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derinxfam · 4 years ago

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Match Made In Heaven

♡ AU: Devil! Taehyung x Angel! Reader

♡ Genre: mostly smut, tiny angst and fluff

♡ Word Count: 3.6 K

♡ Warnings: edging, teasing, nipple kink, lactation, oral sex (female receiving), praise kink, corruption kink, purity kink, mentions of rape, big dick Tae, light bdsm, light spanking, daddy kink

♡ Synopsis: Every year, an angel falls to Hell ever since the Devil and God made a contract. Every angel gets tested. The angel with the lowest score gets sent to Hell as a sacrifice. Despite her top position, Xan, an archangel, volunteers due to personal reasons. The Devil, Taehyung, hurts her - in the best way.

♡ A/N: crossposted on AO3. inspired by btsracket and their story on AO3, “Smutty Fanfic In The Time Of Covid”, especially chapter 37. Please tell me if I should continue this and give me feedback! likes, comments, all appreciated.

Archangels aren’t supposed to question. Archangels aren’t supposed to be flawed. Archangels aren’t supposed to disobey and they’re certainly not supposed to yearn for a touch. God created them meticulously. Archangels strive for perfection. Humans hinge on them.

So why has God planted this grotesque behaviour inside you? You don’t feel or act utmost. Your attitude steered away from what’s expected, no, what’s imposed on you.

“Lola. Xanders. Avonne! Don’t tell me you’re daydreaming again!” Minzy tears your peace away from you.

“Zee, I just lost someone dear to me a week ago. Let me grieve. God gave us grief for a reason,” you demand that she empathises instead of pestering, which doesn’t work.

“Xan, look, I loved that kid. What was his name? Andy?”

“Abby,” you interrupt.

“Right, Abby. I loved him, you know? He gave you a reason to wake up in the morning. But he’s dead, Xan. God wanted his soul here.”

You inevitably roll your eyes at that. Like you’ve done something, anything other than contemplating why God took his soul. Worse yet, he took it and put it in hell. The worst thing Abby had ever done was scoffing at a friend or side eyeing his parents. You committed more menacing deeds than he did, and you were carved from gold and purity itself. Nothing could help you wrap your head around it. The computing didn’t prove right. Abby deserved to be here with you, his guardian angel, in heaven.

“Yeah, you’re right, Zee,” you agree. She must have weeded out the surrendering timbre of your voice. The next gesture she wears is raising her eyebrows. She’s in obvious disbelief. You don’t care.

“Xan, look, the annual sacrifice is in two days. Don’t be this year’s unfortune,” she dishes out with a matter-of-fact stance. A deep sigh bubbles in your lungs, which you swallow. Deep down, you don’t doubt that her heart is in a good place. But yours isn’t anymore.

Studying for the exam was no different than a walk in the park for you. Of course you got the maximum grade. You couldn’t keep count of how many times you’ve been congratulated. You suppressed a grimace each time. You reflexively faked a smile just for this situation.

After an ego boosting week, square one welcomed you with open arms again. Your unfiltered thoughts portrayed a miserable image. Day by day, sinning appeased you. Abby was still a dead, and a so called, sinful man. It didn’t add up. He wasn’t even 20. He had not one addiction. Worse souls have entered the heaven. All of it urged you to yell at God for the first time. You’ve always been a peculiarly top notch archangel. Always kind, considerate and soft headed, your exemplary behaviour levered you to the top. God even sent you a handwritten letter of appreciation. You were the big deal. If only they knew how rotten and infuriated you felt… How dare you question God and his motives? How dare you read a book about the Devil?

Your mind, however, was made up. You would volunteer for the annual sacrifice. You were in for a treat. From what you’ve gathered, the Devil was called Taehyung. Even uttering his name counted as a sin here, the biggest blasphemy. He was as old as time, and a fallen angel. The parallels you observed during your reading would make you gulp in panic. He rebelled against the god, for he believed humans aren’t to be worshipped. From then on, he fell into the hell and has been running the fiery place ever since. The deal he and God made stipulated that he would choose one angel each year, and keep her. Nobody knew what he did with them for sure, but it was speculated that he would use them for his evil deeds. Some angels would become his playthings, endlessly pleasuring him. Each year there would be an exam and the angel with the lowest grade would be sacrificed. Nobody has ever stepped forward to replace them.

You were about to change that.

The day you dread has come. It agitates you that you must leave for good, leaving everyone behind. The worst part is, they don’t even know. Would they even bat an eye if they did? You suspect that. Hell doesn’t house archangels, at least it wasn’t created to do so. The stories you’ve heard from your friends about the sacrificed angels that communicated with heaven always send shivers down your spine. You feel small. So small. You wonder if that’s how Abby felt. However, you double down. Cowardice is not a trait you obtain. You can fall as a heroine, or live here like a liar. You pick the latter.

Once everyone has gathered, the Council showed up. All the angels got lined up and bowed down. One of the women cleared her throat and addressed the crowd.

“Welcome, the blessed ones! We’ve gathered here to choose the annual sacrifice. First, let’s congratulate the consecutive winner, Lola Xanders Avonne. This is her 6th year at the top, a round of applause and a standing ovation, please.”

Well – this will certainly make it harder for you to volunteer. You stand there awkwardly. One last time, the rest of the angels stroke your ego. You’ll miss bathing in praise, but you miss Abby more. The applauses simmer down, and disappear just like he did.

“Now, as you all know, the angel at the bottom of the exam results list is Rokita Nmurtiq Laya. We all will dearly miss you, Rokita. Please say your-“

“No, you won’t.”

Everyone has their eyes on me. Again. It unnerves me. I know I have to step up, though, if it’s the last thing I do.

“I… volunteer. As a sacrifice,” you step forward. Everyone’s jaw drops.

“Xan, you’re the-“

“I know. That’s why I’m doing it. I’ve mustered enough courage to fall at my own will. I want everyone to remember me as a brave angel, as someone who has left a mark. Nothing more. If I fail at that, if you don’t give me the chance, you’ll be robbing me of this opportunity. I beg of you to let me be brave,” you confess. They see the look in your eyes. You’re adamant, unstoppable and foxy.

“Nobody’s ever done it before,” she reminds you.

“Then let me pioneer the others.”

The Council keeps their stern looks on you, but know you have the last word. You're allowed to fall.

You enter the hell once you’ve packed. It has a creepy vibe to it, sure, but it’s nowhere near the fantasised version. No flames to be seen, none that catches your eye. The temperature is higher than that of hell, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. A beige hallway leads you to the help desk, where you see a tall woman. She must be a fallen angel like you. Females aren’t born as demons, they become them. It's what your fate awaits, too.

“Hello there, darling, you must be the new sacrifice. Now, Taehyung’s been waiting for you! We’ve all heard about your decision to volunteer, what a brave soul,” she welcomes.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Xan. They must have sent you my files, surely you know my full name,” you lightly joke and add, “ so what’s yours?”

“Sowamic, but call me Wam, darling. We’ll have a whole eternity to get to know each other,“ she deadpans, making you second guess yourself. She must have noticed.

“Oh, no, don’t worry, dear. I know they feed you lies there but, most of us are happy here. You’ll like it in hell, I assure you. Now, let’s see our main guy. He’ll be frantic if he waits any longer.”

A semi-genuine smile curves your lips. In a short while, she stops in front of a big black door and knocks. A deep voice signals them to come in.

“Sir, here’s the new angel, Xan. The only archangel to fall here.”

“Thank you, Wam. You can leave,” he instructs. She obeys, and promptly walks out.

“Well, Xan, welcome to hell!”

You’re stomped. Is he the Devil or is he cosplaying? The stranger you’re conversing with looks too young and nice to be the Devil, and frankly, too handsome. Black eyes, his hair black also, a mole under his right eye and on his nose, flat but wide lips… He was ethereal.

“I-uhm… I didn’t expect this place to be…”

“This cosy?” he mocks.

“Yeah. It’s cosy. You-you don’t look like the Devil,” you challenge him.

“Did you expect an uglier, older and meaner version with less sense of fashion? Sorry, I don’t age, torture or mistreat. Plus, we have a Gucci store here, what did you take me for?”

Now you’re even more confused.

“Don’t you torture or rape people? How is this hell, people pay for their sins here! You, aren’t you..” You can’t finish the phrase.

“I am truly offended, Xan. Torturing and raping? I’m not a monster! I only make sinners get the karma they deserve, I don’t personally hurt anyone. That’s their own minds. And raping? I knew the old white guy up there was nuts but this shit is defamation on my behalf,” he scoffs. The audacity to frame him as a felon!

“I didn’t kn-“

“Of course you didn’t. Now you do.”

You lower your head in embarrassment. You really have a knack for ruining things before they start, huh?

“I’m not offended, angel, just upset a bit," he admits.

“I could… Make you feel better?” your mouth acts before your mind. To be fair, you have been getting these urges. He’s rumoured to be seductive and sinister, but is he really? You could have mistaken him for a male angel (which, granted, don’t exist) if it hadn’t been for the dark aura. He was unique, charming, kind and captivating, even. Maybe he was also a witch that bewitched you. Either way, you were enchanted. His smile exacerbated the said enchantment.

“How are you planning to do that, Xan?”

“Doll. Call me doll.”

He resists. He can play hard to get for you.

“Why should I?”

“Because I was conceived to serve you as such,” you rebuttle.

“Don’t tempt me, Xan. You don’t have to. Not everyone here is employed to satisfy me.”

You know that. You also know that you desire him. You exhibit it with a passionate kiss. His tongue is warm unlike the rest of his body. He pulls back.

“Xan, are you-“

“Yes, goddammit, I am sure. Do you not wanna fuck me?” you retort.

“I wanna fuck the innocence out of you, doll. How could I not? Look at you.” he purrs. His aura shines exquisitely, taking its toll on you. Whatever falls from his lips is honey, your favourite poison. The way he finally addresses you as you wish ignites your flames. He finally rids you of your clothes, your top and shorts pool on the ground.

“I wanna demonstrate how holy I can make you feel in hell. Will you behave and be my good doll?”

“Taehyung, please, I’m soaking wet for you, please do something! I’m at my wit’s end,” you plead with a small voice. He smirks, proud of and empowered by his effect on you. His doll couldn’t afford to wait more, could she?

