A Deal With The Teen Devil

Allie's mom leaves her with her elder sister Lyra for the week, since she has a function in Paris. But Lyra lives with her long-time boyfriend Ian, who loves nothing more than teasing his girlfriend's baby sister.

Read on to discover the hilarity that ensues when Ian screws up an important moment with Lyra, and Allie has to step in to save the Day


1. A Deal With The Teen Devil


“Go fuck yourself, you chauvinistic PIG!” she screamed as she slammed the bedroom door, and made her way to the front door of the apartment.


Not two seconds later, their bedroom door slammed open again, and Ian walked out, shirtless, wearing low-slung jeans. I’d drool, but I was used to it now; he was half naked most of the time, anyway. Besides, being my sister’s boyfriend was kind of a turn-off.


As he saw Lyra’s retreating form heading towards the front door, he called out, in a teasing tone, “Baby, why would I need to do that, when I have you?”

Lyra, apparently too livid to answer, didn’t break stride, and flipped him the bird when she reached the door. She slammed that door as well. The door rattled in her wake.

Damn. It was way too early for this shit.

“What did you do now?” I asked, from my spot on the breakfast bar, still in my PJ’s, nursing a bowl of lucky charms.

“What makes you think I did anything?” he asked as moved towards me, eyeing my breakfast.

“Because you’re a boy. And also, stop staring at my charms. Go get your own bowl, because I’m not sharing”

“My house, my rules. And since you’re staying here…” he said, in a singsong voice, green eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Technically, it’s an apartment. And I’m only staying here until Mom gets back from Paris. Besides, I sneezed in this.” I stated.


He huffed, pouting, but walked towards the cabinets, and pulled out a box of cocoa puffs. I slid the bottle of milk towards him, and he went about fixing himself a bowl of cereal.

“Why did Kate go to Paris, again?” he asked, scratching his head, making his blond hair stand up in odd directions, as he tried to locate the carafe.


Been living in this place for almost four years and he still doesn’t know where the coffee pot is. Figures.


“She has a black-tie function in Calais. There’s a gallery viewing scheduled; seven of her paintings are being auctioned off for charity, and she’s been asked to attend as a guest of honour. The coffee pot is behind you, on the stove. Didn’t Lyra tell you any of this?”

“Well, she brought it up last night, but we were…otherwise occupied.” he says, in a suggestive tone, grinning like the Cheshire cat.


Oh, God. The mental images. The horror.


As if it wasn’t enough to have to hear them go at it all night long, now I also have this to deal with.

“UGH, Please! I’m sixteen, for the love of God!” I cry, disgusted.

I could tell he was holding in a laugh.

“So? You’re gonna have sex at some point in your life, aren’t ya?” he continues, with that arrogant smirk of his.

I felt my face heat up, all the way from my neck till my ears, and I knew I was blushing. Hard. And with my damned fair skin, he could see it clear as day. He didn’t hold it in this time; he threw his head back and laughed, a rich, deep mellow sound, full of life and juvenile mischief.

If there was anything he loved more than teasing me, and keeping me in a perpetually blushing state, it was his precious Wii Nintendo.


As soon as he’s out of the house, I’m setting it on fire. The thought made me smile.


After he’d calmed down enough, and the chuckles had stopped, he walked across the bar, to the stove, to check on the coffee. I continued with the earlier conversation.

“Did you knock down her bedside picture frames this time?”


“Nah that was last time”, he said, munching noisily, as he sat down on the breakfast bar, across from me, with a bowl of Cocoa Puffs in his hand. I crossed my legs under me, sitting Indian style, with the bowl in my lap.

“Did you leave your laundry on the floor again, than?” I asked.

He stopped chewing, and cut me a look, and I had my answer; No.


Of course he wouldn’t leave his laundry out. Last time he did – which was over three months ago, if he was to be believed – Lyra had kicked him out of their bedroom, and he’d had to sleep on the couch for six days. Lyra had said that the original punishment was supposed to be ten days, but neither of them lasted that long.

