#Oh Edgar that was pretty smooth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ddproductionsw77 · 2 years ago

Text

Four Kisses

Fandom: IT (2017)

Pairing(s): Stenbrough, Billverly (it happens but, like, just trust me on this guys, okay?), Hints of Reddie and hints of Benverly

Characters: Stan Uris, Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak, and Richie Tozier

Rating: T

Description: A story of four different kisses between four different people that ends with two boys being a little scared and a lot in love (Aged-Up to High School)

Author’s Note: This is the REVISED version, (hopefully) typo free and pretty! The poetry quotes come from Edgar Allen Poe’s poem “Romance.” and the lyrics are from the song “Come On, Eileen” by Dexys Midnight Runners.

|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|

The First Kiss (That started it all…)

It had begun, like so many things, in the summer of ’89.

Bill and Stanley had always been best friends.

Bill understood him better than most, listening to him and reasoning with him when he had to. There were times were Stan felt like a neon display board before Bill, like the other boy could read every thought in his frantic, nervous brain. There were times where they would look at each other and not have to utter a single word to know what the other was thinking.

Stan cherished those times.

And Bill would just do things… things he really didn’t need to just because he wanted to. Over time, Stan had come to understand it was just a fundamental part of Bill Denbrough that he would do anything for a fellow Loser. Still, he found himself a little awestruck by it from time to time.

It was in the summer of ’89, though, that they met Beverly Anne Marsh.

Stan saw the way Bill watched her.

He saw how the other boy’s jaw would slacken and his mouth would fall open a bit like Beverly was a masterpiece to behold. He saw the way the pair would inch toward each other, would brush the backs of their hands together, would blush and smile at each other like they had some little secret. And for a long time, Stan didn’t understand why Bill and Bev’s interactions lingered in his brain. He couldn’t explain the way his gut twisted when Bill would glance at him only to slip his gaze back to Bev.

He didn’t really want to think about it too much. It felt... dangerous to dwell on.

Yeah, it started in the summer, just a week after Beverly had moved away from Derry and right before they’d start their last year of middle school. Bill was still moping around, as was Ben. Mike had to help his grandfather with the farm and Eddie had some appointment for an x-ray on his arm. So, Stan had wordlessly let Richie in when the bespectacled boy had shown up on his stoop, just like he had about a million times before.

Richie made his way noisily through the Uris household. Once he reached Stan’s bedroom, he threw himself down on the other boy’s neatly made bed. Stan remained standing, rigid in his posture by the door.

Richie sat up, groaning and resting a hand against his side, “Son of a bitch.”

Stanley rolled his eyes before wordlessly leaving the room.

He returned a moment later with a glass of water and two capsules of pain reliever. Kicking Richie’s dirty converse with his gleaming shoes, Stan held both out, “Drink up, Trashmouth. It’ll help.”

Richie swallowed the pills after a roll of his eyes, before narrowing his gaze on Stan, “What?”

“What?”

“The fuck you lookin’ at me like that for?”

“Oh, I don’t know because it’s not like you just got your ass handed to you by your own mother.” Stan snapped, sarcastically.

Richie’s face broke into an impish grin and he winked, “There he is, Stan the Man, everybody!”

Stan wasn’t a moron, he’d seen the way Richie looked at Eddie — a bit like how Bill looked at Bev. He inspected his orderly fingernails, all the exact same length and filed smooth. His heart pounded in his chest and he began uttering the names of birds under his breath.

Richie’s grin faltered a bit, familiar with the nervous tick, but he managed to keep it in place as he stood up and raised his hands playfully, “No need to have a meltdown over little ole me, Stanley. Breathe.”

“It’s not that,” Stan shook his head, turning away from Richie to begin pacing, “Robin — Sparrow — Crane — it’s something — Swallow — else.”

“O…kay,” Richie hummed, watching his friend wear down the carpet. “Spit it out, Stanny Boy. Can’t be that bad; I already know about you killing Jesus and all that.”

“Beep, beep,” Stan muttered darkly before sighing loudly, “Richie, what- I know you- Can you—“

“Jesus fuck, Stanley!”

“How did you know you liked boys?” Stan finally got out, feeling like he might vomit the moment he managed it. Richie stared at him with a bewildered expression on his face and Stan cleared his throat that felt like it was closing up on him and stopped dead, “I mean, wh-what does it feel like?”

“What does it feel like?” Richie echoed, stunned. “To be into dudes?”

Stan nodded, not meeting the other boy's eyes through his glasses. “That’s what I fucking asked, isn’t it?”

Just like that, the Trashmouth seemed to snap himself out of his shock, his expression curling into his signature smirk of amusement. He rolled his eyes and Stanley contemplated punching him in the throat. Before he could act on this, though, Richie opened his mouth.

“I’m pretty damn sure you know exactly what it’s like, Stan the Man. Or have I just been imagining all the eye fucking you’ve been doing to our poor, innocent Billy Boy?”

Stan was mortified, staring at Richie with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

Holy fuck, was it that obvious?

Richie sighed at Stan’s horrified expression before taking a few slow steps toward the other boy. He raised his hands in mock surrender again and grinned, “Stan, it’s fine. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who notices. Nobody else really thinks about how a guy looks at another guy…”

“But, but I can’t like Bill,” Stan implored, “I don’t like him.”

Richie looked thoughtful for a moment, chewing his lip before suddenly grabbing Stanley. Before Stan could react, Richie kissed him.

His first kiss…

It was short and quick, nothing like in the movies with fireworks and slow motion. Nothing like how Stan had thought it would be to kiss another boy then again it was Richie and not Bill.

It was always Bill in his head…

When it was over a beat later, Stan began sputtering and Richie cut him off. “Stanley, just listen to me, okay?”

Stan mutely nodded.

Richie sighed and shrugged before continuing, “Did you feel anything?”

Mouth pressed into a tight, white line and fist clenched, Stan shook his head.

“Me neither,” Richie supplied. “All I could think about was E— um, someone else, wishing I was kissing them. You?”

Stan nodded once again.

“Bill?”

Nod.

“Stanny, you got it bad.” Richie stepped away from him, making his way back toward Stan’s bed.

Stan gulped, “I know about Eddie.”

Richie froze, back still to Stan. A second later, his shoulders slumped and he looked back at his friend, “Yeah, well, I got it pretty bad, too.”

So, Stanley was gay.

And he really liked Bill Denbrough.

And he didn’t have a fucking chance.

|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|

The Second Kiss (That complicated everything…)

Stanley managed to live with these inevitabilities throughout all eighth grade.

It’d been pretty easy with Bill still be very much missing Beverly Marsh. He’d spend hours telling Stan, Richie, Eddie, Ben, and Mike about what they talked about on the phone when she did manage to call. Stan knew Bev wrote Bill, too, having caught sight of letters tucked into Bill’s notebooks with her handwriting sprawled across them.

It was easy to remember Bill was a hopeless case when he had those constant reminders.

High school was different, though.

Bill hardly ever brought Bev up anymore and when someone — usually Ben — did, he’d just smile and say he missed her before moving along. No more long sighs or forlorn, lovesick looks. Anyone could sense a difference in the dynamic especially Stan, who knew Bill best.

Another change that came with Freshman year was that Stanley found getting his straight As was a bit more difficult. He abhorred English and art most of all because he wasn’t one for interpretation and that seemed to be all those subjects were. He liked the comfort of fact in numbers and equations, like in science and mathematics.

Luckily, Bill had stepped up to help him once his classic literature grade fell to a C-.

The boys would spend hours in the library or in one of their bedrooms, pouring over Shakespeare, Hawthorne, and Tolstoy. Bill loved Jules Verne, H.P. Lovecraft, and H.G. Wells, Stan discovered, and he’d read Frankenstein and Dracula three times each, annotating his own copies to hell.

What Stan loved most of all, though, was when he was really stuck, Bill would read aloud to him. The other boy never once stuttered when uttering the words of long-dead authors and just like that the passage would make sense to Stan. It was good for both of them.

Their almost daily after-school meetings had become the best part of Stan’s routine. Being with Bill and having his full attention for a few hours, that would be enough to pacify him. He’d never have to confront all the swirling confusion in his head over his best friend if he could just keep having those few hours.

The month before spring break, however, everything got fucked up.

It was dark in Bill’s bedroom, the only light coming from the dim lamp on his bedside table and the setting sun outside the windows. Stan laid back across the foot of his best friend’s bed, staring up at the ceiling without seeing it. His mind wandered as Bill sat up with his back to his headboard, reading aloud from a book of Edgar Allen Poe poetry.

“His pleasures always turn’d to pain—

His naivete to wild desire—

His wits to love—his wine to fire,”

Something had changed in Bill’s voice and he grew quiet.

Stan turned his head to look at the other boy, eyebrows drawing together.