“Open up, doll, let me taste you. Let me devour your angelic essence. I’ve been dying to try it.” Determined not to make him repeat it, your legs spread open like the beautiful petals of a flower. His cold fingers trace circles on your upper thighs, thoroughly teasing you. On your wrists is the sensation of a pair of handcuffs. He must have read your mind – good dolls don’t move after all. You love restraints.

“Are all archangels this attractive or is it just you, doll? Because I’ve never been this hard this easily. Your scent, it fucking destroys me. So tell me, are you the exception or the rule?” he inquires. You mutter an “I don’t know” between your rapid pants. When his tongue – finally – glides over your pussy, you lose your breath.

“What’s wrong, doll?” he chuckles, “don’t you want me to have a taste of my favourite dessert? You’re doing so good for me, if you keep this up, I might.” His unorthodox expressions only further rile you up. The ropes encasing your limbs immobilise you. His attacks on your tiny, untainted body grow like an avalanche of pleasure and come in tenfold. Then, a jolt of pain races through your body. He lightly slapped your bum.

“When I ask you a question, doll, you don’t ignore it. You answer me. You beg me to use your pure body, to ruin it and paint it with sin. Understand?” He leaves you no room for discussion.

“Y-yes, Taehyung, please, ah, have a taste,” you invite him meekly. His sinful lips dive deeper into your cunt, cherishing the hot, wet cave it’s digging. The precise and sharp movements of his tongue elicit the most wanton moan. He looks like a mad man eating for the first time, like a man with insatiable hunger for what he’s feasting on. No wonder, the devil does feed off of your essence. It’s his fuel. His hands don’t remain idle for too long, and soon grab your breasts. He’s squeezing them, feeling how fistful they are. He would kill a mortal or two for them. God molded you perfectly, and your plump breasts are no exception. The way they hang on your chest like two perfect droplets of water cements the sight to see before the Devil’s dark orbs. Your pert nipples, however, override your tits. If your tits take a slice, your nipples take the entire cake. The rosy buds erect under his touch, the colour and sensitivity permeating his most carnal desires. He grazes his teeth over your hardened, bubblegum coloured nipple. The other gets a pinch. The Devil drools over them, mesmerised. Your heavenly chants, half lidded eyes, pink cheeks and dark, long hair paint the most beautiful scene he’s ever behold in his life. Your beauty enchants like it was designed to. He’s busy getting drunk on it when something oozes from your nipples.

“Angel… You’re lactating. Fuck, are you trying to kill me? God, look at you, so wicked yet innocent… Fuck, doll, I can hardly restrain myself from ravishing you.”

A broken sob pops out of your mouth. He gravitates towards you, your left nipple now between his cold lips. You shriek at the coldness but he soothes you. Sucking your milk from one nipple, the devil’s advances oscillate between pinching and twisting the other. Your milk must taste divine to the devil, affirmed by his pleased moans around the swollen bud. Your tits feel sore, albeit less. When your left tit is emptied, he switches to the other one, now teasing the vacant nipple. He takes his time. When you’re all out of milk, he lifts his head to meet your antsy gaze.

“Doll, your milk tasted so savory, thick and sweet. But I’m going back to my second home now, so spread your legs wide open. I’m gonna taste your sherbet,” he commands. You wilfully obey, and his jet black locks block the view of your angelhood when he kneels down between your legs. Your fresh taste coats his tongue, giving a shower to his tastebuds. You’ve already leaked more than enough to make him dizzy, yet who is he to refuse more of your love potion? His slurping never relents, only causing you to drip more. However, you both acquire enough biology knowledge. Your most delicate spot hasn’t been caressed yet. It’s out of its hood, winking at Taehyung. He doesn’t ignore it for too long. Tender kisses to your pearl crescendo into unforgiving sucks. His lips encapture your sensitive bud. The harsh sucks and the slight graze of his teeth spike a euphoric moment, and you swear your soul left your body for a second there. You’re a mere slave to his ministrations. The edge pulls you in, one more step, one more suck and you’re at the top, and then… The suction vanishes. You moan in desperation, to no avail. The fire in your stomach extinguishes while your sanity crumbles into pieces.

“Ssshh, doll, be good and ride that edge. Show me that you can suffer for me beautifully, so I know you deserve your reward. That’s it, take it nice and slow. Don’t make me gag you, doll,” he exhorts. Your whimpers dim down, now the only audible sound in the room is his sucking. Before you get to the edge again, he halts. You don’t dare to meet his eyes. He flips you on the bed, your hands still tied behind but now your face is buried into the sheets. A ruffling sound echoes, signalling him getting out of his jeans and boxers. His cock remains out of your vision, nevertheless you feel it when the head teases your clit. His precum leaves a burning sensation on your pearl. The devil rams his monster of a cock inside you, easing in slowly to facilitate the process and decrease your pain.

“Fucking shit, g-god, I’ve fucked so many mortals and demons, doll, but your tightness can’t compare. No wonder why archangels are renowned for having the best pussies. You’re squeezing my cock so well, fuck.”

The stretch steals your breath from you right on the spot. He was extremely thick, widening your welcoming walls with no shame, but he was also long. At least 12 inches, from what you could feel. It was throbbing inside you hotly. The devil lost himself in your angelic bliss, he couldn’t help it. Archangels were created by god himself to be the most seductive to the devil, and Taehyung couldn’t resist his own nature. Your shining, ablaze skin, mixing with his honey one; your innocence and white wings, your gloomy, porcelain aura that purifies his dark one, your cunt that clenched around his fat cock… His aggresive pounds drilled into your hot, velvety walls at a fast pace. Your clenches brought him to the edge quickly, but he couldn’t afford to cum just yet.

You, on the other hand, are filled to the brim. Experiencing your hole being this full levitates you. You pride yourself in the thought of him being this hard because of you. His little doll he treasures. His cock is red, throbbing, swollen. You feel the blood flow of the primary vein that cascaded under it. All his pleasure, love, and cock; it’s all yours. He’s all yours and you’re all his.

“Do you know what happens when I cum?” he raises the question. You nod.

“Your-your cum… Fuck, it, uh, makes me, makes me faint because m-my pure body cannot process your sin-ful seed,” you explain in a rush.

“That’s my doll, beautiful and clever,” he praises. His index finger hovers above your clit, lightly teasing it. When it lands on it eventually, he draws circles and eights on it, accompanied by soft pinches. It drives you up to wall. Your moans fuel his ego more, he knows you’re close. So is he. Fascinated and tantalised by his engorged cock, your heavenly pussy clenches. Your clenches and tightness torturously suck the soul out of him. He’s being milked to the last drop. Your cunt is greedy. Since he won’t be able to endure your sweet torment for too long, he enacts. One finger on your left nipple, the other on your pearl, he plays your body like an instrument, and he happens to be a virtuoso. Your pleasure threshold soars high, as if the devil bewitched you. Maybe he did. You wouldn’t mind.

“Do you like it when I taint you? Make you commit a sin? Do you love being my precious little doll?” he entices.

The fact is, you do. Being surrounded by his sinful and worshipping embrace paves a way to your core. If God hadn’t wanted you to sin, he should have admonished harder. Instead, he amplified the Devil.

“I do, I love it when you praise me, wanna be a good, desperate doll for you. I want you to wreck me to the ground and then build me up again, please, Taehyung-“ His vicious chuckle overshadows your pleas.

“Your wish is my command, doll. You’ve been so good for me. You deserve it. Are you close?” his voice rumbles in his chest. You nod, too spent to talk. The precum leaking from his slit already has you light-headed.

“Then cum, cum for me and wash my cock with your holiness like the angel you are. Let your little heaven squeeze me as I rip it to shreds” he implores. That’s all it takes.

Sobs ring in the background. Your cunt spasms around him, strangulating his length and blessing him. He feels your juice lubricate his cock even more. Your eternal grace guards you even amongst the throes of passion. You barely catch your breath when he comes with a deep grunt. Your vision fades into darkness and the semen decorating your heaven makes you pass out. His harsh thrusts cease to exist. The devil eyes the unconscious angel under him, swooning. Even in her state, she carries her grace and majesty. His now flaccid dick leaves the safety and warmth of her walls that encase it. He shivers at the sensation.

Five minutes later, the angel is untied, cleaned up and resting on his bed. The smitten devil is playing with her black hair, and giving her temple kisses when the urge kicks in. She would gain consciousness a few hours later, and still hold her holiness like he adored.

#bts #bts smut #kim taehyung #bulletproof boy scouts #bangtansonyeondan #bangtan #bangtan boys #bts v x reader #bts v #angel x demon #smut #kpop #kpop smut #방탄소년단 #방탄소년단 김태형 #김태형 #bts taehyung #taehyung #bts x reader

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chrysalizzm · 4 years ago

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i uh. realized people follow me now because of uh. you’re human tonight on ao3 asdjgfs

i have content!! behind the scenes content as promised. i do outlines for my fics as a general rule of thumb just because i personally can’t write things to a satisfying finish if i don’t Do That, and so - here are my chapter/plot outlines for you’re human tonight ^^ (i have no idea if this is interesting content or not i thought i’d put it out there because i think outlines are kinda fun hhhh)

chap 1 fundy

subtitle: an inkling

fundy makes an iron golem gone wrong, dream makes it go boom

chap 2 purpled

subtitle: uh oh social interaction

purpled shelters a fugitive, gets his house explosion-proofed as thanks

this is probably gonna be the only chapter with a funny title hh oh well

update: it’s not and i’m pleased with myself for branching out with my dry humor

chap 3 sapnap

subtitle: dust to dust

sapnap’s dying via wither effect, and he knows respawn’s around the corner but goddamn if it doesn’t hurt til then. dream skids in around the nether fortress corner, drops all his weapons cradles sapnap’s head in his hands, has always taken death much harder than anyone sapnap’s ever met. at the last few seconds, when death creeps up like a shroud, dream starts to hum to him hoarsely, pressing his forehead to sapnap’s, and in the final moments sapnap doesn’t hurt at all. the last thing he hears is dream whimpering. he visits dream’s bunker the next day, knocks on the door over and over, but there’s no sign of life there. sapnap shrugs, bites his lip out of guilt for forcing dream to sit there watching him die (if temporarily), and moves on.

