn’t have met any of my best mates had any of us been sorted otherwise.” He pushes a finger to your cheek, cocking his head when you swiftly shush him. Unaware his volume is much too loud to be this close to the dorms or your respected, sleeping peers.  A grin spreads across his face as he mimics you, pointer finger pressing to his lips as you approach his dorm. 

He collapses onto his mattress, shuffling under the covers and sighing as if the exertions’ exhausted him. 

 “Will you stay with me?” It’s almost unintelligible with his cheek pressed into the satin pillow.

“James-”

“Please?” Those puppy dog eyes again, he’s well aware of what he’s doing. You huff, fighting a smile as you discard your shoes. “You can grab a pair of joggers and whatever else you need from my drawers.” 

“I can’t stay here all night.” 

“Why not? The boy’s will be gone for hours, love. I don’t wanna fall asleep alone.” The alcohols undoubtedly loosened his lips, he wets them before continuing. “Always hated it when I was little, you know? I used to crawl into my mum and dad’s bed in the middle of the night. I’d hate waking up to nobody being there.” He turns away so you can change, pulling the comforter to the side so you’ll be able to slip in. 

“I loved my parents bed too.” You smile fondly at the memories, pulling one of his shirts over your head and admiring the emboldened, crimson, ‘Gryffindor’ lettering across your chest. “When they sent me to bed, I would sneak out of my room and wait on the steps. I liked listening to the telly when they were watching it together late at night. Always felt left out.” You both huff a laugh, slipping in next to him as he turns to face you again. 

James pushes a stray stand of hair from your face, eyes wandering over your features. You gaze up at his ceiling instead, admiring the constellations Sirius has permanently charmed on the ceiling. 

“You’re so pretty.” It’s unthinking, muttered into the darkness of the room and slipping away. Your heart thrums against your chest, and a there's beginnings of forming lump in your throat.

“Don’t, James.”

“Don’t what?”

“Say...Say things you don’t mean.” His brows furrow, offended.

“Of course I mean that. I’ve always thought it.” You press your palms to your eyes, willing emotion away. 

“I mea- I mean things you don’t intend to act on.” You fumble out, unsure of your own words and their risk. “Things I’ll overthink.” A pang of hurt shoots through his chest, but you don’t notice the own despair running over his face as you watch a shooting star pass overhead. Wishing he’d really meant it, really wanted to act on it.

“I just think you’re beautiful. That’s all.” 

“Please, Jay. This is mean.” You hate how your voice cracks, how he creates distance between you. 

Mean. He’d prefer just about any other insult in the book. Somehow, mean sounds far worse than anything else. Especially when he’s taking a chance. 

“Merlin, how is that mean?” 

“It’s just-” “Have I made you uncomfortable?” 

“No.” You’re almost incredulous, unable to imagine an instance he’d ever overstep a boundary like that. “No, of course not. That’s the issue, actually.” 

“Well...I’d like to kiss you, then. Would that prove it?” You almost choke on your own saliva, gaze snapping over to his for any signs of jest. He runs a thumb over your brow, blinking slow. 

“You’re drunk, James.” There's no cruelty to it. If anything, you seem relieved, maybe even pleased with him. Potter’s smug again, an inkling of hope igniting in his chest. 

“Sober thoughts, lovely.”

“Maybe-” you swallow, nerves stalling you. “Maybe you can kiss me in the morning, when you're sorely hungover and regretting all the beer pong.” 

“Alright.” His cheeks are beginning to hurt from smiling, so he turns on his back so he won’t be able to look at you any longer. Hoping it aids the burning desire to cement his words. “You’ll stay though. Yeah?” 

“Always, James.” 

************

You’re weighed down by something awfully heavy the next morning. Sunlight seeping through the red and gold curtains adorning the window across the room. Sirius is sprawled out on his bed just under it, most agape with slumber. You narrow your eyes, confused with your surroundings. Up until you recognize the weight as a tanned, toned arm. Pulling you closer subconsciously. James is so close his breath fans over your neck, sending chills down your spine. You make a meek attempt at biting back the grin pulling at your lips as the memories flood in. 

