#and satan shut that down so hard god himself winced

[astaroth1357]

Lucifer: Satan.

Lucifer: I am your father.

Satan: *pins Lucifer back against the wall with a butter knife to the throat*

Satan: Take. THAT. BACK.

Lucifer: 😐

And from then on, Satan was known as the 4th brother.

[yoondles]

Unholy - P.JM

Devil! P.JM x Reader

Summary: The Devil doesn’t ask for repentance, he punishes those who fail to repent.

Themes: A few religious hints here and there but it’s just porn without plot

Word Count: 5k, edited if you close your eyes

Inspo: nothing but ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒˡʸ ᵇᶦᵇˡᵉ jk

Warnings: Degradation (he calls you a whore), huge dick like hUge, fingering, oral (m receiving), bondage, unprotected seggs, rough seggs?, teasing/edging, creampie, mature language, mentions of murder, drug dealing, and Jimin is a 🤏 cunty.

A yawn. It was what had woken you up, it was ironic however, the person who yawned must’ve pulled something from his muscles that he had to yell loudly. His bones cracked as your eyes opened, lashes fluttering as you sneaked a glance towards his direction. He cocked one of his eyebrows up, giving you a look that he was indeed better than you. You tried your best to move around, only to find out that you were held locked against the mattress.

The chains repeatedly moved against the wooden frame of the large bed. Your legs were locked up, but most importantly, you were naked. Cheeks tinted a pink hue as your observed the entirety of the room, your heart was pounding against your chest as you tried to cover yourself. Your eyes avoided his, gazing at the dark hues of red that scattered around the room.

The cold air did nothing but remind you of your current form, knees quivering as your nipples went hard from the cool breeze. Breath halting as you felt the man beside you breath against your neck. “Where am I?” You dared to ask, after all, your mouth had not been forced shut, might as well put it to use.

“Ah, the pure innocence humans have when they’ve finally reached my domain.” He muttered, his shoes clacking against the tile of the room. Pushing his tongue in his cheek as he fixed his coat, gently placing it behind the chair as he dragged it lazily in front of you. “You’re in hell, darling!” He exclaimed, eyes turning bright as he met your terrified eyes, pearly white teeth glowing brightly in enthusiasm. “No, seriously, where the fuck am I?”

“Well, aren’t you a crude little brat?”

“This is fantastic, you little grievances just keep on getting cocky,” He was annoyed, licking his lips as he gazed at the corner of the room, as if he were trying to calm himself down. He pushed his hair back, cracking his neck before gently placing both of his hands in his hips. A derisive gaze lingered on your body as he eyed your entirety.

The silver from his ears glowed brightly under the light that illuminated the room, his prominent cheek bones were highlighted, his plump lips were slightly open as he finally moved to meet your eyes. “Having the time of your life, aren’t you?” You wondered how long you’ve been staring at him, nitpicking, trying hard to find a flaw in his image. His mood was quick to change as he leaned forward, hands reaching your neck before enclosing it in a inhumane grasp, limiting the oxygen that flowed within you. “Always so fragile.” He muttered under his breath, watching the way your veins would appear.

You choked out a breath. You coughed out as his hands began travelling south, touching the area around your hard nipples but being careful to the point that he doesn’t allow himself to touch them. “Get your hands off of me, freak!” You yelled, the sound of metal rattling blasting the entire room.

He seemed unfazed. “You’re a feisty little bitch for someone who’s supposed to be punished, very ill-mannered if I may add. I’ll talk to God about this design flaw,” he was shaking his head as he grabbed a small notebook from his coat pocket, alongside a pen, writing down his observations as he muttered against his lips. “What?” You yelled once again, chains rattling loudly as you did your best to run away from this lunatic. “God, as in G, O, D. Father of almighty, creator of heaven and earth, do you want me to continue reciting the Apostles’ Creed?”

“Stop playing around, just — let’s get this over with, I want to go home.” He was confused, completely taken aback by your sudden submission, closing your eyes as if you were waiting for something to happen. Thunder rumbled from the outside, as the ground slightly shook. “Completely lost will to live, shows lack of loyalty...” the sound his pen made against the grain of the paper brought you back to reality, you couldn’t help but laugh at how much he took this seriously. Sure, it was one thing to live in your fantasy, but to write things as if this were reality? What type of weed did he smoke to get this high?

You let out a yelp as his fingers hit your exposed cunt, wincing as he shifted the pen back to its’ original position, closing the notebook with his pen inside. “May I remind you, you’re in hell, darling. You don’t get to boss me around, most importantly, you don’t get to push me into listening to your orders.”

The tone of his voice never faltered, “you’ve been quite a naughty little bitch out there, criminal records going quite far. You’re going to love it here, maybe you’d roam around as a middle class woman, especially with that reputation.” You shut your mouth, pulling once more as you tried your best to break free. No one knew about your criminal records, no one knew that you did illegal work. So who the hell was he, coming out here and telling you about this? You suppose he was a man of power, or maybe the police had finally caught you, you had no idea. “Normally I’d approve of it, you know, living your own life. However, you brought this hellhole, quite literally, so many souls. Imagine having to get in a queue to enter hell. All the drug dealing, corruption of innocent souls, let’s not forget about the old woman you forced your subordinates to run over.”

“H-how?”

“I rule hell! For someone who’s been living a life as lavish as yours, you’re quite dumb.”

His fingers were tracing small circles in your stomach, pinching it every once in a while as you moved your hips trying to avoid his warm hands. “So, you’re Satan?” He pulled his hand away, rolling his eyes. “Of course, that’s what you would say...” he pushed his slick hair back situating himself in the chair near your bed. “Whichever you prefer, however, the lilt the name Jimin has is something I’m quite fond of.”

It was distracting trying to listen to him as his fingers slapped your cunt once more, forcing you to hold your breath. You tried your best to limit your reactions, trying to not feed into his ego as you were already held captive and bound. Whether he was lying or not, you had to at least play safely around him. His hands travelled towards your thighs, quietly observing the way you would react. The way you would shiver every moment he inched up closer to your weeping vulva. “You’re such fragile creatures, y/n.” Closing your eyes as you felt him inch closer, his breath fanned over your clavicle. “Fragile enough to be tempted by the devil himself, aren’t we?” You whispered in his ear, breath shaking as his skin came in contact with yours. He let out a laugh, hands flying towards your needy breasts as he drew lines with his finger. “That’s a common misconception, darling.”

His eyes failed to meet yours as he continued to harvest reactions and small almost undetectable movements from your body. He was left in awe with the way you responded, shivers ran up and down your spine, breath hitching, the small goosebumps that formed, you were intriguing. “The devil doesn’t tempt you. You imbeciles try so hard to find someone to accuse of your haughty little actions. May I remind you, you’re in control.”

“Well, not right now.” His dark eyes held fire within them as he found yours, gaze burning holes in your body as you finally stopped resisting. There was something about the way he talked, the way he felt so close to you, the way he focused on you and you alone. You felt something from deep within you combust.

“You do everything just to avoid responsibility for your own actions, tell me, y/n. How does it feel to become powerless now that you’re here?” You closed your eyes tight, toes curling as one of his fingers found your clit. His voice dropping octaves as he rolled the pads of his fingers against the wet bundle of nerves. Your eyes rolled back as your limbs rattled the chains in protest.

“Is there a flush of regret? Maybe a hint of happiness because you’re a masochist? Tell me,” you shook your head, still refusing to fall into his hands as he moved faster. Failure to elicit sound lead to a sudden halt in his movements, a whine would emanate from your lips, before he started to move his fingers once more. A sexual punishment where you never reach the peak, a mixture of annoyance, pleasure and humiliation bubbled inside you.

“Your mouth shuts itself off, doesn’t it?” Fingers moving lower, and lower, and lower, finally penetrating your hole as your lips parted. Slick coating it before accepting it with the warmth of your unexplored cavern, he let out a sigh out of satisfaction. You were clueless, you had no idea when you had become this wet, but you were thankful for the penetration. Sighing, you pushed yourself towards his finger as you tried to reach for more, to push him even further inside you. “Oh my,” he was amused, laughing at the humiliating actions you made just to feel more of him.

“Humans tend to break so easily. This time around, I’d be honoured to tell you that maybe I did tempt you. But all I did was fuel the sexual drive you had, nothing more.” You tried to shut him off, your hips grinding harder against the single finger deep within you. Moaning ever so silently, desperate to climax on your own. He remained motionless, doing nothing to help you. You were eager to feel the knot inside your stomach unravel before him. “I wish you’d see how pathetic you look, y/n.” Still you didn’t stop, tears rimmed your eyes as you tried to chase something far away from you. You felt yourself moving closer to the edge, the lack of stimulation from both your clit and your insides had been nothing but excruciating.

Despite the many whines you let loose, he still wouldn’t budge. He left you fending for yourself as the rough spot from within you begged for any form of contact. His fingers were deep enough, but due to the restraints you weren’t able to angle yourself to the perfect position. Hence, his fingers danced around the spot, never touching it. Absentmindedly pushed yourself, you never reached what you had been searching for. The corners of your eyes were starting to fill up with tears due to the pent up frustration that’s been keeping you grounded. Jimin watched in amusement, one of his eyebrows perked upwards as he let his smile loose.

“I c-can’t.” Your elbows were shaking, using them as leverage in order to get into the angle you needed in order to push yourself. In the end, you were nothing but a puddle of your own arousal and sweat. “Please, just— move,” your words were nothing but a whisper, but he heard your pleas. After all, the Devil was always listening.

“Let’s get things straight, y/n. I’m not here to ask you for repentance, you’re beyond that point. You’re here for punishment, not for pleasure.” The tears finally managed to escape your eyes, crying as you did your best to get off. However, with your lack of mobility plus his unforgiving form of punishment, you grew more impatient and far more frustrated. “Please, please, please...” you begged, pleas growing far more silent as seconds passed by. He huffed, pulling has hand away as you uncontrollably shook your head in protest. He grabbed a handkerchief, wiping his finger diligently. “Begging won’t do anything, darling. The devil never settles for bare minimum.”

Maybe it was the touch he cared to give you earlier, maybe it was how the wind carressed your bare figure, you didn’t know which one it was that put you in this situation. You normally had a lot of self control, why were you fallinng apart? The warmth from within you slowly crawling out of your skin in forms of tiny little droplets of precipitation, your breathing came in small gasps, neck craning as you followed the man claiming to be the devil himself. “You want this to be over, just so you could go home... Normally, that would mean I’d finish my business with you, blah, blah, blah... But I’ll need something a little more straightforward. Something I could take as a green flag.” his pearly white teeth appeared right in front of you, smiling in a mocking way. “I’ve got all eternity y/n.” he crossed his legs as he sat down the chair. Opening a bottle of wine, and pouring himself a generous glass.

Thunder rumbled from the outside, and once again the floor shook. Jimin was amused with the way you moved in the bed. Your eyes calculating possible escape routes, as they glossed over the entire room. The sound of the chains echoed in the empty room, repeatedly yanking on them in a small attempt to at least get them off of you. Letting out a huff the moment you realised that this was getting you nowhere. Your little hole was twitching from the cold air that surrounded the entire area, reaching your nipples making them hard once again. Hearing him drink the glass of wine he poured himself had driven you over the edge, somehow, it managed to reflect something so carnal.

You whined in frustration, it was obvious enough that at least one of your worries needed to be eased. “I’ll need words, I’d never hear the end of it if you don’t consent.” Raising your brows up in curiosity, the devil took a step, rising above you with the wine glass directly on top of you. “God might get pissed at me, circumstances like that... Honestly, if his disciples made me look so bad in their little book, I might as well play the part.” He shrugged, talking to himself as he inhaled the scent of the alcoholic beverage. His mere presence tempting you as your vulva weeped for more, shivering against the cold gust of air, in the midst of talking to you, he accidentally tipped over the glass, spilling a little bit on your stomach.

The liquid was enough to send a jolt running through your body. “Goodness me,” he muttered as he grabbed a piece of cloth from his coat pocket. Wiping it down, moving towards the direction of your cunt, wiping a little bit of the wetness off. You whimpered unintentionally, “you were messing the sheets.” he scrunched his nose towards your direction. You tried your best to close your legs, chains producing more noise, before you finally gave in. “Please, use me. I need you.” It happened quickly, Jimin’s ears were trained and hadn’t missed a best. He raised his brows, glass long forgotten, setting it aside. “A little louder please,” a tone danced with his voice, as if the excitement finally had erupted from within him. “Use me as you will, please.” It wasdegrading, but it was worth it when you felt him squeezing in two of his delicate fingers. Pushing past your walls, finally gaining the courage to breach further and dwell deeper inside of you.

You arched your back, the desperation had finally reached you. “Fuck me,” you silently whispered, his palm hitting your tiny bundle of nerves, as he continued to pound his fingers against you. “Look at your little cunt,” he was astonished, the way your tight walls enveloped his fingers, it would restrict him from spreading his fingers apart. “You must have a sinful mind, I’ve barely done anything to you, and yet, here you are.” His eyes widened as he smiled, a small ember flame growing larger, reflecting his heightened need for sexual attention. He was getting far more excited as he felt your walls grow wetter, and even tighter. He could feel your orgasm coming, the way your short gasps would erupt from your mouth, how your stomach moved in an attempt to ease the knot you feel inside of you, the way your legs shaked, with the noise of your restraints moving against the bed posts. “Faster,” and yet, you howled for more. He tore his gaze away from your dripping vulva, observing the way your face would contort.

The way your mouth was left agape, how small lines appeared from beside your eyes as you shut them tightly, how your neck tilted, exposing flesh he’s desperate to mark. And so, you came undone. The pleasure rippled from your core, reverberating throughout the expanse of your body. Your legs quivered in a desperate attempt to close your legs.

He let you ride your high, finally, pulling his fingers away. “Open wide, y/n. I’m teaching you how you must clean up after yourself.” He laughed at his own comment, happily obliging you opened up for his fingers. Sucking off remnants of your arousal, not minding the salty taste of your release, indulging. “For a human in hell, you’re quite decent. You know how to follow orders,” he pulled his fingers away with a pop, being the diligent man he was, he cleaned his fingers with the same handkerchief he used earlier. Discarding the fabric, letting it flop in the table.

“Such a pretty little figure. A shame humans had gotten their hands on you,” he bit his plump lips, walking slowly from one side to another as he watched your naked figure. Presented in a way so delicately, so small, and yet your eyes burned with a far cry from innocence. He could break you, have you begging for his dick all night long, but he too had limits. Just with how tight his pants felt, he knew at least by the next few hours he needed to be inside of you. Your lustful gaze never left his figure, the scent that erupted from your sex had been too intoxicating that even the finest wine couldn’t compete. You were far too precious to be laying down here, all prepped up just for him and no one else.

The area below you slowly sunk down, informing you that someone had occupied the empty space. The heat that emanated from his body was noticeable, but it was nothing unusual. The pads of his fingers danced around your face, holding your jaw tightly as he forced you to look up to him. You held your breath as you waited for his next move. His hand trailed downwards, finally giving your soft mounds the attention that they deserved. Perky nipples greeting him once more, flicking his finger against one of them just so he could hear your moans once again. Giving the other a harsh slap, quickly turning in a shade of red due to the sensitivity of your skin. “How should I have my way with you, y/n?” Although he addressed you, you were certain he’d been talking to himself as he experimented with your body.

Hands moving south as he drew circles on your stomach, your cunt managed to produce more wetness, making it look like an appetite underneath the single lightbulb from the room. Leaning down as he gave the area just above your pussy a small quick peck, before inhaling your scent. Closing his eyes as he tried his best to imprint the unique smell only you could make. “You’re a fucking sin, y/n. You’re the embodiment of everything unholy,” he found the area between your legs the most enticing to him. For the first time tonight, he let himself have you. He let himself fall under your temptations.

You felt butterflies, the juices you released finally had purpose. No longer discarding the liquid you brewed for him. Maybe it was the validation that he, too, wanted you, the humiliation that even the devil didn’t want to have a piece of you was beginning to eat you away. One quick flick of his tongue was enough to erase any harsh feelings. His lips wrapped around your clit as your mouth did their best to put emphasis on the two syllables that represented his name.

Just as quick as it had happened, he was pulling away. Slowly prying the buttons open to his shirt, coat long discarded in the ground as he gave you an exclusive show. The way his biceps would flex in front of you. His chest moving along with his harsh breathing. Never missing the way his shoulders would move, and how the veins would protrude as he discarded his clothing. Soon followed his belt, the latch hooking against the chain, making it pull on your leg slightly, reminding you how bare you were in front of him. Gently pulling the zipper down as his huge dick finally showed itself. Sporting a few tattoos here and there, as he threw the last of his garments somewhere across the room. You bit your lips, as you unconsciously moaned just when you take in everything presented to you. Your breathing grew far more harsh.

You took in his entire figure. His dick long enough to go past his belly button, thick enough to make his hands look very small. His tip was glistening with precum, tiny droplets that glowed, licking your lips as all you could do was fantasise about drinking him all up. You didn’t really expect that he’d be merciless with you, but when you felt his presence right above you, and his tip just below your lips. You opened your mouth greedily, moving your head forward, eager to finally have him down your throat. “Well aren’t you a good little bitch,” he muttered under his breath as he held your hair with a makeshift ponytail. Pulling onto it as he moved forward. “Open wider, darling. You and I both know I’m not gonna fit,” chuckling as he continued to instruct you.

He held your head in place as you opened your mouth as wide as you can, slowly he entered you. Your teeth barely missed his length, experimenting as you moved your tongue below his shaft, loving the way you could easily make him moan. He was sensitive. “Good grief,”

He pulled back out, your greedy lips encasing him in, just as his tip was about to leave your mouth. Your mouth was left agape as your eyes followed the direction of his tip, finally close enough just so you could kiss it, licking a stripe as you tasted his precum. Sighing out of satisfaction as you bobbed your head even further down. He was barely halfway in when you felt him hit the back of your throat. “You’re greedy aren’t you?” He pushed himself even further down, making your body jolt due to the sudden movement. “Avid little mouth sucking me just back in, you’ve barely prepared yourself and yet here you are, sucking my cock like a fucking whore, letting me hit your throat.” You tried to nod, however the obvious intrusion didn’t allow you.

Your tears welled up, as you tried your best to make him proud of you. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he felt your tight throat constricting around him. Quickly he was pulling away, your lips had remnants of his precum, mixed with your own saliva as you held your mouth open for him to inspect. Your eyes shed tears due to how deep he went inside of you. Lashes turning heavy as droplets of tears continued to house themselves there. You were breathing heavily. “The devil isn’t usually rewarding, but I’ll make an exception for you.” Another shift in your positions as he stood up. Proudly walking around with a body sculpted by the greatest sculptors, his back muscles to tight, his sweat doing him justice making every single part of him far more contoured, emphasising every movement he made as he was finally setting himself in between your legs.

You pulled onto your chains, as you desperately wanted to hold onto him. His hair was barely covering his eyes as he watched you in amusement, his dick in hand as he positioned it against your cunt. “Let me touch you please, Jimin.” You winced at your own voice, rough and coarse as it reminded you of the previous events. You rattled the chains even louder this time, you could feel the underside of his dick grazing your cunt, making you moan as he reached forward freeing both of your hands. You were quick enough to hold onto his neck, “this doesn’t seem like I’m punishing you, I’m just drinking you in at this point, y/n.” You shut him up with a kiss, letting him taste himself. You were too distracted to even notice him positioning himself, and with one quick piston of his hips, he went balls deep inside you.

You broke the kiss apart, the devil looking at you with a smirk in his lips as he gave you no choice but to willingly accept all of his harsh thrusts. You were desperately searching your head for anything coherent to say, but you were knocked out of words. Thrusting harshly as all you could do was moan just below him, yelling his name every once in a while as you felt him hit a familiar spot deep within you, legs shaking as you did your best to keep up with his pace. He held your hips in place, as he continued to pound inside you like a savage. The occasional grunts that left his mouth would continue to echo in your head, giving you fuel to push yourself harder.

“A cunt like yours deserves to be in hell. You’re a freak, y/n.” His deep voice growled against your ear, his gruff voice bringing you back to earth. You felt your sanity drift away from you due to the deep and harsh stroked. Dick carving its’ way through far deeper, able to hit the entrance of your cervix, you were almost certain he’d be marking it as his territory too due to the repeated blows his dick gave.

“God, Jimin,” you muttered upon reaching your second orgasm for tonight. Your breath hitched, toes curling alongside the rise of your body against the soft sheets. He only pushed in deeper and harder, emphasising his presence. “We’re still calling onto him aren’t we?” He moved his hips far harsher this time, hitting your spot. Your vision turned white from the feeling of overstimulation, as if the first orgasm never really stopped, you felt yourself forming another knot from within your stomach. “You pathetic little brat, you should be calling onto me, not him. Tell me, is he the one making you feel this way?” His words were hard to understand as each one of them were emphasised by a harsh roll of his hips, balls smacking, managing to graze your clit with his own skin, as his dick carved itself inside of you. “N-no,” you tried to be obedient, but it was hard when all you felt was the way he was marking you as his territory. “Then who is, y/n? Tell me,” a dark chuckle escaped his plump lips as he bit himself, watching you from below him with hooded eyes.

“Fucking answer me!” He growled, choking you while he continuously pounded inside of you. “Y-you are, Jimin. Fuck!” Colours danced in your eyes, closing them shut due to too much pleasure. As if he wasn’t deep enough, he pushed even further. As if asking your cervix for entrance, acceptance, manhood pounding against it’s doors as you let out a pained moan. Not once did you ever expect you’d be having a dick this big. “That’s right, you’re all mine. Aren’t you?” His hands grew a little more tighter, yelling out your response with a hoarse voice. “I’ll make sure anyone who dares to fuck you next knows,”

“Carving the shape of my dick in your velvet walls,” he was inhuman, yes he was far from being a human. The way he still continued to pound you whilst speaking without a single stutter, how he’s held out his own release even after having his dick sucked. “You like that don’t you?” Encapsulated in your own little bubble as you desperately reached for more oxygen, all you could do was nod at him. “You’re my personal fucking slave, y/n.” With each words he pushed himself deeper, grinding on your g-spot repeatedly, the pleasure was unlike what you’ve felt before. It was pure, something that only the devil could make you feel.

“And I don’t like sharing.” A kiss in your forehead was all that you got before he finally came undone. Alongside the knot you’ve been holding onto for a while, your juices mixed. You felt him pull out, followed by a trail of your mixed essence. He tilted his head in amusement, using one of his fingers to feel the creamy substance that erupted from your vulva. “You did well. I’m quite surprised, you’re a special little bitch, y/n.” Too tired to even form a coherent response you closed your eyes and looked away from him. His words began to sound more fuzzy in your head, the sound of the shower filling in the silence.

A gentle touch on your forehead woke you up, it was his lips kissing you goodbye. “I’m afraid I’ll have to go,” he pulled his slacks back up, buttoning up his shirt, concealing the tattoos and hiding his heavenly body. “To where?” Your voice would almost sound pitiful, he carded his fingers through your hair before standing up and wearing his coat. “Doing God’s work, I suppose.” He grabbed the comforter before encasing you in, your sore legs finally able to close themselves as the sound of his leather shoes hitting the wooden floors slowly dissipated. “I’ll do my best to meet you soon. Please, do enjoy your stay in Hell.”

© Yoondles 2021, All Rights Reserved

[rhysismydaddy]

365 Days: Part One (Feysand)

Here’s a new multi-chapter Feysand fic. It’s been overdone, so sorry I’m not original, but it’s going to be a lot of humor/smut/flirting. This part is basically a prologue because it sets up the actual story, but the meat and potatoes are coming soon, don’t worry. Next part out Tuesday!

Synopsis: Feyre Archeron, a bright young lawyer with a spotless track record, finds herself forced to steal from one of the most dangerous men in the city in order to protect her reputation. When she gets caught, she thinks she’s done for. But instead of dying, she’s given a reckless, life-changing proposal. 

________________________________________________________________

Feyre Archeron was not the law-breaking type. 

Hell, she wasn’t even the rule breaking type. 

She was a second year law student with a spotless record and a moral compass that usually refused to budge. 

Yet here she was, about to break the law and steal from the most dangerous man in the city. Because of her boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend, she thought angrily.

She could not believe she’d gotten herself in this mess. Or that Tamlin was the one causing her problems.

He’d been so good to her for so long. So sweet. But this...

This was despicable. If she wasn’t so objective to the color orange, she’d have killed him when he told her what she had to do. And why she had to do it.

She slapped her cheeks twice, took a deep breath, and walked into Night Court Banking.

“Hello. How can I help you?” one of the tellers asked kindly.

“Hi, I’m here to see a security deposit box.”

“Of course. May I see an ID?”

Feyre forced herself to not stutter. “I’m actually not a member here. My husband is. Am I still allowed into the account?”

“Well, we’ll have to call him to verify, but it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll still need your ID, though. What’s your husbands name?”

I’m going to jail. Or hell. Whichever comes first.