the chapter that introduces dream’s primary ability of soothing hurts. put a lot of emphasis on the fact that sapnap ached up until the moment dream started humming, because for dream to do that is pretty frivolous considering once sapnap died he’d respawn and the hurt would just disappear but dream wanted sapnap to have a peaceful last few seconds. emphasize how abnormal it is that withering stops hurting.

chap 4 ponk

subtitle: beaches dry of sugarcane

dream visits ponk after george burns down the first tree. when ponk arrives to the second tree to move in, he realized dream made the tree flourish, grow healthier and bigger.

chap 5 sam

subtitle: fuck this shit i’m out (edit: the official subtitle is “oh god oh fuck”, i changed it last-minute)

dream picks sam’s brain for manhunt strategies while the latter is mining for redstone. sam stumbles upon a spawner and reels back, trips, nearly misses the moment dream sweeps him behind him and his eyes flash beneath the mask and when sam gets back up, dazed, there’s nothing but the splay of cobwebs all over the walls.

chap 6 punz

subtitle: lines drawn

in an unrelated skirmish, punz drives his sword up to the hilt in dream’s chest, relying on respawn for dream to not feel any pain and for punz to get paid. dream doesn’t die. this is understandably alarming.

can we get some funnies in chap? just a few laughs?? a lil funny for mr luke punz man?

can we get some panicky dry humor for real tho because punz strikes me as someone who copes with morbid humor and dream spluttering up blood is def a situation that punz would not know how to deal with

chap 7 wilbur

subtitle: so about that date

wilbur makes platonic moves on dream while dream fake texts his fiance under the table. wilbur also accidentally vents to dream about his little brother tommy and how afraid he is that tommy will get himself hurt for how reckless he is. dream siphons some of his anxiety from him, smiles as they depart from one another. wilbur notes that dream is shaking when they leave.

chap 8 skeppy

subtitle: get wrecked noob

dream walks skeppy through some pvp. when skeppy demands a rematch w tommy and gets a lil stage fright kinda sorta thing, dream siphons his anxiety and his nerves and goes full soccer mom with bad and skeppy loses 5-2 but like!! he won!! against tommyinnit!! HH

is there any mental image nearly as powerful as dream wastaken, the soccer mom

chap 9 jack

subtitle: mandatory volunteering

after tommy goes on another one of his destructive rampages lmao, dream enlists jack, newest-comer, to help him rebuild stuff bc underclassmen have to do whatever upperclassmen tell them to do thems just the rules. after rebuilding a statue near the community house, dream pats it fondly, and when tommy sneaks back to set in on fire for shits and giggles, he finds that it’s fuckin fireproofed AGAIN

rebuild efforts, i promised monuments rebuilt so thats what theyre gonna fuckin Get

chap 10 antfrost

subtitle: twist the knife

ant on what ends up being an unpublicized manhunt: dream stops the manhunt because he’s triggered a raid and by the time the hunters get there, alarmed by the screaming and the fire and dream’s unresponsiveness, the villagers are all dead and there are raider corpses everywhere and dream is lying near the bell on his side, whimpering. (what the hunters don’t know - dream tried to fight off the raid but was overwhelmed and witnessed the village get slaughtered, he took the pain of the villagers that weren’t dead but were dying.)

segment: There’s a reason they do the manhunts, and it’s not just for them to horse around and try to kill one another for a few days. Antfrost is the newcomer but he’s always been good at reading people and from the outset he knew that Dream was someone filled to the brim with the restlessness that characterizes humans, that never-settling wanderlust, and his brain works too fast for the rest of his body sometimes, and he just needs an outlet. It’s part of why he eggs Tommy on in their little war games, why he holds onto those discs even though he doesn’t need them, why he gets that delighted look on his face when someone tells him that Tommy’s griefed them or stolen from them or otherwise ruined their morning. Antfrost thinks the only times he’s ever really seen Dream silent, Dream waiting, Dream unmoving, are when Dream is

chap 11 karl

subtitle: head in the shallows

karl, sapnap, george, and dream have a sleepover after mcc 11. karl, nearest to dream, wakes up when dream starts tossing and turning from a nightmare. when he tries to shake dream awake, dream’s eyes fly open and he slams his fist into the wall behind him and the earth, the literal earth, the entire slab of it, shudders like an earthquake. sapnap and george sleep like the dead, so it’s just karl and dream staring at one another. finally karl asks, concerned, “do you want some tea or water or anything?”

chap 12 hbomb

subtitle: a maid’s burden

“i want to dress up as a maid for fundy,” says hbomb with false bravado. fundy’s fiance levels a very impassive look at him for an awkward minute or two and just when hbomb thinks he’s misread dream and fundy’s relationship dream says “i’ll get you a wig” and the entire chapter is just dream idly twisting the fabric of reality to get hbomb the items he needs to put the outfit together

pranks, i promised pranks, theyre gonna get pranks

chap 13 alyssa

subtitle: message in a bottle (edit: official subtitle is “ship in a bottle”)

alyssa’s leaving, at least temporarily.

alyssa tells dream it’s getting dangerous on his server, doesn’t relish the expression that brings to his face, but he holds her hands and nods and bids her safe journey. when alyssa returns, running for something (later we’ll learn she had heard that dream was bad, that he might be dying), she finds that her house is completely inaccessible by everyone save her, placed in complete stasis by someone.

start of the chapters leading up to festival arc. build unresolved tension in this one.

chap 14 niki

subtitle: life doesn’t discriminate

wilbur and tommy are relentless, they waste no time; niki is willing to wait for it.

the night before the duel, she goes to dream and holds a sword to his throat and demands he call it off, even though she knows it’ll mean little because of respawn, tells him she won’t stop hunting him down until he gives up l’manberg. dream smiles a little sadly and pats her hand and her fright, her rage, it simmers back down, and the anger that had swarmed her and made dream out to be the devil dies down until it’s just her friend, who was playing along with tommy til it got serious and he got cocky, who’s just as in over his head as she is, and maybe niki’s soft but she likes that about herself, that she’s always the first to forgive. niki is looking at the healing cut on dream’s neck, uncovered by any bandages, when dream shoots tommy, a clean shot that causes no suffering.

a long chapter, probably. i think at some point in this i want to mention niki’s respect for dream for apologizing during the first pet war, for not letting things get any bigger until fundy came back. some parallels can be drawn here - that dream let the fire die down in the initial stages of the pet war, that dream won’t let go of the l’manberg war now, and it occurs to niki that she doesn’t know dream nearly as well as she thinks she does if she expected him to act exactly the way he did during the pet war. she’s got what she’s wanted - dream’s remorse, proof of dream’s humanity - even though it’s not in the form niki wanted it.

chap 15 eret

subtitle: crown of thorns

the king in name only consults with the true leader.

they’re both upset about pogtopia’s exile, eret arguably more so because they think their early betrayal of l’manberg somehow butterfly-effected into the current dumpster fire, and as they talk eret works themself into a full panic attack reflecting on things that were, things that could’ve been - and the tide washes out all of a sudden, and eret’s left with the same looming hollowness they’d been feeling before, no dregs of the panic, they’ve never had a panic attack that left them feeling normal after - but dream is now wheezing like he’s about to die and eret immediately walks him through the panic attack, levelheaded even as they’re confused out of their mind.

chap 16 quackity

subtitle: water to blood

quackity is a snake in the grass.

quackity at schlatt’s side during the few weeks of his presidency. he knows schlatt from before, has been his friend, so he knows when his friend is acting off. the cynical, straight-faced humor is still there, his completely bland delivery and brazen showmanship, but it’s twisted to the left somehow, to make it so that those qualities that make up his friend have rotted, hurt people. quackity eventually goes to dream after schlatt first overdoses with a lot of questions, maybe even to confess that his allegiance has begun to shift because he can’t go to pogtopia and he can’t go to schlatt - and dream just gives him a long, sad look before lightly patting quackity’s shoulder and says “i can’t guarantee anything - just that you’ll be safe” and shooing him off and as quackity heads back to manberg he realises all the hostile mobs are avoiding him like the fucking plague.

it’s big q!!!! fattest ass in the cabinet!!!!! pog!!!

fun fact this chapter’s subtitle was almost “chekhov’s gun” until november fucking 16th of 2020

chap 17 tommy

subtitle: most disputes die and no one shoots

tommy learns how a legacy dies.

a compendium of tommy watching the madness consume wilbur. it needs to be emphasized in this chapter that wilbur becomes an entirely different person when they’re ejected from manberg, that he becomes obsessed with the legacy he’s created and watching it crumble is what twists him; when dream gives tommy his crossbow, tommy, out of desperation and a need to have an older sibling again, asks what’s wrong with wilbur; dream’s face hardens and he asks tommy to take dream to wilbur. it’s a terse meeting, the only one they have before techno and before wilbur completely loses it and demands the tnt; wilbur says a lot of things tommy doesn’t understand (it’s complex mythological jargon hinting at dream’s status as a god but could be misconstrued to refer to dream’s status as simply the world owner) and at one point wilbur sneers, “are you trying to play god, dream?” and dream lurches forward and grabs wilbur by the wrist, and there’s a completely silent moment where tommy feels the air suck out of his lungs and there’s an off buzzing in his ears and he fancies he hears something that sounds, just a bit, like dream, whispering desperately wilbur wilbur wilbur it’s me it’s me listen listen listen then a shrieking, acrid wave of no and tommy reels back and when he looks up dream has staggered back, his hand to his mouth, blood dripping from somewhere beneath his mask, sounding like he’s gagging or maybe he’s sobbing, as wilbur shrieks in a voice that is entirely not his “get out get out if i can’t have l’manberg...” and tommy understands, finally, as dream sprints out. that’s not wilbur.

a distinction needs to be made perfectly clear in this chapter, as with schlatt’s chapter: it’s not them. they’ve been twisted out of control by something bigger than them, something that wants to toy with the young god running an oasis of peace for his people. it doesn’t need to be outright said in this fic; in another we can delve into the madness and who did it and why. for now, just make it clear it’s not explicitly anyone’s fault.

chap 18 techno

subtitle: colosseum

dream had to let techno in first, you know.

techno and dream have interacted often - the duel, the championships, they’re friends more than acquaintances now. but techno was called in by someone wearing his brother’s face that he honestly doesn’t recognize from his voice and when he arrives at spawn, before tommy fetches him, he sees dream sitting cross legged waiting for him and they talk about the situation, dream giving techno a quick brief. when tommy comes, crying “techno, this way, this way to pogtopia”, and crossbow bolts are being fired at techno, dream gives him a lil wave goodbye (or what techno thinks is a lil wave goodbye but what actually turns out to be putting a swiftness effect on him).

