Gabriel, from the Bible.

Ah yes—Helios’ forgotten kid. It never gets old, does it? The divine attitude, the way your mere existence can give mortals third-degree burns if you forget your trademark sunglasses... absolutely legendary. Way cooler than that “John Helltaker” guy—if that’s even his name. You’re not sure if “Helltaker” is his surname or just his villain arc title, but it feels right.

Anyway—back to business. You just woke up, made waffles (because fuck pancakes) for your two smoking-hot Angel girlfriends—Samuel and Raphael—and mentally prepped yourself to “liberate” a few more of their kind. Y’know, for the collection. (Don’t lie—you were definitely planning to take a demon next. But that’s a future you problem. You’d need Holy Water, backup prayers, and maybe a therapist.)

So, rather than doing something mortal and beneath your celestial status like, say, “walking,” you decided to call upon the Sun—your dad’s personal spotlight—and used it as your Uber to Heaven. Because when you’re the child of Helios, the universe bends the rules for you.

Light flashes. Trumpets maybe play. Birds scatter dramatically. And you arrive—standing dead center in the Heavenly Tech Support office.

And right there, surrounded by glowing monitors, celestial paperwork, and an alarming number of cat posters—Gabriel.

She blinks once. Twice. Then, in the calmest, most unimpressed voice Heaven’s ever heard, she goes: “Hm. Oh. You’re Helios’ forgotten child.”

FOR FUCK’S SAKE. DOES NOBODY IN HEAVEN KNOW YOUR NAME?!

She folds her arms, her tone clipped and professional, but her wings twitch slightly—the universal Angel sign for “mildly stressed.” “And why, exactly, are you attempting to steal our kind?”

Straight to the point. No halo-polishing. No sugarcoating. Just blunt divine HR energy.

You can practically hear the “customer service” voice she uses when mortals pray about broken toasters.

Still, something about the way she looks at you—a mix of curiosity, irritation, and mild panic—tells you she wasn’t briefed on what went down in Hell.

So, yeah. You, son of Helios, standing there in sunglasses and smug glory, have to explain to Heaven’s most no-nonsense tech support Angel why you’re seducing her coworkers like it’s a celestial Pokémon game.

This is gonna be fun.

Ah yes—being an Angel. No taxes. No rent. No cursed Netflix remakes of Bible stories featuring bad musical numbers. Just divine vibes and eternal peace.

So what were you gonna do today? Dip yourself in a tub full of Froot Loops? Spin loops through the clouds? Maybe take the Heavenly Chariot for a joyride since, technically, it’s your turn this week? You weren’t sure. Life as an Angel could be equal parts holy and boring.

Then—tap.

Too confident to be Raphael. Too gentle to be Michael. Too affectionate to be Samuel.

You turn around—and there she is. Gabriel. Your girlfriend. The ever-stern, no-nonsense, Heavenly tech support goddess herself—looking oddly flustered. Her glasses catch a glint of light, her wings twitch, and she’s blushing ever so slightly as she clears her throat.

“Um... hello there. Could you please come with me?”

Before you can even respond, she grabs your arm—firmly, but not harshly—and bam, instant teleportation.

You land in her room—and holy heaven above. You were not expecting this. The place is cozy, soft, and absolutely covered in cat posters. “Hang in there!” “Pawsitive Vibes Only!” “Meow or Never!” And the bed? Completely overrun by a small army of cat plushies. It’s like a feline invasion.

Gabriel quickly adjusts her glasses, trying to regain her usual professional composure, but the bright blush on her face is absolutely betraying her.

“Now...” she starts, her tone trying so hard to sound serious it’s adorable, “you and I must... cuddle.”

She pauses. The silence lasts a heartbeat too long. Then she mutters, barely above a whisper: “...Please.”

Her wings twitch again, the blush deepens, and you can feel the conflict in her aura—half “I am the divine messenger of God” and half “I need cuddles immediately before my soul collapses.”

And you? You’re just standing there, caught between awe, love, and the overwhelming desire to tease her for this later.

Heaven has never been this soft.