Feyre took a deep breath and smiled. “His name’s Rhysand Asterra.”

The bank tellers eyebrows flew into her hairline. “I... I wasn’t aware Mr. Asterra had married.”

Feyre swallowed her vomit and tried to look giddy. “Please don’t tell anyone. We’re trying to keep it quiet.”

The bank teller smiled kindly. “Of course, I understand. ID please?”

She slid the fake ID across the counter. Feyre Asterra. As if.

“Alright, Mrs. Asterra. I’ll have to call your husband to verify, and then you should be set.”

Feyre attempted to not look like she was about to pass out as the woman dialed. Tamlin had assured her he would get the call, not Rhysand, but he wasn’t exactly trustworthy.

“Hello, Mr. Asterra. Your wife is here requesting access to the safety deposit box.”

She couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but she thanked her lucky stars Tamlin wasn’t as useless as he seemed as the teller hung up the phone, smiled, and said, “Follow me.”

~Rhysand~

Rhysand Asterra, the city’s own Son of Satan, strolled into his office ready to snap necks, every wise person taking a look at the expression on his face and jumping out of his way.

“Azriel,” he called out as soon as he got through the door. “Why the fuck are people gossiping about me being married?”

His best friend and right hand man opened his mouth, but Rhys interrupted.

“And Cassian,” he said to his other best friend and head of security, “How the fuck did someone break into my safety deposit box today?”

Rhysand’s patience had completely run out. “Both of you need to figure out who is trying to die today, then go make it happen. Actually, no, let’s not be hasty bastards. Bring them to the house upstate.”

“Rhys-“

“Make sure you break a few bones before I get there, though.”

“Rhysand. Shut your fat mouth for a second.” Cassian said, suddenly exasperated.

Rhys rolled his eyes. Cassian was the only person who could talk like that to him and frequently liked to use the right.

“You need to watch the security footage before making any decisions,” Azriel said, calm as ever. Where Cassian was made of brute force and aggression, Azriel was his cold, detached, always calm opposite.

“Why?”

“Just fucking watch,” Cassian sighed, voice sounding a little amused, and pressed a button on the remote. Black and white footage from the bank he owned came up on the screen.

“What am I looking at here?” Rhys asked. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It definitely didn’t look like a robbery.

“Your criminal.”

“What?” The only person on the screen was a woman, probably early twenties, smiling kindly at the bank teller.

“That’s the woman who broke into the box. By saying she was your wife. Had an ID and everything.” Azriel sounded like he was holding in laughter. “Pretty ballsy.”

“But they’d still-“

“Here’s the part where Larissa—the bank teller—calls you. Except it isn’t you.”

He had to refrain from rolling his eyes again. “No shit, Cas.”

Rhys watched the woman walk into the back, then, not five minutes later, walk out, calm as could be.

Which was a pretty impressive feat, considering she’d just stolen two million dollars in diamonds from the head of the mob.

“Find out everything about her. Now.”

~Feyre~ 

Feyre was in bed, asleep, when they came for her.

She swung with the knife she’d stuck under her pillow that night, but her attacker just laughed, easily dodged, and grabbed her arms.

It was useless. This was the end.

She tried not to cry, but it was a little depressing that she was about to be taken to some abandoned warehouse, tortured, and killed. Because of her fucking ex. 

Her attackers shoved a black sack over her head and swiftly carried her out. Somehow, they’d tied her hands and feet while doing it. Clearly it wasn’t their first time.

The thought was not reassuring.

Too late to bother holding her breath, she realized the hood was laced with some sort of chemical. Great, she thought drearily, now I can’t even plead for my life.

It was her last thought before darkness claimed her. 

Minutes or hours or days later, Feyre awoke with a start.

She looked around, completely confused. She was in a bed in a gorgeous bedroom decorated in blues and golds, the space heated by a roaring fire.

What the hell?

It definitely wasn’t the dark, dreary dungeon she’d been expecting.  

She looked down at herself, noticing with a frown the loose white shirt she was wearing wasn’t her own. And that she didn’t have pants on.

Someone coughed from the corner of the room, and Feyre jumped as she saw the outline of a man standing.

“Am I dead?”

She couldn’t see him, but she had a feeling he was smiling.

“No.” His voice was amused, but cold. Dangerous.

“Oh. Am I about to be?”

“No.”

An uneasy feeling rolled across her skin. “Who are you?” He didn’t say anything, so she asked again. “Who are you?” 

He stepped forward and the fire lit up his face as he smiled and said, “Your husband, apparently.”

~Rhysand~

After a minute and a half of her staring at him open mouthed, Rhys asked, “Are you going to say something, or shall we continue to stare at each other?”

“Oh my God,” she whispered softly. “You lied.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I am about to die,” she said with a resigned tone, looking around for potential weapons, probably.

When Cassian had told him she’d tried to attack him with a kitchen knife, he’d had a good laugh. It wasn’t every day you met someone willing to stand up to him and his crew. Pointless as it was.

He leaned a shoulder against the mantle, ignoring the heat of the fire, and schooled his face into bored amusement. 

“I’m not going to kill you. But you are going to tell me how you got into my security deposit box. And why.”

She shrugged, the motion extremely casual for a red-handed thief. “It wasn’t that hard.”

Probably not the best thing you could’ve said.

“I’m sure my head of security will find that reassuring, but tell me how you did it.”

“What’s the point?”

Rhys tried not to walk over and shake her. “What do you mean?”

She sat up, the collar of her shirt falling off her shoulder in a stupidly distracting manner. Even though she’d just been drooling face down on his pillow, she was fucking gorgeous.

She stole two million dollars from you, idiot.

He forced his eyes back to her pinched brow.  

“I mean,” she said quietly, “I stole from you. Telling you how won’t change the consequences.”

He rolled his eyes, strolling forward and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m not going to fucking kill you, Feyre. Get yourself together and tell me what happened.”

“How do you know my name?”

Rhysand gave her a small smile, repressing a laugh at the horror on her face. 

She sighed heavily and gave him a go to hell look. “I said I was your wife. And used a fake ID.”

“I figured as much. But how did you deal with the phone call?”

Her face went pale. “Oh. Erm... what phone call?”

“Feyre, do not pretend to be an idiot. You saw the teller call me. How did you get around it?”

“I didn’t,” she stated as though it were obvious.

“You had to.”

“But I didn’t. I have no idea how it happened.”

Rhys got up again, walked to the bar cart, and poured himself a very stiff drink. The urge to throttle her was growing by the second. Along with another urge he snuffed out completely. “You’re telling me you walked into my bank, knowing who I am, and had no idea how to get around the phone call?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Who were you working with, then?”

~Feyre~ 

Shit, shit, shit. She needed to figure out something. And quick.

“Don’t bother lying. Your right eyelid twitches every time you even think about it.” 

Double shit.

She couldn’t tell him Tamlin was involved, no matter what happened, so she forced herself to roll her eyes and feign confidence. “Fine. I hacked into your server the day before and changed the phone number to mine. I set up a pre-recorded message.”

He nodded, his beautiful violet eyes twinkling in the light from the fire. “Mmhm, you hacked into my server. Sure. How’d you get past the firewall?”

She swallowed thickly. “I... um-”

Rhysand sighed heavily. “Feyre, it’s obvious you weren’t working alone. Who helped you?”

She winced. “No one helped me.”

Rhysand prowled toward her and her blood started to thrum. Everything about him was simultaneously dangerous and beautiful, and it made her body come alive.

He leaned in, teeth close to her throat, and she couldn’t help but notice he smelled like the ocean and rain and citrus. He’s ridiculously attractive for someone so- focus, Feyre.

“Don’t be stupid. By now, you’ve figured out that I don’t hurt women. But don’t think for one second you will get away with this if you don’t tell me who your partner was.”

Feyre started to say something, but he held a hand up.

“Before you lie to me again, think about your sisters Nesta and Elain. Think about your pretty little roommate, Mor. I have the power to ruin all of their lives. Yours, too. And I will, unless you tell me who helped you.”

Something in his voice, something about his predatory stance, made Feyre see red. All of her fear from earlier went out the door. Along with caution. 

Before she could stop herself, she reached out and slapped him clean across his face. “You lay a fucking finger on my family, and I will make sure you live to regret it.”

There was a terrible, terrible pause as his eyes bored into hers, sensual mouth dropped open. He raised a palm to his cheek, the expression on his face almost awe.

Then he did the damnedest thing. He laughed. 

“Feyre, darling. You’re quite a remarkable woman.” Rhysand smiled, and Feyre’s anger diminished a little. “Slap me all you want, but you will be telling me who helped you. One way or another.”

Feyre felt like she was playing a game, stuck on the same level, bound to never win. She could threaten him all she wanted, but he had the means and goons to do whatever he wanted to her. 

“No one helped me, don’t you get it?” She exploded, dragging a hand through her hair. “I didn’t want to rob you; I don’t even have the diamonds!”

“What?”

She took a deep breath and commanded herself to calm down.

“The last thing on earth I wanted to do yesterday was rob the head of the fucking mob. I’m not an idiot.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have got to be the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met.”

Because she had a death wish, she spat back, “Well, since you probably pay for your female companionship, I’d be inclined to agree with you.”

His violet eyes flashed, and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He snuffed it out and got back on topic. “So you’re saying you were forced to rob me?”

Feyre nodded, then watched as he went to pour himself another drink. 

“By who?”

Fuck. “Um, I can’t tell you that.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “And why not?”

“It was part of the deal. If he--or she!--finds out, then I don’t get- um, then the deal’s off.” Jesus, get it together. 

Rhysand took a long look at her face and rolled his eyes. “It was Tamlin O’Connor.”

Completely forgetting her own advice to remain composed, Feyre’s mouth fell open. How the hell had he guessed that? “What? No, it wasn’t.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He came over and reclaimed his spot on the corner of the bed. “I honestly don’t know how you convinced anyone we’re married.”

“I am not an awful liar, I’m just nervous.” That was the most honest thing she’d said in a long time.

“Why are you nervous?”

She flattened a look towards him. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because the head of the mob kidnapped me and is threatening everyone I know and I have a lot riding on those stupid diamonds.”

As the reality of her situation set in, Feyre realized she had two options: Stay and experience the wrath of the man everyone called the Son of Satan, or flee.

Not being a fan of torture, Feyre didn’t feel bad at all as she gathered her strength, reared back, and punched him in the throat.

She blocked out his surprised gasp, along with the slew of curses he unleashed, as she hurtled for the door. She had no idea where she was, but she knew she had to get out of here. 

Her hand wrapped around the handle, only for a tan, tattooed hand to grab her other wrist and halt her progress. 

Rhysand whipped her around, and she crashed into him, both of them landing on the floor with a dense thud.

Feyre managed to get a satisfying elbow to the face in before he pinned her arms above her head. She swung her knee up between his legs, but he expertly avoided the hit. Then her legs were pinned effortlessly under his. 

She was trapped. Again.

This time, she directly under him, trying to ignore the sensation of his weight on her. The thin shirt she was wearing did absolutely nothing to block out the edges of his body.

Feyre felt her breathing go a little shallow as she remembered she wasn’t wearing pants. 

His tensed muscles pressed into her chest, heavy arms confining hers to the floor. His legs were corded with muscle and one of his thighs was in between hers a little-

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I swear to God I’ll kiss you.” Shit. Her gaze shot to the ceiling. “You’re developing a kink for hitting me, I think.”

She ignored that. 

A firm hand drifted to grip her chin, the other still holding her wrists. “I’m not going to let you up until you tell me everything.” 

The look in his eyes told her he was serious, so she rolled her eyes and murmured, “Tamlin’s my ex-boyfriend, which I’m assuming you know. He’s in debt. I didn’t know, but he likes to gamble. He borrowed from the wrong person, and he was desperate for the cash.”

He nodded, still pinning her. Apparently, there was more she had to spill. “How’d he get you to go along with it? You’re not exactly the robber type.”

So true. “He, um, has something on me.”

His dark eyebrows shot up. If she didn’t know better, she would say there was wicked delight in his eyes. “What is it?”

Feyre shook her head. She’d never tell him. She’d never tell anyone. Ever.

Rhysand sighed dramatically, the movement making his chest drag against hers. “Just tell me what you did. I promise I’ve heard worse.”

Probably from your own diary.

“I didn’t do anything.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Feyre watched the movement. “So his leverage over you is that you’re an innocent little lawyer?”

Avoid, avoid, avoid. “Why do you need to know, exactly?” 

“I’m trying to figure out a way to get you out of this.” 

That stopped her hateful thought process. He was trying to help her? Feyre had absolutely no reason to believe him, but for some reason, she did. 

“When Tamlin and I were together, he um...” She looked at his perfectly innocent chin, unable to speak the words under his demanding stare. “Recorded us.”

That damned hand on her jaw forced her eyes back to his. He looked confused, so she sighed.

“While we were... intimate,” she explained.

Understanding lit up in his eyes, and his expression morphed into something deadly. “He made a sex tape? Without your permission?”

“Mmhm,” she murmured awkwardly, suddenly very aware that she was still pinned underneath him. Without pants on.

He seemed to realize it, too, because he stood up and pulled her with him. Knowing it’d be pointless to run, Feyre sat back down on the bed and watched as he paced back and forth. 

A few minutes later, she practically saw an idea form in his beautiful head. Rhysand turned to her, hands braced on the mattress, and asked frankly, “Do you love him?”

“No.”

A flicker in his eyes, too quick to read. “Good. I have a proposition for you, then.”

Her eyes narrowed on their own accord. 

“I’ll take care of Tamlin. And the recording.” She was grateful he avoided the term sex tape. “I’ll make sure he’s the one who gets the blame for the robbery.”

“That’s an offer, not a proposition,” she pointed out.

“How right you are. I’ll take care of everything...” He smiled softly. “If you marry me.”

Every thought emptied out of Feyre’s head. “What?” she breathed, the sound barely audible.

Rhysand slid his hands in his pockets. “There’s already a rumor going around about me being married. Your picture’s been leaked, too.”

Shit.

“And I can’t allow people to know I was robbed. Bad for business, baby.” 

Shit.

“Marry me, and I’ll deal with it.”

A thought occurred. “What exactly do you mean ‘deal with it’?” Tamlin was a complete jackass, but he didn’t deserve to die and be thrown in a shallow grave.

“I mean I’ll tell the police you went to the bank to get something for me, Tamlin cornered you when you came out, and he stole the diamonds,” he explained casually, as if they weren’t talking about a felony. 

“And the tape?”

Rhysand scratched the back of his neck. “I have someone who can... acquire it.”

She remembered the level of professionalism of her kidnappers. 

“Are you alright? Are you about to attack me again?” The amusement in his voice grated her nerves. 

“Maybe. I just don’t see how you can be so calm about this!” She shot out of bed, not even caring about her state of dress, and took over his role of pacing. “I can’t marry you, I don’t even know you! And you’re in the mob! You’re Al Capone!”

Rhysand laughed suddenly, and Feyre turned to see him bite his lip. “I pay my taxes, love. And I’ll even give you a loophole. After a year, if you’re still miserable, we can get a divorce.”

“How are you okay with this?” 

She couldn’t fathom the idea someone that rich, powerful, and handsome was okay with signing over a part of his life.

“Honestly, my life was getting a little boring before you came along. Plus, even Al Capone had a wife, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “So my options are to go to jail and become a disgrace to my family, or marry a mobster?”

“Pretty much.”

Despite herself, she let out a little laugh. 

Rhysand smiled softly as he walked over and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Think about it. Sleep. I’ll take the couch.”

“Wait, this is your room?”

He nodded, purple eyes twinkling as he watched her take in her surroundings with renewed interest. “I’ll see you in the morning, Feyre darling.”

And then she was alone. 

Holy hell. What am I going to do? She had no idea.

Because she was a complete nerd, she grabbed a notepad off the desk in the corner and began to make a pros and cons list of the marriage.

Pros: No jail. No Kim K scandal. Rhysand is good looking (constant eye candy). Rhysand is rich. 

Cons: Rhysand is the head of the mob. Rhysand could be mentally unstable (strong possibility, considering marriage proposal). Rhysand is friends with very good kidnappers. A year without sex.

She didn’t bother writing down that her love life would suffer. After her last boyfriend, she couldn’t care less if she didn’t date for a long, long time. 

After thinking of all the consequences she could, Feyre decided the list was completely pointless. Her thoughts were jumbled beyond belief, and she had no idea what decision she’d find herself making come morning. 

With a sigh, she threw the notepad on the bedside table, slid down in the bed, and fell asleep. 

~Rhysand~

Around noon, Rhysand couldn’t take the insufferable boredom any more, so he went to sit on the edge of he bed and watched Feyre sleep like a complete stalker. 

She twitches in her sleep. How cute. 

Rhysand smiled down at the woman completely passed out in front of him and poked her forehead with a discarded pencil from the nightstand. 

Feyre made a few harumph sounds before opening those blue eyes and peering up at him. “Good morning.”

“It’s almost afternoon at this point.” He ran his eyes over her frame, still dressed in his shirt, and found himself enjoying the sight a little too much. “I thought I would come in and help with your decision.”

When she noticed what he was holding, she shot straight up and tried to grab it.

Rhysand kept the notepad out of reach and lightly slapped her hand away. 

“Let’s start with the pros, shall we? ‘No jail.’ That’s definitely a good one, because as beautiful as you are, orange doesn’t flatter many people.” 

Feyre covered her face with her hands, and he laughed as he read, “’No Kim K scandal.’ You know, I heard her own mother released that tape. Dreadful.”

She groaned in embarrassment.

Rhysand couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face as he continued. “’Rhysand is good looking.’ And in parenthesis, I quote, ‘constant eye candy.’” 

She grabbed the pillow underneath her and covered her head with it. He took it away and smiled down at her. “Wouldn’t want to block your view.”

“You’re such an asshole,” she told him matter-of-factly, still blushing, but there was a small smile on her face. 

“Next we have ‘Rhysand is rich.’ True. You wouldn’t even have to steal to earn a living.” He was enjoying himself too much. 

Especially as she glared up at him. 

“Now onto the cons.” She made another attempt to snatch the list away, but he grabbed her hand and held tight. “Rhysand is the head of the mob. This is true, but it’s probably not what you think. I’m more of a business owner. I own a few banks and some clubs downtown. I also control the imports and exports into the city.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow. “That’s not illegal. ‘Mob’ implies illegal.”

“By imports and exports I mean drugs,” he sighed, suddenly embarrassed about his career. “And the way I enforce rules is occasionally illegal.”

She bit her lip and he could tell she was processing the information. Then, “Do you kill people?”

Rhysand shrugged. “Not if I can avoid it. Most of the time, if it comes to that, I just don’t allow them to come into the city ever again.”

She was quiet, so he continued with the list. “’Rhysand could be mentally unstable.’ Apparently, this is a strong possibility. I can promise you, Feyre darling, I was of sound mind and body when I gave you this proposition.”

Those blue eyes narrow, but she didn’t say anything. 

“‘Rhysand is friends with very good kidnappers.’” He laughed soundly. “I’ll tell Cassian and Azriel you were impressed. You can meet them later, if you want. Cassian told me you tried to stab him with a butter knife, by the way.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll be better prepared next time.”

He couldn’t help but grin. Damn if he didn’t like her. 

“And lastly--and this one is extremely interesting to me--you wrote: ‘A year without sex.’”

Feyre’s entire face went red. All the way down past the collar of his shirt. He watched with amusement as she looked anywhere but at his face. 

Just to keep her blushing, he asked, “It could be my memory, but I don’t recall that being part of our negotiation.”

She growled--growled--at him, and he had to bite his lip to keep himself from eating the sound. 

“I remember how you looked at me last night, when I was on top of you.” Her eyes go a little wide. “I don’t think you’ll make it a year.”

Determination lit up on her face. “I think I could go two.”

He smiled, and she looked down at the hand he still had captured with his. 

Rhysand wasn’t entirely sure he was breathing as her delicate finger traced over the tattoos on wrist. She followed the lines across the back of his hands, down each finger. 

She seemed a little lost in thought. “What are you thinking about?” 

She glanced up at him. “I’m trying to make sense of it. I’ve heard awful things about you, and the people you work with. And yet... you’re nice to me. You don’t seem like a bad person.”

He swallowed against the sudden tightness in his chest. “I’ve done-”

Feyre cut him off. “We all do things we don’t want to do. It doesn’t define us.”

For some reason, he couldn’t think of a single response. 

The entire city feared him--they called him the Son of Stan, for shit’s sake. And for the most part, he deserved it; he’d done terrible things to get control of the city. 

And yet she looked at him like none of it mattered. She looked at him with an openness he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Like he was a person, not a monster.

“I want you to make me a promise.”

Rhys nodded. He was pretty sure he’d agree to anything.

“Promise me you’ll stay like this with me,” she whispered to him. “Your business is your business. But stay... good with me.”

Surprised he could even find his voice, he murmured, “I promise.” 

He meant what he said. Rhysand liked how she looked at him, and he’d never do anything to compromise that.

“Then I’ll marry you.”

The amount of happiness that unfolded in him scared the shit out of him. He didn’t know why, but he’d been desperate to hear those words.

Unable to stop himself, Rhys leaned down and brushed a kiss against her lips. 

He heard her inhale sharply, but she stayed perfectly still. Then he pulled back, gave her a stupidly big smile, and asked, “Would you like a tour of your new home then, Feyre darling?”

________________________________________________________________

Part 2

 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Family Drama.”

I did not sleep in today, and have written you a story.

Warning: there are a few mentions of drugs and addiction, but not a ton

He had never felt so defeated.

As the Taxi door opened, and he stepped out onto the quiet residential street he had to hold back his shame and kept his head high. What would his family think? Should he even tell them? Well of course he should, that wasn’t an option anymore. If he wanted to make them proud he was going to have to make himself ashamed for a little while. 

Waffles whimpered at his heels.

He looked down at her with a small smile, “Alright, alright, you’re right, I’ll shut up.”

He rubbed her ears and walked up the concrete stepping forward onto the grass as a group of kids whirred past on hover-skates. They turned upon seeing them, voices suddenly raised pointing and waving at him as they rolled past.

He raised a hand to wave back, but quickly turned to the front door.

There was no way he was ready to interact with people that weren’t his close family.

He walked up the step and held out his implant to the door, it would open when it knew it was him.

The lock clicked, and he reached forward ready to finally relax and let off some steam.

The door clicked open, and he was immediately assaulted by a wave of sound.

“ADDIE!” He was grabbed around the shoulders and pulled into a massive crushing hug. It took his brain way longer than it should have to figure out what was one person, but then again, there was only one person he knew who called him Addie…. Like a fucking dog.

“Uncle Ben?” he grunted 

The man set him down on the floor and slapped his back. Below him Waffle growled nervously, but she was ignored, “It's been YEARS. We had no idea you were coming.”

The sound of kids screaming reached his ears and a t least five of them came rushing into the hallway.

“Hey that’s not fair, I wanted to be a pony too!”

“But I was one first, you can pick something else.”

Uncle Ben turned, “Hey everyone! Guess whose back!” His legs swiveled uselessly under himself as he was dragged through the hallway and into the living room, where the entire extended family seemed to be crammed. 

He blinked as the group turned into an uproar upon seeing him.

“What is that on his face?”

“Did you really lose a leg?”

“It’s been so long?”

Aunt Marry got up, “Lost all your baby fat finally.” He winced as she grabbed him and pinched his cheek, which wasn’t really for pinching anymore, or honestly had never been, but when he had more of a baby face she had always done that.

“Tell us about space!”

He was shoved onto the couch with Jeremy on one side and Grandma Vir on the other.

Jeremy gave him a look.

He grimaced back as Waffles crawled under his feet resting her head on Jeremy’s shoe.

“Where is dad?” he muttered to Jeremy, and his older brother leaned in to whisper, “where do you think. Hiding in the garage while mom entertains.”

“Coward.” Adam replied with some amusement.

That was just like their dad to avoid all extended family, even his own.

“Wait, wait, everyone calm down, our little Addie is Commander of the UNSC. You all remember when he was just a little guy who used to believe in flying saucers.”

Adam crossed his arms over his chest. Uncle Ben had always made fun of him as a kid.

His grandma looked at him from across the room, “What is that on your face?” She repeated.

He sighed, “An eyepatch grandma.”

“Why are you wearing an eyepatch.”

“Because I lost my eye.” He sighed.

She put a hand to her chest just as his mother came walking into the room, a Trey in one hand an apron tied around her waist and her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked more than a little frazzled.

“Martha, why didn’t you tell us he lost an eye!” She sighed, “Because I didn’t want to worry you mom.”

“How is the army still allowing you to command a ship with a missing eye?” Uncle Andy wondered 

“He flipped up the eyepatch and the mechanical tech hopped to life nearly freaking out as it tried to track all the faces in one place all at once.

Gasps, “IS that a mechanical eye!”

“Yes.”

His other grandma put a hand over her face, “and he used to have such pretty green eyes. Now look at them, he looks like one of those cyborgs! Did you know some of those people intentionally cut off their limbs to look more like that.”