“that’s not my brother, dream,” says techno, and dream’s mouth wobbles and he says, hoarse, “i know.”

techno Suspects, but only knows that dream has world-manipulating powers and thus standard minor god powers. he doesn’t let dream know he suspects.

chap 19 bad

subtitle: run devil run

bad trusts dream, perhaps against his better judgement.

dream comes to visit bad and skeppy on neutral grounds in the interim leading up to the festival that everyone on the server is side-eyeing and side-stepping. bad considers his friend and the owner of the world as he gives dream an impromptu tour through the escape route he and skeppy have dug out, wonders with a little reproach how dream could let things get to this point, then, soft, gentle as always, acknowledges that dream is only human kindly. when he says that, though, dream’s face crumples, as though those words hurt him more than any criticism bad’s given him in the time he’s known him, as though bad had driven a blade into his heart, and bad doesn’t understand but he lets dream run away from that. when a small flock of creepers explode over the tunnel the night before the festival and bad grumbles that he has to fix it, he learns dream left him with a fortified escape tunnel.

a/n: i’m sure the irony isn’t lost on you.

chap 20 tubbo

subtitle: cadmean victory

what say the sacrificial lamb?

tubbo is coming to terms with the fact that he might not make it out of office in one piece and it’s not his first time respawning but the older members of the server always, always did their best to shield the younger ones from death. he runs into dream by complete coincidence while he’s avoiding pogtopia (mostly wilbur) and manberg (mostly schlatt), caught between two strangers wearing his friends’ faces. he looks at dream, who looks back at him impassively, and tubbo starts to cry, because it finally hits him that even with his death and respawn nothing will be fixed, nothing can change, the poison’s run too deep into the veins of dream’s beautiful little world and now nothing can be right anymore and it feels like he’s shattering into tiny, aching shards - and then dream kneels before him, takes his hands, presses his forehead to them, sighs like his heart’s breaking, and tubbo feels a small calm thread back into him as dream stands abruptly, jittery. dream, with hands that shake, grips tubbo’s shoulder, hovers for a second, then his head jerks up and he bolts into the forest, clambering up a tree with admirable ease and disappearing away into the leaves as schlatt suddenly emerges from the bushes nearby with a joyous, plastic “hey! tubbo!”

chap 21 george

subtitle: lantern burns low

a moment in the night; george is visited by a specter.

dream comes, pale, and asks george if there is anything wrong, is everything okay with you? takes george’s caught-off-guard face in his hands and says george george george, are you - and george catches a glimpse of dream’s powers (is he safe safe does he hurt no but fear but anxiety there are dregs hush now quiet now he is safe all quiet quiet quiet he’s safe) and he says, stricken even as the constant thrum of nervous energy he’d kept with him fades out, “dream what was that,” and dream presses his hands to his mask where his eyes are and says, despairingly, “they don’t get to have you too,” and staggers back out.

george is the first person dream overtly “comes out” to. this is also why george doesn’t see dream til the festival.

chap 22 schlatt

subtitle: the empty throne

dream visits schlatt in his office.

schlatt, possessed by madness, has no idea what he’s saying but it feels right, it’s exactly right, everything is in his hands, and when dream approaches, his hands facing up, is he there is he there yes yes yes tainted polluted this is twisted this is madness madness madness dream reels back, shaking, and schlatt leans in and leers, not even knowing what he’s saying, “you can’t even fix it, young god,” and relishes the way all the color drains from dream’s face.

chap 23 dream (edit: this monster ended up being split into three for pacing purposes and also if i left it together it was gonna be. h. 14K WORDS. also the drama of a cliffhanger at what most people thought was going to be the last chapter was too good to pass up don’t @ me

subtitle: do you feel like a young god?

running, running, running again

finale!! dream takes everyone’s old hurts into himself, takes the madness from schlatt and wilbur, promptly passes the hell out because no one should be doing that, wakes up, gets the shit hugged out of him, and explains a little, and gets told that he’s loved over and over.

i uh! take questions! i like talking about this story, there’s a lot i still want to show, and even apart from that i just really love mcyt haha

#mcyt #young god #chrys writes #you're human tonight #yg meta #long post

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chiefnooniensingh · 5 years ago

Text

I Won’t Hesitate (for you) Chapter 4

Chapter 4: You can be (my saving light)

In this chapter: In the past, Michael and Alex grow closer. In the present day, Alex meets the first of the passengers in his attempt to unmask the murderer. Alex and Michael have trouble being around each other.

A/n: This chapter is where we earn the M rating! And I took two of the most heartbreaking and soft moments from the show and managed to write it into this AU, I'm very happy about it!

As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter and @ladymajavader over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

Last week's chapter was titled "Do not try me, devil devil" and it was taken from the song "Devil Devil" by MILCK and this was guessed correctly by @Lire_Casander! Thank you for reading and great job!

Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

Also on: ao3

other chapters: 1 2 3

June, 1924

Alex was lying underneath the tree on the schoolyard, the sun warming his face pleasantly. He was eating an apple, just as when he’d first met Michael.

A lot had changed since then.

Michael and Alex had become…friends, to a kind. In a way only abused children can become friends; as fellow victims, wary of all human contact, even each other’s. But they had found a comfortable routine between them, one that kept them both sane and kept Alex away from his father’s house for as much as possible.

After school they studied together in the library, to which his father could hardly protest. He always criticized Alex for his grades; Alex stepping up his studying by spending hours in the library could only please him. If Alex was ever truly able to please his father. On weekends Alex went to help out on the Foster’s Ranch, where Old Foster had enough work for the two of them. His father didn’t approve of Michael, but Alex never mentioned him and simply pretended they never even crossed paths.

But now the holidays approached, and Alex was nervous. He was afraid the Foster’s Ranch wouldn’t provide him with enough of an excuse to be away from home as much as possible. These last few months had been almost bearable at home. Only rarely did Jesse Manes have a reason to beat Alex anymore. Alex was afraid with the extra free time, the beatings would increase too.

“You can always come stay at the ranch indefinitely,” Michael suggested, plucking away on the old guitar he’d gotten from Old Foster. Michael had taken to bringing it to school and play for Alex while Alex stared at him admiringly.

Alex scoffed, “Yeah, my father would love that. His personal boxing ball living away from home at sixteen? He would have to pay for an actual boxing ball, that might just kill him.”

Michael shot him a look that clearly said, then perish, but said nothing. He continued to play instead. Alex hummed along, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight. Michael’s guitar playing always managed to relax Alex in a way no other music was able to. Maybe because it was music straight from the source (Michael). Or maybe it was the source itself (Michael).

Either way, his body relaxed slightly. “I’ll survive. I have for fifteen years in that hell hole. I will for another two.”

Michael’s hand slipped from the strings and a truly horrible off-key tone came from the guitar, making Alex wince. “Two?”

“Yeah. I’m going into the army when I’m seventeen. Just like my hero brothers and my highly decorated father.” He tried to keep the bitterness to a bare minimum.

Michael frowned, picking up where he left off in the song, but with less gusto. “The army? You even want to go?”

Alex opened his eyes and met Michael’s dark eyes. Michael looked genuinely upset, and Alex felt his heart twinge. “No. The army is everything I don’t want.” He sat up, the warmth of the sun seeping out of his body like he’d just been dunked in ice water. “But since when do I have a choice?” He started pulling on the grass, yanking it out by the handful and flinging it away from him. “Besides, when I’m in the army, at least I’ll be away from my father. And I’d do anything to be away from him.” Tears stung in his eyes and he wiped them away angrily.

Michael’s warm hand suddenly enveloped the one angrily destroying the grass, stilling his movements. Alex froze. Michael’s touch still sent a shock through Alex’s body. Every time the two of them touched, either for a hug or a high five or any other touch, Alex would feel a bolt of electricity spreading from the place he was touched to the top of his head and the tips of his toes.

It confused and frustrated him. He didn’t know what it meant, why his body reacted that way to a man. He’d read plenty of books to know men often reacted like this to women. Alex did not recognize that feeling, that much he knew at least.

“Here,” Michael said, pulling him from his frustrated brooding. He held out his guitar to Alex, looking at him expectantly. “You’ll need at least some skill to impress those military assholes, so you might as well learn a bit of guitar.”

Michael always did this. Whenever Alex began to pull back into his head, when fear began to take over, when things seemed at their absolute worst, Michael would pull him out of it with a quip and a distraction. After 7 months of friendship, Michael knew Alex better than his own family did. Michael felt safe in a way Alex had never felt with anyone, except maybe his mother.

He smiled and took the guitar, placing it on his knee. Michael chuckled, took it from him and turned it around. “You’re a righty, Alex. That’s the one you’re going to use to actually produce the music.” Michael positioned Alex’s hands like a professional. Alex felt awkward and his fingers kept slipping. Michael chuckled again. “Alright, here.” Before Alex knew what was happening, Michael was sitting very close, one arm slung casually across Alex’s shoulder as his hand helped Alex’s find a comfortable position. Alex felt heat rise to his cheek and he lost track of Michael’s words for a second, as all he could feel was Michael’s exceptional warmth pressed against his side and his rough fingers positioning Alex’s own carefully. “Okay, so this is G. Together with E minor, C and D, the easiest chord to learn. Press down on the strings hard, otherwise the tone will be flat, like now.” Michael ran his right hand across the strings and indeed, the tone fell flat. Alex pressed his fingers harder against the strings. It hurt, but it was a pleasant kind of pain; like he was earning the good notes. “Alright, now you try. Just go from the top to the bottom with your fingers.”

His wrist aching, his fingers screaming against the sting of the metal, Alex pressed down on the strings as hard as he could and brought his fingers from the top string to the bottom string. It did not sound half-bad. Michael smiled encouragingly, and Alex tried a few times, the chord sounding surer and clearer every time. Alex felt his face stretch into a smile as he tried different strumming patterns, taken from memories of Michael playing.

After that Michael taught him two more chords, and suddenly he was playing an actual tune. “There you go!” Michael said, smiling brightly when Alex managed three chords successively without pausing to think. “You might be a natural.”