His stomach dropped, finding Bill’s bright blue eyes focusing on him intensely as if he’d forgotten the book before him entirely. Electricity buzzed through Stan’s bloodstream and he slowly rose to a sitting position, eyes never leaving Bill’s as the other boy opened his mouth, continuing without even glancing at the words.

“And so, being young and dipt in folly,

I fell in love with melancholy…”

Stan’s eyes flickered to Bill’s lips as the other boy trailed off and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. The air seemed heavy with some raw emotion that Stan couldn’t name for the life of him. His heart pounded in his ears and he leaned forward as if a string was tugging him closer to Bill.

Stan wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Bill Denbrough more in that moment than he’d ever wanted anything in his whole life.

Like he was reading Stan’s mind once again, Bill pushed the book aside and moved forward until his face was inches from Stan’s.

The curly haired boy took in the scent of him, wanting to commit it to memory so that he’d be able to take it out and revel in it later. Bill smelled how Stan imagined all writers must smell; like paper and ink, book and boy. Stanley fell into those piercing blue eyes with his own hooded irises, being pulled under the current of them without a fight.

When Bill spoke it was so quiet that even centimeters apart Stan barely heard him.

“I fell in love with melancholy.”

Then they were kissing.

Stan gripped Bill’s baseball tee like it was the only thing keeping him from floating far, far away and Bill settled in closer, his fingers tracing the bones of Stan’s rib cage as he felt the rise and fall of the other boy’s lungs.

They parted for a second, eyes fluttering open to stare at each other before Bill kissed him again.

Soon, Bill gently pulled Stan on top of him, sprawling them back on the bed. Stan let himself fall onto his elbows and hovered over the other boy. Bill gripped his hips and pulled him down, closer. Without paying any mind to his actions, Stanley slotted his fingers into Bill’s hair and was reminded of the down feathers of birds.

Bill smiled against his lips, moving his hands to his face and kissing him harder. A moment later, his best friend’s tongue was in his mouth and Stan felt lightheaded. Grape chapstick and spearmint toothpaste were what Bill Denbrough tasted like; Stan had always wondered.

Now he knew… Maybe he had died, or maybe he was dreaming because kissing Bill Denbrough could not be his reality.

Stanley Uris was not that lucky.

Bill pulled at Stan’s shirt, untucking it and slipping his hands under the hem. As his cool fingers made contact with Stan’s pale skin, a shock went through the boy’s whole body and brought him crashing back to reality.

He was kissing a boy.

He was kissing Bill.

—and Bill had untucked his shirt! It would get wrinkled! He would go home and his mother would ask why his shirt was wrinkled and he’d have to tell her! She’d see it on his face! That he’d kissed a—

Stan jumped up, shoving Bill back, “No! Stop! I—No!”

He tried to correct his shirt but his hands were shaking too badly and his vision was blurring.

Ohgodohgodohgod!

FuckFuckFuck!

Stan’s head was spinning and he thought he might throw up —what a shame that would be; it’d make all the Bill taste go away.

What the hell had just happened? What— what the fuck was he supposed to do?

Bill was on his feet in seconds and striving toward him, “W-wait, Stan, p-p-please—!“

He reached out to gently rest a hand on Stanley’s arm, touching Stanley’s skin again. Yelping as if burned, Stan ran into Bill’s dresser and nearly fell to the ground trying to scramble away.

Bill liked girls—Stan was gay.

Bill could never like him—Stan didn’t have a chance.

Bill looked so hurt—Were those tears in his eyes?

It couldn’t be, this wasn’t happening.

“Stan, I’m s-s-sorry, okay? I juh-juh-juh—“ Bill seemed stuck on the word and Stan longed to stay put and wait patiently for him to get there eventually but he just couldn’t this time. Not when he would still feel Bill’s hands on his back and taste grapes and spearmint in his mouth.

“You shouldn’t have— You can’t— I can’t—“ Stan clawed up his bag from the ground and bit his cheek hard, looking back at Bill once more before he fled the bedroom.

Stan hated himself after that, even more than usual. He went gone to school the next day and expected to be confronted, yelled at, or even punched. He wanted to feel Bill’s anger, like a penance for what he’d done.

He was shit and he deserved to be treated like it.

But, of fucking course, Bill was who he was so none of that happened.

Instead, Bill had greeted him with all the other guys, a smile on his lips. If the smile didn’t reach his eyes, Stan didn’t let himself think about it and he most definitely didn’t comment on it. He didn’t comment either when Bill said he couldn’t tutor him after school that day, or the next, or the next.

Bill didn’t like him. Maybe Bill was curious or maybe he felt bad for Stan, maybe he’d found out how Stan felt. The kiss could have come from a million different things but Bill most definitely didn’t like him.

|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|

The Third Kiss (That clarified it all…)

Beverly was coming back to Derry.

Bill couldn’t believe it, honestly. The Losers Club was conditioned to take hits as they came and rarely stumbled into fortune. Beverly coming back, though, that was a fucking miracle.

He’d missed her like crazy. He missed her spirited presence, her easy humor, the way she was always brushing hair off her face and smirking at him like he was the biggest fucking nerd she’d ever met but she still found it endearing. He missed her floral perfume and her mixed wardrobe of dresses, leggings, and overalls always paired with untied work boots that somehow never tripped her.

The first day of spring break, when she’d come strolling up the Denbough’s sidewalk, Bill had thought for a moment that no time had passed at all. Maybe it was still the summer of 1989. Maybe Bev had never left, maybe he’d had never kissed Stan, maybe Stan hadn’t shoved him away, maybe the ache in his chest wasn’t really there.

But, no, that wasn’t how the world worked. Bev coming home didn’t reset the clock.

Beverly ran and hugged Bill first, shrieking in joy as she ran into his waiting arms.

Bill lifted her right off her feet and spun her through the air. Setting her down gently, Bill ignored the feeling of eyes on his back. He didn’t have to look to know it was Stanley watching them; he could feel it in his chest.

Bev was just as excited to see Ben, Richie, Eddie, Mike, and Stan as she had been Bill. Still, the stuttering boy noticed how Ben’s arms lingered around Bev’s waist when they embraced. When the pair finally parted, Bill also noticed the faintest of pinks spread across Beverly’s freckles

Bill thought he should probably feel jealous.

Fuck, how long had he been hung up on Beverly after she moved away? Months? A year? Now she was back and he was so happy to be around her again but not like he’d been back then. His palms didn’t sweat when she stood close anymore and his heart didn’t skip a beat when her blue eyes glanced his way.

No, Bill’s heart raced for someone else these days… not that it mattered.

Stan had hardly spoken to him seen they’d kissed. He didn’t come over anymore and never invited Bill over. Ben or Eddie helped him with his homework nowadays and something in Bill’s chest burned with anger every time he thought about that.

What right did Stanley have to be angry at him? So what? Bill had kissed him, so fucking what? He’d obviously misread everything between him and Stan; he’d thought something was there that obviously wasn’t but did that really deserve the cold shoulder? The total and complete write off?

Fuck Stanley Uris.

Bill didn’t need him, could learn to not long for him, would force himself to move forward. He’d done it once already, after all, over his infatuation with Beverly and he’d do it again over Stan.

Bill could figure this out.

He could.

Things took a turn for the stupid on Bev’s last night in town, however.

Her aunt went a town over to visit a friend, giving her niece permission to stay with one of her friends. Of course, Beverly had asked Bill. The Denbrough house was like Losers Club headquarters; everyone stayed there.

And Bill had said yes because why wouldn’t he? His parents were even out of town for the weekend; he didn’t have to bother with asking their permission if it would be okay.

That night, Beverly grinned at him, swirling her finger over the rim of one of his father’s whiskey glasses.

“Thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, Billy?”

He snorted, resting a hand on her’s to still it, “N-no way, Bev. My Dad would notice, t-trust me.”

Bev pouted, looking downcast at the wooden floors. Bill narrowed his eyes before sighing and taking back the hand on her’s to pinch the bridge of his nose. “B-but, I think I might have su-su-something up i-in my ruh-ruh-room.”

“Your stutter still gets worse when you’re nervous, like when we were kids,” Beverly grinned, “It’s still cute.” She leaned forward to whisper before grasping his hand and leading the way upstairs.

Bill had the good stuff, tequila, one of Beverly’s personal favorites. The bottle started full and within a few hours, it was nearly finished off.

The pair sat on Bill’s floor, laughing at something that sober Bill and Bev would have known was not that funny but drunk Bill and Bev thought was fucking hilarious. The radio played loudly through the room so that both of them had to raise their voices to be heard by the other.

“So,” Bev started with a giggle after taking an impressive gulp of liquor, “You and Stan…?”

Bill’s grin fell and he suddenly felt the boards of his bed dig into his back as he sprawled his legs out in front of him, “No. Definitely nothing happening there.”

His stutter always faded away when he was drunk enough, he loved it.