Though the smell of coffee beckons you from your admiration of the sleeping chaser in front of you. Seriously, how someone looks that angelic fast asleep is beyond you. Carefully, you push the greedy extremity from your waist, slipping out of the sheets and shuffling toward the common area of the dorm. 

Remus stands over the stove and tends to pans of food whilst averting his gaze to a book beside him on the counter every now and then. You considered yourself a bookworm before you met him, having been utterly humbled ny his sheer addiction for literature. 

“Morning.” Its awfully complacent, Lupin doesn’t even look at you during his greeting. Tone heavy with self-satisfaction and suggestive teasing. 

“I slept next to him, Moons. I’m not having his children.” You pour yourself a cup of coffee, eager to indulge in the boy’s expertly crafted blend. 

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Didn’t have to.” You both turn your heads into the direction of an audible groan. James shuffles toward the both of you with his head low and shoulders hunched, grabbing at air until it connect with your mug. 

“I was drinking that.” It earns another grunt, you and Moons sharing an amused glance at the boy’s obvious hangover.

“I’m never drinking again.”

“What, too much fire whiskey for our renowned chaser to handle?” James can only gag at Lupin’s teasing, shooting him a death glare through watery eyes. You rub his back, snatching back your coffee when he leans into your touch. 

“You minx.” He mutters, betrayed. “You know I’m vulnerable.” You only roll your eyes, accepting the plate of food remus hands over with a grateful smile. James  snags a piece of your toast, desperate to soak up the liquor in his stomach and much too keen on stealing from you today. 

“I’m going to attempt to coax Padfoot out of bed. Watch the stove, y/n.” Remus  weaves around the kitchen island with his own toast hanging between his teeth, hair still tousled from sleep. 

Potter’s staring at you, unreadable expression amongst his features as he chews on his (your) food. “I’m assuming you got me to bed last night?”

“Not without difficulty.” James winces, a hand running through his hair. 

“Sorry if I was a pain, love. If I’m honest, I don’t remember much past our reconciliation.” He adorns a tight-lipped smile, guilty with a twinge of hangxiety. You only shrug, aiming to reassure him. “We’re good though, right?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking awfully adorable despite the effects of last night’s alcohol. 

Truth be told, James remembers bits and pieces. He remembers laying in such close proximity, wasted and aching for your lips on his. He can’t shake the feeling that you’re holding back. Had he made move? Had you rejected him? You couldn’t have kissed. Surely no amount of alcohol would have erased that daydream come reality. 

“We’re good, James. And you weren’t a pain. If anything, I can always count on you for being a fairly good-mannered and giddy drunk.” There’s a tilt to his head, a sudden glint in his eyes.

“Can’t say I was too well behaved, yeah?” Your eyes narrow, curious if he’s hinting at your conversation just minutes before sleep. His gaze doesn’t leave you as you approach him, standing on your tip toes so your face is mere inches from his. Just when his lids risk fluttering closed, you back away, having pulled a new mug from the shelf behind him. 

“I’d argue otherwise, Potter.” 

 “Oh?”  Oh. Are you...flirting with him? That confirms it, something had happened last night. “No usual antics then? We just, went to sleep?” Your eyes narrow at his questioning, uncovering the suspicion in his tone with ease. You decide you quite like when he’s nervous. He approaches where you’ve sat yourself on the counter. Subconsciously fitting himself in the space between your legs. Eyes averting to the pair of his sweats you have on, drowning your feet from the length on you. His heart swells with an emotion he can’t quite pinpoint, something between elation and pride. 

“What else would we have done?” You take a smug sip from the steaming cup in hand, nose scrunching in feigned distaste when he takes it from your grasp and sets it on the counter. 