Alex looked up at him to thank him, but the words stuck in his throat. Michael was still so very close. Their legs were pressed together and if Alex moved forward an inch, their heads would collide quite painfully. Michael’s eyes were large as they stared at each other, both apparently at a loss for words. Alex felt like he might drown in those eyes if he didn’t look away soon, but something stopped him from actually breaking eye contact. His stomach was doing several summersaults, and he felt his cheeks start to burn. They were sharing the same air now. “Thank you,” he managed to croak out finally.

Michael smiled, his eyes flicking to Alex’s mouth for a second before looking back into Alex’s eyes. Alex did not look away.

And then Michael’s lips were on his.

Time stopped.

The world faded away.

All Alex knew anymore was Michael’s lips pressed on his, and one of his rough hands sliding ever so gently up to rest in his neck, his fingers burning against Alex’s skin. Before Alex knew what he was doing, he was kissing Michael with just as much passion, both his hands coming up to grab Michael by the collar, pulling him closer, then letting his hands drift into Michael’s curls.

Doubts and confusion were gone. Alex was sure of only one thing, and that was that he wanted Michael to keep kissing him. That he would do almost anything for Michael to never stop caressing his face, for Alex’s fingers to never leave Michael’s hair.

They had to come up for air though, and the broke apart with a gasp. They were breathing heavily. Michael’s pupils were dilated to a point his eyes looked almost black and he looked absolutely astonished. Alex knew the feeling. “Have you…” Alex began, but had to take several breaths before he felt steady enough to continue. “Have you ever done that before?”

Michael laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, but never…”

“Never with a guy?” Michael nodded and they both burst into giggles. “Yeah, me too.”

“Is this okay?” Michael asked, pressing his forehead against Alex’s, his hands still in Alex’s neck, the same way Alex’s fingers were still firmly tangled in Michael’s hair.

Alex nodded feverishly. “More than okay. Yeah. Yup. I mean. Wow.” They both laughed again, and then they were kissing again. They sank into the soft grass and they spent the rest of the afternoon tangled up, exploring each other and expanding their relationship beyond what either of them had dared to dream.

The guitar lay forgotten next to them.

Present day, 20th October, 1935

Alex was sitting in the dining carriage. Beth Otto had volunteered to help Isobel clean herself up before talking to Alex, and Alex was waiting for the both of them to return. He flipped through his notebook, trying to piece together what little he knew.

Noah Bracken killed Rosa Ortecho fifteen years ago. He was accused but acquitted on accounts of no evidence. Fifteen years later, Rosa Ortecho’s murderer becomes the victim of a murder himself. Murdered on board the Orient Express, in a locked cabin, with only his wife in the cabin with him. The wife is the obvious suspect. However, the time of death roughly corresponds to the train’s stop in Vinkovci, and combined with an unexplained open window whilst the coldest autumn in years was sweeping through Europe, it was also very possible a murderer had slipped aboard the train in Vinkovci, murdered Noah Bracken and escaped through the window before the train departed again. But what is the meaning of the burned newspaper clipping? A message? A covering of tracks? Maybe a private detective on board spooked Noah Bracken? And how to explain the dozen or so vastly different wounds?

Alex had the feeling he was missing something very vital, but he did not despair yet. He had not talked to any of the passengers. Right now, they were his suspects.

“Hey,” a soft voice startled him out of his thoughts. Alex looked up to see Michael standing by his table. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking bashful, looking at him through his curls. He looked beautiful.

Alex shook his head slightly and shot him a brave smile. “Hey.”

“Mind if I sit?” Michael said, placing his hand on the back of the chair across from Alex. Alex nodded and Michael sat down. It was strange to be so close to Michael without any discomfort between them. They looked at each other for a while, Alex feeling his shoulders relax slowly. “You okay, Alex?” Hearing his name from Michael’s lips like that, in that soft, concerned voice made Alex nearly melt. He’d always been weak for Michael, and ten years of separation had evidently not changed that.

Alex sighed. ‘Yeah,” he said, then shook his head, “it’s a weird case.”

Michael nodded, never taking his eyes off Alex’s face. Alex was suddenly very aware of his hands lying on the table next to his notebook. Michael’s elbows were on the table as well and Alex had half a mind to take his hands.

But he’d lost that right when he walked away a decade ago. It was no use dwelling on it now.

“So how’ve you been, Alex?” Michael asked finally.

Alex shrugged. “You know. Went to war. Got my knee shot to hell. Nearly died. Then went into the private investigator branch. Turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

Michael chuckled. “You always were able to spot the little details.” The fondness in Michael’s voice completely threw Alex. After the cool demeanour Michael had held towards him since they ran into each other, this was the last thing Alex expected.

“How have you been?” Alex almost feared the answer. It opened the window for Michael to really go off on him.

Michael surprised him yet again, however. “It was really bad for a while, after high school. No job, no family…but then my siblings found me.”

“The ones who got adopted and had to leave you behind in that foster home?”

Michael nodded. Alex heart clenched with joy for Michael. He and his sister and brother had been found by the side of the road as small children. Michael had been an unruly child, and when his siblings got adopted, the adoptive parents refused to take Michael home as well. It had left Michael deeply scarred, leading to his early alcohol and nicotine abuse and overall delinquent behaviour. Though he’d usually managed to stay within the lines of the law. Usually. “Yeah. Turns out they had been trying to find me for a few years, but since I ran away from that last foster home, nobody knew where I was. But they found me, a year or two ago. We’ve been growing closer ever since then. It’s been really great reconnecting with them.”

“Michael, that’s amazing,” Alex said, and before he knew what he was doing, he had grabbed Michael’s hand. Michael barely flinched, just turned his palm upwards and stroked Alex’s hand with his thumb. Alex returned the gesture in kind. Just like that, Alex was back under their tree, looking at Michael for the first time after their kiss. A full decade had not been enough to make him forget how he felt for Michael. In some ways, nothing had changed between them.

But in other ways, everything had changed.

Alex swallowed hard, closed his eyes and gathered his courage. “Michael, I’m sorry. But I have to ask. Where were you around 3am?”

Michael’s movement stilled and the atmosphere became absolutely frosty. “Seriously?” Michael asked, jerking his hand back. Alex’s hand remained behind on the table, feeling cold. He shivered slightly. “We’re having a moment here, trying to fucking reconnect, and you want to know if I have an alibi? You honestly suspect me?”

Alex clenched his eyes shut. God, he had the worst timing in the world. “I’m really sorry, Guerin, I really am, but I have to know. The carriage was locked on all sides. You were one of only 8 people who could’ve done this. I need to know. If nothing else, I need to rule you out. I can’t let personal feelings get in the way of this.”

Michael scoffed. “Alright, Alex,” he said, with nothing of the softness in his voice, “A few minutes before three we arrived in Vinkovci, and I went outside. I blew the whistle for the 1-minute sign at 5 past three. At three oh six, the train continued on its way and I went back to my cabin to warm up, since it was freezing outside. I did not emerge until around 4, when Mrs DeLuca rang the bell and asked me to refill her water jug. After that, I was not outside my cabin until Mrs Bracken started screaming. Satisfied?” He jumped to his feet, and Alex rose as well, feeling absolutely miserable.

“Michael, wait.” He grabbed Michael’s arm just as the other man wanted to pace off. “I spent last evening with the DeLuca’s and Dr Kyle, and the way Kyle and Maria interacted…I don’t know. It made me think about who I was, when all this started. Before I went to war.”

Michael pulled his arm from Alex grip and looked at him in near contempt. “Yeah, well, where I stand nothing’s changed.” His voice was like a dagger straight through the heart, but the words also sparked some anger in Alex.

“Yeah. Including the way you look at me.” Michael, who had been poised to retort with something undoubtedly hurtful, shut his mouth with a snap, his eyes widening. “And that’s a problem for me, Guerin.” Alex wasn’t exactly yelling, but his usually quiet voice had gotten a sharp edge to it. All the hurt and confusion he’d been feeling over the past 24 hours was bubbling to the surface and he was unable to hold any of it back. “Because every time you look at me, I’m 17 again. And I forget that the last ten years even happened!” Michael’s entire face was transforming, from decidedly pissed off to something akin to astounded. “And then you look away! And I remember all over again, and it almost kills me! Every time!” Alex was embarrassed to hear his voice break at the end, but the words were out now. Michael was frozen, staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers.

Just as Alex was about to turn around, giving up on him completely, Michael opened his mouth, and Alex was surprised to see a single tear escape from his eye. “I never look away,” Michael said, his voice surprisingly soft. “Not really.”

Alex opened his mouth to reply, although he wasn’t sure what, but then the carriage door slid open and Beth entered with an arm firmly wrapped around Isobel Bracken’s shoulders. “Oh, I’m sorry, did we interrupt something?” Beth said, looking startled as she saw the two men standing not two feet apart, both looking equally devastated.

Alex was the first to snap out of it. “No, of course not. We were just finished.”

Michael threw Alex a hard to read look and then exited the carriage, but not without brushing his hand against Alex’s. The familiar shock of electricity went through him for a second, and then Michael was gone. Before turning to face the two women, he wiped hastily at his eyes.

He had to snap out of it. A murder had been committed on board this train, and whilst the victim was most likely a vicious killer himself, Alex’s sense of justice would not allow him to let this go. He was going to solve this, preferably before they arrived in Paris in two days. In short, he was on a deadline.

“Mrs. Bracken,” he said kindly as he turned around and extended his arm for her to take. She did so, shakily, and allowed him to guide her to his table. “I’m so sorry for you loss, ma’am. I cannot imagine what you are going through.”

“Thank you, detective,” Mrs Bracken said, her voice shaking badly. “I think this qualifies as the worst day of my life, truly.” Every other word, she had to bring her handkerchief to her mouth to stop a sob from escaping. Alex noted that she had been cleaned up and looked quite put together for a woman who had just gone through the worst morning any spouse can go through.

“Miss Otto, would you mind giving us some privacy?” he requested of Beth, who had been hovering over Isobel. She nodded, squeezed Isobel’s shoulder in support and left the carriage.

“Mrs Bracken, I know this is a very trying time, but if we want this murder solved before we arrive in Paris, I need to know everything you can tell me about your husband. Had he any enemies?”