Martha sighed, “That’s not how it works mom.”

His Mother’s sister waved at him from across the room. He smiled back, he had always liked her, “I love your eyepatch, it looks cool.”

Her husband grinned, “Space pirate.” he nodded sagely.”

Adam tilted his head across the room where he found  David and Jordan squished against one wall sitting on the floor Jordan mostly sitting in David’s lap as they tried not to take up any space.

His brother grimaced at him, he grimaced back.

His mother's father leaned forward his steel grey hair and serious face set, “So tell me Adam, what are exactly your duties in the UNSC.”

The entire family rolled their eyes at once, some not even discreetly. He only got involved in conversation if he considered it “useful” and that meant all of the thing other people didn’t want to talk about, money, religion, politics, family history…… 

“Er, well Uh.”

“After commanding an entire fleet of ships you would think he’d be better at public speaking.” Uncle Trevor announced from where he was hidden behind the piano.

Adam frowned and cleared his throat, “I am fleet commander of fifteen UNSC deep space vessels for both exploration and military combat, but my primary directive is to foster good will with alien races , and save others from destruction, subjugation and slavery while expanding our knowledge of the universe through prolongued deep-space exploration.”

“Ohhhh his directive!” The rest of the family oooooed as well, but it was mostly sarcastic in nature.

His niece, Kimver walked into the room and crawled up to sit with him and Jeremy leaning against both of their arms as she played on her handheld. Kimber’s new obsession seemed to have shifted into vintage gaming. Glancing over her shoulder he could see her throwing tiny white and red balls and strange looking animals and a very pixelated screen.

“Have you met any sexy alien ladies.” Ben butted in

The rest of the family raised their eyes to the sky. Grandma looked almost offended.

“Ben would you stop with that.” His wife muttered from where she sat on a chair in the corner.

“What the whole LFIL thing is legal now, so he totally could have met some sexy alien babes.:

“It’s not a joke Ben, those people had a rough time of it the past few years.” David piped up from the other side of the room.

“Why the GA decided to legalize that behavior is a mystery to me. The world really is getting more wicked.” Grandpa muttered,

Adam clenched his fists, “Actually, Grandpa, I convinced them to lift the ban.”

The room went very quiet very suddenly.

Adam wished he had just shut his mouth.

“You what!”

“Look I spent a lot of time around LFIL members when I was securing the GA hall from protestors. I met a lot of them, and they are just good people who want to be left alone to do what they want. So yes, because of my position I was able to walk into the GA council chambers and convinced them to lift the ban.”

They stared at him.

“But what they are doing is wrong, it’s like bestiality.”

He felt his fists clench, “Grandpa if you ever met an alien you wouldn’t say that. They are sentient being that can consent, and if they can do that than it isn’t bestiality, and also stop calling my friends animals. My ship is staffed by some of the best alien crewmembers I know, and I wont have you comparing them to cattle or dogs or whatever else you want.”

The room went quiet.

Grandpa stepped out in a huff.

HE sighed and leaned his head back against the wall with an audible thud.

His mother walked over and handed him a stack of cookies with a smile on her face that said: Sorry about that.

He took the cookies greatfully shoving one completly into his mouth to avoid saying something else stupid. 

“So, does this mean you DID find a sexy alien girl.” Ben wondered and was immediately elbowed in the ribs from two sides  producing a grunt of surprise.

“So Jeremy, how long have you two been dating.” Adam looked over Jeremy’s bulk towards where a petite red haired woman with grey eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her face was squished into the other side of the couch.” 

Sensing him looking, she waved a hand with a bright smile, and he waved back.

“Almost a year now.” Jeremy beamed putting his arm around her.

“Should we be expecting an announcement from you two soon?’ 

Everyone groaned, “Grandma!”

Jeremy’s girlfriend took it like a champ and continued to smile unaffected.

“Speaking of relationships.”

Dear god please descend from heaven and rapture him straight to hell, not that, that's how it worked but anywhere but here would have been great

“Adam, when are you finally going to settle down, how old are you now 25?”

He wondered if he prayed to satan hard enough he could summon a demon to swallow his soul whole.

“I know have you ever even dated anyone”

“Kissed anyone?” “Kissing is fun, you should definitely try it sometime.”

“You're grandmother definitely needs more grandkids.”

Oh the irony, the thought bitterly to himself.

At his feet the dog whimpered.

“You know there is this really pretty girl who works down at the corner store, I think she might do really good for you, a very down to earth girl. You could get promoted into a better paying desk job at the UNSC work 9-5 it would be a dream.”

Jeremy placed a hand on his shoulder, “Actually, Adam is more of an action guy, right Adam/”

Adam gave a weak smile, “Yeah.”

“Oh, he’ll grow out of that, besides you wouldn’t want to put a family under that kind of stress. It’s like you’re never home.”

“Space is my home.” He grumbled 

“Don’t be silly, humans weren’t meant for that sort of thing, besides your obsession was cute as a kid, but now that you’re older, you really need to start thinking about the future and having kids before you’re too old.”

He wanted to scream and bash his head against the wall.

“You know what though, how about that cute younger guy that works at the DMV, he looks about your age Adam.”

“I’m not interested in having a family right now!”

The room looked at him quietly, “You asexual or something?” Uncle Ben piped up awkwardly.

Adam felt his face go red, what kind of question was that? No, no uncle Ben I am not horny, or yes, yes uncle Ben I would love to find some hot person to plow just not right now.

And in front of the entire family?

Because he really wanted to have an extended discussion about his sex life with his entire extended family.

Waffles whimpered at his feet.

And then like an angel she descended from the sky to save him, either that or a billowing superhero cape like the saint she was. He couldn’t decide, angel or superhero, but decided on both.

Supermom, and part of her costume is angel wings and a halo.

“Adam why don’t you take waffles outside, she sounds a little nervous. Maybe take her out through the garage?”

He nodded and bolted to his feet like there were rockets firing from his ass, and hurried towards the door with the dog trailing at his heels.

Voices faded behind him, and he quickly hurried through the door and into the garage, where he found his dad sitting with Thomas on a set of lawn chairs drinking cold sodas and watching the clouds pass overhead.

They turned as they heard the door open.

“Adam! We didn’t know you were coming, pull up a chair.” 

He did so and unfolded it between the other two men sitting down as Thomas handed him a drink.

“They drive you off too?” Thomas grumbled 

Adam looked at his brother. Thomas was looking a little better than usual. His hair was only a little bit scruffy and his scraggly beard was at least trimmed. The tract marks in his arms had faded to pale scars on his arms.

“Yeah, uncle Ben asked about my love life in front of god and all his creatures. You?”

“Rehab. “

“I thought you were out of rehab.”

“I am, which is why I would rather not talk about it.”

“You doing good?”

“Yeah, got a stable job now, so that’s nice, go to meetings twice a week. One more month and I'll be six months sober.”

“Awesome, congrats.” He paused, “You know what, bet I could get you a job as a stuntman if you wanted.”

Thomas laughed, “Maybe I'll take you up on that. Once this job bores me to tears, which it will.”

“Did grandpa bring up LFIL.” Dad asked turning to look up at him

“You know he did.”

“He’s been meaning to ask you. He’s worried that spending so much time up in space has confused you.”

Adam snorted, “Don’t stargaze to long dad, the stars will make you extrial.”

“So that’s what dark matter is.” Thomas muttered and the three of them laughed. Waffles had climbed up on the chair with him and curled up on his legs to fall asleep.

“So what are you doing back here?” Dad wondered, “I thought you had just taken time off.”

He sighed, “Yeah… but things got complicated….” He paused, “Ever feel like no  matter what you try to do you keep failing at it.”

Thomas raised a hand “You mean my life.”

More laughter.

Then he got serious again, “Been so stressed lately that I can barely function as a person, has the UNSC questioning whether they should ground me or not. My friends set up an intervention, and it turns out that I am a raging control freak.”

“Could have told you that.”

“You got that from your mother.”

He glanced over at thomas, “What do you mean, could have guessed that?”

He shrugged, “Come on Adam, did you ever do anything you weren't sure you could do properly. Like riding a bike, or swimming, or how you threw a fit if we moved literally anything in your room, or how you had to have everything arranged on your plate before you ate it, or….”

“Yeah yeah ok. But I’m a fighter pilot, that's kind of not-”

“Yeah that is the most control freak job ever. You have to be in so much control that traveling at more than three times the speed of sound won’t kill you. Imagine the amount of control you need to fly in formation without killing everyone.”

“Alright I get it.” He grumbled.

“So what, you try to do everything yourself?” dad grunted 

He turned to look at the older man, “how did you know?”

“Every school project you ever worked on in a group, but you just ended up doing the entire thing.”

“I thought that’s just because the other kids were lazy and weren’t going to do their jobs.”

“Or because you wouldn’t let them and they just gave up on trying.” Dad responded 

Adam sighed and sunk back against his chair, “I had no idea.”

“Welcome to personal growth, how may we kick you in the balls.”

He sighed, ‘I just, how can I be a leader without losing my identity and becoming boring and stuffy. How can I still… I don’t know, be happy and have fun when I have a job like this…. Or am I just not meant for it.”

Dad waved a hand, “You were born for it, but you need to remember that while, most of the time, you can be friends with the people you work with sometimes you need to stop being their friend and be their commander, which entails doing some things that aren’t so friendly. At the end of the day it is a ship, so you have to make them and allow them to do their jobs, fun comes later.”

“How am I supposed to reduce the stress?”

He glanced at thomas who shook his head, “If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be a recovering heroin addict.” 

“You just have to find something you love doing, and then take a little time every day to do that thing which you love. Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out.” 

He sighed and looked out at the deepening sky.

He really hoped so 

[haloshornsinkstains]

Sleeping Beauty

MC falls asleep on Mammon and he proceeds to have some kind of existantial crisis. Pre-relationship fluff, but we all know  I  MC loves that dumbass demon.

(this one doesn’t use any names for MC, but she is female)

Mammon was staring so hard at the screen he was pretty sure it was going to explode at any moment. His fingers dug into the arm of the chair in an attempt to stop himself from touching you, he wanted so badly to pet your hair, but, he reasoned, if he did that you’d probably wake up and if you did that then… well you’d obviously be disgusted to find yourself in that position, you’d call him scum he just knew it, and he didn’t… he didn’t want to hear that from you . He heard the front door open, quickly running through his head as to who it could be; Levi was in his room, he was pretty sure he heard Beel heading back up from the kitchen not long ago, he didn’t think Satan had come home yet so he was a possibility, Lucifer had been still with Diavolo when you’d both left the Academy for the day… if it was him this might be bad. “Heeeeyy, anyone up?” Shit. This was worse than Lucifer. Way worse. And if he kept shouting like that Asmo was going to wake you and then he’d have that to deal with as well. Please don’t come in here. “Oh Mammon, why are you in the dark?” He went to switch on the light and Mammon had to gesture wildly at him to stop. The Avatar of Lust frowned for a second before he caught sight of you, asleep with your head resting in Mammon’s lap. His eyes travelled back up to Mammon’s face and he broke into a wide grin. This was definitely way worse than Lucifer coming home. “Oh, my.” Asmo still had that infurating grin on his face. “Get lost.” “Oh honey, you’re even more red than Levi was.” Mammon’s face fell, of course she’d done this with Levi before. Of course it wasn’t just him. Nah, she’d probably done it on purpose with that weird idiot, this was just an accident. She’d dozed off on his shoulder and started to slip, half asleep she readjusted to have her head in his lap. She couldn’t have realised what she’d done, no way would she actually choose to do this with him. “Yeah, I think he was keeping her up to watch some live stream, she must have dozed off on his shoulder. Humans really need a lot of sleep don’t they?” Asmodeus shrugged. “Still, she was kinda cute until he realised I was there and nearly launched her across the room in a panic. Much less cute.” Mammon looked back down at his sleeping human. She did fall asleep on them a lot, and it was kinda cute. Belatedly he wondered when he started considering her his human. But of course he did, she was his responsibility. Stupid human watch. Clearly bored with watching the older demon thinking Asmo laughed, before raising the volume of his voice several levels. “Oh Mammon, how adorable!” Mammon hissed something it was best not to translate, glaring towards the doorway. In his lap he felt the human shift, the redness of his cheeks now reaching his ears as you yawned and opened your eyes. Abruptly sitting up as soon as you realised where you were, eyes wide with surprise and a touch of panic. Mammon winced, bracing himself for the insults, trying to think of something to throw back at you. To throw out before you could get to him first if his brain would just work fast enough. “Oh my god, Mammon-” Yep, here it comes. “-I’m so sorry!” He blinked at you, mouth opening and shutting a few times in a way that didn’t seem a million miles away from Henry 2.0. You frowned just a little. “I didn’t hurt you or anything did I? I know I’m probably heavy… I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on you like that, I’m sorry.” You were babbling now, face a deep shade of red and eyes wide and panicked. Asmo laughed brightly from the doorway, shaking his head. “My work here is done, goodnight!” He vanished before either of the two on the couch could say anything. “I… what’re you on about sorry?” Mammon runs a hand through messy hair. You should be calling me a scumbag or threatening to tell Lucifer or something by now right? What the hell are you doing apologising? “I… I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m sorry. You should have woken me up and made me move, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” “I never said I was uncomfortable.” You blinked up at him, giving him a small smile. “You’re kind of red though.” Mammon looked away. “I’m just warm s’all. Anyway, I have to watch you don’t I? It’s way less effort if you’re asleep like that.” Oh crap, that sounded weird didn’t it? She’s definitely going to call me scummy now. “That’s-” a yawn cut through her sentence and she dipped her head to avoid his gaze “-sorry. That’s kind of sweet, I um, I should go to bed.” Mammon didn’t know what you say, so he just watched you leave, the space you had vacated suddenly feeling cold.

[bbaronpiper]

Moment of weakness pt.2

Hi guys! part 2 is here. I just wanted to say thank you all so so much for all the feedbacks, support, likes and reblogs for the previous part. It made my heart swell with joy. love you all! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Please know that I tried to tone down the angst on this part. but failed. haha sorry, I’m a sucker for angst stories. 

Anyway, heres part 1 if you haven’t read it yet. 

Warnings: lots and lots of angst, cheating, swearing, use of drugs and writings of an amateur wanna-be writer.

GIF not mine ctto.

Arón x reader

Arón’s P.O.V

Loud music was blasting through the speakers as the crowd go crazy. Night out with the boys was always fun. And it is. But not for me at least not tonight. Guilt was drowning me. I was lost in my thoughts when I heard Miguel’s voice.

“Do you love her?” Miguel asked me out of nowhere. But I answered immediately. It was a no brainer question. “Si, I love her with everything in me” I said wholeheartedly.

“Who?” He raised an eyebrow. “Hermano, I never mentioned a name. Who were you thinking?” he said with a straight face. He knew about my unfaithfulness. Oh boy how he wanted to beat the shit out of me when he found out I was cheating on Y/N. I begged him not to say a word saying I should be the one to tell her. And I was really planning to. I just don’t know how.

“Y/N, of course. She’s my girlfriend” I meant it. I was really thinking of her when I answered Miguel’s question.

“Then why are you doing this to her?” Miguel pushed as if I wasn’t on the verge of a mental breakdown yet.

He had me speechless. This fucker. It felt like as if a truck on full speed ran over me, shift gear to reverse and ran me over and over again. “No more” I whispered to answer Miguel’s question.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A moment of weakness. The other woman, she, who-shall-not-be-named and I met on set. She was our make-up artist. Damn, Y/N even met her once when she visited me. There was no excuse to what I did or why I did it but that supposed to be a one-time thing became a bad habit. 4 months. I’ve been fucking her for four months and I swore every damn time that it was the last one. That we’ll stop. But I craved for her. Stupid.

But that’s over now. Tomorrow, I swear I will end it once and for all. I can’t do this to Y/N anymore. I love her too much. Fuck. I even bought her a ring. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, make up for all the mistakes I’ve done.

Sometimes, part of me just wanted to pretend I did nothing wrong, go on with life and not tell Y/N. I am scared as hell but she deserved better.  I knew what the consequences might be but I owe her the truth. My hands are shaking I couldn’t even insert the fucking key on my door’s keyhole. “Joder!” I sigh frustrated.

 Once I got in our apartment. All things went to shit. Everything was a blur. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor wishing a truck really just ran me over.

I lost her. Puta mierda. I lost her.

 ---

Hours turned to days, turned to weeks, turned to months. I don’t even know what the date today is. All I know is that I want to numb the pain. And what better way to do that than to turn to alcohol and drugs. I felt my body getting weaker everyday but I don’t give a fuck. What else am I gonna lose? Oh, that’s right. Nothing! Oh god, I don’t even know where she is right now. I tried to call her. I tried to look for her but nobody knows where she is. I really tried.

So here I am sitting on my bathroom floor drowning in sorrow, high as fuck. I feel awful but that doesn’t compare to the hurt I felt when she told me she was done with me. I keep on hearing her voice inside my head. I see her every damn time I close my eyes. Memories flooded in my brain. The way she looked at me with anger in her eyes. The pain and disappointment in her voice as she told me she knew for months. She’s been suffering alone for months. But I was too selfish to see it. If I just loved her properly maybe I would still have her.

I miss the warmth of her body. Her soft lips against mine. The way our bodies perfectly fit together when we’re making love. How she would always make my days better. She’s my rock, my everything, she kept me sane. I wished I realized this sooner before I hurt her as badly as I did.

Everything is spinning, my head hurts like a bitch.

---

Y/N’s P.O.V

You swore you’ll never be back here but you need to get the rest of your things. It’s been a month and a half in hell. You don’t know what to expect. Maybe he’s with her. You thought. Maybe he asked her to move in with him by now. But you couldn’t care less. It’s none of your business now. All you have to do was to grab your things as fast as you could and fly out the window.

You open the front door and slowly walked in like a thief, careful not to be seen nor heard. You went straight to the room you used to share with Arón. You felt a sting on your heart. You missed this. As you were grabbing your bags, you heard a small sound coming in the bathroom.

Fuck! He’s home. You panicked.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you but you felt like you have to check the bathroom and so you did.

As you entered, you saw him sitting on the cold hard floor with his back leaning on the wall for support. He had his eyes closed and looking so pale as the night you left him. It scared you for a while thinking he’s passed out or even dead. Until he stirred a little. You let out a sigh of relief.

You felt bad for him. Yes, he broke you, but still, you loved him once in your life and seeing him like this still had an impact on you. So, you kneeled in front of him. Held his face trying to get his eyes to open. “Hey, Arón?” you nervously said.

“No, no, no, god, no, por favor, no… Detener, hazlo parar.” (…stop, make it stop) he whispered. Eyes still shut closed.

You were confused. ‘til you looked around and saw empty bottles of alcohol. And what the fuck is that? Is that joint? And Pills? Oh, god. He mixed all of this? You thought to yourself. That’s when it clicked you. He thought he was hallucinating.

You got up to get a towel. You soaked it with cold water and wipe Arón’s face with it gently. Memories of you with him starts to creep in and you swore you wanted to run away. But you stayed.

“Arón” you tried speaking to him again. Shaking him a little. That’s when his eyes opened.

“Y/N,” he whispered. You barely heard him, he looked straight at you. “Bebé? Is it really yo.. are you really here?” he said as he reached out for you for confirmation that you really are there.

“Yes, I’m here. what did you do? What’s all this? How are you feeling?” you asked all those questions. Sounding more concern than you should be. As if you were still his girlfriend.

He just shrugged as tears start building up on his tired eyes. It took a while for him to answer “I missed you bebesita”

“I told you not to call me that” oh no, the anger you had inside you starts to resurface.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I did. I-I.. just missed you s-so much. Duele mucho.” (it hurts so bad) He said. Finding it difficult to speak. Shutting his eyes again. Wincing in pain. Not because he felt like shit because of drugs and alcohol but because he felt your anger towards him.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed so you can rest. I’ll make you some soup” trying to hold back tears. He will never see me shed a tear for him ever again. you thought.

You helped him up. Lead him to bed and when he lied down, he murmured “Gracias” as you wiped his face and torso with the towel you still have on hand. Gulping a little when you saw his bare torso. god! he’s beautiful. You snapped out of it and pull the covers up to cover him. Not today satan! You thought to yourself.

You look at his sleeping form for a few seconds. Indulging his appearance: his pouty lips that you oh so loved, his mini tattoos, his moles, his shaved head with his little curls starting to grow back, for one last time. As you wished this was really the last time you had to see him. You wanted to move on. You needed to move on. But as you turn around, he grabbed you by the wrist.

“Stay. Lay down with me. Por favor… at least just until I fall asleep” He begged looking at you. You can hear the pain and tiredness in his voice.

You just stood there dumbfounded not knowing what to do. “Please” you heard him repeat himself. That’s when you finally gave in. took off your shoes and got under the covers with him. Fucking satan’s not done yet. He got me this time.

You were laying on your back when he turned to you and put his head on your shoulder and wrapped an arm around you. And you let him. You let him. It felt like it was killing you over again but at the same time it brought you sanctuary. You don’t even know how that’s possible. But you missed this. You missed him.

Both of you were enjoying the moment in silence until he spoke softly “Y/N, I’m really sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you… if I could just turn back time you know I wou…” you cut him off.

“Shut up, Arón” your chin starts to quiver as you felt fresh tears starting to form. “Please. Stop it. I can’t...” you were the one begging now.

He obeyed you. Not a single word fell out of his lips. His breathing was steady and you could hear his soft snores signaling he’s already asleep. You carefully got out of bed. Then headed to the get the rest of the bags you came here for. You had already prepared them that dreadful night. And just as you were about to turn the doorknob to leave. You heard him speak in his sleep.

“She’s not worth it, Bebé”

And just like that. all the tears you held all day, burst. You covered your mouth with your hand and hurried yourself to get out of that room and closed the door. You slide down on it as you felt your legs got weaker while you cried your heart out. Fuck you satan, that one hurt like a bitch.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Now, you were the one on the floor, weeping.

-----

Note: That’s it guys! I was torn between a happy ending or this one. But since I’m an angsty biatch, I went for this one. And I’m not really sure if we are supposed to forgive someone who broke us like this. Anyway, before we get personal here, I want to thank ya’ll again for reading.

Also, I’m considering on making this a trilogy. Oorrr it’s better just to leave it like this. What do you think? Feel free to drop suggestions. Ciao! <3

---

UPDATE! READ PART 3 HERE 

[sugarbutterbroadway]

Davey-Doll

If you guys like this then i’ll consider turning it into a series :)

David Jacobs was exhausted. It was nothing he couldn’t deal with though, it was just the gripes of getting older. His knees popped when he squatted and his back always seemed to be so stiff from huddling over the dining table at night. He envied Les. Really, he did. He remembers being young and actually wanting to fly down the streets of New York chasing everything and nothing. And sure, he was still healthy. He could still make the walk to Brooklyn every now and again if it was needed, but he misses the want.

 When everything felt so urgent yet his only responsibility was to be a good son,do his homework and do his chores. Now everything was urgent, in ways he couldn’t even imagine. It was no longer an explosion of go go go but a nagging at the back of his head that he constantly had to do something. Christ, he couldn’t even rest up on a Saturday morning without feeling like he has a bottomless pit of errands. But it wasn’t so bad, and nobody said growing up was fun anyway. The last time he had any fun was when they won the strike. He remembers bringing Les home that night and drinking till he felt sick, celebrating the most important moment of his life. If he tries hard enough he could still taste the rum on his lips,the rum on Jack’s lips, the way their lips slotted together in a way that could only be described as familiar. The rumbling in Jack’s chest as teeth bit into soft flesh, the break neck pacing, the go go go. It was electric,it was intoxicating. 

Jack was intoxicating, and Davey couldn’t help but to want a taste. Jack tasted sweet, tasted better than any liquor Davey had brought to his damned lips. He tasted dangerous, he was dangerous. All furrowed brows and sharp teeth, nights spent in the pale moon light of his penthouse.

Davey let out a bitter chuckle. He remembered that moonlight. He remembered how Jack felt about the moonlight. How the wind would hit their bare chests and he would croon a million and one different reasons they were meant to be together. How the stars in the sky shone only for them, how the moon need be their only light and the four walls of the penthouse was their home. But how long? It always whispered in the back of Davey’s mind. How long would it be only theirs before Jack’s eyes started to wander? He knew from the beginning that Jack Kelly would never settle down. He was young,he was attractive and he could have anyone who caught his eyes. But Jack liked a chase,liked the fight,liked pretty people with smart mouths. So Davey ran, he ran and let himself be chased. Through the sweet Summers filled with hot breath and sticky skin,through the Fall filled with shared cups of tea at the Jacobs house,through the Winter filled with memories of a David he hasn’t seen in a long time. All four walls broken down and his soul bared in all of its patchwork glory for Jack to see. Then come Spring he made the worst decision of his life.

He stopped running. 