“I dunno.” It’s practically a whisper, his voice still rasped from sleep as his eyes search yours. Eager to sense any sort of hesitation or discomfort on your part. Large hands graze the collar of your borrowed shirt as they reach your neck, cradling your head as if it might dissipate in his hold. You wet your lips, swallowing hard. There's an evident acceleration in both your breathing, and you’re convinced this’ll finally be it. This will finally be the moment James Potter proves to you you’re not just one of his best mates. 

And he thinks so too. 

“Don’t be worried, folks. King of the castle is very much alive and well. I know you’ve all missed me dearly in the agonizing time without my presence.” Sirius waltzes into the kitchen with remnants of eyeliner clouding the skin around his eyes with a bright smile. Bastard, no matter how much alcohol he consumes, just about never gets hungover. He stutters in his approach to the kitchen, a clear realization he’s most definitely just interrupted something. 

Prongs rips away from you like your skin has singed him, scratching at the back of his neck with poorly executed nonchalance. Embarrassment looks bad on him, but likely worse on you. Considering how stupid you must look with such hurt flashing over your face. 

Maybe its a sign, an indication from some higher power this isn’t meant to be. Considering James’ breakaway from the embrace, it seems as though this was merely a heat of the moment occurrence. But you don’t do casual, and you definitely don’t jeopardize years of friendship for some crush that just may actually be unrequited. 

You’re off the counter and awkwardly adjusting the much too big clothes swarming you as Remus reaches the group of you. He takes one look between the three of you, silently snatching the newspaper in lieu of the crossword, and slipping back into the bedroom.

“Did I-”

“No!” James and you are shaking your heads with feigned laughter before Sirius can even finish. Mirth settles comfortably on his dark features, crossing his arms with raised brows. 

“I was just gonna ask if I missed the doorway for a cup of coffee.” Prick doesn’t even attempt to hide his glee, ignoring the daggers James bores into him with his now murderous hazel eyes. 

“Still plenty left in the pot, Pads.” You tuck invisible strands of hair behind your ears, ignoring James’ shift of attention that lingers on your frame. He looks like he’s about to speak, but you’re already turning toward the front door. 

 “Jay,” despite the nickname, there’s no lift to your tone like before. “I have to go. Fluids, today. Or you’ll feel like shit for even longer.” He nods with a mock salute, fully aware he’ll perpetually be feeling like shit for a completely different reason. 

You shout a farewell to Remus, and a pleading smile to an awfully merry Sirius before slipping out the door. Rushing down the hall and toward the girl’s wing without a second thought. 

Black shoves the slightly taller boy in front of him in a fit of exasperation. Fed up with his bumbling idiot of a best mate. 

“You’re a coward, Prongs. Really.” James shrugs him off, recounting your proximity mere minutes ago with an overwhelming surge of glee. He smirks despite it all, biting back the oncoming lovesick grin.

“You know, she’s the only one that calls me Jay?”

“Merlin, you’re hopeless.” 

***************

There’s a knock at the door as you reach for your lavender-scented body wash, closing one eye to avoid the trail of shampoo threatening to run into it. 

“It’s unlocked Marl’s, just come in.” You assume it’s one of your roommates of course, but are shocked at the voice that sounds from the other side of the door. 

“It’s me, actually.” James presses his forehead against the cool wood of the bathroom door, reconsidering whether or not he should actually go through with this. 

“Who’s me?” He feels like a fucking moron. 

“Oh, uh, James.” A wince, an oncoming urge to bash his head into the door to knock some sense into himself. 

“James?” You tug on both sides of the curtain to ensure it covers the entirety of the shower. “Um-”

“I’d wait for you to be out but,” the chaser rolls his shoulders, unaccustomed to such lack of self assurance. “This is sort of urgent.” And now he sounds like a perv, swell.

“Everything alright? Just come in, I can barely hear you.” He does as told, knocking over your array of skin care products set up on the counter because he’s shielding his eyes. You poke your head out to watch him scramble with the bottles, dropping one as soon as he grasps another. 