Isobel hiccupped. “I mean, he ran an oil company. He made quite a lot of money. One can’t make money in oil without making some enemies. But there was nothing that pointed to someone threatening him, if that’s what…” She trailed off, her face transforming almost comically to thoughtfulness. Alex cocked an eyebrow in question. “Well, he got some weird letter before we boarded the train. As we were checking out of our hotel, the clerk gave him an envelope. He opened it, read it, and became very upset. He first tore it in half, then stuffed it in his suitcase with a promise to burn it first change he got, which he eventually did in our cabin. When I asked, he wouldn’t tell me what was in it.”

Alex wrote it all down, noting that the burned piece of newspaper could very well have been in this envelope Mr Bracken had received. “How did he appear after that? At dinner, for example?”

“He was very distant, would barely talk to me. He was engrossed in his papers, even though he had promised not to work on our holiday. But it was almost as if he was possessed, he was almost feverish. I offered him some of my sleeping medicine, but he wouldn’t take it and, oh…” Suddenly she teared up again. “Oh god,” she wailed, “the last talk we ever had was an argument. I can’t believe this is happening!”

Alex nodded, allowing her to cry for a minute. He knew from experience grieving widows were especially hard to interrogate. Pushing it would only make them more upset, but he couldn’t be too lax. They usually had some vital piece of information. “Mrs. Bracken, please, just a little while longer. You said sleeping medicine. What kind do you take?”

“Barbital,” Mrs Bracken said, and Alex raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that unusual, Mr Manes. I’ve had night terrors, and they stopped when I started taking barbital.”

“Mrs Bracken,” Alex said, working to keep his voice even. “Your husband’s bedtime tea was laced with barbital. That’s why he never fought back.”

Isobel’s eyes widened, her eyes filling up with fresh tears and she let out a heartbroken wail. “You don’t think I gave him the barbital, do you? I would never drug my husband, Mr Manes!” She sniffed. “I will check if a bottle is missing for you, Mr Manes. Just to give you some peace of mind.”

Alex inclined his head in thanks, wrote down the new information, and continued. “In Istanbul, did you notice anyone following you?” Isobel shook her head. “And finally, did you at any point during the night, open your window?”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “Mr Manes, it is barely 41 degrees outside. Why would I do that?” Then she started sobbing again. “He was so cold…”

Alex wrote it down and closed his notebook. “Thank you, Mrs. Bracken. I will need to talk to you again later, but I will let you process this a bit further first.”

Isobel rose, still sobbing, and left the carriage, leaving Alex behind, lost in thought.

So, the murderer had sent the newspaper clipping to Mr and Mrs Bracken’s hotel. Was it a warning? Or a way to make Noah make a wrong move? Blackmail? Was the barbital from Mrs Bracken’s supply? And how did that window open?

Still so many unanswered questions, and more than a few coincidences Alex couldn’t explain away easily.

The carriage door slid open again and a person far less welcome entered. Compagnie director Jesse Manes crossed to his table in two strides and sat down without being invited. “So, Mrs. Bracken did it, yes?”

Alex frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. The door was locked, the only person who could’ve done it is the person in the room.”

“I’m not at all convinced. There are several things that don’t add up. The open window for one. The irregular stab wounds for another. Plus, why would Isobel Bracken want to take revenge for Rosa Ortecho?”

Jesse Manes scoffed. “Please don’t ask me to explain a woman’s logic. They’re not always the most reasonable of sorts.”

Alex rolled his eyes heavily and leant back. “Charming. A true miracle mom didn’t stick around, she really missed out on a quality husband.”

Jesse Manes gave him a contemptuous look. “Don’t blame me for your mother leaving, boy. She wasn’t right in the head.”

“Well, someone wasn’t, anyway. Pretty sure it wasn’t her, though.” Alex rose before Jesse Manes could do anything more than glower at him. “If you would be so kind as to hand me the keys to the luggage carriage. I want to check it for clues. Perhaps even the murder weapon.”

Scowling, Jesse Manes slammed his master keys on the table and rose. “It’s through the Belgrade carriage. Have fun looking through three cars worth of luggage.”

“Thanks!” Alex said, managing to sound cheerful as he grabbed the keys and left the dining carriage before his father could do anything else. As he walked, he noticed his fingers trembling slightly. He’d developed that unfortunate tell after his discharge. It only happened when his adrenaline levels spiked sufficiently enough to bring up his heartrate and fool his body into thinking he was in danger. Being around Jesse Manes apparently triggered it.

He unlocked and relocked the door between the Paris and Belgrade cars, stepped through, and made his way to the back where the luggage carriage was located.

It was one big mess. Mostly overlarge suitcases and meticulously wrapped parcels occupied the space and it wasn’t very well organized. Just looking at this gave Alex a headache. Pushing through it, he began to wade through the luggage.

About ten minutes in, he froze solid. His hand had landed on a guitar case. Slowly, he pulled it from the mess and held it up, vaguely hearing his miserable attempts at producing sound from Michael’s old guitar drift towards him from the past. He almost opened it to see the guitar and hold one in his hands again, when a voice snapped him out of his memories. “Nostalgia is a fickle mistress, yes?”

Alex almost dropped the guitar. Instead, he put it back down carefully and turned around. Michael was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame and smirking slightly. Alex took a step towards him. “You know, after I was discharged, I thought for sure I would never see you again.”

Michael pushed off from the doorframe and took a step forward as well, his hands buried in his pockets again, looking at his feet in a very transparent way to hide his nerves. “Is that what you want?” Michael could barely look him in the eye as he stopped to a halt a few feet away.

Alex blinked a few times, trying to find a suitable answer. What did he want? “We’re not kids anymore. What I want doesn’t matter,” he echoed the words his drill sergeant had yelled at him more often than he cared to remember. And yet he had moved closer to Michael. They were now barely a foot apart.

Michael’s eyes snapped up to Alex’s fully now. Something unspoken went between them. Alex’s eyes flicked to Michael’s lips, and then Michael was on him.

Once again, it was like the last ten years hadn’t ever happened. Michael felt so familiar against him, the warmth of his hand in his neck, how his lips moved against his. Alex’s body reacted instinctively. His hands pulled Michael closer to him by his belt, then tried to find somewhere to hold, but he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch. He wanted to touch everywhere. When he landed on his waist, he wanted to touch his face. When his hand was on Michael’s face, he wanted to run his hands through those curls.

Michael walked him backwards, and Alex’s back hit the wooden wall with a thump. Both moaned softly as Michael pressed himself against Alex as close as possible and Alex could already feel Michael’s arousal against his leg. Michael’s hands were roaming all over his body and in the end landed on Alex’s hips. His fingers dug into his flesh, drawing another gasp from Alex’s lips.

Alex heart felt full to bursting. He hadn’t been kissed like this in a decade. Sure, he’d had some kisses here and there, but where does one find a fellow queer man in America in one of the most conservative times of the country? But Michael was the only one who could make his entire being feel on fire with barely a few touches. Michael broke the kiss after what seemed like an eternity, pressing his forehead against Alex’s. Their breathing was heavy, in complete sync as they held onto each other.

Every point of Alex’s body that touched Michael’s was tingling heavily, and his lips felt swollen from Michael’s enthusiastic kisses. “That was…” Michael said, trying to recover his breath.

“A one-time thing,” Alex forced himself to say. The longer he and Michael weren’t kissing, the more he returned to his senses. Michael was a suspect in a murder investigation, Alex wasn’t supposed to be making out with him.

Michael barely looked concerned. “Mm-mm. That’s what you said after that first time.” His hand slid down Alex’s body, landing on his crotch. Alex inhaled sharply, closing his eyes at the intense sensations. “Mmm. I don’t think he quite agrees with you, Alex.”

“God, Guerin,” Alex growled, his hands grabbing Michael’s face and pulling him close again. The kiss was hotter now, fuelled by lust more than pain. Quick as a cat, he spun Michael around, so his back was to the wall now. Alex grabbed his hands and pinned them above their hands. Michael chuckled breathlessly. Even after all this time, Alex still knew exactly what Michael liked.

Alex rolled his hips against Michael’s and the intense friction made them both groan. “Alex,” Michael growled, sounding absolutely wrecked. Alex had to call upon the very last shred of his willpower to pull away enough to look into Michael’s eyes. “This is a very dumb idea,” Michael continued, even as his lips chased Alex’s.

“It is,” breathed Alex, as he nipped Michael’s lips, “You’re a suspect in a murder that I’m investigating.”

“This could be seen as a conflicting interest.” Michael captured Alex’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down lightly.

“It really could,” Alex agreed in a muffled voice.

Still, it took the two of them another ten minutes to recover enough of their self-control to pull apart. At this point, they were both panting heavily, and Alex was painfully hard. He couldn’t help but notice Michael was in the same predicament. “Let’s pretend this never happened, for now, shall we?” he said between heavy breaths.

Michael nodded, not looking at Alex as he tried to regain his breath. “Yeah. We don’t want your father finding us in a compromising position again, huh.”

“Please, don’t joke about that, Michael,” Alex said in a pained voice.

“Sorry.” For a few minutes they were silent, both trying to recover their strength enough to leave. “Okay, I think I’m good now. See you around, Private.” With an absolutely wicked grin, he tapped his conductor’s hat and left the luggage carriage, leaving Alex behind who was in no way shape or form ‘good’.

He would probably not be able to leave this carriage for a while yet. Sitting himself down on the nearest trunk, Alex began rifling through the other luggage at random, hoping to find any clue.

Focus was hard to find, however, and it took him a full two hours more to search the rest of the carriage. He came away with no new clues.

As he re-entered the Paris carriage, he saw Michael talking to the tall white man he’d overheard someone call ‘Max’. Michael spotted him as well, and over the tall man’s shoulder, he threw Alex an absolutely sinful look. Alex groaned inwardly.

It was going to be a very long day.

#malex #malex ff #malex fanfic #rnm ff #roswell new mexico #Alex Manes #Michael Guerin #a disaster bi and a chaotic gay #what could go wrong #otp:I Don't Look Away #motoe au #my fanfics #my malex ff

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vagrantblvrd · 6 years ago

Text

Breathe (1/1)

Summary: “Hey.”

Trevor looks up to see Alfredo leaning against the open doorway, frown on his face as he takes in Trevor’s no doubt alluring appearance. (Strange how self-care falls to the wayside in times like this.)

“You look like shit.”

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Alfreyco in my Stargate AU. :D?

(Read on AO3)

Trevor presses the heel of his hand to his eye as pain spikes in his head, darts a glance at the bottle of aspirin sitting there all nice ad tempting but can’t remember the last time he took some.