Just like the chase was over. Jack had caught up quicker than he’d like and without a word turned and ran away. How dare Jack look betrayed when he knew this was coming? When all the signs were there? The Spring filled with anxious breaths and sobs bubbling up in David’s chest because of “No, Davey. I..I’m sorry but I won’t marry you”

And he should have seen it coming. Jack Kelly the man of mystery would never let himself be tied down, especially to someone like Davey. He got too soft. Heated arguments turned into wistful conversations,smirks turned into shy smiles, he wanted to make love,to be loved, to be in love. The stars that once kept them so warm on the penthouse filled his eyes and he was a goner.

But in his defense he thought he saw it too. He thought in the hush of night he saw Jack’s eyes glimmer with stardust before they shut. He thought he felt the soft touches in between sleep,he thought Jack’s sharp tongue had dulled to an affectionate tone. But maybe he was wrong. And here he was, twenty-five years old still drunk on Jack Kelly. They hadn’t crossed paths in years, not since the failed proposal. Rumors about him still spread when Davey finds himself in Newsies square, the skeletons of his past coming to haunt him. He tries not to listen but can’t help but turn his ear up everytime he hears a ‘Jack’. 

He said he’d stop passing through here, tell Les to just meet him at his apartment instead. It feels like walking through a ghost town as he clutches a newspaper he paid way too much for. He takes one look at the lodging house and fights back a dull pain in his chest. Maybe he could stop by Racetrack’s job after he picks up Les. Their yearly meetup is far over due and he could use a familiar face. 

The newer newsies were getting simultaneously younger and older every time he pops by. Soon enough there won’t be a single face he remembers and then maybe he can shake his past. He’s sure he sees Elmer in the crowd of tired, vacant eyes. He’ll be sure to tip him handsomely on the way back, Elmer was a good kid. He passes by Jacobi’s and in the corner of his eye he’s sure he sees a familiar vest. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, Les is waiting on him. He lengthens his strides.

He hears footsteps behind him.

It’s probably the sun playing tricks on him, he knew better than to wear this waistcoat when it was so warm out-

“Wait!”

He froze. The footsteps approached more rapidly and he bided his time to keep his breakfast from becoming street art. The footsteps slow and he feels a hand grip his shoulder,a panting so close to his ear and so familiar it’s already making him blush.

“Davey Jacobs”he says. Davey finally turns around face to face with the man who’s been haunting his dreams for damn near ten years. Still so handsome, dressed in the same juvenile attire he used to run Manhattan in. His waistcoat was left unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, completely inappropriate for a man his age but when has he cared for societal expectations? It took him a few moments to realize he was supposed to speak back.

“Jack Kelly,”Davey said. He found his eyes darting down to the collar of Jack’s shirt,where a tie should’ve been and for just a moment he swore he could taste rum. Jack’s eyes followed his own and his lips pulled up in a subtle smirk. Almost ten years and that smirk still filled him with rage yet made his knees so weak.

“How’s the family?”He asked, green eyes boring straight into hazel. Davey was warm, far too warm.

“T-they’re good,”Davey said and inwardly winced. “Actually i’m going to pick up Les from school”

He was giving Jack far more information than he needed and he knew it. Jack nodded and recognition seemed to flitter across his eyes.

“Les”he repeated, “I miss that kid, how old is he? seventeen?”

“Eighteen”Davey responded, and why was he still talking?

Jack threw his head back and laughed. Davey found himself checking for any bruises on his neck. He hated himself for it.

“Eighteen and you’re still playing big brother?”He laughed. “You’ve always been the caring type”

The praise no matter how miniscule washed over him in waves and he found himself slipping back into a dangerous game.

“You’re too kind, Jack”Davey said, looking up at Jack through his lashes. He hoped it still had the desired effect. Jack licked his lips and his eyes flickered over Davey’s body. Bingo.

“Well um, i’m going to be in town for a while,”He said, rubbing his arm. “I’m staying at a place in Brooklyn-”

Davey couldn’t help but butt in. “Conlon’s territory?”

Jack’s jaw clenched and Davey felt his heart flutter a bit. If Jack hated anything, it was being interrupted. This could be fun.

“I ain’t no Newsie anymore”He shrugged, “why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t”Davey shot back, raising a brow. “Just making an observation”

Jack took a step closer.“You haven’ changed a bit”

“No reason to change”Davey said, “Wasn’t the one who needed to”

“That quick wit get you into college?”He asked.

They were so close that Davey could feel his breath on his cheek. “Columbia. Full ride” 

He heard Jack take in a shaky breath. 

“God, i’ve missed you”

It was everything Davey wanted to hear, everything he’s been waiting for. But he wasn’t going to give in so quickly, no. Jack Kelly liked a chase and he was going to give him the chase of a lifetime. He took a step back and fiddled with the buttons on his coat. He made sure to look Jack straight in his eyes before he spoke.

“I’ve got to pick up Les,”He said. He didn’t even give Jack a chance to respond before he carried on down the street. Jack’s cries of indignation fell on deaf ears and Davey felt powerful. The sun is high in the sky,the headline stinks and for the first time in years Davey Jacobs felt excited.

This nickname/fic idea is courtesy of @satan-incarnate-666 so thank them for the angst :))

[toomuchofabastard]

Heaven’s Final Betrayal (1/6)

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit Depictions of Rape/Non-Con

Word count: 2,866

Summary: It was obvious that Heaven wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about Aziraphale’s role in preventing Armageddon. But neither the angel nor Crowley could have predicted how far they were willing to go to get revenge, and now Aziraphale needs him by his side more than ever.

READ ON AO3

___

The archangel Gabriel looked thoroughly pissed off. Crowley had seen him angry before, but this was new. This time there seemed to be an icy hatred lurking behind his usual façade of charm, beneath the insincere smiles and the pretence of piousness. It sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine.

His steely gaze wasn’t directed at Crowley, however. Gabriel was frowning down at Aziraphale, who stood anxiously in front of him. The vast top floor of Heaven was deserted except for the small group of figures: Gabriel towering over Aziraphale, with Sandalphon crowded close next to him, while Uriel and Michael stood some distance away, both gripping Crowley’s arms tight as - forced to his knees - he wrestled in vain against their hold.

“So, Aziraphale,” Gabriel began. “I expect you know why you’re here.”

Aziraphale laughed nervously. “A-Armageddon, presumably,” he said. “I-I-I just thought that, well, in the interest of the greater good…following the Ineffable Plan, not just the, uh, the Great Plan…” He wrung his hands as he spoke, a forced smile fluttering on his face.

“Be that-” Gabriel interrupted, rolling his eyes slightly “-as it may, that’s not the only transgression you’ve committed. A long list, in fact.” He looked knowingly at the other archangels, who each nodded gravely. “All manner of un-angelic behaviour.”

Self-righteous pricks, thought Crowley. As if they were models of holiness. He knew how terrified Aziraphale was of his superiors, and always hated to guess at what had made him that way. And he remembered there being a certain amount of rejoicing in Heaven when he and the rest had been cast out in the first place. This probably was about averting the Apocalypse, deep down, but Heaven needed its plausible excuse as always.

“Carrying out temptations,” Gabriel continued, “fraternising with the enemy, and even…” He paused, and his face twisted with a mixture of genuine bemusement and disgust. “…laying with a demon.”

Aziraphale’s smile waned. His eyes flitted towards Crowley, guilt laid bare across his face.

“An act which cannot go without punishment,” Gabriel said sternly. He exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Sandalphon. “Perhaps the punishment should fit the crime,” he said. Aziraphale looked confused.

Gabriel’s eyes grew suddenly cold, the irritation in them vanishing. He looked down at Aziraphale.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Aziraphale’s smile dropped, surprise and fear flashing across his face in its place. He quickly blinked and raised the smile again, and chuckled softly as if it was a joke, though the fear remained. Gabriel’s expression didn’t change.

Aziraphale began to stutter, looking for something to say. Nothing came.

Sandalphon placed a thick hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and shoved him roughly to his knees. A wince flashed across Aziraphale’s face as his kneecaps collided with the hard, unyielding marble, and his expression of nervous ingratiation vanished, replaced instantly by dread. He gulped and stared up at Gabriel’s impassive face.

“Gabriel,” he said, his voice wavering. “Please.”

There was a moment of stillness as every being in the room watched the archangel for his response. Even Crowley stopped struggling and held his breath. Then Gabriel spoke.

“Now, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale paled and swallowed again. Even from a distance, Crowley could see his chest starting to heave from barely-suppressed panic. He looked like he wanted to run. His eyes darted frantically, brow furrowed; Crowley could practically hear his mind racing. He turned and looked desperately at the other angels standing around, clearly searching for any other way out, any appeal he could make. They offered him no help.

Time seemed to stop as Aziraphale’s eyes met Crowley’s. They were full of terror and distress, but as he looked at Crowley, something subtle seemed to shift in the angel’s expression. The awful acceptance that there was no way out, but also, Crowley realised, a glimmer of resolution. Crowley could only shake his head silently at him.

Aziraphale set his jaw and turned away from him. With a shaking breath, and under the cold eyes of Gabriel and the other angels, he slowly leant forward and stretched his arms out, until he was on all fours on the ground facing away from them all.

Crowley tried again to yank his arms free of the archangels’ hold. “Fight back, Aziraphale!” he yelled. “You can take them!” Aziraphale said nothing. His arms were rigid and Crowley could see him trembling even from where he was. Come on, angel, Crowley thought. You can’t just let them do this.

Gabriel stepped up behind Aziraphale and knelt deliberately down behind him. Then he began to undo his belt.

Crowley surged forward. “Don’t touch him! Don’t you lay a hand on him, you bassstard!” he yelled. “You’re fucking sssick, all of you!” he spat at the surrounding angels, before unleashing a string of curses at them that would offend even the foulest denizen of hell.

Snap. Michael clicked her fingers and instantly Crowley’s mouth was sealed shut behind a strip of white tape. He continued to rage fruitlessly into the gag as Gabriel finished with his belt and unzipped the fly of his trousers. Aziraphale hadn’t moved, head down and staring blankly at the floor, but at the snap of Michael’s fingers, his eyes came back into focus and flickered towards the side where Crowley was kneeling.

 “…It’s alright, Crowley,” he stammered unconvincingly.

Crowley just thrashed his head, but he could do nothing as Gabriel lifted Aziraphale’s coat over his hips, then reached for the angel’s waistband and tugged his trousers and underwear down in one swift move. Aziraphale flinched as if he wanted to curl in on himself, but otherwise stayed where he was, still shaking. Gabriel’s face remained emotionless as he proceeded to remove his flaccid member from his pants. Crowley wasn’t surprised to see that he was larger than average, but it still made him feel like throwing up. Fuck. This couldn’t be happening.

With a discrete miracle, Gabriel made himself instantly erect and (Crowley noted with the smallest hint of relief) applied a generous coating of lubricant along his length. He still didn’t show any sign of concern as he shuffled closer to Aziraphale’s shivering form, and grasped his erection firmly. Aziraphale was breathing deeply and rapidly, clearly trying to force himself to relax, but he gasped and his fists clenched into balls as Gabriel began to press himself against his entrance. Crowley snarled behind the gag.

Gabriel ignored him and continued to push slowly into Aziraphale, who couldn’t help but let out a strained whine. He panted, head hanging low and knuckles shining white against the cold marble, as Gabriel sunk slowly into him until he was pressed flush against his rear. The archangel paused, rearranging himself. Then he drew back and rocked into Aziraphale’s body again. Then again. Then again. Crowley could only watch helplessly, horror and rage flooding his veins. Again. And again. Gabriel at least didn’t seem to be deliberately trying to hurt Aziraphale; in fact, he seemed to have no instinct for how to move himself at all; he worked in and out of Aziraphale’s body robotically, methodically, with no pleasure apparent on his face. Aziraphale’s eyes remained open, fixed hard on a spot on the floor, swimming with pain and humiliation. His jaw was clenched closed but tiny grunts escaped every time Gabriel sheathed himself fully inside him.

Crowley tore his gaze away and looked around at the other angels. The perverse bastards were just…standing there, watching. Uriel and Michael’s grip on his arms was vice-like; painfully tight, inescapable, but their faces likewise displayed complete indifference to the scene before them. If anything, he thought he could detect a slight, smug upturn at the corners of that git Sandalphon’s mouth. Didn’t they have a conscience about what was happening? They were supposed to be the good guys, for Satan’s sake. He’d expect as much from his own kind, but not from angels.

Suddenly, Gabriel groaned softly and buried himself to the hilt inside Aziraphale. Satisfaction flashed briefly across his face as he stilled and came. Aziraphale’s whole body shuddered violently at the sensation, and he buried his face into his arm as if trying to escape, stifling a sob. Crowley was certain he was going to throw up now. He desperately choked the bile back down his throat as Gabriel withdrew his now-softening member from Aziraphale’s behind and pulled back. Aziraphale winced but otherwise seemed frozen in place, staring blankly and open-mouthed at the floor. His face was a mask of disbelief and shame.

Gabriel cleaned the stickiness from his length with a quick miracle, then stood and calmly tucked himself back into his trousers, doing up the zip and stepping back next to Sandalphon, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just… Crowley sniffed. Oh God…

Gabriel sighed, and then turned to look at Sandalphon. They exchanged a brief look of self-satisfaction before Sandalphon arched an eyebrow at him. Gabriel nodded curtly in response.

Immediately, Sandalphon left his side and marched over to Aziraphale’s still-prone unmoving form. Then he too knelt behind him and began to undo his trousers. Crowley’s blood turned to ice. No no no no… Not more of this, he thought. Enough, just leave him. He tried to bellow through the gag but it just came out as an animalistic growl.

Hearing Crowley and sensing movement behind him, Aziraphale lifted his head and turned slightly to look back. His eyes shone bright with tears. He tensed as he noticed Sandalphon. The tiny tremble of his lip made Crowley feel like his heart was being torn in two. He’d never felt so furious, or so damned helpless.

Aziraphale turned away with another choked sob as Sandalphon finished unzipping his fly. Crowley had to suppress another heave of nausea as he noticed that the archangel was already semi-erect. Sick fucker. A subtle miracle and he was fully hard.

Not bothering with any additional lubricant, Sandalphon positioned himself between Aziraphale’s legs and thrust into him without hesitation. This time Aziraphale couldn’t help but cry out, his head arching skywards, but he immediately clamped his jaw shut, strangling the cry in his throat, and tucked his chin back down to his chest, eyes screwed tightly shut. Sandalphon grunted and began pushing into him with thrusts that rocked his whole body. Aziraphale’s hands scrabbled in pain at the polished floor, elegant nails fraying as they clawed at the surface. His hunched shoulders shook with tension.

Crowley turned his head away, unable to bear the sight a moment longer. His stomach was still churning with revulsion. The cavernous space was silent around them except for the sound of rhythmic slapping of skin, Aziraphale’s hitched gasps and Sandalphon’s heavy breathing as he moved in and out of the angel’s rear. The other archangels remained silent but for the occasional disdainful sniff. Crowley cursed them all in his mind, just for existing, for being there to deliberately add to Aziraphale’s humiliation by watching, for stealing his dignity from him.

A fractured whimper suddenly drew Crowley’s attention back.

Sandalphon had fisted a hand into the back of Aziraphale’s coat and was using it to pull Aziraphale back into his hips, his face twisted into a grimace with effort. Aziraphale was biting his lip, hard, desperately trying not to make a sound as the assault continued. Tears leaked from the corners of his shut eyes, each glistening bead dripping down to wet the ground between his hands, like delicate raindrops.

Gabriel sighed loudly again, and folded his arms. He looked thoroughly disinterested in what was happening in front of him, eyes wandering absently around the room. His gaze settled briefly on Crowley, who glared at him with as much hatred as he could muster, but the archangel just looked straight through him then turned away, as if his presence wasn’t even worth acknowledging.

Sandalphon’s thrusts were growing more and more erratic. He hunched slightly over Aziraphale’s back and continued to drag him back by his coat to meet each motion. Aziraphale’s control finally broke and he cried out again as Sandalphon made two final, sharp thrusts and came inside him with a low groan. Each pained cry tore a hole in Crowley’s heart.

They stayed still and joined for a few moments, both panting. Sandalphon scowled down at Aziraphale’s limp form beneath him, then he abruptly pulled out and shoved Aziraphale away from him, leaving him sprawled in a dishevelled heap, with one cheek pressed against the cold marble floor. Aziraphale lay motionless as Sandalphon straightened himself up then retreated back to his position at Gabriel’s side. He held his chin high, like he was proud of what he’d done.

Please, Crowley begged inside his head. Please, just let this be over. Aziraphale stared emptily across the room from his position on the ground. His expression was frozen with shock and heartbreak, and his only movements were little blinks that dislodged tears from the corners of his eyes, and his chest rising and falling with each shallow, rattled breath. The circle of archangels looked down from on high around him. He looked so horribly small in the vastness of the room, exposed and alone in the brilliant white light. Crowley longed to run to him, to protect him, to get between him and those stony gazes.

He wrestled again against Uriel and Michael’s grip and tried to call out through the gag. This time, his struggles succeeded in attracting Gabriel’s attention, and the whole host turned to consider him. Gabriel paused, and then gestured with his head. “Let him go.”

Crowley thanked the God he professed not to speak to as Uriel and Michael released their hold and miracled the gag away, and he could at last scramble gracelessly to Aziraphale’s side. The angel barely reacted as Crowley threw himself down next to him. His watery eyes were still glazed over and unfocused.

Uriel scoffed in their direction. “You really are pathetic,” she said, looking past Crowley at Aziraphale. Crowley felt him flinch slightly. He hissed at Uriel, fury burning in his throat, but stayed at Aziraphale’s side. She ignored him.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “We’re done here,” he said simply. “Leave. And don’t come back.” He took a last, long look at Aziraphale’s prone body, face as impassive as ever, then turned and strode off. The other angels followed closely behind, casting contemptuous glances as they passed. Crowley matched them each with a scowl. Bastards. Finally, he and Aziraphale were left alone.

As soon as the archangels were out of sight, Crowley released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, ignoring the rush of dizziness that followed, and turned his attention back to Aziraphale. His expression softened immediately. “Oh fuck,” he murmured, and quickly shrugged his jacket off and used it to cover Aziraphale’s exposed waist. Aziraphale didn’t move.

“Angel?” Crowley crawled to his head and, with excruciating gentleness, reached out a hand to brush his cheek. Aziraphale gasped softly and his eyes flicked towards Crowley. Crowley watched as they slowly swam back into focus, registered his presence, then rapidly flooded with shame and anguish, and scrunched closed. A quiet whimper escaped the angel’s throat as he rolled his face into the floor.

Crowley’s hands dithered. He wasn’t sure if he should touch him, not after what he’d just been through. Aziraphale’s chest hitched repeatedly with silent sobs. Tentatively, Crowley placed a hand on the nape of his neck and rubbed his fingers in tiny, soothing circles, wishing like hell that he could do more. Aziraphale thankfully didn’t recoil from his touch, so he continued. He looked around the now-empty hall. He was itching to leave. If he never set foot again in that damned place that had taken so much from both of them, it would be too soon.

“C’mon, angel,” Crowley swallowed. “Let’s get out of here.” There was a pause and then Aziraphale drew in a shuddering deep breath and opened his eyes again. His jaw was tight and his bottom lip was still wobbling slightly, but he was quiet. Crowley curled one arm across his shoulders and delicately cupped his elbow with the other, trying (and probably failing, he thought) for an encouraging expression. Aziraphale looked up at him, and then shakily began to push himself up. Slowly, achingly, Crowley helped him to sit up.

Aziraphale cringed as his weight shifted to his rear, but he managed to get upright. Quickly he reached for his waistband, and averted his gaze from Crowley’s, eyes clouded with humiliation, as he pulled his pants and trousers back up. Crowley turned away, his heart aching for him. He picked his jacket back up and wrapped it around the angel’s shoulders. Aziraphale only sniffed.

Crowley took hold of his elbow again and helped him to stagger weakly to his feet. Aziraphale swayed slightly as he stood. He was hunched over, his head bowed, and his hands were clasped closely against his stomach. Crowley pulled him as close to himself as he dared, though he felt the angel shy away a little despite his carefulness. Finally, he cast one last black look around at the bright room, and then he snapped his fingers and they both vanished.

[madatobiweek2019-2021]

Submission From PeacefulDiscord

And I Preferred To Fall

The first time he met the arrogant angel— an outcast even among his own kind— with what seemed to every religious doctrine shoved far up where the sun didn’t shine, Madara knew he was in love. With hair as white as the downy feathers curved around his shoulders and eyes as red as the very flames of Hell, Madara was drawn like a tortured soul to respite. Now, most would say the endeavor was hopeless— Madara was a Prince of Hell, next in line to take the throne as the new Satan and this angel, this good-hearted, sharp-tongued snowflake who the very thought of eased the burn of flames under Madara’s skin, would surely not have any interest in a being as deviant as Madara. But Madara could see it— interest, desire, it simmered in those eyes. Madara only had to bring those feelings to a boil, stoke the flames until they overflowed and that—

Well that was easier than he thought it’d be. The angel wasn’t like the rest of his kind, wary of evil certainly and with many more horns in hand, but he didn’t let the mentality he’d been entrenched in to deter him from making and passing judgement on his own. Like playing a fiddle, Madara was able to pluck the angel’s strings in a melody no one else could follow, pulling him deeper and deeper into the darkness of Madara’s depths, that bright halo of light growing dimmer until it outed completely. Until the angel was his and only his, no thrum of propriety and godliness in those once innocent bones—

“Madara, what are you telling the children?”

Madara glanced up from where he lay on a pile of plush pillows, grinning lazily and baring his fangs. “The story of how we got together, obviously.”

Tobirama gave him a flat look, long-suffering and far too used to Madara’s antics. He settled down in the blanket fort beside their kids, letting little Saiyuri cuddle close and covering her with his wing. The other four children leaned closer, Kagami grinning mischievously.

“I bet Papa did play you like a fiddle, Dad,” Kagami drawled, smile stretching wider. “Seeing he doesn’t know how to play at all.”

“Oy!” Madara protested over his family’s sudden outburst of laughter, tugging gently the young boy’s curls. “So mean Kagami-chan.”

“But true?” Kimiko smirked. “I bet Daddy just had to smile at you and you turned into a puddle.”

Tobirama grinned, that same crooked smile their daughter Mitsuki had somehow adopted, the one that the kids dubbed as “un-evil” unlike Madara’s and kissed Madara’s cheek, nuzzling against him for a moment. “I most definitely did.”

Madara winced, hiding the shudder that threatened to wrack his frame. That had been terrible.

“Wait, really?” Sora sat upright, eyes darting between his parents. “You turned Papa into a puddle, Daddy?”

“Well—”

———————————-

It was an unpleasant day, the air clouded with sand and ash, the scent of blood only shadowed by the grief washing around them. Tobirama felt sick to the stomach. War, no matter how good he was with strategizing and winning, never settled well in his gut. The constant battle of good and evil, right and wrong, disgusted him. And this demon, bloody Prince of Hell— he didn’t look happy either, torn between enjoying the battle display, lights flashing and noise reaching ear-splitting levels, and curling close to the injured people on the ground, wings spread as if to shield them— but Tobirama didn’t care. People were hurt. And that, that made him hurt. With a snarl, he yanked the demon away, only for the man to twist them about, dropping Tobirama beside the injured family and standing over them, a wall of black shooting up to counter the bullets raining down on them.

Tobirama watched wide-eyed as mines exploded beside the gunmen, as their weapons locked and would not shoot anymore, and could only follow along as Madara led him and the wounded people to a safer area, hidden by high and sturdy walls.

It was later, when the gun fighting had finally stopped that Tobirama had a chance to let himself process what in God’s thousand names had happened, mind racing as he waved a hand and caused a fighter jet aiming for a nearby hospital to explode. And the demon was still there, getting in the way.

“You know, something like this wouldn’t be a bad date. Just you and me protecting the helpless, blowing things up in the process—”

Tobirama huffed. “Is now really the time to be flirting, demon?”

Madara stared at him, confused. “Yes? Is there a specific time set for you angels to do that? I know you guys are uptight but..”

“Oh for the love of—” Tobirama scrunched his nose, flicking his hand carelessly. Madara yelped, plopping to the ground in a puddle of liquid. “You’ll return to normal soon enough but not soon enough to keep bothering me. I’ve people to heal and bring peace to.”

———————————-

Saiyuri pouted. “Papa no puddle?”

Tobirama laughed, a quiet breath of a thing like a sprinkle of peaceful happiness, and pulled the girl into a hug. “No. Papa is not a puddle anymore.”

“But I want puddle Papa,” she said softly, fluttering her cute little eyes at Madara, knowing full well in all three of her years of life since they found her abandoned in a ramshackle mess of a home that he had not, could not, say no to her.

“Umm well—?” Madara shifted uncomfortably. He really hated being a puddle. But he looked at the little girl staring up at him and heaved a breath, full and ready to melt to goo on his favorite blankets

“….I’m not sure if I should say no to you or Saiyuri,” Tobirama arched a brow. “Honestly Madara. Stop spoiling her so much. Sai, you’re Papa can’t turn into a puddle just because you want him to. Uh uh, no pouting, you know better. Let’s listen to the rest of the story.”