Her eyebrows drew together, “Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Bill reaffirmed, taking the bottle back for another swig, “He—He’s not—It’s not bullshit. Nothing is going on.”

Beverly fell back, growing quiet with a look of confusion.

The tell-tale strings of ‘Come On, Eileen’ began playing and Bev gasped, jumping to her feet so quickly it was actually quite impressive to behold.

“Oh fuck, I love this song!” She cried, beginning to dance about. Bill watched with an amused curl of his lip, his back to his bed, still on the floor. A second later, Beverly was grabbing at him and dragging him to his feet. “Dance with me!”

Bill set the tequila aside and allowed her to pull him up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, coaxing him into a reluctant sway. He laughed at the ridiculousness of it all before resting his hands on her waist. Within seconds, the pair was dancing dizzily around Bill’s bedroom, stepping on each other’s feet and nearly tripping over his rug.

Spinning Beverly, Bill pulled her back into his chest and grinned down at her face, just inches from his own.

These people round here

Wear beaten-down eyes sunk in smoke-dried faces

They're so resigned to what their fate is

But not us (no, never)

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” Beverly mumbled, growing somber as her big blue eyes looked into Bill’s.

His heart sunk and he swallowed, “But you’re moving back in the summer. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“I don’t want to wait till summer. I miss you,” She said with a sigh, “I miss all of you.”

“We miss you, too,” He admitted, “Saying goodbye is gunna suck.”

Beverly nodded, glancing back with a slight blush before she looked up with a playful smiling, “Remember saying goodbye last time?”

Bill mind flashed to a summertime breeze, the scent of blood in the air, and Beverly’s lips on his. He’d been so swept up in her back then. Her heart, her mind, her everything was just so beautiful… still was.

“Yeah, I remember.”

Beverly slipped her hands from around his neck to his face, cradling his jaw and running her thumbs over his cheekbones. With a little huff of resignation, she leaned in, pulled him in, and kissed him hard.

Suddenly, Bill felt thirteen again, trying to tell his first crush everything he felt for her in one last goodbye kiss. He wrapped his arms around Beverly, pushing himself flush against her and deepening the searing, tequila flavored kiss.

No, not us (no, never)

We are far too young and clever (remember)

Too-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-rye, aye

And you'll hum this tune forever

With a moan, Beverly pushed her tongue into his mouth and he greedily accepted the invitation. Something in the back of his mind screamed out in protest, reminding him of ironed shirts, pristine Adias, and curly brown hair, but he was too drunk on liquor, Beverly, and music to care. A sober Bill would have known how stupid this was.

Walking the girl backward, Bill picked her up when they reach his bed and sat her down on the mattress. Quickly tossing his shirt aside, he slotted himself between her legs and ducked his head to kiss down her neck from the ear to the base. Beverly gripped his hair and moaned when he pressed his lips to a certain spot.

“Bill—“ She breathed out, pulling at his hair until he was forced to pull away and meet her gaze. “Are you sure? Nothing has to happen. I’m gone tomorrow.”

“That’s the p-p-point, Bev,” Bill muttered, kissing her again and laying her back on his bed to hover over her, “We’re j-j-just suh-saying goodbye.”

She traced a thumb over his lower lip, “Even drunk, you stutter when you’re nervous,” Bev echoed herself from earlier before nodding, “Okay, Billy, tell me goodbye.”

So, he did.

Come on Eileen

Oh, I swear what he means

Aah, come on let's

Take off everything

That pretty red dress

Eileen (tell him yes)

|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|

The Fourth Kiss (The one that finally brought them together.)

“Get the fuck up and put some goddamn clothes on!” Someone yelled, shaking Bill awake.

He startled up and looked blearily on. He found he had a splitting headache and was indeed clothe-less; Richie Tozier of all people was standing in his room, too.

He squinted away from the sun and groaned, “Wh-what time is it?”

“Time for you to fucking explain some shit,” Richie snapped, throwing boxers and a t-shirt at his friend harder than necessary. “So put your dick away, please.”

After tugging the clothes on, Bill’s brain began to whirl at a sickening pace and he glanced around the bedroom once again.

“Looking for Bevvie?” Richie asked, quirking an eyebrow. “She already left. A fucking hour ago. That was why I was here, why all the Losers were here; to tell her goodbye until the summer.” Richie explained, sounding more and more angry with each word. “When fucking Stanley asked where the fuck you were, you know what Bevvie said?”

Bill looked away, ears flushing. He could guess…

“She said you two had already said your goodbyes… So, I thought, what the fuck does that mean? And then she got all weird and blush-y and wouldn’t look any of us in the goddamn eye. You know what I thought then, Billy Boy?”

Bill cringed, both at what he knew was next and at Richie’s rising voice.

“I thought, holy shit… Bill fucked Bev.”

“Sh-sh-shut up, Richie!” Bill snapped, looking back up at his friend to glare, “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn't like what, Bill? Hmm? You didn’t have sex with Beverly, then?” Richie accused.

Bill fell silent, his whole face now bright red. Richie snorted.

Anger now igniting in his chest as well, “Wh-what’s it to you anyway, Tozier? Wh-what happened has f-fuck all to do with you!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Richie looked at him incredulously, “No way you don’t see how fucked up what you did is. Normally, you’re a fucking moral compress, Denbrough, you know you screwed up!”

“Wh-what?” Bill asked, genuinely confused, “With Bev? It was just a goodbye, Richie! She k-knows that! It’s not like s-she’s in love with me!”

“BUT STAN IS!” Richie yelled at the top of his lung, slamming a fist down on Bill’s desk. His glasses were knocked askew.

Bill stood stock still, forgetting to breathe for a second. All the emotions, feelings, thoughts he’d been trying to repress ever since Stan’s rejection came crashing into him like a tidal wave. Shakily, his knees gave out.

Falling back onto his mattress, Bill swallowed hard and shook his head, “B-beep beep, Trashmouth. Y-you have no idea wh-what you’re t-talking about.”

“No, no, you don’t get to fucking ‘beep’ me right now, Billiam!” Richie snapped, putting a finger up. “I know exactly what I’m talking about! I’m talking about how Stanley told me he had feelings for you almost two fucking years ago! I’m talking about how you, not Stan, started up all the flirting and the alone time with him this year! I’m fucking talking about how much a total dick you have got to be to string Stan along, only to fuck Beverly!”

“I-I-I was-n’t st-stringing him alo-along!” Bill felt like he had no oxygen, making him gasp with each involuntary stutter. It was so fucking infuriating and made him itch to punch something.

A numbness slowly venturing up from his fingertips to spread across his body. He choked as he tried again to speak, “H-he— He—“

“Shit, this’ll kill him,” Richie grabbed a fist of his own curls and tugged with a groan, “Fuck you, Bill. Fuck you.”

With that Richie left him alone in his bedroom.

Even after the weekend ended and he’d had so much time to think, Bill had no clue what to do.

Stan couldn’t have feelings for him, no matter what bullshit Richie said. Bill had given Stan every hint and clue in the book — hell, he’d read him fucking poetry and kissed him — and all he’d gotten was ignorance and rejection.

If Stan cared about him like he cared about him, why would he push him away at every turn?

But if Stan, somehow, someway, did feel the same as Bill… How the hell would he ever be able to tell him what he’d done?

Days later and sober, Bill could admit that having sex with Beverly hadn’t just been about saying goodbye to a friend and it wasn’t just about losing his virginity and it wasn’t just about being drunk. A part of him, a part he hated with a passion, had wanted…revenge.

He’d wanted to make Stan feel as shitty as he had watching the other boy tear away from him and get as far from him as possible. Having sex with Beverly, in some part, had been about getting back at Stan. It’d been out of spite.

Richie was right, Bill was a total dick. Fuck him.

Still, Bill didn’t completely regret it. He and Beverly had needed that closure, that certainty that nothing could ever happen between them anymore. They were meant for other people.

As he slowly walked to his locker, his locker just two down from Stan’s, he kept his eyes on his grey high-tops as they scuffed across the linoleum. His heart hammered in his chest and he had to make a conscious effort to not crush the paper in his hand.

Chancing a glance up, Bill came to a sudden halt that resulted in a body slamming into his shoulder from behind and nearly sent him sprawling. He barely noticed.

Stan was at his own locker with the door open, fiddling around with his textbooks until they were neatly ordered from tallest to shortest in size. Wearing a light blue polo and khaki slacks, Bill’s chest twisted at how the mere sight of the other boy could send him reeling.

Did Stan really have feelings for him, too? How would Bill ever tell him?

Taking a shaky breath, closing his eyes and counting to ten, Bill forced himself forward. Stan looked over as if he could feel Bill’s approaching presence. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he glanced back away, hands jumping back to rearrange his already perfect books.

Why does he have to be so damn cute?

Moving until he was only a few feet away, Bill cleared his throat, “I n-n-need t-t-to talk to yuh-you.”