“So, what was it, then?”

He didn’t answer right away. He waited until I had a spoonful of cereal in my mouth, and spoke, right before I could swallow. The bastard. “I asked her to marry me.” I choked, spitting out the cereal onto the breakfast bar and the floor below, as my body erupted in a coughing fit. Some of the cereal had fallen on his jeans, staining the sky-blue denim a dark navy hue.

Through the fire in my lungs, that little fact gave me a perverse sense of satisfaction.

“Goddammit, Allie, I just took a shower!” he exclaimed, as he jumped back, away from the bar, knocking the stool over in the process.

“Serves you right, you jerk.” I got out between coughs.

As soon as I settled down, I demanded answers.

“So, what? She said no?”

“Err, she didn’t exactly say Yes.” He admitted, as he scratched the back of his head, a sheepish expression on his face, his cheeks tainted a light pink.

“Oh, I know. I heard that part. I’m pretty sure the whole floor heard the profanities that came out of her mouth”

He said nothing. Refusing to look me in the eye. And then it hit me.

“Oh God, you screwed it up, didn’t you?”

Still, he said nothing.

“How the hell did you manage to screw up a proposal?!” I asked, both astonished and exasperated at the same time.

“I didn’t screw it up. I merely didn’t phrase it in the most romantic manner”, he said defensively.

“Oh. So, you didn’t screw it up. You just, screwed it up” I deadpanned.

He said nothing, just glared.

“How did she take it?” I asked cheekily, just to piss him off a bit.

“Even Old Mrs. Reynolds across the hall knows how she took it”

“Yeah, she was pretty loud, wasn’t she?” I mused.

“So, what exactly did you say?”

“Long story short, I just said that, you know, after being together for more than eight years, it makes sense to get married” he said meekly, refusing to look at me.

A moment of silence followed. And then I dumped what was left of the cereal in my bowl, over his head.

He scrambled off the high barstool before I could dump the entire bowl over his head, but I did manage to get quite a few soggy charms into his blonde hair.

“What the fuck?!” he hissed.

“You ask a girl to marry you, you ask my sister to marry you, because it’s the most logical step ahead? What the hell is wrong with you?! Have you met Lyra?”

“I was nervous!” he cried.

“No, nervous would be dropping the ring. What you did, was not nervous. With Lyra, what you did was downright suicidal”

He walked over to the couch, and slumped down, with his head in hands. Sighing, he asked, “I really fucked it up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did”

He looked up then. ” Do you ever beat around the bush?!” he asked, with narrowed green eyes.

I pretended to think about it for a second.

“No”, I said, with a shake of my head.

“I swear, sometimes I think you and Lyra are twins. So?” he asked, looking at me expectantly.

“So, what?” I asked back, bewildered.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“What do I get in return?” I asked, playing the shifty trader.

“Name your price”, he demanded, with a guarded expression.

I kept silent, thinking it over.

For Lyra, he’d do anything. Oh, I could quite literally milk this cow for all it was worth. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was loaded, I’d feel a bit guilty for the extortion.

Clothes? Hard cash? A new laptop? His Wii?

And then I knew.

“Your first born child”, I stated, with a cold smile.

He glared.

“You only get the middle name, nothing more” he growled.

Woah. I was going to demand for a name starting with my initial. By my standards, a middle name was a great deal. I’d be an idiot to push for more.


“I would’ve done it for the first name” he smiled mockingly, thinking himself superior, as he shook my hand.

“I would have done it for the initial”, I sniggered back at him, digging my nails into his palm.

  “Damn it!”




So, this was originally supposed to be a one-piece, but I didn’t want to make it too long, so I’ve decided to split it. It will most likely have either two, or three parts, depending on how much I want Ian to suffer.


If you’ve read this, and liked it, please do let me know if you think I should continue with it, or just leave it as it is.

And, as always, constructive criticism is welcome, encouraged, even!


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