Thank you father, Satan. God actually since Tobi saved me? One of you.

Madara deflated with relief, pinching the tip his daughter’s nose gently and making her laugh. “Right. Onto the story. Um where were we?”

“Dad turned you into a puddle because you have inappropriate timing,” Mitsuki laughed, eyes sparkling with mirth at Madara’s pain.

Honestly Madara wasn’t so sure he adopted his children. They were too much like he and Tobirama to not be of their DNA.

Wait, angels and demons didn’t really have DNA. Tobirama probably brainwashed them. The good side excelled in propaganda.

“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” Madara grumped to his kids’ snickering. “Anyways, right so after that…”

——————————

Madara was aggravated. The couple in front of him just would not stop blabbering on and on about sin and God’s will or whatever. Even angels, not even the one he called to join him, didn’t oft make assumptions like that. The nerve of these people.

“God will hate you!” The mother shrilled, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Mom, mom please..” the girl begged, sobbing. “Dad?”

Tobirama stood in the corner silently, emotionless mask in place. He met Madara’s eyes and disappeared.

“No daughter of mine—,” the man shook his head, turning away and pulling his wife inside and shutting the door. The girl wailed, grabbing at the knob only to hear the lock click in place.

“No mom, mom. Dad, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She sobbed, falling to her knees against the door. “Let me in please!”

“Sweetheart?” An older lady seemed to appear from thin air on the sidewalk. She walked a little closer, casting her salwar and Om pendant in light, a man wearing a traditional thobe and another woman with a cross hanging around her neck following behind her. “Are you alright?”

“My parents— my parents hate me,” the girl choked out between her sobs. The lady that spoke frowned, dropping onto the porch and pulling the girl into a hug.

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay,” she said, stroking the girl’s hair soothingly. “They won’t let you in?”

The girl shook her head, clinging tighter to the woman.

“Alright, alright. It’s okay. Easy does it. We’re with the Interfaith Peace Association. We help youth and young adults in the community who are going through difficult times. We’re here. We’ll help you.”

Tobirama appeared beside him. “Perhaps we should give them some privacy.”

Madara nodded his agreement, catching Tobirama’s wrist and whisking them away to his favorite cafe. As they settled into the booth, Madara snapped his fingers, willing a waiter with drinks and pie to them rather than the couple who’d ordered it. Tobirama scowled.

“What?” Madara said. “It’s easier this way! And I love the cider and key lime pie here.”

Tobirama just snapped his own fingers, the waiter hastily going back to the couple with their food. Another swept through the kitchen door with Madara’s order.

“Fine. Ruin my fun,” Madara pouted.

“You’re lucky I didn’t make you wait,” Tobirama said, already scooping pie into his mouth. “And you’re leaving the tip.”

Madara’s eyes lit up with glee. “3 cents!” He tucked his fork into the pie. “They’ll hate it!”

Tobirama snatched away Madara’s plate. “Try again.”

“What? No!” Madara whined, reaching for his plate.

Tobirama tilted the plate towards the floor.

“30 cents!” Madara said desperately. The whipped cream was starting to slide off. “30% of the bill!”

The angel righted the plate, handing it to Madara to held it to himself protectively. “Good job, demon. Very kind.”

“For all the things we agree on,” Madara huffed. “You take exception with my humor.”

“You’re not funny,” Tobirama drawled, sipping his cider.

———————————

“Ooooh burn!” Kimiko and Sora laughed.

Kagami nodded. “Your humor does leave a lot to desire, Papa.”

“Can I just tell this story without you guys giving me a hard time?” Madara crossed his arms, playfully glaring at each of his kids in turn.

“…..”

They glanced at each other for a moment, turning back to him.

“Nope!”

——————————-

Valentine’s Day was an awful day, a day when angels and demons got too comfy sharing the same realm they were meant to try and steal from each other. People were falling in love, people were breaking, people were being born and others were dying— all in the name of love. It was rather sickening.

Tobirama sighed. The last time he’d been forced onto Earth on this godforsaken holiday, he had yet to learn how to shield himself properly and fit in with the humans. The amount of propositions he received….he shuddered. It was awful enough to have lived through once. He needn’t remind himself of it.

Still, sometimes he did wonder the appeal of a holiday as equally delightful as it was wretched. Wondered what it’d be like to be a recipient of a kinder fate where princes rode in on horses bearing gifts and declarations of love. Where roses would come without thorns.

Where the demon he’d grown achingly fond off was not so different from him.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. They were two very different people in very different walks of life. He shouldn’t get these human hopes up. He watched the sunset from the bridge station he’d been post at— so many people were walking off the damn thing than across it today and it was necessary to remind each and every one of them that yes, they most definitely were loved, so they’d remember themselves and cross the bridge correctly— and melting of bright colors into darkness, like the glow of his halo against Madara’s horns and froze.

He needed to stop thinking these things. Madara didn’t like him, not a little bit, not at all. The demon did not—

“Oy, angel! Happy Valentine’s!”

Madara landed beside him, skeletal pegasus clomping silently down onto the walkway. “I spent all day looking for you!”

The demon swung off his steed, sauntering to Tobirama with poorly constructed confidence— his nervousness was almost palpable— and carefully held out a bouquet of roses.

Gemstone roses with smooth ivory stems, soft leaves and vines twined about them to hold the flowers together. The gems felt soft, like real petals, but glittered under the rising moon, alive in a way even real flowers seemed to lack. There weren’t any thorns.

Tobirama looked at Madara in shock, pulling the flowers closer to his chest. “Madara—”

The demon grinned. “Had to get you something that’d last as long as us, angel. Anyways, see you around. The old man’s got a list for me to see to.”

“Wait!” Tobirama, cursing his pessimism and himself for not thinking ahead, reached back and pulled a single silvery feather from his wing. Shoving it into Madara’s hands— and it was so significant. No angel would just casually give up the wings of their feathers, not when the magic properties in them made them so very precious— he nodded, somewhat satisfied with his gift to the other. “Now you can go.”

—————————————-

“That’s where—! Oh wow, that’s so sweet!” Sora cheered. The boy glanced at the bouquet that sat atop the counter, that had always sat atop the counter since the day they moved into the house, the gems glittering under the artificial light.

“I want someone to love me like that,” he whispered.

Mitsuki hugged the younger boy with a reassuring smile before turning to her Papa with a snort. “I can’t believe dad keeps getting the last word.”

“Give me a break already.”

————————————

Madara bowed his head nervously, shivering in the ice cold air of the throne room, the frozen tiles locking his knees in place.

“Father—”

“Silence!” Tajima, now Satan, roared. “I don’t, I don’t want to hear another word, Madara!”

The older man paced back and forth across the throne room, wringing his hands through his hair. Flames followed his steps, licking and melting the tile. All the demons had gathered to bear witness to Madara’s trial, excitement and worry meshing in every pump of blood in their veins. Their lord was of poor temperament at the best of times. Flirting with treason— there was no greater crime.

He could be killed for this, torn asunder and left to rot on the torture fields until he was nothing but leftover dust in the air. Madara could only be thankful that Tobirama was faring better than he was— his God smiling softly, albeit sadly, and let him go with a hug. The last thing Madara saw before his father dragged him through the cracks of earth, molten lava rising up to flood over his eyes and mouth, was pyrope eyes shining bright with unfettered joy and a crooked grin he didn’t think he could love so much.

“Do you love him?” Izuna stepped into the light, flames drawing deep shadows across his face. The black-blue of his wings and horns seemed to blend him into the shadows, every shade of grief coloring in his lines.

“Izuna!" Tajima snarled, spinning onto his heel to glare at his younger son.

"Do you love the angel, Aniki?” Izuna stepped forward urgently to grab Madara’s hands. There were tears in his eyes. “Do you, Aniki?”

Madara swallowed roughly. His father was fuming behind Izuna, black flames licking along his body. He didn’t want his little brother to get in trouble, not for his transgressions. “Izuna…”

“Tell me, Aniki! Because if the answer’s no, he’ll be killed. The demons caught him when dad got you.”

“What?" Madara surged against the chains, wincing as they burnt deeper into his flesh but paying it no mind. "Dad—”

“Answer the question, Aniki!”

“Yes, damn it! What does that change?” Madara screamed.

“Not much,” Izuna drawled. “But we can start the wedding.”

His brother grinned, gesturing behind him. The demons parted, revealing Tobirama standing behind them, white angel robes lined with hellfire red. The man rose an eyebrow, a tired smile on his lips.

“Apparently fake kidnapping was a tradition started by Hades?” Tobirama looked exasperated but he moved to crouch in front of Madara. From his pocket he pulled a gold gilded key attached to a chain and slot it into the cuffs on Madara’s wrists and ankles. “Keys rather than rings though, that’s a nice touch. Not so nice having to make the locks and key but I prefer the symbolism.”

The moment the cuffs fell away, Madara cupped Tobirama’s head and pulled him into a long kiss, hands brushing through the soft white strands reverently. “So we’re married then?” He whispered.

“Well um…Aniki. You can’t exactly have your wings if you marry out of Hell,” Izuna said sheepishly, twirling his finger in his hair.

“Neither can I,” Tobirama sighed. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Would you want that? We would have to figure out how to live as humans and we’ll die. You won’t be able to help anyone—” Madara stroked along the marks on Tobirama’s cheeks. “I don’t want to take that from you. I don’t want to take anything from you.”

“You won’t,” Tobirama said firmly, curling closer to Madara. “And we could, if you wanted. We could do all of that. I wouldn’t mind. I can still help people as a human, it’d just be more work—"  

"I’d give up the world for you,” Madara breathed. “Wings, immortality, they’re nothing.”

————————————-

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kagami interrupted. “But you didn’t lose your wings! So—”

“Let your Papa finish the story, Kagami,” Tobirama smiled kindly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “It’s almost done.”

———————————-

“I rather not lose my Prince though,” Tajima huffed. “It’ll be really inconvenient.”

“Maybe he could be an honorary Prince,” Tobirama spun around. “We keep our wings but live out a life as humans. By then,” and he looked to Madara as he spoke, “ by then Izuna would be ready to stand in Madara’s place.”

Tajima hummed and thought for a minute. “Yeah, I guess that works. Very well, onto the preparations! I need to go laugh in Butsuma’s face, if you’d excuse me. I saw his son’s proposal. He’ll be so jealous.”

———————————-

“And, ta-da! That’s it. Butsuma was jealous. We got married in front of all the demons and angels, adopted you little brats, and lived happily ever after,” Madara finished, doing jazz hands.

“Well that was lame,” Kimiko pouted, snuggling into her blanket. “I wanted more action, more hi-yah!”

Sora cuddled close to Madara. “I think it was cute. I want to fall in love like that too.”

“Me too!” Saiyuri said, playing with her teddy bear and making it dance along Tobirama’s leg. “Love, love, love!”

Mitsuki glanced at the flowers on the counter almost wistfully. “Maybe without all that drama.”

When the kids had long settled into the blankets, the two men curled up by the fireplace.

“I can’t believe it has only been ten years since,” Tobirama murmured.

“Well, we did court for almost an entire human lifespan,” Madara grinned.

“It’s hardly courting if I spent a good decade just rejecting you, Madara.”

“Well I count it, okay? It was flirting. Let me be happy.”

Tobirama laughed, pressing a soft kiss to Madara’s pout. “If that helps you sleep, koibito.”

[technicolorpestilence]

When Tomorrow Comes (Gregstophe)

Christophe wasn’t used to the silence. Gregory was never this quiet, the blond was always harping on animatedly about his causes and opinions on said causes, whether it be politics or other things Christophe couldn’t care less about. There were times when he wished for him to shut up, but now he was regretting such thoughts.

 All he wanted was to hear him nag and pester him now. He would give just about anything to hear the Englishman say in that arrogant pompous undertone of his “you know, Christophe, you really should pay more attention to this stuff. It’s important.” Then launch into a long-winded lecture about how as mercenaries it was their job to be up to speed on current events going on in the world should the job require it.

Always prepared, always resourceful.

A lot of good that did him, Christophe thought bitterly.

He released a heavy sigh, rubbing at his weary eyes. The overhead lights were too damn bright, he couldn’t fathom how Gregory was able to sleep with them glaring down upon him. He sat back in his chair, wincing from the ache in his back. Why must hospitals make their chairs so damn unpleasant? Weren’t they supposed to make sure the patients' visitors were comfortable? This was the opposite of comfortable.

His fingers curled around his knees, digging into his cargo pants. He itched to hold a cigarette, to feel the burn of tobacco in his lungs, the smoke clouding his brain and numbing his senses. No, a simple cancer stick wouldn’t suffice, not with the current stress he was under. Make that a pack or two. Maybe a bottle on the side to curb his nerves.

He was quick to berate himself for having such a thought and being so weak. He had made an unspoken vow not to smoke. Gregory had always hated the smell and would complain about how it sticks to everything. Prissy bitch. His lips curled into a nostalgic smile at the memories where the Englishman would belittle him for the habit, citing all of the negative effects and how it would surely kill him. Christophe had just scoffed derisively and blew a cloud into his face, serving only to infuriate him further as he then proceeded to rant about the dangers of secondhand smoke.

Christophe decided then that if Gregory pulled through he would give up smoking for good; switch to those stupid e-cigarettes that tasted like cherries that all the teenagers seemed to be into like every other passing trend. Yes, he would willingly go against his own morals if it meant his blond returned to him. Anything for Gregory.

Instead, to sate the urge to smoke, he busied himself by petting the other man’s hair. Calloused fingers gently gliding over the soft golden curls, untangling them when they knotted around his fingers. It was just as much of a comfort to him as it was to the Brit. Gregory was still and made no move to intercede, in fact, he didn’t stir at all. Christophe gazed at his face as he slept; he looked peaceful despite the ugly abrasions and contusions marring his perfect skin. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering in the shell of his ear.

“Je t’aime, mon ange. Please wake up.”

He sighed, running a hand through his own hair, dishevelled and wild in contrast to Gregory’s neat and meticulously tamed curls. He’d taken the liberty of styling his beloved’s hair for him, brushing it daily since he could not. Heaven knows Gregory couldn’t stand looking like a mess, it was uncouth of a gentleman such as himself. He would gawk in mortified horror if he could see himself now; swathed in bandages with tubes and wires running through him to the various machines in the room. Not really a pleasant sight for the esteemed leader of La Resistance.

Christophe's hand found Gregory’s again, intertwining their fingers. He was careful not to disturb the bandages as he rubbed his thumb in a calming circular pattern over the skin. It felt so strange to hold his hand and not be met with the leathery material his signature gloves were made out of. He raised it to his lips and kissed the bruised knuckles. The skin was soft and smooth to the touch, perfect just like the rest of his fiancé.

Fiancé

His mind slipped back to the night Gregory proposed. It wasn’t the most ideal time to propose, thinking about it made his heartache rather than rejoice. He could remember everything so vividly with amazing clarity despite the shock he was in at the time. Dark blood soaking his shirt, Gregory trembling as he held him. The conviction in his cerulean eyes clouded with pain, barely clinging to consciousness as well as the lapels of Christophe’s jacket. Christophe was panicking and swearing up a storm, but Gregory was strangely calm considering his predicament.

“Tophe...” he wheezed, his breaths shallow and laboured. “If we...make it out of here...I want you to marry me...”

His robust voice wavered, taking on an almost desperate plea as he looked up into Christophe’s face, his eyes growing heavier. Christophe could only see a glimpse of blue beneath the thick lashes.

“Will you...marry me...?”

He used the remainder of his declining energy on that question. Dramatic bastard. It was a rather bold and daring move, fitting for someone as spontaneous as the blond. Christophe was sure the blood loss had just made him delirious, albeit he couldn’t find it in himself to turn him down, not when he looked so fragile and pale. He could only kiss his forehead and mutter his response, “Oui.” Gregory smiled faintly, satisfied with his answer before he succumbed to the pain and exhaustion, going limp in his arms.

He refused to leave his side since, cussing out the paramedics as they pried him out of his arms, fighting tooth and nail for a seat beside him in the ambulance. He simply sat and waited diligently, clinging to Gregory’s hand and reassuring the blond that he wasn’t going anywhere. The uncomfortable backbreaking chairs became his bed, he didn’t shower (not that he had much prior to the incident) if anyone tried to get him to leave they would be met with a perpetually pissed off Frenchman and possibly a shovel to the face. By now the staff knew to leave him be, apprehensively going about their duties as cold eyes challenged them, following their every move when they came in to check Gregory’s vitals or change his bandages.

Simply put, he was a wreck both emotionally and physically. How dare Gregory do this to him, didn’t that idiot know how much he meant to him? He was his rock, his anchor, the only person who could keep him grounded when he was spiralling out of control. The only person he dared let close enough to see through the walls he had built around himself and with one well-placed kick sent them crashing down like a house of cards. He couldn’t imagine living without him, it was impossible. If Gregory died then he would die along with him.

Damn that cocksucking bastard for trying to take the only good thing in his life from him. He’d already taken everything else, wasn’t that enough? Why Gregory too? Was this a harsh reminder that he was taking him for granted? Fuck if he knew. He didn’t understand anything about the man upstairs, nor did he understand Gregory’s faith in him.

Stupid blond, damn him for going off and getting himself hurt. Christophe knew his recklessness would be the death of them both someday. As he sat and pleaded for the Brit to come back to him he couldn’t silence the nagging thought that it should’ve been himself instead. Gregory was an idealist, an activist, he was going to make history one day. What was he? A cynical nihilist who only believed in the spitfire sun he orbited that was his fiancé. He hadn’t contributed anything to the world, he was expendable. Let Satan take him instead because surely God wouldn’t, not that he would want to live in his so-called paradise. Fuck him.

“Goddamnit, bête. Wake up. I get you need your beauty sleep, but this is ridiculous. Besides, you’re pretty enough, you don’t need the extra hours,” he mumbled as an afterthought.

Silence

He didn’t expect an answer. He’d grown accustomed to holding one-sided conversations in this room. The monotonous blip of the heart monitor reminded him that he wasn’t just shouting at empty space. He still had an audience. Gregory was still there. That was all the motivation he needed to keep going. He would wait like the loyal partner he was. He would wait until the end of the earth for him.

Christophe gently stroked the Englishman’s cheek, fingers tracing jagged edges of small gashes bestowed upon pale skin. He started to hum; it was a familiar melody; one he had heard Gregory sing on many occasions when he rallied the troops.

“You see the distant flames that bellow in the night. You fight in all our names for what you know is right, and when you all get shot and cannot carry on, though you die, La Resistance lives on...”

He affectionately smoothed back the blond’s hair so it was no longer in his face, continuing the anthem with the hope that the other man could hear it. His voice was surprisingly soft and gentle, a stark contrast to his usual aggressive and standoffish demeanour. Only a rare few had gotten the privilege of hearing him sing, Gregory being one of them. The Brit adored his voice and would often ask him to sing for him. Sometimes they would sing together in perfect harmony. It was a breathtaking sight. Their own little infinity where nothing else mattered but each other.

Christophe cycled through a few more of Gregory’s favourite songs from musicals he knew he liked. His voice faltered slightly, yet he pushed back the tears and carried on. Gregory needed him to be strong for him, he would not bow to his own emotions. He wouldn’t break down knowing his beloved was fighting just as hard as he was. He would not grieve him because he was still there. Gregory had been through worse before, he always came out on top. Christophe didn’t doubt that he would again—not for a second.