“Yes!” Stan squawked, turning scarlet at the ears, “I mean, okay, sure… When?”

“Study h-hall?”

Stan nodded, expecting Bill to leave at that point. Only, he didn’t. He shifted from foot-to-foot before holding out his hand silently. There in his palm sat a piece of paper folded into the shape of a bird.

Stan stared at it for a long moment before glancing up into Bill’s eyes, “What’s that?”

Bill rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s an or-origami bird.”

“Oh,” Stan mumbled, cheeks flushing as he smiled just a little. Nodding, he carefully took the paper bird. Bill watched as Stan tucked the little thing into his locker, atop his history book. He turned back to Bill, “Thank you for...” He pointed.

Bill nodded, feeling even worse now about telling Stanley the truth. He sighed and started to walk backward, “I’ll suh-see you in study h-hall.”

Stan nodded, closing his locker and heading in the opposite direction. As he walked to class, his mind lingered on the little paper bird taking up residence on his history book. It was the first time Bill had asked to speak to him alone since... the incident. For a split second, Stan let himself hope that was significant and then immediately scolded himself.

He hated himself for hoping.

Study hall was both Bill and Stan’s second period and came more quickly than either of them was prepared for. Before things had gotten so messy and complicated between them, they had met almost every day in the Derry High Library, at the very same table in the far back corner where the librarian rarely bothered to check.

It was kind of Loser claimed, like the table in the cafeteria by the window where they all ate lunch together. By some miracle, all six boys had the same lunch period. Ben, Mike, and Stan always packed their lunches and Bill and Richie always waited through the line while everyone pretended not to notice how Eddie trailed alongside Richie despite packing his own lunch as well.

The table in the far back corner in the library was a bit like that. Their territory, neutral ground to any Loser... or two Losers who weren’t quite sure how to act around each other anymore.

Stan was waiting for Bill, straightening the pages of his notebook with an intense expression. So neat and orderly, Bill admired that about Stan since he just barely managed to keep his clutter organized enough for himself.

“H-hey,” He greeted, dropping his bag on to the table and slumping into the chair beside Stan.

“Hello,” Stan finally looked up from his notebook, still nervously fiddling with his nails. Meeting Bill’s eyes for a beat, he quickly went about inspecting his hands, “You wanted to talk?”

Bill nodded, trying to think of the right way to lay everything out.

He didn’t want Stan to run away again, didn’t think he could bear it again, but he was also so tired of keeping everything locked up in his head. He needed a release and to ease the weight on his chest before he exploded.

Half-panicked, he blurted out, “I had s-s-sex with Beverly.”

Stan’s fiddling fingers froze and his head shot up to look at Bill, mouth agape. He blinked and swallowed before slowly breathing out, “Oh,” Forcing in a lungful of air, Stan cleared his throat, “Congratulations, I guess?”

That was what one guy said to another when they scored, right? That was what Bill wanted him to say, right? Because they were friends and normal guys who aren’t in like — or maybe something more — with their best friends would be happy that their buddy had ‘gotten laid’.

Be normal, Stan. Just be normal. Ignore how much you want to throw up or cry or scream and just be fucking normal. He silently chanted, biting the inside of his cheek hard.

Bill sighed and dropped his head into his hand before looking back up at Stanley with a long sigh, “No, not c-con-congratulations! F-f-fuck, I juh-just—“

The boy was obviously flustered and nervous, with how much he was noticeably struggling with his stutter. Stan watched Bill rake a hand through his hair, hair he’d once touched too, with an air of confused. Well, what the fuck did Bill want from him, then? Why the fuck was he even telling him this?

“I m-m-messed up.”

The curly haired boy’s eyebrows drew together, “How? You like Beverly, so—“

“I don’t.” Bill cut off, his voice determined and sure. “Nuh-not like that, at least. The sex made that p-p-pretty clear. I m-messed up because I was with her wh-when I really like someone else.”

“Someone else?” Stan echoed, the pain in his chest growing sharper with each word. First, he’d had to hear about Bill fucking Beverly and now he was going to have to hear about some new girl that Bill liked even more? He didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to hear it... But he was Bill’s friend.

“I like you,” Bill admitted, his voice keeping that sure tone as he stared into Stan’s eyes.

The boy’s breath caught in his throat and he began jerkily shaking his head, “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!”

“You like girls, Bill. You like Bev and you think Heather Listing is hot and you don’t like me!” Stan snapped, standing up from his chair. “It’s not funny, it’s not a joke, so just stop!”

Bill stood with him, “No! You don’t know how I f-f-feel! I’m not kidding! B-being with Beverly only m-made me realize once and for all th-that the only person I really want to be with is you, Stan! I k-know you p-probably don’t feel the same and th-that’s—“

That’s whatever, he’d been planning to say. It wasn’t whatever but he wouldn’t burden Stan with feelings he didn’t return. That had been his plan, at least.

But he couldn’t even finish the sentence, hands grasping his face and lips slamming against his.

Stanley Uris, the most controlled person Bill Denbrough had ever met, was kissing him like his life depended on it in the Derry High Library on what could only be impulse. Bill didn’t care, though, moving closer and gripping the fabric of Stan’s polo in his fists. The weight in his chest lifted and for a moment, being with Stan like he’d always wanted to be, Bill felt more at ease than he’d been in weeks.

Stan was calming, his presence always comforting to Bill like a steady support to fall back on. A best friend but more…

When they pulled apart, Bill waited a few seconds to open his eyes, afraid that once he looked at Stan all he’d see was that same panic from his bedroom. Lids fluttering open, he found only a look of pure anxiety.

“I do feel the same way,” Stan admitted quietly, his breath ghosting over Bill’s face as they were still so close. “I’m just...” He trailed off, looking to the side shamefully.

“S-scared?” Bill supplied.

Stan nodded, flickering his gaze back to Bill’s.

“That’s okay,” The other boy shrugged, “I am, too. We’ll juh-just take it slow.”

“Take our time,” Stan agreed, nodding. “I like that.”

“M-me too. I’ll take all the t-time for you,” Bill reached out, slipping his hand into Stan’s and squeezing.

Stan actually smiled a little, squeezing back before bashfully muttering, “I really like you, Bill Denbrough.”

“I really like you, too, Stan Uris.” Bill replied easily without a single stumble.

#stenbrough #the losers of ‘89 were here #losers club #the losers club #stanley uris #bill denbrough #revised

12 notes · View notes

ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years ago

Text

Valentines Day for Nerds (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s favourite holiday is often taken up mostly by work, but this year his enjoyment doesn’t seem to be as disruptive in the BAU bullpen. The team soon realise why.

AN: It’s a bit late- who am I kidding? IT’S ALWAYS HALLOWEEN IN OUR HEARTS! This was a part of @imagining-in-the-margins fic swap, for the brilliant @agntprentiss <3

For my smut fic from the swap, check out A Little Indulgence (18+ only!)

Reader uses she/her pronouns!

Word count: 1.7k words

Gif credit to @imagining-in-the-margins <3

Your name: submit What is this?

The first breach of boredom was Penelope practically skipping into the bullpen, her arms cradling a bouquet of flowers as if it were an infant. The bold orange roses contrasted with the dyed black petals of its counterparts as they were planted upon Spencer’s desk.

“Delivery for Doctor Reid!” trilled Penelope, clapping her hands now that they were free of said delivery. Dropping his pen onto his unfinished paperwork, Spencer pivoted the base of the bouquet before he found a small black envelope.

It held a little card with two pumpkins, happy faces carved into them both. Inside were the following words:

Black is for new beginnings,

Orange is for enthusiasm,

Spooky times are afoot tonight,

Watch out for ectoplasm!

I spent ten minutes trying to think of a rhyme for that. Happy Halloween, Cara Mia!

Y/N xxx

Spencer beamed as he placed the bouquet at the edge of his desk, next to the fake severed hand that now held the card in its stiff fingers. He scratched his bristly cheek. Less than a day until he could shave this off. It’d be worth it though.

“Is it from Y/N?”

He looked up to see Penelope had lingered like a lost spirit, waiting to see if her trials of passing on the bouquet had been worthy enough for her to move onto the next world – her Batcave. She was poised with a hopeful expression.

“Yes,” Spencer said, watching Penelope lean up on her tiptoes as she tried to rein in her delight.

She clapped her hands, her purple painted nails clicking as they tapped together, “Are my two favourite ghost hunters up to much this Hallow’s Eve?”

“We’re going to see the Phantasmagoria re-enactment after we go trick-or-treating with Henry tonight.”

It was hard to ignore the absolute glee with which Spencer spoke. Even if one completely ignored the way his voice carried a light excitement, the way his eyes lit up and his broad smile almost fell off his face was enough to connote that he was very excited for tonight. It was also hard to ignore the mild bemusement on the faces of everyone who heard.