“Shit. Fuck, sorry. So sorry.” You can’t help but laugh, eyes narrowed in endeared disbelief as his gaze stays trained on the floor, unable to even glance in your direction. When it’s finally settled, he gathers what little dignity he has left to sit with his back against the ledge of the tub. 

“I’m sitting, is that alright?” 

“Its fine, Jay. What’d you need?” And there it is again. Fuck, are you doing this on purpose? A quick shake of his head, and he scoffs despite himself. The only answer his mind can manage is ‘you’ but he figures that’s likely not the best start to this. 

“It’s just, I can’t stop thinking about last night.” He wets his lips, wringing his hands together. “I feel like I may have said more than you let on.” 

You hum, biting back a smile. “Said something you regret?” It’s playful, but the subtle worry in your tone is most definitely there. Potter knows you better than that. 

“What? No. Merlin, no. If it’s what I think, then definitely not.” The grin wins this battle, you ensure all the suds have been rinsed out of your hair before you peek your head out. 

His eyes are still screwed shut, despite his back facing you. He’s tense, body hunched in an attempt to make himself smaller. Though it doesn’t do much. You feel particularly fond of him, just then. Committing this frame to memory. 

“And what do you think it was?” 

“You’re making this sort of difficult, love.” You figure you’ve tortured him long enough. Though it's what he deserves, considering he's left you with bread crumbs the entirety of the past year. 

“James?” He’s barely heard it with the combatting sounds of the running water, but it was there. Soft, sweet, enough to have him wishing you’d say it a million times more, and then some. 

“Y-yeah?” He lets you tilt his head back, his jaw clenching with the tension. You bend at the waist, ensuring not to drop any water on him whilst clutching the curtain tight against your frame. 

And just like that. In the middle of the muggy, steam-ridden bathroom. You kiss James Potter. 

It’s a little awkward in this position. Though he’s so tall you’re not completely bent down, it’s straining for both of you. Which is why you finally decide to reluctantly pull away, his hand taking hold of your jaw to pull you back for a couple swift kisses that unleash a hoard of butterflies throughout your stomach. 

“You said you wanted to kiss me,” your lips hover over his as you whisper. Pulling completely away to preserve your racing heart. Potter scrambles to his full height, adjusting his sleeves because he’s unsure of what to do with his hands now that they’re not on you. 

“Can. thank the whiskey for the confessions, I presume.” You giggle, and he has to fight the urge to shoot his gaze toward you at the sound. “You’re so pretty. I always thought so.” It’s unthinking, rushed out because the shared silence discomforts him. He feels like an idiot again. But you’ve scrambled up any sense of his ego or wit and he’s a mess. “Thought I should say that.” He’s not entirely sure how to clarify how he feels without accidentally professing his all-consuming love for you. Might come off a bit strong, he thinks.

“Oh, you did. A few times, actually.” Potter groans, pressing his palms into his eyes and bowing his head to shield his flushing cheeks. You laugh even more. 

“Have mercy on me, sweetheart. Please.” Its your turn to flush, unaccustomed to the new pet name. James cocks his head after a beat of silence, arm over his eyes to face you without actually being able to see you. “Ah, you liked that one. Didn’t you?” 

“Piss off.” 

“In just a minute, sweetheart.” He’s awful, straightening with pride when you can’t muster a witty response to the teasing. “Can I just have one more kiss?” He steps closer, hoping he won't trip considering the lack of sight. “And when you’re finished up, I’m taking you out.” 

“Hogsmeade?” Your voice lifts with excitement, forcing a smile from him. 

“Whatever you want.” He searches for you, lips jutted out pulled into a frown when you let him chase air. His hand goes out, aiming find you but quickly reminded of your current state of undress. It drops immediately, fists clenched and then releasing. “Must you make me suffer even more?” You roll your eyes, pressing a peck to each corner of his mouth and then his jaw. Pulling the curtain between you just after. “Wh-what was that?”