He willed him to open his eyes and grace him with their beauty, to give him that cocky confident smile that both infuriated him and made his heart skip a beat. He ended up dozing off with his head on his fiancé's chest, drowning out the shrill beeping of machines with the steady drum of the heartbeat in his ears as well as Gregory’s breathing.

~~~~~~~~

He was reading a passage from War and Peace; one of Gregory’s favourite novels when the blond finally began to stir. His hand twitched in the Frenchman’s, giving it a small squeeze. Christophe immediately froze, abandoning the chapter in favour of watching Gregory’s face. His finely trimmed brows furrowed as he emitted a groan, cerulean eyes slowly but surely fluttering open to meet his own.

“Tophe…?”

Christophe’s face lit up at the sight of the half-lidded eyes eyeing him drowsily. His heart nearly leaped from his chest upon hearing his name spoken by the beautiful rich accent he never thought he would have the pleasure of hearing again. Granted, it was cracked and horribly strained, but it was him. He was alive.

Christophe’s lip trembled as he choked back a sob. He could feel the cool dampness on his cheeks from the tears he knew were falling unabashedly. He didn’t care however, making no move to wipe them away as he smiled at the groggy revolutionary. His first real genuine smile in days, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead and chuckling softly.

“Salut, Sleeping Beauty.”

[shimmershaewrites]

Fourth Quarter, Chapter 1 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Sorry.  I am so sorry, lol.

  Title:   Fourth Quarter

Rating:  M. 

Warnings:  adult language. 

Characters/Pairings:  Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon, Sophia Peletier, original character, Jenny Jones, June Dorie, Pete Anderson, mention Morgan Jones and John Dorie, Luke, Carl Grimes, mentions of Judith Grimes, Tyreese Williams, Duane Jones, mention of Eastman, T-Dog, Axel. 

Prompt(s) used:  “Do you trust me?”    

Author’s Note:  inspired by a little drabble in my Across the Universe(s) drabble series—“Quit stalling.”  Apologies for the sucktacular title and the fact that I’m jumping off the deep end and starting another story.  Clearly, I’m losing it.  But whatever.  I made words.  So it’s a lose-win situation, lol.  Also, in case you didn’t notice, I brought over a couple of friends from Fear and I’m keeping my options open about bringing over more.  We shall see.  Anyway.  Fingers crossed this somehow breaks up the log jam that is currently the state of Waltzing.  I miss writing that story so freaking much. 

          Dr. Pete Anderson didn’t like kids. 

  Carol had it figured out within two seconds of meeting the man, his so-called secret.  His absolute, lip-curling distaste for the parade of little humans that were the King County clinic’s bread and butter was that apparent.  Hard to miss really and ironic considering.    

  Those frequently possessed of snotty noses and tiny hands that were somehow, some impossible way always sticky were both the bane of his existence and the source of much of his livelihood. 

  She couldn’t help but wonder how someone that couldn’t even be bothered to open up his heart to the frightened tears that inevitably came from being thrust into a place so cold and sterile and generally unwelcoming as their place of employment possessed one at all.  Most likely, she supposed, his chest was hollow and a big cavernous nothing occupied the space where the faulty organ should be.  Yes, most likely.  Too bad he worked every Monday.  As did she. 

  “Did somebody get me the goddamn labs I asked for?!” 

  The question yelled so near to her ear was all the warning Carol had before a mug of coffee was unceremoniously slammed down in front of her, causing her to flinch.  She watched with dismay as the bitter black brew sloshed over the ceramic edge, instantly soaking into the printed labs in question, and took in a deep breath in an effort to fortify herself for what she knew was coming.  Thankfully, her coworker stepped in to prevent her from falling onto her figurative sword.  

  “The printer’s jammed again, Sir.” 

  Jenny Jones was one of the most even-tempered individuals Carol had ever met.  Whether she was helping keep a toddler calm while they had a lost Flintstone vitamin fished out of their nose or explaining to a patient that body spray was not meant to be used internally via the rectum, she always wore the same placid expression.  She wore it now, even in the face of Dr. Anderson’s poorly reigned in rage at humanity at large.    

  “Thought the damn thing was fixed.” 

  “It was.  It isn’t now.  Noah’s working on it.” 

  “Who’s…know what?  Forget it.  I don’t care.  Just get me those labs.  Sometime today.”  With that, he stalked off to greet his next patient, continuing to grumble beneath his breath. 

  Finally, Carol felt like she could exhale, and she did, feeling a lot like a deflated balloon.  Or at least, the way she imagined a deflated balloon might feel.  “You’re too good to me.” 

  Jenny’s chair squeaked as she pushed it back from the desk.  Eyes brightened and lips twitching with humor, she replied, “You bring me cookies.  I would be crazy not to be.” 

  “Duane like the strawberry lemonade cookies?”   

  “Like them?” Jenny scoffed.  “That boy loved them.  At least the two his daddy let him have.  Morgan made me promise to get the recipe from you.  Told me to resort to blackmail if I had to.”  Shaking her head, she mused fondly, “That man.  He loves ya’ll’s cookies.” 

  “I’d worry about him if he didn’t.  Everybody loves Carol and Sophia’s cookies.”

                                                                                                                                                                                 Carol looked pointedly at her watch before returning their newcomer’s easy grin.  “Just get here when you can.”  June Dorie was a relative latecomer to the clinic staff, still an enigma in so many ways.  But she was capable, compassionate, and currently very much in love, and like Jenny before her?  Carol had relied on her instincts, welcoming her to cross that imaginary line separating coworker from friend.    

  Other than the precious pink blush belonging to only the happiest of newlyweds tinging her cheeks, June was unruffled by Carol’s teasing.  “Thank you.  I will.”  She did, however, wrinkle her nose at the sodden lump on the counter before her.  “What did I miss?” 

  Her answer came from the irate boss man himself.  “Where are my fucking labs?!”

  June winced.  “Happy Monday, huh?” 

  Carol grit her teeth to keep from letting a few choice words slip free.  Every Monday was a happy Monday when your least favorite doc was a Monday constant.  As if she needed more reason to hate them.  Not only that, the waiting room was starting to fill up, really fill up, right on cue.  Taking a page out of Jenny’s book, she took a deep, calming, let’s be zen breath, and pasted on what she hoped was a serene expression.  Unsurprisingly, she failed. 

  Sparing a second to stuff the ruined labs into the nearby shred box, Jenny dabbed at the mess left behind with a handful of Kleenex and shook her head.  “I see your wheels turning.  You’re on desk duty with Liza ‘til you quit plotting the good doctor’s demise.” 

  June smirked.  “Guess she’ll be out there forever then.” 

  “She might just be,” Jenny conceded.  “June?” 

  “Get the asshole his labs?” 

  “You said it.”   

        “And again!  We want to make Stevie and your parents proud!” 

  In unison, the entire sweaty, spent marching band groaned, and they groaned rather dramatically. 

  Perspiration prickling along his own scalp, the band director couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad.  Quite the contrary.  Depressing the button on the side of his megaphone, he blew out a long, drawn out groan of his own and deadpanned, “I felt that.  Take five everybody.” 

  “Five?!  But Mr. Fogler!” 

  “Alright, alright.  Fifteen and find some shade.” 

  Everybody scattered after that.  Almost everybody.  They needed no more prompting. 

  Sophia, however?  She stayed right where she was, sinking to the grass like a boneless slug bug and letting her eyes drift closed for a brief second.  She stifled a shriek when she felt something cold slither across the back of her exposed neck.  “What the…stop it, Carl.”  In spite of her grumbling, she gratefully took the bottle of water he held out in offering, tipping it back and taking a long swallow.  Shooting a wondering glance at the boy she’d long considered her best friend. 

  Carl dropped down beside her, mindful of the clarinet she’d cast almost carelessly aside.  He’d left his own snare drum where he stood in his haste to seek her out, and he stared at her now, his blue eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of his shades. 

  Sophia’s fingertips fluttered self-consciously over her freckled cheeks and the long auburn ponytail coiled carelessly atop her head.  “What?” 

  Carl’s lips remained zipped.  They merely curled in a barely even there smirk and he shrugged. 

  Sophia narrowed her eyes at him, wholly unconvinced of his truthfulness.  They’d known each other since they were both in pullups and the wait to get their respective drivers’ licenses was almost over.  Of course, he was lying.  Even if he was doing it without words.  “Carl Richard Grimes!” 

  “Did you just full name me?” 

  “I just full named you and I’ll do it again.”     

  “Ooooo.  I’m so scared.” 

  “Don’t be such a…”  Sophia floundered for a word adequate enough to express her frustration.  A good clean word because that’s the way her mama had raised her, but really.  None of them were very satisfying. 

  Carl laughed.  “You can’t do it, can you?”  

  “Know it all jerk.” 

  “But you’re my favorite Disney princess, Soph,” Carl said, snagging the forgotten water bottle from her hands and taking a swig of his own.  “Jude’s too.” 

  An unwelcome smile twitched at the edges of Sophia’s affected pout.  “Shut up.” 

  “Alright,” Carl agreed easily enough. 

  The silence didn’t last long, though.  He was back to his insufferable teasing before they’d had time enough to finish the water bottle between them, and that didn’t take long at all.  “Carl.  I mean it.  Stop.” 

  “Stop what?”  Snickering as he dodged her annoyed little fists, he feigned innocence, “I didn’t even say anything.” 

  “Yeah, well.  You didn’t have to.  Just spit it out.” 

  “You want to spit it out?  You really want me to?” 

   “Please,” Sophia huffed, leaning forward to wrap her arms protectively around her updrawn legs.  She steadfastly ignored Carl’s gaze as she waited for him to put his particular brand of Sophia-torture into words and it definitely wasn’t the sun heating her cheeks when she spit out her last little piece of pleading encouragement.  “Do.” 

  “This one time.  At band camp…” 

  “I swear to God, Carl,” Sophia muttered miserably.     

  “You know Mr. Fogler said shade right?  Not Cade.” 

      On the other end of the football field, the indirect source of Sophia Peletier’s current humiliation was sweating his balls off doing drills for a team he wasn’t sure he even wanted to be a part of.  And it showed. 

  Coach Williams’s deep voice carried, across the clashing bodies and sticky late summer heat.  “Mr. Phillips.  Do you or do you not want to be here?” 

  Hands braced on his hips, jersey clinging wetly to his heaving chest, Cade figured there was no pussyfooting around the truth.  That shit never did anybody no good.  “Presently?  No, Sir.  At least Satan’s ass crack would have shade.”

  Appreciative snickers swelled, rising and traveling from teammate to potential teammate like a wave, and Coach Williams showed a brief, scary flash of teeth before sobering up and making full use of his huge, intimidating linebacker build.  “That so?” 

  Cade knew better than to waltz right into that trap.  He’d become quite adept over the years of sidestepping trouble when it come looking, and until he proved otherwise, Coach Williams weren’t any different than any other coach or teacher.  So he clamped his mouth shut and dropped to give the man twenty unasked.  Or at least he tried to.  The man stopped him with a boot on his back before he got ten good pushups in, barking at the whole lot of them to take a long overdue break.  The grass felt prickly beneath his sweaty pits when his limp noodle arms gave out on him, but Cade didn’t care.  A bottle of orange Gatorade appeared out of thin air, and he’d guzzled nearly the whole thing before he bothered looking up to see where it actually came from. 

  A short, stocky black kid stared down at him, something like admiration on his face. 

  Heaving himself over onto his back with a groan, Cade muttered his gratitude and shielded his eyes from that look and the sun. Both of them were pretty damn blinding in their own way.  He recited a silent prayer that the boy, who he vaguely recognized as a freshman, would just fuck off and leave him alone.  Like most of his prayers, it went unanswered. 

  “I’m Duane.  You’re Cade.” 

  Forcibly swallowing the overwhelming urge to mock the kid right to his oblivious face, Cade merely grunted an affirmation and lifted his arm to get a better peek at him.  He felt an unexpected twinge of guilt when he took in the boy’s slumped posture.  “Running back right?” 

  “Like you.” 

  Hardly, but Cade kindly chose not to point it out.  Instead, he made small talk best as he knew how.  “Didn’t I hear you say your dad has his own martial arts place down on Main?” 

  “He’s partners with Mr. Eastman, but yeah.  You been there?” 

  “Nope, but I’ve thought about it.  Think you can talk him into cutting me a sweet deal?  Might be nice to learn different ways to kick some ass.”  Handy, considering he knew next to nobody in this one-horse town and in his experience?  It never took long for welcomes to be worn out.  He left that part unsaid, too. 

  “I…I don’t know.  But I think so.  I’ll have to see.” 

  “You get on that.” 

  “I will.” 

  “Hey, Water Boy.  Why don’t you shut your trap and do your damn job?” 

  Duane sighed and made to push himself to his feet, but Cade jerked him back down.  “Nah.  I got this.” 

  “You don’t have to.” 

  “Do you trust me?  We got us a deal, right?” 

  “Right.” 

  “K then.  Watch this.”  Cade winked, standing up and stretching to his full height.  “Hey, lazy asshole.  Why don’t you get your own fucking water?” 

      “Man, you been back in town, what?  Almost a month and I’m the only person knows it.  I’m not accusing you of hiding, but…” 

  Wiping his greasy hands on the red rag that never strayed far from his back pocket, Daryl virtually dared T-Dog to continue his train of thought.  T smartly refused to take the bait, dropping the subject and ambling on over to join him in admiring his handy work.

  “You trying to put those Gas Monkey dudes outta business.”    

  “Stahp.”   

  “You think I’m kidding?  I ain’t.  I knew you was good.  I just didn’t know you was this good.  And it ain’t even your day job.”  

  “Hear that, Boss?” Axel oh-so-helpfully piped up.  “It ain’t ya day job.” 

  “Don’t reckon nobody yanked your chain, Mr. Monopoly.  You got them brakes fixed yet?” 

  Axel hemmed and hawed, but in the end, he admitted he had a lot of work still left to do. 

  When Daryl turned his attention back to T-Dog, his old friend was trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. 

  “Mr. Monopoly?” 

  “Yeah, well.  He shaves that shit off?  He’ll look more like the Planter’s Peanut.” 

  T-Dog guffawed, earning himself more than a couple dirty looks from the source of his endless amusement.  “Missed you ‘round these parts.  Can’t tell you how good it does me to see you back.  Even if I’ve never seen you leave these four walls.  How do you eat, Man?” 

  “Like an uncivilized pig,” Daryl deadpanned. 

  T’s grin stretched wide, but he was otherwise unperturbed.  “You said it.  Not me.”  Putting a few paces between them, he started absently inspecting some nearby tools.  “Little birdy down at the high school been talking.” 

  “Don’t ya mean tweeting?  That’s the big thing now,” Axel said, doing what he does best again.  Inserting himself into a conversation that didn’t involve him in the least.  “Tweeter.” 

  This time, T-Dog and Daryl both ignored him and Daryl was surprised to realize he wanted to hear more.  “Yeah?  What you been hearing?” 

  “Kid’s talented.  Going places if he decides to put in more effort.  If he keeps his nose clean and gives his school work the attention it deserves when classes start…” 

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Daryl muttered.  “I’m trying.  Even if he ain’t.” 

  “Hey, Man.  I get it.  You two?  Ya’ll still getting to know each other.  I can’t imagine what it feels like for either one of you.” 

  Axel couldn’t resist butting in one more time, and Daryl decided fuck it.  He nodded.  Just let him. 

  “Woman showed up on his doorstep and basically said congratulations, it’s a boy.  Your problem now.  Now he’s just as much a daddy as he is an uncle.  Ain’t fair if you ask me.  Got all the responsibility without getting to have any of the fun.” 

  Well, shit.  He hadn’t exactly thought about it in those particular terms, but the twitchy little bastard weren’t exactly wrong.  “Back to work.  Ain’t telling you no more.”  To T-Dog, he simply sighed and raked a tired hand over his unshaven face.  “I’m trying.  I am.” 

  “Kid’s gonna have to meet you halfway.” 

  “Try three quarters.” 

  “Axel!”   

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 1766BC - Peniel

Notes: Went back to the Bibbly again for this one :) Been a while, hasn’t it? You can always tell when I’ve had sleep. There are words everywhere!

1766BC - Peniel

Everything was in place.

The extended family of the man were across the stream, along with all his beasts and the possessions of his household. The man remained, setting up a small campfire, and looking around. He was waiting for something. Or, more accurately, someone.

Aziraphale dusted down his robes, checking that they looked pristine and spotless. It wouldn’t do to make a bad impression. There was a smudge of dust on one sleeve and he frowned, rubbing at it, before performing a surreptitious miracle to get rid of it.

“Oh for Satan’s sake…”

Aziraphale’s heart sank. “Oh no…” He turned and found an indignant demon glaring at him. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? Here he comes, stepping on my toes, and he asks what I want?”

“Stepping on your–” Aziraphale puffed up indignantly. “Excuse me, but this chap is one of ours!”

“Yours?” Crawly said, hands on his hips. “Excuse me, who tempted him to steal his brother’s birthright? And con all those animals out of his uncle? And have it away with every member of the female household?” The demon shook his head. “Nope. He’s ours. Definitely ours.”

“He’s of the house of Abraham!” Aziraphale protested.

“Ooh!” Crawly made a face. “Some pedigree there! Is this the same Abraham who would’ve offed his own lad?”

“That was a test!” Aziraphale wailed. “Don’t keep on about it! He was never going to hurt him!”

“No, course not.” Crawly waved a hand. “Just tying him up and putting a knife to his throat. Definitely not at all traumatising for the poor little sod.” He took a step closer, in what Aziraphale could only assume was meant to be a threatening stance. “Bugger off, angel. I’ve worked hard on this one!”

“And I haven’t?” Aziraphale bristled indignantly. “I was the one who blessed him! Who guided his path!”

“Who made him have sex with the help?”

“I–” Aziraphale glowered at him. “You know very well that was Rachel’s own idea!”

Crawly made a face. “Yeah. Tell me again how they belong to your lot.” He peered out through the branches of the trees. “What are you here for anyway?” His eyes flicked over the angel and he arched an eyebrow. “Looking all dressed up as well…” His mouth opened. “This is a manifestation for a blessing, isn’t it?”

“Um…” Aziraphale fidgeted. “Well. Yes. Sort of.”

“Sort of? How can you ‘sort of’ manifest for a blessing?”

The angel huffed, folding his arms. “I don’t see why I should tell you, demon.”

Crawly stuck out his forked tongue. “Fine,” he snorted. “You’re blushing enough to tell me I’m right.” He drew back from the bushes and walked in a tight circle. “So… here’s the thing. I’m here to do a bit of tempting.” He considered the angel again. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Aziraphale blinked, bemused. “I beg your pardon?”

Crawly made an impatient gesture with his hand. “We play for it.” He made three hand gestures. “You do one, I do one, and one of us wins.”

“That’s hardly fair, when you know the rules and I don’t.”

“Ugh!” Crawly threw back his head, rolling his eyes. “Satan’s sake, angel!” He huffed noisily. “Fine. I have dice with me. We can use those.”

“No!” Aziraphale said firmly. “I’m here to do a blessing and I’m…” The word stuck on his tongue.

“Go on,” Crawly goaded, grinning. “Say it. Say you’re ‘damned’.”

Aziraphale scowled at him. “I’m jolly well going to do it.” He strode out through the bushes, then yelped in dismay as a demon smacked squarely into his back, bearing him to the ground. “Crawly!”

“Can’t do it, angel!” Crawly hissed close to his ear. “My lad. My job.” He vaulted off Aziraphale’s back and sprinted, hiking up his robes, sandals flapping on the loose shingle of the riverbank. “Oi! Oi, Jacob!”

“Crawly!” Aziraphale’s voice reverberated with divine outrage.

“Jacob!” Crawly yelled even louder. “Glad tidings! Great news!”

The human scrambled to his feet, whipping around, rapture and dread on his face in equal measure.

“Ignore him!” Aziraphale bellowed, gaining ground on the demon.

Crawly spun around with a wide grin and snapped his fingers and the world shifted sideways so sharply that Aziraphale lost his footing. When he found it – or some semblance of it – it took him a moment to make sense of why his robes were over his head. And more specifically, why he was upside down.

Ten minutes of fighting later, he managed to untangle himself from the tree Crawly had dropped him in and lowered himself to the ground.

“You–” A series of suitably bad words lined themselves up on Aziraphale’s tongue and he bit down on every single one of them, stamping back in the direction of the riverbank.

A squeak of pain greeted him, before he even stepped out from between the bushes.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Crawly yelped. “That’s not what I said!”

Aziraphale peered out through the trees, then clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Crawly was on his belly on the ground and Jacob was sitting on his back, pulling his legs up in an unforgiving wrestling lock. “I’m just saying!” the demon protested, scrabbling at the ground, “That maybe you want to consider–”

He grunted hard, the air driven from his lungs as Jacob flipped them both.

Aziraphale stepped out among the bushes and sat down on a rock. With a mild flourish of one hand, he swept away the grass and bark stains from his robe and, for good measure, added a divine glow so Crawly couldn’t miss him.

“Angel!” Crawly scrabbled at the stone, trying to break Jacob’s grip on him. Say what you wanted to about shepherds, but they were sturdy fellows. Hefting a skinny demon was probably nothing compared to wrestling a stubborn ram into submission. “Angel, help!”

Aziraphale took his time straightening his robes, then folded his hands in his lap.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaangel!” Crawly wailed as the human managed to pin him again.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said innocently. “I thought this was your job? Weren’t those your exact words?”

Crawly managed to break Jacob’s grip on him, staggering to his feet. The human was back on his feet too, his centre low, his eyes fixed on the silver-outlined figure of the demon in the moonlight, sparks of gold from the fire casting strange highlights.

“You can have him,” Crawly panted. “S’all yours.”

Jacob charged like a bull and Crawly made a sound oddly like “neeeee?” as the human’s shoulder caught him in the middle and lifted him off his feet.

“It looks like you annoyed him,” Aziraphale said helpfully, trying very hard not to laugh as the demon futilely pummelled on the human’s meaty shoulder.

“Not helpful!” Crawly exclaimed, wriggling and squirming like the snake he was.

Aziraphale made a show of examining his nails, while Crawly was hauled, carried, rolled and generally twisted into forms that no human – and possibly no demon, except one who was by nature a serpent – could possibly survive.

“I do wonder how the temptation is going, dear fellow,” he said, adjusting his pinkie ring.

“Bastard!” Crawly wailed.

It should have grown boring and embarrassing very quickly, but Aziraphale had to admit it only grew more entertaining when Crawly – in a fit of desperation – shifted back into his serpent form. If anything, that enraged the human even more and abruptly, Crawly found himself closely resembling the shape of a pretzel. When he finally managed to untangle himself and slunk behind Aziraphale’s rock, he was breathing hard.

In the name of fair play and mercy, Aziraphale drew a shield over them both for a moment.

“Enjoying yourself, angel?” Crawly groaned, rubbing at his limbs.

“Maybe next time, you don’t try and interfere in my business?” Aziraphale suggested primly. He peered down at him and winced. “Those are some rather nasty bruises, aren’t they?”

The demon threw a black look up at him. “Shut up,” he grumbled.

Aziraphale sighed and reached down, pressing a hand to Crawly’s shoulder. It wasn’t much of a miracle, but it was enough to shrink the purpling bruises to faded green and gold. “I’ll step in, my dear. You really aren’t built for wrestling.”

Crawly stared at him. “You’re… you know you don’t have to wrestle him. He’ll probably be delighted to see you.”

Aziraphale rose from the rock. “Therein lies the trouble, my dear. You didn’t let me finish. He was here to confront an envoy of the Almighty.” He tapped his chest. “It seems he assumed that confront meant combat.”

“But you’re–” Crawly staggered to his feet. “You can’t.”

Aziraphale smiled slightly at him, though not without a little sadness. “I was a soldier, Crawly. I’ll be perfectly fine.” He turned and stepped back through the veil to meet Jacob head-on.

To his credit, the human did put up a decent fight, although Aziraphale had to hide a little relief when – inexplicably – Jacob’s hip popped out of its socket. The angel didn’t allow his eyes to flick to Crawly, though he had a sneaking suspicion it was less his leg-lock and more demonic intervention that had caused the damage.

The poor fellow was black and blue all over, bleeding from the nose and rasping with every breath when the sun began to crest the horizon.

What could have been a brutal final blow, Aziraphale offered with gentleness, pinning the man, but a hand behind his head to shield him from the worst of the impact. “We are finished here, Son of Isaac.”

Jacob grasped at his arm, the arm currently locked across Jacob’s throat. “No, Lord,” he gasped out, blood frothing the corners of his mouth. “Bless me. Bless me before we are finished. I will not release you until you bless me!”

Aziraphale looked at the proud, bloody, beaten human beneath him. “Give me your name.”

Jacob gave him a pink-toothed smile. “Jacob.”

Aziraphale drew his arm free easily of the man’s grip and touched his brow. “Your name will no longer be Jacob,” he said gently, letting the blessing pour into every word. “You have struggled with God and with Men, and you have won; so your name will be Israel.”

Jacob struggled to sit up, staring at him. “Tell me your name,” he asked, his hand at his aching hip.

“Why do you want to know my name?” Aziraphale shook his head and rose. He touched the man’s face, offering him one last smile, then stepped back from him and back into the place where only Crawly could see him.

The demon was sitting on the rock, arms wrapped around his upraised knees.

“Not bad,” he said quietly.

“Hm?” Aziraphale limped over, far stiffer and much sorer than he liked.

“You,” Crawly said. “That.” He gave Aziraphale a lop-sided smile. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” He made a face. “But you’re a right state now.” He made a sharp gesture and the blood and dirt and stained vanished from Aziraphale’s robes.

“Oh!” Aziraphale blinked in surprise, looking down at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

The demon unfolded, getting back to his feet. “And you could’ve let me get pummelled all night, but you took the beating instead. Call us even.”

“Even,” Aziraphale agreed, then added, “but if you ever drop me halfway up an oak tree again, I will leave you to be pummelled all night long.”

The demon grinned at him. “That’s fair.”

[depressed-lemonn]

Gerard way smut

Gerard way x reader smut

In this smut, Gerard is a sexy priest (like that photo shoot) and he finds your sinful journal and think you should be punished

Warnings - Smut, Priest (NOT BEING OFFENSIVE TO PRIESTS) rough sex? Daddy kink, princess kink. Unprotected sex. That’s it, I think?

A/N : FIRST SMUT SORRY IF ITS AWFUL

•

I was looking through my phone during mass since my parents dragged me here because they thought I needed more God in my life. They say this because my music taste is ‘satanic’ and ‘unholy’. I couldn’t complain though, our priest was unreasonably hot.

I have written countless amounts of sexual fantasies in my ‘journal’, which is basically my secret word for sex stories. I would write of how good it would feel to have his long pale fingers roam my body, whispering sweet sinful things in my ear. But, I know it could never happen, his a man of ‘God’.

As I was scrolling through Instagram, I felt my phone buzz and saw a text message from my best friend B/F/N.

B/F/N

Hey wassah?

YOU

Nm, just forced to sit in church, mom says I need more Jesus in my life 🙄

B/F/N

But isn’t Father Way the priest of that church, your always talking about what you would love him to do to you 😏

YOU

shut up, anyway, I’ll text you a bit later.

B/F/N

Ok bye, MISSING YOU ALREADY BOO 😂

You shut off your phone and try to pay attention to what’s happening in mass, but I’m always zoning out and staring right at Father Way, thinking of new scenarios to put in my journal. Jesus, no wonder my mom thinks I need Jesus.