Glad to be back and bearing witness to his elated behaviour regardless, Emily cracked a smile, “Maybe she’ll cling to you when she gets scared.”

A heat crawled up Spencer’s neck and he tried to return to work now in hopes that his gift’s display would be cut off. He’d rather sit in the glow of receiving the flowers without mockery.

To the team’s credit, no one ribbed him for it.

The flowers were not the last gift though.

Soon Penelope reappeared, “Your Cupid has returned with another gift for you!”

As he tore at the paper and revealed an Edgar Allen Poe pin – the titular Raven he instantly attached it to his satchel strap – in pride of place, just like the bouquet.

Derek was the one to notice how Spencer’s sandwiches had been cut into little pumpkins. Some digging and Spencer revealed that he had gotten Y/N to order a cutter online. He held his lunch in one hand, his collection of classic Halloween short stories in the other, with a childish glee that no one wanted to squander.

When Spencer climbed the steps to drop off a file to Hotch around mid-afternoon, Rossi walking behind him noted the brand-new socks. A classic odd pairing, and obviously they were Halloween themed. This kid left no opportunity untaken when it came to celebrating Halloween – more than his own birthday.

But Rossi was not closed enough to get a good look at them, and no one else was as close. So, he recruited Emily and Derek to discover what the pattern was. It was Emily and Derek who upped the stakes by wanting to get a glimpse without arousing suspicion. Now that outright asking Spencer was not an option, the game began as they dropped several pens as an excuse to bend over and strain for a flash of those socks.

Derek eventually resorted to a pantomime attempt at tripping in front of Spencer’s desk and gave the jig up straight away by shouting to a stressed Emily (whilst also catching the attention of Hotch through his office’s blinds): “IT’S IT!”

A few language barriers hurdled later, and hindsight brought them both clarity. The red splodge on Spencer’s ankle was officially defined as a balloon.

“So tell us! What’s the other one?” Emily said, her voice strained with how much she was invested in this single sock.

Spencer hiked up his trouser leg to display the skeletal zombie sewn into the sock. “It’s Curtis Danko from When Good Ghouls Go Bad. Y/N had it commissioned for me!”

JJ was watching nearby, unaffected by the tensions of the sock bet. She knew the film because Y/N had wanted to show it to Henry the other week when she babysat him. But upon further inspection, the R.L. Stine film – while intended for kids – might be a little intimidating for Henry to watch without his profiler mother and godfather, police officer father, and favourite auntie there to protect him from the cursed statue.

No one else in the bullpen knew the film.

The team soon discovered that Spencer was not the only one to be on the receiving end of such gifts. Six o’clock rolled around and Y/N entered the bullpen. She was wearing a fuzzy black scarf, some sparkles shining within the wool. At the tail of it, a lucky black cat patch was sewn onto the end. It caught Rossi’s eye and he hid behind a folder as he smiled. The three times that Spencer had forgone a card game with him (in favour of knitting the scarf on the flights back from cases) had been riddled with playful teasing. It was good to see that it was worth it.

Especially when Spencer saw Y/N wearing it and his back snapped straight up. His chair flew backwards, spinning around with the effort that Spencer had launched himself from it, and he and Y/N embraced each other with casual affection.

“How was work today?”

“Not as boring as I thought. But, I have to say: I’m meant to call you Cara Mia.” Spencer’s eyes darted to the card Y/N had sent that morning.

Y/N caught onto his meaning, “Should I stop?”

“Never.”

She rubbed her nose against his and Spencer went pink again, giggling like a teenager. True, he was as smitten with Y/N as Gomez was with Morticia. Then he remembered he was in the workplace as Y/N went to greet the rest of the team, and Spencer’s pink became a scarlet.

“Aww, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned at him from his desk chair, “You’re so cute!”

“It’s like Sergio!” Emily said, admiring the scarf with her thumb rubbing over the stitches around the cat patch.

“Make sure he’s safe tonight,” Y/N squeezed her hands for a second.

Then JJ appeared from her office, coat and bag over her arm, and she, Y/N, and Spencer wished the bullpen a Happy Halloween before they left.

They had three hours before the Phantasmagoria started. Plenty of time to get ready.

Henry was right behind the front door of his home. The second it opened, he bounced at Spencer’s feet, his tiny hand clutching onto two of his fingers to drag him inside. He was babbling away at such speed that Y/N could barely keep up. She gave Will a wave across the ironing board where he was diligently ironing Will’s cape.

“Well don’t you look handsome!” Y/N beamed at Henry while JJ combed his hair back, slick with gel. It was something he agreed to but only if Spencer was doing the same. Which he was, occupying the downstairs bathroom as he prepared his own costume.

The moment Spencer had finished shaving everything bar the moustache, he was plonked in front of the television. Henry smoothed out his cloak and put in his plastic fangs in to watch the rest of his new favourite Halloween film, The Little Vampire. He mumbled along with Rudolph’s lines and sat enraptured as he pointed out to Spencer the flying scenes. Luckily for him, Will and JJ were getting dressed as Frederick and Freda Sackville-Bagg upstairs to join in the Halloween spirit – last year’s Halloween date night disaster long forgotten.

Henry put in his plastic fangs and hissed at Y/N who emerged in her long sleek black dress. As she stepped across the room as elegantly as Morticia, Spence spied that she was wearing the black spiderweb tights he had bought her today.

“Hello, Gomez,” She smiled radiantly at Spencer, smoothing out his suit jacket as he stood before her. He presented her with a red rose that matched her lipstick to a tee.

As she breathed in the flower’s scent, he kissed her cheek, enjoying her giggle at the bristle of his ‘stache, “You’re stunning.”

“Thank you, and you’re handsome as ever.” She swung their linked hands between them in the opposite way she poised on her tiptoes. “Maybe we should have taken a tango class.”

And she laughed loudly at Spencer’s wincing at such a thought.

“It’s ok, Cara Mia. I’ll settle for a kiss instead.”

Oh, that was something he could do forever. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles then the inside of each wrist.

Unfortunately, Henry interrupted the stream of kisses that were headed in Y/N’s way. “Ready to go!” He skipped his way between the happy couple.

It was hard to be mad at Henry, especially with how adorable he looked beside his parents and with his bright orange pumpkin bag ready to collect candy. He felt safe with his four favourite adults guarding him.

“Tonight,” Y/N whispered into his ear and he could hear the smirk in her words, “After the Phantasmagoria.”

Spencer beamed, his dimples delightfully framing that smile. One day maybe, they would have their own Wednesday, Pugsley, and Pubert to join them. And maybe then Derek would dress up as Uncle Fester.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing #fic swap #r: female #wc: 1k+

353 notes · View notes

loptyrs-moved · 4 years ago

Text

Talk Dirty to Me

A headcanon list of how the Ikemen Revolution suitors seduce you in bed with their words. Pillow talk and all.

More under the cut.

The Black Army

Ray Blackwell: He likes to tease. Oh, Ray could be mean if he wanted to be. He chuckles at the way his partner reacts to the way he says things and remarks how receptive they are. He likes to watch them slowly unravel, and tease them with filthy words and cruel fingers. Other times he doesn't fabricate, and just sheer honesty enough will send a chill. But Ray isn't above begging for release if you with hold it from him.

Sirius Oswald: Either he can be gentle and it gives his partner butterflies, or it can make them weak in the knees with how domineering it can be. He doesn’t fuck around. If anyone can turn your legs to jelly with just words alone, its him. Call him whatever you want. Sir. Daddy. His name—doesn't matter— he won't be finished with you until he has you completely undone in his hands.

Luka Clemence: He cannot fabricate it for the life of him. If his partner does it to him, he finishes fast. But he is just so honest, and it’s so needy and desperate. Or if he’s desperate enough, it’s a low growl in his chest that will send shivers down his partner’s spine. His moans are so pretty than it just adds.

Seth Hyde: He looks so sweet, but his mouth is absolutely filthy. He sounds so sweet and gentle when he says the dirtiest of things in his lover’s ear. But it can be a hiss that can definitely give them chills. Seth can be your devil, or your angel — he will shower you in tender, honeyed words that'll send you to heaven ... or he'll whisper things that'll make you want to sell your soul to him instead.

Fenrir Godspeed: Hell he’s got a filthy mouth in and out of the bedroom. But when he is in the bedroom, its playful, or it’s primal and wrought with desire. Every word burns. Fenrir is intense, and he loves giving everything, and taking it as well. He loves it when his partner does it back to him.

The Red Army

Lancelot Kingsley: He doesn’t really fabricate it much. But god does he praise how well his love is taking him, or riding him. It’s a hushed whisper against their skin as he fucks them deep and slow. His breath caresses you as you get lost in his love for you. There's the occasional swear that escapes him, and sets his teeth on edge, but a little thrill keeps things interesting.