“Another kiss.” You note simply, going for your conditioner. “Kisses, actually.” 

“We’ll have to work on that definition, dove.”

<3 Masterlist <3

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexTav Enemies to Lovers Part 20

Read on Ao3. Shout out to @thelittlepinkwitchblog for helping me source :)

Gale's Perspective. LOT of important plot in this one, dear readers. It's a little heavy. Enjoy!

Ten days. It had been ten days since they entered the accursed lands and it was taking a grave toll on all of them, despite Isobel’s protection and despite the Pixie’s blessing bestowed. 

Gale felt fragile, more fragile than he had even with the orb. Now with it unlikely to destabilize, the appetites of man came roaring back to him like a lion stalking its prey. All he could think about was Tav. How he wanted her. How it would feel when their bodies were join together, weaving together in visions of celestial. 

It had to be perfect. He had too much to make up for. 

He was sat beside Karlach who was on dish duty. She dunked each plate in the stream, gave it a quick swipe with the smallest speck of soap she could manage, before putting it back on the cloth. 

“Nothing like washing in the murky waters of the shadowlands to invigorate the spirit.” 

“Doing all right, Gale?” Karlach asked, elbow deep in muck. She groaned to herself. 

“Oh you know.. still alive and kicking, despite being surrounded on all sides by an endless manifestation of darkness and decay.” 

She snorted. “That's one way to put it. MAN!” She threw up her hands in exasperation, “I fucking hate dish duty,” she stared down her hands, disgust contorting her face. “I hate it when my hands get all pruny like this. You’d think all that time in the hells and I would delight in this stuff. But, I always hated dishes. It was the one chore I threw a really big fuss about at home.” 

“You’re showing remarkable guile and courage, pushing on through the perilous task of dishwashing!” Gale said teasingly, “That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Gale chuckled at the image of a smaller Karlach refusing earnestly to comply with dish duty. 

“You know,” she paused, thinking and looked up at the sky, “I didn’t throw massive tantrums. Not often, anyway. Certainly didn’t conjure myself up a Tressyum when my parents refused to get me a kitten.” She rose a brow at Gale knowingly, “There wasn’t so much able to rile me up in that way. Mom and pops were always going on about how the glass is half full, even when it seems half empty. Even when shit is really, really bad. There is always a little good you can find in that.” Her voice was hushed and had the slightest tremor. Gale put a hand on her shoulder and noted the mist that collected in her eyes. She turned away, as if to conceal the emotion. “What a mess,” she said to herself, wiping her hands on her pants. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” His voice stiffened and his body tensed, concerned for the question to follow. 

Karlach, “Come on,” Karlach read his dumb expression and rolled her eyes and smiled. “You know - any chores you hated? Any massive events that rocked your little world? Other than Tav of course.” His cheeks blazed red and she started to laugh harder. “Very iconic of you to tell her you wanted to smash by citing a book. Not really my thing, but good for both of you.” Gale’s stony silence forced her tongue, “I mean, listen, she was obviously into it. You two book-worms are made for each other. What’s holding you back?” 

A short puff of air left Gale’s nose and he looked down and ran a hand through his hair. While fingering his earring, he whispered, “Everything.” 

“Oh my gods,” Karlach groaned, continuing with the dishes. “Everything? Everything?” Gale didn’t answer. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” 

Gale weighed the scales carefully. If he told Karlach, the crushing force of his secret might be alleviated, if only just. If he told her, he risked Tav finding out second hand. His voice was barely audible, “I’m not sure I can tell you.” 

Karlach’s eyes widened and she rose her brows, “Sounds serious. If you don’t want me to pry-“

“A little late for that,” Gale scoffed, though not with hostility. “Might as well address the holiphant in the room. It might do some good, to tell someone about it after all this time.” 