Can’t remember much of anything, really, other than this impossible task he’s been given. (Gave to himself, because half his team is missing and that just won’t do.)

Snatched away from a research site while Trevor was overseeing the transport of samples and fancy alien technology to their labs back at the SGC.

Not even half an hour gone by and a cut off distress signal and staticky broadcast from Michael before they lost contact, the Stargate on their side shutting down without warning.

By the time they reestablished contact, sent a probe through, they were nowhere to be found.

Ample evidence there was a fight of some kind, dead scientists and several military personal. Ryan and Michael missing and some odd little alien gadget left behind Trevor hasn’t been able to make heads or tails out of.

“Hey.”

“You look like shit.”

Such sweet nothings from his dearest Fredo.

“Well,” Trevor says, and doesn’t quite know how to follow up with that. “Yes.”

Alfredo snorts, pushing off against the door frame. He looks tired, like the General’s been sending him and every available volunteer out to look for the rest of their odd little team at every available opportunity.

Team after team of volunteers streaming through the Stargate in search of their missing people and nary a clue as to their whereabouts to be found.

Alfredo and Lindsay leading the charge, as it were, pushing themselves harder than anyone else out there because they know better than anyone else the odds stacked against them with each passing moment.

All the enemies the SGC has amassed over the years and more waiting in the wings to be discovered.

Unintentional cultural misunderstandings that spin out of control in the blink of an eye, or devil’s deals with the Goa’uld the SGC doesn’t know about until it’s too late and a trap has been sprung. Other variables and it’s enough to make a man wonder why they keep doing what they do. (Almost.)

Ryan and Michael out there who knows where by now in the clutches of someone or other and not a goddamned thing anyone can do about it except hope.

There’s a soft snuffle from the couch against the far wall, and Trevor and Alfredo look over. Watch Gavin sleeping fitfully after Trevor forced him to get some rest after who knows how many hours awake. Starting to make stupid mistakes, hands shaking and this desperate look to him that was hard to bear.

He doesn’t wake, and Trevor breaths out a sigh of relief. Gavin's earned his rest, needs all he can get because he has poor sleeping habits as it is and this latest crisis is doing him no favors.

“Hey,” Alfredo says, gently taking the scanner Trevor’s gotten a death grip on out of his hands. “We’re going to find them, okay?”

Trevor snorts, because the odds of their teammates being alive are slim to none by this point.

Too stubborn, mouthy, those two. Likely to sass whoever grabbed them one time too many and humans are ever so fragile.

Can take a beating and keep on ticking, sure, but they’re not invulnerable and there are so many ways to kill them. (So many enemies who’d draw it out just for the hell of it.)

“Of course we will,” Trevor says, hears the exhaustion in his voice as he does. “And we’ll find a stockpile of ZPMs we can send on through to Atlantis while we’re at it.”

Come up with a surefire plan to defeat the Goa’uld, put an end to the threat the NID poses. Solve every problem the SGC has faced in its existence all at the same time, good guys save the day.

Hooray.

Alfredo stares at him for a long moment, and shakes his head. This tired little laugh and a hand coming down on Trevor’s shoulder, gently little squeeze meant to convey reassurance, understanding. All those things and more besides, thumb brushing Trevor's neck..

“Okay,” he says, soft, wry. “Alright. Time to take a break, Trevor.”

He can’t. Too much work to be done still, crack the mystery of this little mystery gadget that had been left at the scene of the crime, so to speak, in the hopes it might give them some answers.

“Yeah no,” Alfredo says, firmer this time as he bullies Trevor to his feet, no give to any of it even though he hasn’t lost that smile. “You let Gav have a break.”

That’s different.

Gavin works harder than people realize, runs on less sleep than Trevor does half the tie and anyway, anyway, he’s not the reason -

“Trevor.”

Trevor’s train of thought derails, screeches off into oblivion at Alfredo’s tone of voice. Firm, unyielding, not about to to let some stupid little scientist overrule him.

“You need a break,” Alfredo says, catching Trevor’s eyes. “Just for a little bit, okay? Let that big ol’ brain of yours recharge, and then you and Gavin can get back to it.”

Trevor blinks, glances at Gavin and sees Lindsay talking to him quietly. Sees the curve of her smile from this angle, snorts at her threat of tattling to Michael on him if he doesn’t get up and Gavin’s sleepy protest.

“One hour,” Trevor says, because he’s so tired, and he trusts Alfredo to know his limits better than he does sometimes. “Just a little nap, Fredo, and then I’m back here figuring the doodad out.”

Scientific term, that.

Alien doodads and doohickeys, a specialty of his these days. (Sometimes he dabbles in thingamabobs.)

Alfredo nods, makes this little noise in his throat like yes, yes, absolutely Trevor as though he isn’t humoring the half-mad scientist under his watch.

“Why don’t we give Harper a crack at it until then, yeah?” he asks, tipping his head towards the door to Trevor’s lab where said scientist is standing.

Knows how much is resting on their shoulders if they hope to get the others back and more than capable of bearing the weight for a short while. There are others behind her in the hallway, more volunteers because their people are counting on them and this is the best part of the SGC, he thinks, these people.

Trevor looks up at Alfredo, feels himself smile at the raised eyebrow.

Cocky bastard, Alfredo.

Thinks up his crafty little plans and all the confidence in the world they’ll work.

Trevor gets his feet under him, lets Alfredo take over for a bit. Go over to Harper and the others while he helps Lindsay get Gavin up and moving. Still half asleep, hair going every which way and they’re quite a motley little group, his team.

That vise that’s had a grip on his heart since they got word something had gone wrong squeezes just that much more because they’re missing a few key pieces, aren't they.

“Stop thinkin’ so much, Alfredo says, easing up next to Trevor to place a guiding hand on his elbow as he escorts him to the elevators. “You’re going to break something.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, reluctant smile tugging at his mouth for the old joke between them. (Trevor and Alfredo exploring another planet and all kinds of new shinies to play with and no idea what any of it was beyond exciting as hell.)

“I’m a scientist,” he says, careful, deliberate enunciation. “Thinking is what I do, man.”

Alfredo slides a look at him, and yes, okay. Not his best comeback.

Not back then, and certainly not now.

“Yeah, well.” Alfredo shrugs, stepping back to let another group of scientists out of the elevator when the doors open. Polite little greetings and the like, and then he's gently ushering Trevor inside once it's empty, Lindsay and Gavin slipping in behind them. “Take it down a notch for now, okay? We’ve got it covered.”

Trevor sighs, because Alfredo’s not wrong.

The SGC only recruits the best and brightest, and anyone not up to the job?

Well.

The learning curve here is far too steep, and they’ve lost far too many good people over the years. The ones who are still with them have proven to be remarkably resilient and resourceful. Harder to kill than most out of sheer pigheaded stubbornness. (Ryan and Michael are prime examples.)

“I’ll see what I can do,” Trevor says, ignoring Alfredo’s tired little laugh because it really is the best he can promise for now.

#alfreyco #ragehappy #stargate fusion au #prompt fills #anon #No Yesterdays #vagrant fic

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revwinchester · 7 years ago

Text

Pride Parade

Summary: Officer Sam Winchester volunteered to work at his city’s Pride Parade. Along the route he meets a bunch of men dressed in angel costumes and sparks fly with one of the attractive angels.

Pairing/Characters: Sam x Gabriel; Castiel, Balthazar, minor Lucifer, minor Michael, minor Dean

Word Count: 2606

Warnings: A little bit of language, mention of anti-gay protesters, mostly naked men, Sabriel fluff

A/N: This was based off of an idea I got from @nanika67 who was an amazing co-conspirator and beta throughout the writing of this piece. It’s also my entry for the @gabriel-monthly-challenge this month and the dialogue prompt is in bold in the fic! Enjoy some Sabriel fluff!

GMC Peeps: @archangel-with-a-shotgun @ashiewesker @lacqueluster

Read Pride Parade on AO3 here!

Pride Parade -

The morning was already hot. The sun was beating down and a bead of sweat was dripping down Sam’s forehead. Sam removed his cap to wipe the sweat away, regretting volunteering for this particular shift. He had wanted to attend the parade, sure, but the weather forecast had called for some cloud cover and temperatures in the low 80s. Here he was, though, walking the parade route in his full uniform on a 96 degree morning without a cloud in the sky. At least he had remembered to put on sunscreen, he mused.

Sam loved being a cop. He had never entertained the thought of it when he was a kid - his dad was a cop and he hadn’t wanted to end up like his father, hard and harsh - but he had wanted to help people and the police academy was cheaper than law school and, now that he was in the life, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Even on days like today, where the uniform was more a physical burden than anything else, Sam wore it with pride.

A group in the crowd was passing out water to the marchers and offered a cup to Sam, which he gratefully accepted. He was slowly walking the parade route, making sure that none of the spectators were taking their revelry too far and laughing off the cat calls he was getting from a number of the parade’s marchers. Sam knew he was attractive - he had to keep in great shape for his job - but he was here to work, not fraternize with the sometimes half naked participants, no matter how hot some of them were.

As group after group of marchers passed him, Sam would occasionally change his pace for a few moments to engage in a quick conversation, reminding the people to stay hydrated or pointing out a kid along the route who might appreciate a piece of the candy the marchers were tossing into the crowd. Once he had to escort one of the parade’s participants from his group to the Pride Festival’s first aid tent before he returned to his place walking alongside the marchers.

Another group of marchers was walking past Sam and another round of catcalls began. He turned to wink at the group and paused, really taking them in. They had one of the nicer floats he had seen in the parade; they’d obviously spent a lot of time working on it. There were a number of men on the float, all of whom were wearing angel wings. One was in a full on angel get-up, another was dressed in drag, completing his look with fishnet stockings, heels, and a headband with sparkling devil’s horns. The devil was clearly antagonizing the angel and Sam had to laugh at that. He turned back to the crowd for a moment but his attention was drawn to the parade once more when he felt hands on his shoulders. One of the angels hopped up onto Sam’s back.

“Hey there, Officer Sexy,” the angel exclaimed.

Sam shook him off of his back, trying not to let the man fall too hard. “Sir, you can’t do that,” Sam commanded, his voice stern. When he turned to face the man, his voice softened, “I’m actually a cop,” Sam explained. It wasn’t the first time that day a marcher had mistaken him for someone in a costume though none of the others had been quite as bold - or as attractive - as this man.