Jonah Clemence: No one expects the Queen of Hearts to ever say anything profane. But he does. Especially when he's barely trying to keep himself from succumbing to his own wants. Either he can be absolutely devious with it, and be unbearably cruel, or he whines, and begs for how much he wants his love to give him sweet, sweet release. Either way, his voice is infectious and will haunt you in your dreams.

Edgar Bright: We done been knew that he can say such filthy things. Such a sweet voice has such an edge, it gives chills. But him whispering about how he’s going to tease his partner until they only know his name and his alone? Well. Prepare yourself. He lives up to the title of Gentle Demon as he makes you sing for him.

Kyle Ash: It’s casual stuff. It’s not super fabricated but it definitely gets his lover hot and bothered. However, he prefers if someone does it to him. He likes hearing you moan, and whine for him. Egg him on. Hearing how good he feels inside you will prompt him to make heated comments of his own.

Nonarmy Suitors

Zero: Absolutely not. He knows what it is but it’s embarrassing. But he does these deep raspy whispers in his beloved’s ear about how close he is, or how he wants them to join him in climax. He isn't a very talkative or vocal suitor to begin with, but the way he breathes your name like its the only one he knows is a gift in itself.

Loki Genetta: Look he’s gonna be staying such filthy things to his partner as he rails them against the table, or in the forest, and especially in an alleyway. He’s needy and he wants his lover to KNOW. He wants to tell them how he feels, how he wants to make them feel, and how much he adores them. Innocent remarks now are more suggestive. Cat got your tongue?

Blanc Lapin: It’s smooth and silky. Like velvet. It’s words one can drown in. They’re honeyed words of sheer desire and it they stick. They're words that you would hear from a risque love novel, however, his are genuine. His love is laced through each and every single one. He wants you to melt for him.

Harr Silver: He can’t do it and if someone does it to him, he’s undone. And FAST. He rather hear someone else do it to him. Only rarely will he remark how good his love feels. But that doesn't mean he isn't vocal in bed. Oh no, his deep moans are the ones that vibrate through his chest and leave you shivering.

Oliver Knight: We done been knew he’s a nasty dirty talker. But he can be degrading if his partner is into it. The Mad Hatter has a mean streak, and he will use it if given the go head. He’s frustrated and he wants to let them know he’s gonna use them for this. After he’ll be sweet. In his own way. His tenderness is in his actions. Lust lie in the words.

107 notes · View notes

vargaslovinghours · 4 years ago

Text

“...pretty sure I’m most of the way out of Vargas brainspace...”

Well, huh. Second verse, same as the first!

Was thinking quite a lot about their “first kiss” from Parent-Teacher Night - I realized afterwards that Edgar would almost certainly be wearing something much more suited to the occasion! If it’s going to be perfect, it’s gotta be ✨Perfect✨

Oh yeah, he can just do that. I actually had a lot of Hunchback-themed doodles, spanning probably a full page between my main and alt. notebook. I only realized very very recently looking back that I initially set it up to be a movie they see After but then doodled a bunch of stuff as if they could still share dreams, that’s not how that works at all!

I’ve gotten surprisingly good at drawing him just with my index finger lol. Sometimes a bad mood is best channeled through a judgmental Scriabin

I wanted to try out a bunch of different sitting and laying poses on the couch and made this for a base. They’ve got such long legs, it’d be all too easy to squish the other if one of them decided to stretch out hehe

Another Pearlcatcher Scriabin, as a test for my new notebook. Notebook did not make the grade, but he did turn out cute ♥ What a polite sit, folded wings and all. Wonder what element he’d breathe, hmm

More paper testing, ended up with a couple Edgar comparisons. I miss my old paper!! It’s hard to tell since I drew in the upper margin for the tests lol, false unlined

I might finish the present exchange minicomic yet, but if I don’t I’d hate to just leave it hanging! This is how I make doodle notes lol, the order is a bit all over the place. Edgar’s gift was a double scarf! It actually unbuttons into two matching scarves but it’s not immediately obvious so it just looks like a super-long scarf, made to be shared whether separate or together :) Plus a couple bonuses of Scriabin wearing his very terrible mask and the two of them sharing the scarf :D

Ambidextrous practice and an older idea of Scriabin being able to pronounce keysmashes lol, it’s good letter practice! Edgar is very disturbed, how are you making those noises with your mouth

King Edgar! Was feeling a bit saccharine, but could just as easily be about competing royalty, guess he won the battle for the crown. For now...

Pot calling the kettle black, there. Unjustified egoism? Unheard of!

The original-original sketch of this WIP, I don’t need a lot to go on for my brain to remember what I meant lol. I actually still rather like how the skeleton of his fingers are shaped, it’s a nice wide, stressed expression

I edit out most of my notes ‘cause they’re either this or memery lol. Puffed out cheeks are too cute!

I like Lady!Edgar quite a lot, obviously lol. I wanted to draw her in the cardigan because Edgar was cute in it and wouldn’t you know, that carries over! Edgar’s cute throughout his iterations haha. I feel the same about Lady!Scriabin as well, in one of my sketches I described her as “puckish” lol

Playful closeness, Edgar is not interested lol. I was mostly thinking about hip posing at the time, like meeting at one point and separating out from there. Tied at the hip!

Back to what I was doing before, nbd. The amount of unfinished kiss doodles I have....look, okay- I also think it’s funny that with unfinished blushes their faces end up darker than their hair lol

Speaking of - back when I was first practicing drawing kisses, the alignment was probably the hardest part. Convincingly making it look like the lips meet is hard! But then the reality of the situation occurred to me, Edgar’s not particularly practiced at kissing so maybe the combination our inexperiences would result in such a situation lol

Probably my favourite frame from Where are you now, he looks so intense even though he’s immediately going to pop into panic, ahh the contrast. I also originally used hard-edge vectors at a much smaller scale, but I intended soft and shined eyes from the beginning

Just pick him up and carry him like a teddy bear lol. Just wait til he kicks out his leg and they fall on each other lol

Spacefiller fluffy Scriabin. I keep wanting to draw flowers but I keep forgetting about flower crowns! I just like pinned back hair too much I guess

Oh no not a hug trap! Insidious, however will he escape

Someone gently touching Edgar’s face - I ended up liking how the sketch looked too much to want to finish it lol. Who could it be?

Brief return to the TGWDLM crossover, it hits randomly. I never drew the Apotheosis meeting Edgar, and it’s still not exactly how I’d imagine it happening (or what I’ve written) but I thought it was interesting anyway. Edgar’s always gotta be crying, that’s a requirement

A!Edgar is so cloyingggg, it’s never not weird

Definitely not

Fighting over symbolism. It took me a while to think it over fully, but I think the scariest part about Apotheosized!Edgar is that he’s not afraid to hurt Scriabin at first. He’s much closer to a stranger with Edgar’s face, but that’s kind of a big deal lol

Finally a lack of glasses that makes sense lol. Easier to just grab his face than point him in the right direction and hope he sees

Some Convalescence Scriabin mouth shape practice for funsies. My mouth expressions tend to be rather subdued and since he was both already on my mind and more prone to big expressions, he seemed perfect for it. I really like “E” lol, he looks so proud

Eye, or lack thereof practice, a bit torn at the outer edge. Kinda reminds me of Invader ZiM in a bad way lol, I might return to the spiral-looking socket instead if I draw them again, I like the weird smooth texture but it’s hard for me to pin down with pencils

A silly little idea of Scriabin flying into him and falling over lol. “Hey Ron. Hey Billy” lol. Edgar’s just given up entirely

So that’s September through mid February! I honestly didn’t expect to still be doodling them so often lol

#💟#Doodles #Sketchdump #Art #Scriabin #Edgar #Todd #Shmee #I made the first draft of this and complained there weren't as many as last time and then made a bunch more sketches lol #The new pencils definitely had a big impact on that .3 is just more fun to make sketches with #Anyhow - a little more light abuse and a good bit of Edgar/Scriabin #Honestly I probably have enough of those to make a similar kind of sketchdump just about those two sheesh #Not like they don't already make up most of these anyway lol #They're also a little out of order so if there are some style jumps that's why #There's another short TGWDLM crossover section too - wonder if I should tag the various continuities #Sketchdumps are always a grey area lol #I have way too much trouble backtracking and finishing old ideas so new ones just keep piling up lol #It's a rich well that's for sure lol #I said the same last time and nothing's come of it so far but there really are some that I'd like to finish!#That's just the hardest step is all lol #Oh and I learned from last time - some of these will look better on the quickdash they shrink on the permalink for whatever reason #I tried to make 'em decently size-friendly but some are smaller than others

97 notes · View notes

softlilacmoonlight · 3 years ago

Text

Satan x Reader - Starving

(Y/N) pov:

Oh my gosh. I am so hungry! What am I going to do? I've been starving myself dry, and quite frankly... I can barely take it anymore! I need to come up with a solution and fast. Lately, I've been avoiding the brothers, and pretty much anyone who can breathe. While it hurts, I must do it. I can't allow myself to harm them.