There was a faint rustling in the bushes and Gale snapped his head, scanning the darkness. Nothing. He was just being paranoid. Karlach gave him her rapt attention and he felt his stomach cave in on itself. His throat was sickly hot and viscous saliva filled his mouth. His heart threatened to pulse out of his chest, the thunderous roar drowning out the rest of his senses.

“I did something… unforgivable.” He said at last. Karlach, ever impatient, shook her head a bit and her eye brows rose more as if to say ‘go on, then.’ 

So then he told her. “It is, without doubt, the most wicked, cruel act I’ve managed. Thinking about it makes me bitter… full of regret.” He sighed heavily and rubbed his cheek. He gave Karlach a brief overview of Blackstaff’s presentations, where students in their final year would demonstrate their research and abilities to the finest Wizard’s in the realms, seeking both Mystra’s favor and a prime apprenticeship. She followed, with few questions. Once he clarified that with her, the words stuck. 

“Gale… whatever it is, your secret is safe with me. How bad could it be?” 

“Oh,” Gale whispered. “Worse than you could imagine, I’d wager. The amount of time I’ve spent mulling over how I would tell her, what I would say… how I would beg forgiveness…” he closed his eyes, the words taking on a life of their own. “I sabotaged her presentation, a cold fact I have been ashamed of from the day it happened.” 

“You… what?” Karlach tilted her head, her mouth falling open. 

Gale sighed. “You remember the sussur flowers from the underdark?” She nodded. “Marvelous capabilities. Their magical properties were often a topic of debate in our classes, their existence unconfirmed by many scholars and clerics outside of the underdark. They have the ability to create an anti magic aura, which you saw first hand. I managed to get my hand on one through some rather nefarious channels… and I slipped it into her pack, not before ‘accidentally’ spilling a cup of water on her.” 

“Accidentally?” Karlach murmured. 

“No.” He whispered, the words choking him. “Unfortunately, it was neither an accident nor water. It was wizard’s bane. A backup plan, in case she didn’t have her pack within close range during her presentation. I was on track to be one of Mystra’s chosen and I was so… terrified that Tav would take my place. She was - and is - remarkable with the Weave. I was blinded by jealousy and… none if it matters, now. It was a cowards choice. And, as it so happened, she was imbued with both.” His face was hot, his palms coating with slick sweat. He wiped them on his robes, unable to look at her. “Her face haunts me. The riotous laughter of our peers… I cannot erase it from my mind, no matter how hard I’ve tried. It is engrained into every cavern, every crevice of my memory. She couldn’t so much as conjure a simple mage hand. She fled the stage, and I….” 

He stopped, folding in on himself. It was the first time in quite some time he admitted this out loud, let alone to another person. The pregnant pause drowned them until Karlach broke the suffocation with a lifeline. “Was this the first time you saw her since then?” He nodded. “Holy shit Gale…this is… a lot. A lot to take in. I appreciate you telling me, all the same. I can see the toll it’s taken on you - you were a kid at the time.. weren’t you? You never told her?” 

Gale sneered, “Eighteen is hardly a child.” 

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s still a child. You made a mistake. A really fucked up mistake, don’t get me wrong, and a mistake all the same. You can’t keep beating yourself up for something you can’t change. I should know that better than anyone.” She sighed and stood, taking his hand to give it a gentle pat. “Gale… you have to tell her.” 

“I know,” he sighed, bowing his head. “I know. And I will… I just need time. To get it right. To figure out what to say.” 

“You have to be prepared for her -“ 

“I know.” Gale cut her off. He knew he had to prepare for her to hate him, to want nothing to do with him. Yet, a sliver of him held out the impossible hope she would understand. “Thank you… for listening. I hadn’t told anyone that. Not even Tara.” 

“I’m sure if she knew she’d give you an earful.” Karlach sighed and returned to the dishes. Gale was prepared to leave, embarrassed and uncomfortable from sharing his darkest memory. Karlach looked up at the sky, bringing him back to solid ground. “You know, I was just getting used to the sun again.” 