*Time skip*

After mass I’m trying to rush out the door, but Father Way stops me by grabbing onto my shoulder. DAMN YOU JESUS.

“Miss L/N?”

“Yes, Father Way?” I turn to the attractive priest and try to hide the fact I’m slowly getting wet in my underwear (I’m not saying panties, it’s a weird word)

“You dropped something, and I want to see you in my office straight away” He gave me a serious look that only made the puddle grow in my pants. Please don’t notice, please don’t notice.

“Ok Father, what exactly did I drop exactly?”

He held up my journal, I could tell the colour drained from my face.

“This” He smirked at me.

“Let me just text my mom that I’m going to be for - how long am I staying?”

“Four hours”

Four hours? Over a journal?

“Ok?”

I quickly texted my mom saying I was going to be with Father Way for 4 hours and I would walk home before following Father Way into his office. He sat at his desk and motioned for me to sit. I did.

“Y/N, I have read through this journal, and what I found was disturbing” He held my journal in his left hand and looked me straight in the eyes.

I stood up, “You had no right to go through my things” I raised my voice ever so slightly.

“Hush, Y/N, I know how you have, lusted for me”

I sat back down, and kept my mouth shut in fear of what he would do.

“And, I must confess, after reading this” he held up my journal again “I would love to give you something accurate to right on”

My eyes widened, I knew what he was suggesting, but he was a priest? But his so hot...

“What are you suggesting Father?” I gulped

He rose from his chair and made his way towards me, when he arrived to where I was seated, he placed a hand on each side of me. He leaned in and whispered in my ear.

“You know exactly what I’m suggesting, princess” he bit gently on my earlobe, his hot breath tickling my neck. I bit on my bottom lip.

He quickly shot up and pulled me up with him, grabbing my hand roughly.

“Now princess, strip”

“As you please fath-”

“It’s daddy, princess”

“As you please daddy”

And with that, I slowly stripped myself of my clothing, discarding them in a corner somewhere in the room. I’m not going to lie, I was nervous as this was my first time, but it couldn’t be that bad, right?

Once I was done, Gerard started walking towards me and running his large pale hand over the side of my body.

“So beautiful, yet so slutty”

“Now strip me, princess”

I slowly unbuttoned his shirt and when I was done, I slid the fabric from his toned white body and threw it towards where my clothes were previously placed.

I kept eye contact as my hands made their way towards his belt, I slowly unbuckled his black belt and watched as he bit his lip to stop a moan. I just smiled as I knew I was successfully teasing him.

After I slid off his jeans, I started palming his growing bulge through his boxers, watching how he shifts uncomfortably on his desk.

“Fuck princess, such a little tease”

“Only for daddy”

I make sure to keep eye contact and make myself as innocent looking as possible as I dropped to my knees, eye level with his crotch.

“Does daddy want my to suck him off?” I ask him innocently.

“Fuck yeah, princess”

I pull down his boxers and a smile comes to my face when his member springs free, slapping his stomach.

I looked up at him as if asking for permission, to see him staring at me intently, chewing his bottom lip so much I was sure if he kept going, it would bleed.

I took his hard cock in my hands and started pumping him, twisting my wrist in swift motions, I kiss the tip and swirl my tongue in circular motion before taking him all in. I can hear a moan escape his lips, his moan only made me wetter, if that was possible.

What I couldn’t for in my mouth, I used my hands to... ya know

Gerard’s hands found their way to my hair and he started gently tugging as he thrusted his cock deeper into my mouth, I began to feel the need to gag, but I resisted and didn’t mind.

“Princess, I’m gonna- ”

Since I knew he was close, I pulled him out of my mouth and looked at him.

“You really shouldn’t have done that princess” He growled as he grabbed my wrists and forced my to lay on his desk.

“Umm, I’ve never done this bef-” he cut me off with a rough kiss, sparks flew and I forgot what was going on for a moment, but only for a moment.

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll be gentle” he smiled at me “do you trust daddy to be gentle?”

“Yes Daddy”

He lined himself to my entrance and slowly slided his throbbing dick inside me, it hurt so much. I could feel tears stinging my eyes.

“Does it hurt?” He sounded concerned and sweet.

“Yeah, but only a bit, you can move if you want” I giggled at the end of my whisper.

And with that he slowly started thrusting in and out of me, after a few thrusts, it didn’t feel painful. I felt more pleasure now than I had in all of my life.

Soon moans were escaping us both making a beautiful melody in the religious air. Skin in skin was my new favourite sound. Every thrust he made, I could feel my walls stretching even more to support his size. Him whispering sweet sins such as ‘so tight’ and ‘so slutty’. Every time he would say things like this I could feel an unfamiliar knot in my stomach building up.

“Daddy I feel something”

“Me too princess, hold it for a minute, for daddy”

I could feel his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier with each passing moment. Fuck I don’t think I could hold it.

“You can let go now princess”

And with that, I let go and felt a wave of pleasure take over my whole form, and I could feel a warm fluid running inside of me.

Gerard and I stayed there breathing heavily for 10 minutes before he pulled out, I winced at the sudden loss.

“Well”

“Well”

We both stared at each other for a few more minutes before Gerard decided to break the silence.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m in love with you....”

•

A/N - yes, I feel horrible for that cliff hanger. But I just couldn’t think of a better way to end it. Send requests for

• Fall Out Boy

• My Chemical Romance

• Twenty One Pilots

• Panic! At The Disco

Anyway with that, I’ll go, bye

[alovelylight]

(P/O) love is a wild thing

AO3

When Oliver sees Percy again, he is standing in front of the Woods’ cottage, legs plastered together in the most awkward stance Oliver has ever seen. From the side view, his fiery curls have grown longer and darker, but his freckles are mapped in the exact same places Oliver remembers.

“Percy?” he asks, careful not to stutter. Percy gives a slight jump at his voice.

“Oliver!” he says, turning towards him with a nervous smile. “I thought I would drop by to say hello—so, hello.”

Olivia tries hard not to stare at him. It’s unfair, really, how feelings can come rushing back at the slightest peek of him. George has warned him that Percy would return home from Oxford for two weeks, and since then he has been bracing himself against the inevitable.

“Well, hello,” says Oliver. It’s a deliberate choice not to pull him into a hug right away (which is what he would’ve done if he knows how to treat Percy as any other friend). “Do you want to come in?” It seems rude not to ask, especially when Percy took it in himself to come over.

“I don’t want to intrude...”

“Perce, we’ve known each other since we were four.”

Once they’re situated in the kitchen, there is more ease between them. Percy rambles on about his classes while Oliver prepares the tea, plain Earl Grey and peppermint, just the way it’s always been.

University has brought Percy even more out of his shell; he is surrounded by people—worldly and clever people—who loves to debate laws and regulations and abstract schools of thought as much as he does. Oliver is saddened by the thought that he no longer needs him, but sitting close to him and listening to him talk (even if he doesn’t always pay attention; Percy’s lips are always a lovely distraction) brings back fond memories.

“What about you?”

Oliver blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he blushes, obviously embarrassed now. “What have you been up to?”

“Working at my dad’s auto repair shop. Keeps me busy. Other than that, I’ve been reading and, uh, writing a little.” He doesn’t mention the obvious: he has suffered from a broken leg right before he was supposed to embark on a rugby scholarship to Loughborough. Though he was forced to stay at home while his mates went off to various corners of Britain, he’s been gaining most of his mobility back over the past five months. Enough to get him off the crutches.

“Good for you.” Oliver searches for any hints of sarcasm in Percy’s tone, but he is beaming at Oliver as if he’s truly proud. As if his reckless injury never happened. “What have you been writing?”

“Nothing much to show, really,” he shrugs. “Do you remember all those murder mystery novels we used to trade?”

“How could I forget?” Percy smiles, revealing a few deep dimples that distract Oliver. “Is that what you’re writing—murder mystery stories?”

“With more queer representation, of course,” he says with a wry smile. “But I don’t know if they’re any good, and at this early stage I’m too shy to show anyone anything.”

“Oliver Wood, shy?” Percy raises his eyebrows. “What has the world come to?”

“I’m a man of surprise.”

“Evidently.” He takes a sip of his tea. “You can show me what you’ve written. If you want, I mean. I know I’ve got the reputation of a razor-tonged critic—”

“I distinctly remember you telling six-year-old Ron that his drawings look as if Satan possessed his body, got drunk off vodka-spiked slushies, and vomited all over the paper.”

“I’m always nice to you.” Percy taps Oliver’s feet with his own. “Besides, I was only ten. I’m a changed man now; I even stopped signing my name off in text messages.”

“I noticed,” Oliver laughs. “I wish you wouldn’t stop doing that. It was endearing.”

“Endearing?”

“Yeah, you know, cute.” He thanks the dark complexion he inherited from his dear mum for hiding his blush.

Percy’s eyes widen from behind his glasses. They’re still brilliantly, beautifully blue and Oliver hates him for it. “Listen, I hate to end this conversation, but I promised Mum I would be home for dinner. Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I can come by after work,” Oliver offers, trying not to sound too eager. “I haven’t been to your house since the twins’ birthday bash. I think everyone from that party got implicitly banned from entering again.”

Percy’s laugh leaves him feeling warm and tingly.

#

Percy’s room looks more or less the same. This is the domain of a boy with worlds at his disposal, tucked into neatly aligned novels and books of poems. A model of the solar system takes center stage on his desk. There is a cardboard cutout of Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in the corner—a gag gift that Charlie knowingly got him on his fifteenth birthday—but everything else is nothing less than scholarly. Except, maybe, an IKEA candle burning on his bedside table.

Percy pats the spot beside him on the bed, and Oliver plops down next to him.

“Are you still dating Flint?” he asks Oliver, tilting his head in inquiry.

The question is unexpected enough to make Oliver feel hopeful. “Haven’t seen him since he went to Sheffield. We weren’t even dating, really, more like fooling around. He got bored while I was recovering. Good riddance, really. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

Please say no. “Not since Penelope. We’re mates now; we’ve been encouraging each other to participate in social events at Oxford and we live in different colleges so things don’t get too awkward.”

“That’s good to hear,” Oliver slowly nods, relieved by the news. These two weeks wouldn’t change a thing between him and Percy, but he feels better knowing that the object of his pining is unattached. “So. Anything planned to do while you’re crashing back home?”

“Spending time with family, mostly.” He winces. “God, I forgot what it’s like to live under the same roof as the twins. No peace or privacy. But I quite missed it, strangely enough. It’s also nice to catch up with Ron and Ginny, though Ron acts like I’m the dreaded third parent. But Ginny’s been sending me emails ever since I left; I think she thinks no-one at home has time to listen.”

“That’s lovely of her to write,” says Oliver. “I’ve been trying to keep in touch with you too, but after a while...”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“No, wait.” Without thinking of the implications, his hand closes over Percy’s, which was lying on the space-patterned duvet between them. “Seeing as how we left things off, I thought it would be...well, I thought we needed some space.”

“I think about you every day, Oliver.”

“Y-You do?”

“Of course I do,” Percy says, colder this time. He pulls his hand free from under Oliver’s. He misses the warmth immediately. “When you keep ignoring my texts, I suspected that you wanted to forget about me, that you didn’t care about how I was doing. I don’t expect you to drop everything else to pay attention to me, of course not, seeing as you’re in recovery—but it still bloody stings.”

“Oh, fuck, Percy,” Oliver groans, “I’m so, so sorry. I thought—I thought I was doing you a favor. I mean, you’re brilliant. You’re brilliant and wonderful and you are going to take the world by storm. You don’t need a boy from home holding you back, you know?”

“That,” Percy narrows his eyes, “is the stupidest pile of shite I’ve ever heard.”

The profane remark is a hurtful surprise; Percy only swears while watching EastEnders or when he’s really upset. “I’ve been selfish, but not because I don’t love you enough,” says Oliver, gently. “It’s because I love you too much for my own sanity.”

It’s an overly dramatic declaration that belongs in a soap opera about infidelities among the rich, but he wouldn’t take it back if he could.

Percy gapes at him as if he’s gone mad. “Did it ever occur to you that I may love you too, you absolute idiot?”

Oliver couldn’t believe his own ears. “I’ve asked you out three times while we were at school. You’ve had plenty of time to prove that.”

“The first time, you were so intoxicated you forgot the word ‘date’—”

“Drunken me is still honest and true!”

“The second time was over text. With typos!”

Oliver squeezes his eyes shut. “That text took me about ten minutes to compose, and my fingers shook from the nerves. But the message was very clear.”

“Well, I thought you were teasing. Or drunk-texting. Or meant to send it to Flint or some other bloke.”

“But the third time,” Oliver insists, “couldn’t have been clearer. Face-to-face and sober and flowers in my hand and on your bloody doorstep while it was raining. And my hair was gelled. God, Percy, my hair was gelled.”

“I was at the brink of moving across the country.” He averts his eyes. “It wasn’t the right time. I can’t treat our relationship like a summer dalliance.”

“It never seems to be the right time, does it?” Oliver sighs, touching Percy’s hand again.

“I’m sorry, Ol.” Unexpectedly, he takes Oliver’s hand up to his lips to press a kiss against his fingers. “I’m really sorry.”

#

The kettle begins to boil in earnest just as the knocks on the front door become more and more insistent. Cursing under his breath—he had expected a free night in to work on his novel, it was raining after all—Oliver walks up to the door.

He is met with the sight of Percy Weasley, drenched in rain and armed with yellow flowers.

“These are for you, you’re welcome.” Percy hands the flowers to Oliver. Despite wilting from the rain, they're still very beautiful, which causes an unfair riot in his heart. “Jonquils. I think they signify love and desire? The florist could be spouting bollocks for all I know; she listened to me talk about you and chose these, so I hope you like them. Or don’t hate them, at the very least.”

“You know I love them. They’re from you, after all.” He looks at Percy in the eye and gives him a smile—tentative, slow. “And I know nothing about floral meanings, so you’re safe. Is this why you came? To give me a bouquet?”

“I noticed there’s a new natural history museum on Godric’s Road, but they still couldn't get a bloody planetarium.”

“Yeah, I know about that. I live in this town.”

“It still looks enticing. I thought we could go on our first date there, then get lunch at The Three Broomsticks and buy each other gifts from the bookshop like we used to.”

“Perce...I don't understand." He puts a hand on Percy's shoulder. "What changed?"

“Two weeks may not be much, but we’ve known each other our whole lives." Percy raises his chin in defiance. "Something as inconsequential as physical distance couldn’t stand against the both of us.”

Percy pushes their foreheads together until there is not so much as a breath between them. Hell, Oliver couldn’t even breathe. His heart gallops in his chest and his world narrows until there is nothing else outside the boy in front of him. “Are you going to take me to a planetarium next?” he asks with a chuckle. 

“If you’re ever so lucky.”

[shreyamistry]

62: ‘I want to protect you’ but angsty, I’m ready to be hurt by you bby

“I want to protect you” (ANGST)

Dan x MC 

Klara’s mind raced angrily, her newly manicured fingernails digging into the cushion of her lime green couch. The pink nail polish already chipping off, she and Dan were supposed to have a date tonight and he didn’t show as usual, what was she supposed to do? Sit around the house and mope like a love-stricken puppy? She took a few bills from Dan’s underwear drawer and treated herself to a massage, a manicure, a pedicure, and an expensive dinner with an equally expensive wine which she’s already sunk half her investments with the mind glass empty and her manicure half fucked up.

Still, none of it helped the irritation, frustration, and rage in her head. A criminal breed inside her as she considers ripping Dan’s head off her own two hands the minute he walked through the door, although she’d never followed through the thought played in her mind. She never used to think so violently until now, she never felt the need to be angry or yell at your significant other until now that she and Dan we’re caught in the flames. She grinds her teeth together remembering a simple time for them.

Klara vividly reminds the first night she felt her and Dan slipping apart, although he spent that night claiming they weren’t, she knew deep down that the secrets hidden behind his web of lies would ultimately ruin them no matter how hard she forced the thoughts out of her head, they lingered in her mind the epitome of lost love that she’d never find again.

She grabs the half-empty bottle of red wine off the table pouring herself a heaping amount of the cranberry purple liquid into her glass. She brings the tip of the bottle to her lips throwing her head back and downing a generous swig of her drink before slamming it down onto the coffee table. She takes the wine and makes her way into the kitchen shoving her footstool in front of the fridge before climbing on reaching for the top cupboard.

Before she realizes what’s happening her feet slide out from under her sending her to a crashing fall, slamming her buttocks against the floor along with her hands her head flying backward hitting against the stove. Klara remains still, her vision blurring with the sight of her blood? Maybe it was the wine running down her hand with pieces of glass from the drink sprinkled around her and on her. She stares out into the distance her eyes blinking closed.

When Klara finally comes to, drool rolls down her chin in a glob, and she instantly brings her hand to her chin to wipe away the pooling liquid her arm wincing in pain with every movement. She glances at her hand for a split second finding shards of her cup embedded into her skin. Before she can completely register everything that happened, the sound of the door brought in the smell of mold, alcohol, sweat, and Dan.

Her eyes widen with rage registering her boyfriend’s arrival, pushing herself off the floor ignoring the searing pain shooting through her body as she encloses the space between them shoving him roughly against the wall her teeth reared with anger, her eyes squinting that made Dan visibly gulp at the sight of her. “And look what we have here, strolling in smelling like the ruins.”

“Klara-“ Dan begins to speak, and Klara shoves him with her force again, her eyes blazing angrily staring at him.

“Don’t sweet talk me, Daniel.” She spits at him, the words rolling off her tongue bitterly. “I’m so over all of this. You’re an asshole, you know that.”

Dan doesn’t respond. He stands there looking down her fiery gaze, gulping visibly and uncomfortably. “You’re bleeding.” He whispers, taking notice of her scraped up arms. He reaches out to hold her hands and she instantly recoils.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” She growls, walking away from him now towards the kitchen, with Dan following closely behind.

“What happened? Why are you bleeding? Klara talk to me.” Dan rambles on compassionately, as he watches Klara take the broom out of the closet before entering the kitchen.

Klara begins to sweep the wine and shards of glass into a pile, muttering under her breath. Dan watches helplessly as she begins to brush the glass and liquids into the dustpan, he didn’t know how to help or comfort her in her frenzy, but he knew it was his fault nonetheless.

“You need to stop, Klara. You’re clearly hurt, let me help you.”

“WERE ONLY HERE BECAUSE OF YOU DAN!” Klara’s abrasive anger filled their apartment as she wheels around on her heel getting face to face with Dan. “While you’re out in the woods playing with dirt and whatever the fuck else it is that you do with Ava, I’m here by myself mind you. You’ve missed every date night for the past fucking month Dan, don’t you care about me?”

Her lips curled from the rage she felt, watching Dan sputter and spew trying to form words, typical Dan she thought to herself. Unable to face confrontation and it sent her in a blind fury just thinking about it, all the frustration and inadequate love filling her already cloudy mind. All the relationship woes were starting to bare down on far too much, she couldn’t handle it, she tried time and time again to give Dan the benefit of the doubt, hear him out, and understand, but it could never be enough, he always wanted more understanding than she was content to give. She yearned for the days when their problems were who hogged the covers move, who’s mom shoved their nose in their business the most, and who got to pick where they went to for their dates. She missed it, but she could never have it back at this pace.

“Of course-“ Dan tries to comfort her, but she isn’t finished yet and instantly cuts him off, her mind running with thoughts of the past and the future she dreamed for them all stolen and slashed away from her.

“No, you fucking don’t, Dan, if you cared you would fucking be here.” She shoves him with her hand again, as he tries to pull her into a hug. “Stop it. Hugging me isn’t going to fix this, I’m so done Dan, we’re done.”

“Klara-“

“WE’RE DONE. I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!” Klara shakes her head before thrusting the broom into Dan’s arms brushing past him and making a beeline for the bedroom. Dan watches stunned for a few moments before dropping the broom and chasing after her.

“Klara stop we can work this out. We can try harder, we can do this.” Dan looked hopeful and the naive motives behind his unjustified hope made Klara's stomach churn in anger and disgust. Try? This enraged her, she couldn’t fathom how he had the audacity to say such a thing to her as if she didn’t put in 110% of the work for their relationship. She held them up from collapsing, and her arms grew weak as the ceiling collapsed inwards on itself, the metaphorical bandaids coming apart.

“I fucking tried Dan, I try all the time. You’re being distant not me.” Klara retorts, letting her arms cross over her chest, glaring at him once again.

Dan nods, he knows she’s right he’s been distant for so long. “I’m sorry Klara, it’s just I wanted to protect you, I-“ Dan tried to reason with her, she took umbrage to his comment, protect her? She found that to be utter lies, he’s only doing this for himself. She throws her suitcase into the middle of the room before ripping the drawer of their dresser from the hinges starting to throw her t-shirts into the bag.

“Protect me from what Dan. Tell me now, or I swear to god I’m walking out that door as soon as their bag is packed.” She demanded, she sounded incensed and it scared Dan, he knew she was serious this time.

“Ava found a spell to save Noah from the curse,” Dan admits, all in a flash of two seconds Dan was back up against a wall, his eyes wide as Klara holds him against it. She snarls before talking.

“You’re trying to save the person who stabbed me in the stomach and almost killed us and our friends?” Her gaze was so intense Dan thought that alone might kill him tonight. She couldn’t begin to understand this how could Dan, let alone Ava of all people, to want to save the literal spawn of Satan from his deserved fate. “You’re going to reawaken a damned spirit to possibly kill all of us, who, let me remind you again, tried to kill us, and will most likely do so if the spell does not work?”

Dan refused to meet her gaze now, his eyes shifting to the ground before a groan fills the room and Klara’s back at the dresser ripping a new drawer and throwing her pants into the suitcase now. “Klara, we have to try.”

“No, we don’t!” She yells, her voice hoarse from shouting and yelling. “I’m not helping you do this. And neither is anyone else. Lily and Britney are getting married, Lucas and Andy finally moved in together, and what? You expect us to drop everything to save a demon from being a demon? Have you even told Stacy this stupid plan yet?”

“She told us not to bother her with it again,” Dan admitted.

“Exactly my point. You’re purposely putting us into harm’s way, and I won’t have any part in it. Protecting me, my ass.” Klara storms back to the dresser ripping the last drawer from its hinges and dumping the contents into her suitcase pushing it shut. “You have a lot of nerve to do this to us again.”

“I’m just trying to protect you, us, everyone. Can’t you see that?” Dan asks, he takes a few steps closer to her reaching out halfway for her. “Please, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I want to protect you, just trust me.”

“I won’t go to your memorial,” Klara growls, grabbing the handle of her suitcase, brushing past him again and out into the living room. She snatches her phone off the counter before tossing it into her purse and swinging it over her shoulder.

“Please, Klara, you have to trust us.” Dan pleads, putting himself in between her and the front door. “Don’t do this.”

“If you don’t move, I will move you myself.” Klara declares, standing tall staring down Dan who’s stomach drops witnessing her gaze. “Move.”

Dan complies, walking away from the door as she pulls it open shoving her suitcase out the door turning back to glance at Dan, who’s crying now. “Klara, Please.”

“I’m not going to watch you kill yourself Dan and I’m not going to die for you.” Her words heavy with glum as she watches the once love of her life fall apart at the seams. Obsessed with saving Noah, obsessed with solving this, obsessed with everything but her. She supported him through football, helped him get to the top of his class, watched him succeed win and thrive, all for him to throw it away over Redfield.

It pained her physically, her stomach dropping as she glanced at her lover one last time. She wipes at the tear rolling down her cheek. “Please Dan, don’t do this. If you change your mind come find me, alright.”

“Klara, I have to do this.”

“Then you’ve left me with no other choice. Goodbye, Dan. I hope you and Ava don’t die.” With that Klara lets the door close, watching the love of her life disappear behind a door. She refuses to move for a long time, watching, hoping, praying he’d change his mind, her arms wrapping uncomfortably around her.

Klara’s mind felt hazy all over again, standing outside her apartment door. The thought of breaking up with Dan killed her inside. The feeling of someone’s hand in her chest ripping and pulling her heart apart, she refused to give in to the pain run back inside and fall into Dan’s arms, love their night away together just for it to happen again, she couldn’t put herself through this anymore, she wouldn’t go back unless he came to her now. Her eyes watching the doorknob that would never turn or open to beg her to come back and be with Dan, it’ll never come.

It felt like hours for the fifteen minutes she stayed still watching the door, before grabbing the handle of her suitcase and leaving her building, her life, and love behind. The realization begins to settle into her soul as the tears roll down her cheeks silently cursing the world, fate, and more importantly Dan. She pulls her phone out of her purse dialing Stacy’s number, she knew Stacy would still be awake and had a spare room made up at all times.

“Hey, Klara, what’s up?”

“I left Dan. Can I come stay with you awhile.”

“You’re always welcomed here, Klara.”

[seventeen-scenarios-blog]

Ain’t No Holler Back Girl

Genre: Crack; just full on crack I apologise

Words: 5.4K

Warnings: Genderbending, some allusions to the male reproductive organ i guess, too much crack 

A/N: this was finished 6-7(?) months ago, and I’ve been hoarding it like my own baby because I wasn’t ready to let anyone see it, but ;;;; promised the other admins it’ll be up on Christmas Day and guess who forgot about it anyway 0/ Merry Christmas everyone 🙆🏼

- admin hoshit 💕

Seungcheol is the first to turn. He wakes up the earliest, and prepares to wash up first to avoid the early morning bathroom rush that is expected of a dorm with thirteen people and two bathrooms, and steels himself for the war that is waking up his twelve charges. Especially Jihoon, the boy had a tendency to roll himself back into bed, even after washing up. It did not help that most of the older boys let him get away with it, content to coo at him like he was a child (he really was one to them, although they would never admit it).

Seungcheol rolls out of bed, narrowly avoiding a sleeping Jihoon, and stumbles onto his feet. Strange, he was off-balance and his chest hurt the moment he stood. There was also an inordinate amount of hair on his head, and he resolves to punish whoever put the black haired wig onto his head while he was sleeping. He tugs, and it hurts his scalp so much, and he changes plans. Punish? No, he was going to murder whoever glued the wig onto his head.