“Oh, I know, Officer,” the man replied. “That uniform covers way too much to be anything but standard issue. I’m Gabriel, by the way.”

Gabriel was at least 6 inches shorter than Sam, if not a little more, with dark blonde hair and whisky colored eyes. He wearing angel’s wings like his companions but, aside from that, he was mostly bare. A rainbow patterned thong covered Gabriel’s groin but nothing else was left to the imagination.

Sam chuckled at the man. “Gabriel,” he tried the name out, “the name suits you, angel.”

The comment made Gabriel smile up at Sam and the officer thought the man was gorgeous. Sam couldn’t help but smile back at Gabriel.

Gabriel snuck behind Sam and tried climbing up on his back again but Sam shook him off for a second time.

“Seriously, Gabriel, I can’t have you on my back while I’m working,” Sam scolded him.

Gabriel pouted up at Sam, hoping to garner sympathy points with the officer. “But my feet hurt,” he tried.

“Well, you should have thought of that before you decided to march without shoes on,” Sam laughed and Gabriel just pouted harder. He ran off to talk to one of his friends - this one had messy dark hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a gay pride flag tied around his neck like a cape that fluttered out over his wings - and Sam thought thought that the beautiful angel had tired of him but soon enough, Gabriel was back and attempting to climb Sam again.

“Gabriel, you can’t…” Sam began but the honey eyed man cut him off.

“I’m not going to be on your back, I swear! You’ll have your hands free for whatever police stuff you need to get done,” Gabriel assured Sam, “and think about how many more people I can reach if I throw candy from way up here!” Gabriel had basically scaled Sam’s body and was situating himself on the tall man’s shoulders.

Sam shook his head, laughing to himself as he realized that he had lost this battle. As long as he wasn’t creating trouble, the easiest thing to do was to give Gabriel the ride that he apparently so desperately desired. Except sitting on Sam’s shoulders didn’t seem to be enough for the man.

“Officer Sexy is a good look but if you’re going to walk alongside my friends and I, you need to be a little more… festive,” Gabriel told Sam.

Sam wasn’t sure what he meant by that but he wasn’t all that worried about it. What could Gabriel do from all the way up there, Sam figured. One of Gabriel’s friends caught Sam’s attention when he shouted in his direction.

“Gabriel, no!” the blue eyed man cried out and Sam whipped his head over to him as he felt Gabriel steal his hat just as something began raining down on him.

A few of the other angels looked over as well and snickered at their friend’s antics. “We’re not bailing you out, little bro,” the one in fishnets and devil’s horns called over. “Even if it means you end up missing the after party at The Elysian tonight.”

Sam turned his face upwards to see what Gabriel was doing that had his friends either amused or horrified. Instead of seeing Gabriel, Sam was met with a face full of glitter as the man emptied a second small bag all over him. “What the hell?” Sam asked, shaking his head to get the stuff out of his nose and off of his eyelids.

“I told you, you needed to be more festive!” Gabriel’s response was simple enough and when Sam turned his face to look at the man again, he was wearing Sam’s hat.

“You did not just dump glitter on me, Gabriel,” Sam growled, gripping the man’s calves tightly as he fought against the smile that threatened to break out on his face. The truth was, Sam hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Sure, he was going to catch shit from the rest of the guys back at the station for being covered in glitter when he got back but right now, Sam didn’t care about that. The officers stationed along the parade route were encouraged to interact with the crowd and participants. It was part of why he enjoyed working the event; he would be here anyway and this way, he got paid for it and got to see more than he would have if he were marching with the off-duty officers who were farther back in the lineup.

One of Gabriel’s friends walked beside Sam. “I’m so sorry, Officer,” the blue eyed man began. “Gabriel can be a little, uh, feisty, especially at things like this.”

Gabriel was grinning from ear to ear from his perch atop Sam and the officer could do nothing but laugh at the smaller man’s antics. He meant no harm, no one would be hurt by any of his actions, and, though he didn’t really know the man, Sam was sure that Gabriel would get down if Sam’s job ended up requiring him to intervene in something. Besides, the angel’s smile was infectious and Sam found himself grinning, too, and laughing as he turned to Gabe’s friend. “It’s alright. As long as there’s not any disturbances along the rest of the route, he’s not hurting anyone by being up there,” Sam assured him.

“I’m Castiel,” the man told him, extending a hand to shake.

“Sa…”

“OFFICER SEXY!” Gabriel shouted down, interrupting Sam’s introduction. “His name is Officer Sexy and I will not hear otherwise!”

Castiel squinted up at the man on the officer’s shoulders. “Gabriel, this man has a name and it would be respectful to use it.”

Something, presumably something Gabriel did, had Castiel rolling his eyes at the man on Sam’s shoulders. “Right now, Cas,” Gabriel called down, “all I know is one of us is right and the other one is you. Oh! And I know that Officer Sexy has officially been touched by an angel.” Gabriel wiggled his ass on Sam’s shoulders to emphasize his point.

Sam laughed again, turning back to Castiel. “I’m Officer Sexy, apparently,” he told the man, before mouthing “My name is Sam.”

Castiel laughed too, giving in to Gabriel’s antics, and sauntered back over to the angel he had been walking with earlier. The blond Cas was walking with gave Sam a deep, mock bow in greeting. “Do us a favor and arrest him for something,” the blonde requested. The man’s accent was beautiful and his words were dripping with sarcasm. “He’ll be like putty in your hands if you promise to use your handcuffs.”

“Balthazar...” Castiel admonished but the man, Balthazar apparently, waved him off.

“You’re always so serious, Cassie,” Sam heard Balthazar say. “I’m just having a laugh and if the man can take Gabriel climbing onto his shoulders, dropping bags of glitter over his head, and spouting off terrible puns - all while being referred to as Officer Sexy - I’m positive he can handle my joke.”

Sam took in everything going on around him and he could feel the size of his grin in his facial muscles; he wasn’t sure when the last time he had smiled like this was. Sam had known that today would probably be a fun shift but he had never imagined it turning out quite like this. A bright flash of light caught his attention and Sam noticed a photographer in the crowd had taken a picture of him and Gabriel and he looked up toward the man on his shoulders fondly.

They reached the parade’s designated ending point and Sam told Gabriel that he needed to climb down. Sam’s shift wasn’t over until the parade was completely done so he needed to turn around and walk back down the route and make sure that everyone was being safe. He dropped to one knee so Gabriel could climb down and, as he did, Gabe made sure to rub every inch of himself against Sam’s muscular back.

Gabriel smacked Sam’s ass and darted around the man before he could get back to his feet. “Thanks for the ride, Officer Sexy,” he smirked as he grasped Sam’s collar. Gabriel bent down, leaning in for a kiss but something behind him caught Sam’s attention and he sprang up and radioed for backup as he ran towards the fight that had broken out between some of the revelers and a group of protestors. He watched Sam work until other officers arrived on the scene. Some jumped into the fray, separating the two groups, while others encouraged the people who had gathered to continue moving along. Gabriel, still wearing Sam’s uniform hat, was swept up in the crowd and, though he looked for him throughout the afternoon, he didn’t see Officer Sexy again.

---

Sam finished his shift angry at the protestors for ruining what had been a nearly perfect morning. He was grumpy when he arrived back at the station but when his brother called him over to his desk, Sam had to smile at the photo Dean had pulled up on his computer. It was the picture of him and Gabriel that someone - apparently a photo journalist - had taken and it was part of a slideshow of photos from the event. Sam was covered in glitter but he and Gabriel both looked joyful and excited as the angel rode Sam’s shoulders and wore his hat. The photo was amazing and it would definitely be some good publicity for the police force. Sam began the paperwork that accompanied the altercation he broke up with a sappy grin on his face, dealing with the occasional ribbing about the glitter that was still covering his head and shoulders and wishing that he hadn’t been pulled away from the honey eyed angel so abruptly.

---

Sam wasn’t sure what he was doing here. The club scene had never really been his thing but he had overheard Gabriel and his friends talking about their plans to go to The Elysian tonight.

Sam had gotten home after the parade and managed to wash most of the glitter off of himself and out of his hair but he had a feeling he’d be finding the metallic flecks for days, if not weeks. After his shower, Sam had put on one of his favorite shirts, a navy blue v-neck with a particularly deep neckline. It clung to him in all the right places, showed off his chest, and hinted at the tattoo he had over his heart; Sam knew he looked good when he wore this shirt. He had paired it with his favorite pair of jeans and, apart from the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him this was a really dumb idea, he was feeling pretty confident.

He made his way through the crowd of people in the bar and ordered himself a drink. Before Sam could turn around and scan the room, he felt the now familiar sensation of hands on his shoulders and someone scrambling up onto his back.

“Officer Sexy! What are you doing here?” Gabriel spoke right into Sam’s ear from his perch on the taller man’s back.

Sam spun so that he could deposit Gabriel onto a bar stool. He turned to face him and stood between Gabriel’s legs, bending down so he could talk to the shorter man. The music in the club was loud and he had to get close to Gabriel’s ear to be heard. “I’m not on the clock, Sam is fine. I might have heard one of your friends mention you would be here tonight,” Sam admitted, “and I wasn’t content with how we left things this morning.” One of Sam’s hands landed on Gabriel’s thigh as he spoke and he could hear the stutter in the man’s breath when his thumb started rubbing circles into his leg.

“I had hoped you’d heard that; I’m glad you tracked me down, Sam,” Gabriel replied with a sexy smirk as he threaded his fingers through Sam’s hair and pulled the man in for the kiss they had been denied.

ALL THE TAGS! (forevers): @deathtonormalcy56 @supernaturalyobsessed @roxy-davenport @sumara62 @ginamsmith @gallifreyansass

Sabriel Tags from @mrswhozeewhatsis list: @mrswhozeewhatsis @theficlibrarium @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @ferferelli @chrisatplay @faith-in-dean @mamaimpala @winchesters-princess @impossible-box @dr-dean @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @saving-things-hunting-family @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @justanothersaltandburn @mysaintsasinner @brothersonahotelbed @klaineaholic @hexparker

#gabriel monthly challenge #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #sabriel #sam winchester x gabriel #Sam Winchester #gabriel #fluff #supernatural #SPN #fics by Rev

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