“Fear not, Karlach,” Gale said, though his voice was still dejected, “Sun, moon, and stars are still there - waiting for us. Veiled just behind this evanescent darkness. No book or painting could ever do this strange land justice. But perhaps our stories might.” 

“You’re not really going to do what Mystra said, are you?” 

“There you go, cutting right through the ephemera to the heart of the matter. Your finest quality, I think. Though, there’s no point in debating what I’ve been tasked with,” he murmured, looking at his hands. “I’m sure you’ve seen it - the wall of the faithless.” The sigh she released was laced with crushing somberness. “I cannot concede to such a fate.” 

“I know,” she said and squeezed Gale’s shoulder, “You’re the first friend I’ve had in a really, really long time soldier. It would be a damn shame for it to end so soon. Quite the peas in a pod, the two of us - if anyone is going to find a way to survive, it ought to be us.” 

Gale ran a hand over his face. “There’s no use conferring about it one way or another. We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Stranger things are happening to us… what festers in our minds threatens to impel our bodies. We mustn’t loose focus of that.” 

“How does it feel, to have the orb… settled?” 

“Well, mother always taught me to be a gracious host.. whether to the parasite, or the orb.” Gale turned to grin at Karlach, staring at him gravely. His smirk erased itself. “It feels rather strange, if I’m being honest. I lived so long with its incessant hunger, to have it quiet… sickness has a nasty habit of making you feel trapped, if only within the confines of your own body.” Gale paused, before continuing. “I once spent weeks convalescing in the Hospice of St. Laupsenn after a nasty bout of ruddy pox. For all their kindness, leaving that place behind felt like freedom to me. Having the orb stilled… it feels very much the same.” 

“What are you two whispering about?” Shadowheart’s voice cut through their conversation and Gale tensed. How long had seen been there? Had she heard everything? 

Before Gale could respond, Karlach jumped in. “The horrors of doing dishes,” she laughed, waving a soiled plate at Shadowheart. “God’s favorite princess want to give it a try?” 

“Oh… no thank you,” she tossed her hair over her shoulder and sat beside them. “Just looking for some company.. and a bit of gossip. So, Karlach, you and Dammon?” 

Gale slipped away as the two chatted, feeling both relieved and terrified that someone finally knew the truth. Now all he had to do was figure out how he could possibly tell Tav the same thing. 

[babybeel]

— yes to heaven - lana del ray ♪

tender lips are sealed against your own, curved into a pleasant smile as your breaths merge, chests heaving. the burning of your lungs comes slow, steadily building until you and simeon are forced to part, foreheads pressed together in poor semblance of your previous connection. still, skin to skin, the intimate moment is maintained, bubble not yet popped.

simeon lets out a fond chuckle at your flustered state, lips red and puffy, eyes dazed and unfocused. you can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed, too enraptured by the otherworldly lightness of his laughter, an angel through and through. you’re already certain the other celestial beings pale in comparison to him.

the pair of you have spoken about it before, in soft murmurs and hushed whispers. saying yes, announcing your relationship, visiting the celestial realm together. all a pleasant dream that neither of you can wait to come true, pausing only to make sure the time is right. you’re already inundated with the exchange programme, solomon’s apprenticeship and the constant schemes you find yourself in with the seven brothers. nothing you would yet change.

you begin to seek simeon once more before your mind can clear and your breathing can even out again, lips chasing his touch. love blooms in your heart, beating through your bloodstream until it fills every last bit of your body.

simeon’s always surprised how quickly he loses his refined demeanour around you, fingertips running along your jaw, immediately raising goosebumps all over. along the length of your arms and up the back of your neck. you sigh, melty warm as you lean further into simeon, only ever wanting to be closer and closer and closer.

maybe, simeon thinks as your chest presses to his own, the celestial realm is an unnecessary trip, because this feels a lot like heaven to him.