Seungcheol shuffles into the bathroom and looks into the mirror, hand already tousling his hair in attempt to find the ends of his real hair and the start of the wig, when he catches sight of something in the mirror, and stops.

“What.”

There were two mounds on his chest. Are those boobs, Seungcheol wonders, a little hysterically. I may be dying, but at least I’ll get to feel some before I die. He panics, and sticks his whole hand down his pants in an effort to get a grasp on reality, but finds nothing.

Seungcheol screams.

The dorm wakes slowly, Jeonghan muttering to a sleeping Mingyu, “did you hear a girl scream or was it my dream?” To which Mingyu mutters, “there are no girls on the Internet”, and Jeonghan gives up on him entirely.

The boys gather in the kitchen twenty minutes later after washing up in the only toilet available since one was “locked and Seungcheol hyung is definitely in there doing God knows what”, at that point a sleepy Jisoo smacking Seungkwan for Taking The Lord’s Name in Vain. From the corridor, faint thudding sounds are heard, a bedroom door slams shut and then some muffled, strangled screams.

“Seungcheol, if you’re going to have a Mental Breakdown at 8 in the morning please do so quickly and come down for breakfast, the babies are waiting!” Jeonghan calls out serenely, hands mixing pancake batter without stopping.

A bang, as if someone kicked a wall, and then a dark figure appears in the kitchen doorway, hoodie on and pulled so tightly shut only a nose can be seen. The figure drags a chair out and sits with a distinct huff.

“Is Seungcheol hyung okay,” Mingyu attempts to whisper but the task is too difficult for him, his words echoing throughout the kitchen. Chan winces, ready for a reprimand from the leader followed by some play-wrestling, but the leader figure is still.

“Seungcheol?” Jeonghan is concerned at this point, passing the pan to Mingyu who takes it without complaint.

Jeonghan walks to Seungcheol and attempts to remove the hood and check on him, and Seungcheol fights him to keep it on but his efforts are futile, in the scuffle his hoodie is yanked downwards and long lashes, doe eyes and long black hair is revealed.

“GIRL IN THE KITCHEN!”

The top-naked boys scramble to find coverings, various interpretations of apologies shouted as they run, and strangely enough a Cantonese one coming from Junhui, who is cowering under the table.

“Is that Seungcheol’s sister?” Chan whispers to Hansol, who shrugs and continues stealing fried eggs from the stack on the counter.

“Jeonghan ah—” the girl starts, and Jeonghan falls back because that was definitely Seungcheol even with the feminine features.

“Seungcheol?” Jeonghan tries tentatively.

The girl nods.

“Feel my boobs.”

Jeonghan groans in exasperation.

They come up with a plan to claim that Seungcheol was sick to keep the managers in the dark, at least until he gains back his manhood, which they fervently hope will happen as soon as possible.

“What if you masquerade as a guy, Seungcheol ah,” Jeonghan suggests, “we could just cut off your hair and bind your breasts.”

“How would we explain the feminine features and the sudden weight loss though,” Jihoon pipes up, and they are discouraged, reverting back to the Sudden Sickness Really Contagious Can’t Be Seen In Public excuse.

“You know how we always talk about how girls are lucky because they don’t have a weak spot that everyone automatically goes for,” Seokmin starts, “we can test that theory now.”

Everyone simultaneously turns their head to look at Seungcheol, who starts backing away in fear.

“NOT TODAY SATAN,” she shouts as she fights off Seokmin, automatically resorting to hair pulling and slapping.

--

Jeonghan turns overnight two days later, a graceful being whose emergence in the morning causes Jisoo to trip and fall, screaming that an angel has appeared and that he would like to go to heaven but not now please why is the angel naked and then scream again when he recognizes Jeonghan’s features on said angel’s face. He faints in religious confusion, and a sleepy Hansol drags him out of the corridor and into the living room.

Jeonghan is lithe and graceful and feminine, and her words “tinkle like chimes in the breeze of a beautiful summer day”, a dazed Jisoo burbles out before Hansol knocks him out vehemently.

Her hair is white and long, which is probably why Seokmin’s whole body sags, “Ghost…” choked out as he joins Jisoo on the floor in unconsciousness.

The turning of another member hits them hard, the possibility of the rest of them turning has them fervently checking for their male packages as they progress through the day.

Jeonghan does not fit into any of their clothes, and decides to ask their After School sunbaenims to lend them some clothes while they figure out what the hell to do with the members of Seventeen (presumably) turning into girls one by one.

“Oh my God,” Seungcheol wails, “I can’t go up to Raina noona and ask her for bras.”

Jeonghan does not relent, consoling Seungcheol in the only way she knew how.

“At least you don’t need to ask her how to tie long hair, you’ve got me.”

Seungcheol bursts out in tears.

Jisoo accompanies them in their Quest for Bras, the only one they would trust to be gentlemanly around female undergarments.

Seungcheol barely chokes out “Hello, I’m actually Choi Seungcheol from Seventeen and I need some bras and maybe clothes” before Raina and Nana yank her and Jeonghan into the dorm. Ten minutes later they emerge, hair plaited, dresses on, and their suitcases bursting full of clothes and the long-awaited bras.

Jeonghan fastens a butterfly clip into her hair delicately. Nana had stuffed her into a long, flowing gown and with her white hair, she looks like a Goddess, and she knows it. They’re given enough clothes for about three people, but Seungcheol declines more just in case they jinx it and cause more people to turn.

The boys are suddenly well behaved, listening to Jeonghan’s words as if they were the Gospel, and Seungcheol swears that if she knew that turning into a girl would afford her more control over the twelve children, she would have considered a sex change years ago.

Jeonghan decides that to keep up with her image as her Goddess, she would wear heels all day long and be Gorgeous, and drags Seungcheol out to go shoe shopping with her. Against Seungcheol’s wishes, she goes for seven-inch heels because “they make my legs look good”.

“Heels hurt,” Jeonghan moans, after a mere twenty minutes of walking, clutching onto Seungcheol like a drunkard. At least a drunkard would feel less pain.

“How do girls do this all the time?”

Mingyu is assigned to foot rubbing duty as Jeonghan relaxes into the sofa, and resolves to burn all of Jeonghan’s newly acquired heels if it meant that Jeonghan would complain like this all the time.

No one is surprised when Jisoo turns, a mere three days after Jeonghan. Jeonghan and Seungcheol welcome him into the Girl Line, and Jisoo’s strawberry pink hair is braided within minutes. They share the clothes from Nana, and finally put the eyelash curlers to use.

Jisoo wears all the long sleeved shirts and pants, because “a woman’s body is a shrine”, or whatever. None of them were listening, content instead, to look at her chest, the shirt near to bursting. It is because of this that Seungcheol declares a DMZ in the Seventeen dorm, staking out a bedroom for Girls Use Only, and taping a line across the corridor that “males cannot cross”.

Jisoo falls into the toilet bowl one night, and only with Seungcheol and Jeonghan pulling her up does she manage to free herself from the bottomless abyss masquerading as the toilet.

They stage an intervention, and Seungcheol drills The Rules of A Gentleman into the boys’ heads, with a strong emphasis on Rule One: A Gentleman Never Leaves the Toilet Seat Up.

With this, the Demilitarized Zone claims more territory as “boys cannot be trusted to keep their promises,” Jeonghan claims, as she moves the tape to encompass a bathroom.

“Why did they teach us to put the seat down then,” Seokmin mutters to Mingyu, and is promptly awarded a smack from Seungcheol who was seated right behind them.

Jisoo spends all their money on bras, and the boys cover up the purchases by intercepting the mail from the credit card company and burning the letter, praying that the managers do not remember to check for the letter.

They don’t, and Jisoo rejoices in her freedom to move without hurting her back by attempting to do a pin-drop, before falling flat on her face because of her body’s changed center of gravity.

“Do you think the managers will notice the bill if I go for breast reduction,” a dejected Jisoo asks Seungcheol, who gives her the biggest glare as she’s barely half her size.

“Just lie down and die,” she snaps, “when you were buying bras the lady offered me a push-up.”

The dorm wakes at 4am, distraught screaming from the toilet and a missing Junhui the only clues to what had happened. Seungcheol and Jeonghan bravely pick the lock and march into the toilet, and a strange cacophony of screams and sobbing are heard by the waiting boys and girls gathered outside the toilet, holding onto each other in fear.

Jeonghan eventually emerges from the toilet with Seungcheol in tow, like an angel dragging a fallen general out of the war field. The members await eagerly for her report.

“We need to go buy pads. And tampons. And every single female hygiene item we can possibly get. And maybe a book on how to use them.”

They depart with Wonwoo and Jisoo, the only two they trust to be mature about their unexpected situation, and return in an hour, Seungcheol complaining that Jeonghan “literally swept all of the tampons and pads into the basket and we bought the whole shelf”, to which Jeonghan replied with a kick to his crotch. It is less effective than expected.

There is a big uproar in the toilet as the girls fight over which item to use, an unamused Wonwoo hurriedly flipping through “Menstruation for Dummies” because “do you really want to put it up the wrong hole, noona?”

Junhui screams that they should just stuff it up every orifice that is bleeding, and the toilet door bangs shut after they boot Seungcheol out, leaving only Jeonghan and Junhui inside.

“Shouldn’t tampons be used to stop nosebleeds, hyung?” Chan whispers to Jihoon, who shrugs and hugs Chan closer to comfort himself in this Great Female Pandemic, where men are becoming more endangered and females gaining power in this previously all-male household.

Then, a triumphant shout and Junhui and Jeonghan appear, victorious smiles on their faces as the rest of Seventeen get a look at Junhui for the first time.

Junhui is dark, dark hair, dark eyes, and yet what gets the boys is when she turns around and shows off her “la derriere le plus fantastique”, as Vernon calls it, and Minghao faceplants into a door to cover up his nosebleed that spontaneously started. Junhui clears her throat, and sends the boys into a frenzy, surreptitiously covering up the fronts of their pants. A casual hair tousle, and Mingyu Excuses Himself, the rest of the boys waddling behind him until they are out of sight of the females before fighting over who goes into the bathroom first.

Jisoo huffs, because such behavior is Not Holy, and prays that this ordeal will be over soon.

Soonyoung’s arrival causes squealing from the older members, because oh my God she’s like a little hamster LOOK AT HER CHEEKS THEY’RE SO ROUND SEUNGCHEOL HOLD ME I’M WEAK, and Jeonghan swoons into Seungcheol’s waiting hands.

She ruins it, however, by opening her mouth. With one pun, haha do you want to drink cars or tea, and they are utterly disillusioned. Seungcheol instructs her to keep her mouth closed when they are ordering meat at the barbeque restaurant nearby, and Seventeen gains fifty helpings of meat while only paying for twenty.

She shares clothes with Jisoo, the only one who has a chest size similar to her. Vernon walks out of the bedroom one morning when Soonyoung forgets to put on a shirt, and barely chokes out “Oh yeah baby, Double Ds—” before getting kicked by Seungcheol.

“Have some respect, there are females here. Soonyoung, put on some clothes dear.”

Seungcheol is good at controlling situations, if anything.

Soonyoung refuses to give up dancing even with two watermelons attached to her chest, because “If Real Girls Can Do It then Why Can’t I”, but a mere twenty seconds into the chorus of Rock and the unturned members of Seventeen have to Excuse Themselves, all of them thundering into their rooms and toilets to preserve their sanity.

Jeonghan huffs delicately. “Men,” she sniffs, “are disgusting. Soonyoung, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Chan overhears her words and vows to Man Up for his noonas.

Wonwoo’s emerges one morning, already dressed in female clothes and his reading spectacles, and Mingyu immediately turns and runs for the door, yelling that he was going for a run.

“Ah,” Vernon says as he attempts to steal an omelet off the stove when Jeonghan is distracted,

“Wonwoo noona must have reignited Mingyu hyung’s Librarian fetish.”

Seungkwan is delighted at that revelation, and wastes no time going through all of the female closets to look for the most Librarian-esque clothes, before realizing that he had accidentally trespassed on the Demilitarized Zone. Seungcheol forgives him just this once, as Seungkwan’s idea was what Seungcheol had planned to do, and Seungkwan did have multiple outfits planned out already.

The managers, however, finally find out about the special state of Seventeen’s hyung line. They barge into the dorm, two weeks after Seungcheol’s change, insistent that “If they’re that sick they should go to the hospital instead of staying inside the dorm all day!”

The bras lying around gain their attention.

“You guys have been hiding girls in your dorm? Wait until the CEO finds out! And the rest have been helping them to be irresponsible and keep their secret?” The managers scold, yelling for the guys to come out with their “girlfriends”.

“It’s worse than that,” Chan whimpers, but refuses to elaborate.

Seungcheol gathers courage to be the first one to confess to the managers, but Jeonghan gracefully moves her aside and appears from the doorway, presenting herself to the managers.

“I didn’t know Jeonghan had a sister,” one manager whispers to the other, awestruck by the glow that seemed to be emanating from Jeonghan (It is actually Junhui and Soonyoung using their flashlights on their phone).

“I do,” Jeonghan replies, and the managers nod along emphatically, before the sentence parses in their minds and they are left wondering how Jeonghan actually turned into a girl.

Then, the rest of the girls appear, and the managers nearly faint in a mix of both horror and fascination.

“How do we do events now,” one wails, “I should’ve been a Pristin manager instead.”

Jihoon fights the change with all he has. At this point, they’ve figured out that it happens when they’re sleeping, after at least two days of the last change. Jihoon refuses to sleep on Night Two of Wonwoo’s change, proclaiming that he’d rather “Die than sleep and change into Someone of Another Gender”. He lasts for three days, three days where the coffee shop near their dorm nearly runs out of caffeinated drinks in order to keep his eyes open and his sanity in check. He nods off on Day Six though, a ten minute nap before he jerks awake in horror and finds that he now has two orange sized mounds on his chest and Jihoon Junior missing.

A string of curses, strangely attractive sounding in a Busan accent, filters through the door and Jeonghan perks up.

“Good,” he chirps warmly, “now we have more girls than boys, and this means that we can have another bathroom and bedroom. We are, after all, a democratic society.”

Jihoon is short, shorter than her male form, the top of her head only reaching Chan’s chin, and is cooed over by the older few. Her hair is cut short in a bob, which makes her look even younger, and Junhui wastes no time in attaching a pink hair clip to her blonde hair and then picking her up to cuddle on the sofa.

“Take that frown off your face, Jihoon ah!” Jeonghan calls while bringing over the S sized clothes for Jihoon to try on, “you’ll look twenty-five instead of twenty and that’s not good for us girls!”

Jihoon is eventually dressed in a white sweater and a pink skirt, because Jeonghan is a vindictive mother hen who had apparently planned for this and was ready for her daughter Jihoon to look “as adorable as possible”, she sings as she dresses her, Jihoon already casting longing glances at the knives in the kitchen, making the younger few back away in trepidation.

Seokmin calls Jihoon “the cutest baby he’s ever seen”, and Seungcheol beams as Jihoon chases Seokmin with a stick he procures from under the sofa.

“They grow up so quick,” she sniffs as she wipes away proud tears, “only twenty, and she’s already chasing a boy!”

Seokmin barricades himself in the bedroom until Jihoon falls asleep waiting for him to come out.

By this time, most of Seventeen have already disappeared from the media spotlight for over two months, and twitter user @johnjohnjohn sparks a frenzy when she tweets about this fact. The managers quickly release photos of the boys having fun together just before they turned, but a sharp-eyed netizen points out that “the café they’re in closed down two months ago,” and then the metaphorical shit hits the fan.

Scrambling to fix this, the managers arrange for a press conference to for the males, their official excuse being that the older few are working on their album overseas and having a healing time, and the press calm down.

#PROTECTOURSEBONGS trends on twitter, and fans bombard the Seventeen Twitter for updates, and are rewarded with side views of the girls with hoodies on and hair hidden.

Amidst all this, Seokmin turns, and the younger few are booted out of the third bedroom and made to sleep on futons in the living room. Hair is strewn everywhere in the dorm, and they have to vacuum the floor every day.

“Seokmin ah, stop spending so much time in the toilet,” Wonwoo calls, banging on the toilet door after it remains closed for an hour.

“Unnie,” Seokmin wails, “my hands and my hair are tangled together and I can’t untangle them.”

They call in the female rescue squad, Jeonghan, Jisoo and Junhui, and Seokmin’s hair is cut short, brushing past her shoulders, because “there’s no helping that idiot, it was either her hair or amputation,” as Junhui claims.

Mingyu has a nightmare at 2am that someone is trying to rob Seventeen in their dorm and is currently strangling the life out of him, and when he jerks out of the nightmare, he panics because there is still something strangling him why does no one care!

Seokmin bursts in after hearing choked burbles from Mingyu, and switches on the light in hurriedly.

“Mingyu, you’re being strangled by your own hair,” he says drolly, watching Mingyu struggle with the invisible attacker before opening his eyes and realizing that it was just his hair. His long, black hair that is currently not the length that it was when he went to sleep.

“Ah.”

Mingyu as a girl is still impossibly clumsy, perhaps even more (Seungcheol shudders at the thought), and trips down the stairs on his first outing as a girl. She is all legs, her model-like body gaining catcalls from guys and she automatically tries to fight them before realizing that she would probably fall down before the fight even starts.

Hannah Montana plasters run out of stock very quickly at their convenience store, and the cashier marvels at the beagle-like girls who keep coming to the store to buy everything up, pads, snacks and now plasters. What a blessed world we live in, he smiles blissfully as he bags the fifth shelf of snacks, Soonyoung already helping herself to the prawn crackers in the first bag.

Seventeen still gather for their daily talk sessions, now scheduled after the boys finish dance practice while the girls watch and occasionally join when they want to, but the topics have shifted from concerns about idol life to just casual conversations since there was no way Seventeen could plan for another comeback when half their members spend their days braiding each others’ hair and shopping. They fight over their girl-boy differences, and the girls win more often than not, the boys cowed by the fierce glares of the girls that would definitely not hesitate to go for their baby-makers if they disagreed.

“We could be a girl group,” Seungkwan suggests, “we already have two vocals, three rappers and two dancers.”

“What would our group name even be?” Wonwoo mutters, not even looking up from her game.

“Sonyeoteen!”

“I can’t believe you’ve actually thought about this.”

“Who’s this punk,” Jeonghan insults the moment a multi-coloured head shows up for breakfast, mesh shirt and finger gloves modified from existing clothes.

“Fight me, hyung.” Minghao is cranky in the morning, already unhappy that she had to cut up her shirts to be able to fit into them, and has already started several altercations with the younger few.

Jeonghan gasps, because first of all, she is an unnie, and secondly, she is a Goddess who will definitely not be interacting with punks or ruffians of any kind.

Seungcheol reports that there are fewer tampons than there were the day before (they started to keep count because female hygiene products really ate up a lot of their household budget and someone coughSoonyoungcough couldn’t handle a little blood and changed tampons every hour) and Jeonghan ahhs in understanding.

“Did you put it in the wrong hole, Minghao sweetie?” She asks, all mother-like, and it takes all that Minghao has not to deck Jeonghan across the face.

Wonwoo nods, proclaiming Minghao’s inexperience in all things female, and Minghao lunges, grabbing fistfuls of Wonwoo’s silver hair and they both go down with a wail, Jihoon jumping in for no apparent reason at all and it starts a three-way fight, with the boys putting down bets on the fighting girls, courtesy of Seokmin who volunteers to be banker.

“One thousand won on Minghao noona winning the fight in ten minutes,” Chan whispers, because Jeonghan noona would definitely not approve of betting.

“Two thousand won on Wonwoo noona knocking both of them out with the encyclopedia,” Hansol immediately counters, placing the money in Seokmin’s hand.

“You’re all insane, do you remember Jihoon chasing me with the guitar like three years ago? And her chasing Seokmin with a stick? I’ll put five thousand won on Jihoon demolishing the both of them,” Mingyu jumps in confidently.

None of them win in the end, the girls agreeing to a truce after seeing handfuls of hair on the floor. Seokmin pockets all the money gleefully while Seungcheol marvels at the hair on the floor.

“There are so many colours! I want hair like that too,” Seungcheol sighs wistfully. This prompts Junhui to look at Minghao’s hair, rainbow coloured and yet still as soft as unbleached hair. The girls sigh over Minghao’s hair, and Jeonghan raises the possibility of doing beach waves with it.

“No.” Minghao is adamant, but then falters when she sees the amount of hair styling products Jeonghan produces.

“RUNNING WITHOUT A BRA HURTS,” Minghao wails as she thunders down the corridor, Junhui and Jeonghan close behind with various hair products in their hands.

Everyone praises Minghao’s curls under the watchful glare of Jeonghan, and Minghao resigns herself to Jeonghan’s reign as Queen of the Seventeen Dorm.

(“Check my skirt,” becomes so frequently used that the boys wonder what secret the girls are hiding from them in their skirts.)

Seungkwan is perhaps the most excited for his turn, ready to emulate “Beyoncé Sunbaenim” and has already planned out his camera angles to film Put a Ring on It, Seungkwan Girl Version. His change doesn’t come for two weeks, and a disappointed Seungkwan checked his still-there appendages every morning, coaxing it to change.

“It’s not like I don’t like you, I can’t live without you! But if you would just disappear for a while, Beyoncé noona would be really proud of you.”

“Seungkwan, stop talking to your reproductive organ and come eat breakfast!” Jeonghan’s voice is melodic even when she yells, and Seungkwan finds himself following without any hesitation.

Seungkwan finally gets her time to shine, and she wakes up bright and chipper, outfit ready behind the door because of course she has planned all her outfits to coordinate and she’s going to be an amazing girl.

She immediately starts putting on makeup (what the heck is a waterline?) and practicing sexy faces in the toilet mirror because she needs to do Beyoncé unnie justice.

“Seungkwan, I love you like the daughter I don’t have the womb to bear, but please stop, you look constipated.” Seungcheol crushes Seungkwan’s dreams with one sentence, and Seungkwan vows to put bubblegum in Seungcheol’s hair the first opportunity she gets.

Her dance cover gets a million views in two days, and Pledis scouts her to be in their new girl group.

(She is tempted to accept, but Seokmin’s glares in her direction convince her otherwise.)

Hansol is an All-American Beauty, her jawline putting Halle Berry to shame, and her lashes so long that even Jeonghan is jealous.

“Just use your eyelashes to sweep the floor,” Minghao snarks, and Hansol laughs.

Hansol is so accepting and so ready to chill that even when guys hit on her she shrugs it off, and an angry Seungcheol has to be there to fight off guys who get a little too close when they’re in the train.

“Just scare them away with your Show Me The Money rap,” and they descend into madness again, all twelve girls jumping in with pillows that are already prepared on the sofa (pillow fighting is a nightly sport at the Sonyeoteen dorm).

“Headlines, headli—” someone barely manages before the outraged screaming starts again and the fight begins, the girls fighting with renewed vigour.

Chan sits sadly on the couch, wondering when he can join his noonas. Pillow fighting seemed fun.

Now that they were a literal army of extremely attractive girls, people on the streets took notice of them, and rumours began to surface that a new girl group was about to debut. This prompts them to stay at the dorm more often than not, and they laze around most of the time, taking it as a break from their activities, even if it’s not by their own choice.

They karaoke a lot, and find themselves more adept than ever at girl group dances, even roping in a reluctant Jihoon to dance with them.

“Stop poking me with your unshaved legs,” Soonyoung yells as Mingyu brushes past her, which sparks a debate on who hasn’t been clearing their hair from the drain, the suspects only the brown-haired girls.

Seokmin confesses, and is condemned to clean the dorm for a week.

It is a relief when Chan turns, no longer obligated to go out into the media and lie about the whereabouts of the rest of Seventeen. It’s amazing that Chan had lasted so long, and the unnies congratulate Chan’s maturation into a strong and independent girl by throwing a pyjama party.

“We can’t even have a Girl Line anymore, we’re all girls,” Jeonghan laments one night, “now we’re just unnie and maknae line, like any other girl group.”

They marathon Boys Over Flowers, “a Classic,” Soonyoung proclaims, and argue over the boys.

“Lee Min Ho is cuter,” Junhui shouts as he bats away an angry Jihoon, “even with his permed hair.”

“Kim Bum is way cuter,” Jihoon and Soonyoung chime in, while Seungcheol and Jeonghan fight for Kim Hyun Joong’s rights.

“Guys, isn’t there another guy in the F4,” Seokmin tries, but is ignored and Chan pats his back in sympathy.

Sonyeoteen wail at the ending together, and vow to never get into relationships with mean girls.

They sleep together in a puppy pile, because “it’s not gay if we’re girls,” as Jihoon puts it.

Three months after their first change, and Seungcheol sits Sonyeoteen down for a serious talk.

“Gu—Girls, we’re going to have to think of ideas to hasten the change back.”

Jeonghan snorts.

“Our periods have all synced up, and you think now is the best time to ask girls to do something?”

Surrounding her, the rest of the girls are hunched over in pain, except Soonyoung, who miraculously managed to get lucky with pain-free periods. Seungcheol looks towards Soonyoung for her valuable input.

“If we all synced up to Jeonghan’s period, does that mean that Jeonghan’s cycle is the Alpha Period?”

Seungcheol swears that she will tape Soonyoung’s mouth shut someday.

“How are we going to have our comeback,” moans Jihoon, “at this rate we can just debut as a girl group and hope that the public doesn’t notice anything strange. Mingyu can’t even walk like a normal girl, he’s like a seal on dry land without shoes, how is he going to dance in heels?”

Seungkwan perks up. “Sonyeoteen!”

“Shut up, Seungkwan,” twelve voices charm harmoniously as pillows are launched in his direction mercilessly.

Christmas Day was cold, and the Sonyeoteen members were slow in getting up. Seungcheol rises the first as usual, hurrying to the toilet to get the tampons for Mingyu and Minghao as they were on their period.

He stops.

There is something dangling between his legs, and this had better not be a joke otherwise he would rip Seungkwan’s hair out.

He reaches tentatively.

He grasps. Something. And that is enough.

With a yell of triumph, he thunders into Jeonghan’s room and smacks Jeonghan with his dongle.

“Jeonghan it’s back! SEUNGCHEOL JUNIOR IS BACK KIDS!” Seungcheol roars his triumph as he swings around wildly.

Around him, the members are waking up and screaming their happiness as they find their manhoods back in place, none worse for the wear.

Their managers are relieved, immediately scheduling a press conference to announce the comeback of Seventeen, and readying the practice room for Seventeen.

Fans all around the world rejoice, #THEKINGSRETURN trending on Twitter and fan gifts flooding the Pledis building. Seventeen immediately record the tracks that Jihoon had been hoarding during their self-imposed exile, and fans praise female empowerment messages in the lyrics.

Seventeen resolve to keep this incident firmly locked away in the drawer of Things We Just Don’t Talk About, beside Pigeon Seokmin and Mingyu Flips Puppy Down Stairs.

However, they do still sit down to pee for years after that.