Third-person pov:

Little to (Y/N)'s knowledge, everybody was currently gathered in the living room of the House of Lamentation. Some were fretting, others plotting, but they all had the same intention. They all wished to make you escape your room and return to your once-loving self.

"Whatever it is, we must help her with it," states Diavolo, expression scrunched up in worry.

Shaking his head, Belphie (surprisingly awake) pipes up, "How do we do that if she won't even talk to us?"

"We have to lure her out," replies Mammon. "What'dya think she'd want?"

Satan puts a hand up to his chin, his eyes shining with deep thought. "Leave it to me."

With that, after a little arguing, the group disbanded. Everything was now riding on Satan's shoulders.

Satan pov:

Hopefully, this works. If not then I don't know what will.

I leave my room and start to make my way through the house. Taking turn after turn, down a flight of stairs, and a few more twists, I find myself outside of the human's door. I lightly knock, but there's no answer. Determined, I knock again louder. When that also gets no answer, I try the doorknob. To my utter surprise, the door is unlocked and openly accessible.

Turning the knob, I enter the pitch-black room. "(Y/N)? Are you in here?"

"Satan? Please. Leave me alone. I do not wish to have company." comes a tired and ragged voice.

Barely, I can make out the shape of a body laying on the bed. Walking over, I gently grasp (Y/N)'s hand. "(Y/N)? What's wrong? Tell me. Everybody is worried about you. Besides, I have something for you."

"I don't want any of your gifts. Get. Out." she grumbles, anger and frustration tinging her voice.

Refusing, I squeeze her hand. "Absolutely not. I'm not leaving till you tell me."

Before I can react, a pair of blood-red glowing eyes meet my own emerald orbs. "I. Said. Leave."

"(Y/N)! What is going on with you!?" I exclaim in shock as she whips away from me clutching her head.

Her body trembles as she talks to me. "Get... out... text..."

Understanding her meaning, I rush out of the room slamming the door behind me. I run past my brothers in the hall and make my way quickly into my own room. Yanking up my phone, I quickly open my messages up and tap on (Y/N)'s contact.

In Private Chat with (Y/N)

(Y/N): Satan... please don't tell the others about what just happened.

Satan: (Y/N)! How can I not! What is happening to you!?

(Y/N): If you tell them... I'll never be accepted. >_<

Satan: (Y/N), of course, you'll be accepted. We all care about you, but we can't help if you don't confide in us.

(Y/N): I'm not ready to tell everybody yet...

Satan: Then I shall keep your secret... as long as you tell me and let me assist you.

(Y/N): Satan... I... I have no other choice, do I? Alright... I'm a vampire.

Satan: 0.0

(Y/N): Please don't be afraid of me! I don't kill humans, I get their permission before feeding! Please Satan?! Please believe me!?

Satan: ... Alright. I believe you. After all, you've never attacked us.

(Y/N): That would be my worst nightmare, but I can't be around blood right now. I've been starving myself, and when you came in I was far too close to losing control.

Satan: (Y/N)... don't worry about a thing. I'll handle this. Where can I get you blood?

(Y/N): Satan... you're absolutely amazing. There is a vampire blood bank in the human realm where you can get blood. I'll set the specially lined purse I have for this outside of my door. Show them my ID and explain that I need blood. They will send it with you and you can slip it into the purse to hide it. I'll place my ID inside the purse for you.

Satan: Alright. I'll be back in an hour.

(Y/N): You're the best! Thank you, Satan!

Satan has gone offline

(Y/N) has gone offline

An hour later, brought to you by me having a whole other one-shot to type...

After a million years, I eventually make it back to the House of Lamentation, blood purse in hand. Using a series of spells, I make my way up to (Y/N)'s room undetected, and against my better judgment enter the room.

"(Y/N)?" I whisper into the darkness. "I have your blood."

"S-S-S-Satan?" hoarsely croaks a voice before breaking into a ragged cough. "I... I'm too weak to get out of bed. All of my energy has left me."

She lets out some more gut-wrenching coughs. "Shhh... I'm here. (Y/N) I'm here."

Carefully, I make my way over to the bed. My eyes barely make out the outline of (Y/N)'s body and face. Cupping the back of her head, I gently help her drink the blood after removing it from the purse. Almost instantly, her eyes fully shut and she slips into a deep slumber.

Silently, I leave the room with the blood bag returned to the inside of the purse. After escaping from the house once more, I make my way deep into the forest being increasingly careful not to be caught. When I could no longer see the top of the house, I use a little magic to start a fire in the clearing. I take the bag from the purse and watch as the fire burns it to ash, and when I'm certain nothing is left I put out the fire and make my way back to the house.

Once in (Y/N)'s room, I use a little bit more of my magic to light a small floating candle next to me so I can read and watch over her sleeping form. I settle into the seat and open the book. (Y/N) always loves it when I read to her, so opening the book of poems I start to read.

(Y/N) pov:

Waking up, I catch a whisp of a smooth voice gliding through the air. Keeping my eyes shut, I silently listen to the entirety of the poem:

Romance, who loves to nod and sing, With drowsy head and folded wing, Among the green leaves as they shake Far down within some shadowy lake, To me a painted paroquet Hath been—a most familiar bird— Taught me my alphabet to say— To lisp my very earliest word While in the wild wood I did lie, A child—with a most knowing eye. Of late, eternal Condor years So shake the very Heaven on high With tumult as they thunder by, I have no time for idle cares Through gazing on the unquiet sky. And when an hour with calmer wings Its down upon my spirit flings— That little time with lyre and rhyme To while away—forbidden things! My heart would feel to be a crime Unless it trembled with the strings. (-Edgar Allan Poe)

I recognize the poem as that of Edgar Allan Poe, specifically a piece named Romance. How I always did love it.

Opening my eyes, I turn to the gentle light of the candle. "That was amazing. Thank you, Satan."

"You're welcome (Y/N). How are you feeling?" he whispers while threading his fingers through my hair.

I lean into his warm and alive touch. "I feel much better. How about we join the others for dinner?"

"Alright, if you feel up to it," answers Satan with kindness and patience laced through his voice.

"Oh, and Satan?" Turning around, Satan comes back to the bedside. In the blink of an eye, I pull him down and kiss him right on the lips.

I can feel his body stiffen in shock, but as I pull away from the kiss he yanks me back. This time he roughly places kisses on my lips and pushes me back onto the bed. We kiss until we can no longer hold our breath, or should I say till Satan can no longer hold his breath.

"Well, well, well... Mr. Gentleman has a rough love side." I tease, hands on top of Satan's heaving chest.

His face flushes a deep red. "I... I love you (Y/N)."

"I love you too Satan. Although, I think you better tidy your wrinkled shirt and ruffled hair before we go to dinner, otherwise the others will think we did more than kiss." I tease raising an eyebrow in a mocking tone.

In a state of panic, Satan flings himself off of me and flusteredly puts himself back together. However, little did it matter.

Asmo quickly noticed that Satan's coat was missing when we sat down at dinner. Poor Satan turned scarlet as he explained that he had to turn up the temperature in my room since I was feeling sick and that he took off his coat since he got too hot. Asmo however didn't believe a word of it.

"Well... someone was definitely hot," I state with a smirk, causing Asmo to dramatically gasp. "But I think I have a right to think that about my new boyfriend."

"BOYFRIEND!" exclaims six other demons, and with that Satan picks me up and runs for it. This year just got even more interesting.

#satan #avatar of wrath #obey me #om #obey me shall we date #mc #exchange program #devildom #celestial realm #human realm #humans #demons #angels #vampires

16 notes · View notes

toomanyfandoms02 · 4 years ago

Text

The Screw // Matthew Gray Gubler x Reader

This wasn't a request BUT I loved it. It's based off of the gif below.

Summary - Matthew gives the screw from his knee to a special girl.

Word Count - 1.5k

Y/n had been in a loving relationship with Matthew for quite some time, 3 years, 9 months and 16 days to be exact. She was 100% sure that he was the man that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. The biggest thing in their relationship was Halloween, of course.

She had weathered more than 3 Halloweens with the man. Before they were together, they bought eachothers costumes. She got him a sexy nurse costume, and Matthew was not one to back down from a dare. So he wore it to the Halloween party and proudly told everyone that she had gotten it for him.

He had been nice and bought her a cloak from Harry Potter, it was even a cloak from your Hogwarts House. She was so grateful, and felt just a little *guilty*. A few months later they were together, just as everyone suspected they would be.

Their next Halloween they went with a little classic, PB&J. They stayed by eachothers sides the entire night to keep the costume true to itself. *Totally not because they couldn't get enough of eachother.*

The next year they were Scooby Doo characters. But they weren't what you would have expected. Not Fred and Daphne, no no.

They were Shaggy and Scooby.

Matthew had happily bounced around they party in his big Scooby costume, shouting every once in a while "Scooby Dooby Do!" To anyone who asked who he was. Y/n ventured around the house in a short dirty blonde wig, a Tie-Dye shirt, cargo shorts, and a comically large bong. Everyone quite enjoyed their weird sense of humor and obvious disregard for what people thought.

Last year they went as something only they would understand.

Matthew went as Edgar Allen Poe. He wore a white collared button up with a black scarf. Paired with black pants and a black suit jacket over it all. Y/n had used temporary hair dye to color his hair black, and they purchased a fake mustache to pull it all together. He then wanted her to go as Annabelle Lee.

*"You know that there is no description of Anabelle in his writing, right?" She argued.*

*"Yes, but he loved her so much. He loved her as she was and it was so strong that you don't even need to know how she looked." He brushed a piece of hair out of her face. "Just go in something flowy maybe, but go as you are. That's how I love you, that's why I love you." He said the words so nonchalantly, but they struck her in the heart like the sharpest of cupids arrows.*

*"Where do you come up with this beautifully poetic stuff?" She giggled, feeling more giddy and drunk in love than she had in quite a while.*

*"I'm Edgar Allen Poe, duh."*

So they went like that. They had to explain to so many people how their costume worked, and all of them found it *disgustingly* beautiful. It seemed that they were straight out of a book how perfect they were.

But this year they went back to their usual shenanigans. Matthew wanted to be something cheesy this year. He let her come up with 10 cheesy costumes, and he would make the final decision. She had been so excited about all of the costumes. After creating a list over the course of 2 days, she happily brought it to their living room and set the list on front of him.

1. Fred and Wilma Flintstone

2. Jim and Pam from The Office

3. Olive Oyl and Popeye

4. Oreo cookies

5. Sailor and Mermaid

6. Zombie Bride and Groom

7. Cookie and Milk

8. Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin

9. Magician and Rabbit

10. Barbie and Ken

He took one look at the list and knew exactly which one he wanted.

"I think we should do Zombie Bride and Groom." His answer came so quickly that it startled y/n a bit. But a smile was quickly plastered onto her face.

"Perfect! We can go get the costumes tomorrow and work on them." She picked up the list and circled the decision in red pen, a child like excitement shone in her eyes.

The latest Halloween party had come quicker than expected, and the couple was grateful for it. Matthew had been both extremely excited and nervous for this night. Y/n had practically been bouncing off the walls since they woke up that morning.

She woke up early to make Matthew breakfast in bed. She had looked up a tutorial online to make skull pancakes with yolks in the eyes. After she finished them they looked pretty pitiful, but Matthew looked at them like it was a painting by Vincent Van Gogh.

"Did you make these?" He sat up in the bed groggily, smelling syrup and warm pancakes.

"Yeah, they don't look that great." A nervous giggle erupted from her throat.

"I love them!" He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hug on the bed. "Happy Halloween baby."

When 7 o'clock finally rolled around, y/n was standing in the bathroom, facing her full size mirror. She smoothed her hands down the white dress. It was only a 30 dollar dress, but she felt a little bad still that they tore it up for the sake of the costume. It was torn in multiple places, along with blood splatters here and there. Matthew had bloodied up his hand and put a few hand prints on it. Regardless, she thought it was cozy and warm to be in a wedding dress, even for Halloween. Blood was painted around her mouth and black eyeshadow around her eyes to make then seem sunken in. She had done something similar for her boyfriend. After admiring the wonderful Halloween work, she headed out to the living room.

Matthew had sat there on the couch the whole time she was in the bathroom. He was fiddling with a small box that he intended on using tonight. His foot tapped almost silently on the carpeted floor. The box was skillfully slipped into his back pocket as he heard the door to the bathroom click open.

"Ready?" She nodded her head violently as she grabbed his hand and lead him through the door.

The party was like any other. It was being held at AJ Cooks house as a final official get together for the cast and friends. Everyone whooped as y/n and Matthew entered her house.

"Going with another cool couples costume this year I see." AJ wore and FBI vest from the set. Y/n pulled at the strap of it a bit.

"I see *someone* stole a prop from set." She shrugged with a smile.

"Come on, it's my favorite thing to wear, and what better time to wear it." She giggled.

"I love it!"

"Well, enjoy the party you two." She gestured between us.

"We always do." Then they were off into the party.

They had each drank copious amounts of punch that had a floating head in it and eaten many 'bloody' pigs in a blanket, Matthew was running out of time, he thought. He brought her out to the backyard where there was a minimal amount of people.

"Aren't the stars pretty tonight?" She pointed to the sky as she leaned on his chest. He stared down at her messy figure, covered in blood but still looking more perfect to him than ever.

"Yes they are." She peered up to see him staring.

"You're so cheesy." Seeing her smile like that, he decided this was the right time. He unraveled her from his arms, pointing behind them.

"Hey, I think someone is calling for you over there." She whipped her head around to see that no one was standing there.

"Are you delusional?" She questioned with a chuckle. He was already down on one knee with the box. Once she span around her eyes immediately turned to the ground, happy tears already brimming. She looked closer at the object he was holding and let out a quiet sob.

"Is that," she sniffled, "Is that the screw from your knee." She laughed a bit into the statement, leaning down to examine it.

"Maybe?" His head tilted with the biggest smile she had ever seen on the man.

"Oh my gosh I love it so much." She grabbed it from his hands and pulled him to his feet. The small screw sat in the palm of her hand, rolling around a bit.

"I said I was going to give it to a special girl some day." Her face lit up at the statement. "I totally forgot to ask if you would marry me." He remarked with a dumbfounded look.

"Is that even a question?" She squealed, placing her arms around his neck. He pulled a second box from his pocket that held a ring and slipped it on her finger. They both stood and hugged for a while, just reveling in eachother presences.

"I hope you know I'm bringing this screw to the wedding, I'm gonna wear it as a necklace." She whispered excitedly.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He placed a loving kiss on *his* y/n's head.

The feeling was mutual that they couldn't *wait* to spend the rest of their lives with eachother.

#mgg #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #MGG #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthewgraygubler #mgg fanfiction #mgg x reader #mgg fic

380 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years ago

Text

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.18 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch has already dealt with the local sheriff about his adventures in the local woods. Seems like Edge might have a thing or three to say.

~~*~~

Read ‘Electric Boogaloo’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was funny how some things become automatic. Stretch was still thinking about Buford when Edge came into the store not long after the sheriff left. Still thinking about those strange white eyes of his, wondering at exactly how much he could see. How much, how far, how deep did it go. Stretch knew a little something himself about seeing a bit too much.

Still, habits were habits. Even though his mind wasn’t necessarily working in the here and now, Stretch automatically stood up straight and greeted Edge when he came in, customer service skills were a heck of a learned trait, even if he was the only one who worked here that had them.

“morning, hey, what’s up? what do you—" need, he didn’t get to say. He barely had time to notice that Edge didn’t look like his normal gorgeous self, hips notwithstanding. Sure, he was wearing his normal motorhuckle gear and he was walking like he was on his way to kill Captain America. But he looked pale, his skull chalk-white and stark, his eye lights faded to a shade closer to dull pink.

That wasn’t what cut off his ‘can i help you’ spiel. Nope, that was Edge stalking right over to the counter and around it into the register area. Stretch found himself roughly pulled into Edge’s arms and held in a painfully tight hug that nearly threatened to crack ribs.

Okay? This was new but fuck it if Stretch wasn’t going to go for it. He wrapped both arms around Edge and squeezed back, relished the feel of that long, lean body against his own, even buffered under a layer of leather. “um. hi?”

Edge said nothing, only held on, with all ten fingers digging in through the back of Stretch’s t-shirt and damned if he was gonna try fight his way loose. Was it his imagination or was Edge shaking a little? Or maybe that was the earth moving under his feet because Edge smelled so good, no bone cologne could compare. Like spice and woodsmoke, like the heavenly pies he made for Mama’s.

Nothing to be done for it, might as well dive into the deep end and see if he could drown. Stretch closed his sockets and basked in it, reveled in it. Maybe this was some weird frosting on top of an already bizarre cake but Stretch really wanted his slice.

After a minute, Edge was showing no signs of letting up and much as Stretch would’ve been perfectly fine standing like this all day, probably he should say something. It’d be pretty hard to run register if he was stuck to Edge like a conjoined twin and considering that they were sort of the same person, maybe better not to risk it.

It was just a damn shame that Stretch was so shitty at digging beneath the layers of other people’s traumas. Hell, he could barely take a shovel to his own.

He managed to work up enough air to wheeze out, “is…something wrong?” A horrible thought occurred. What if he wasn’t the only person the lady ghoul went to visit last night? Maybe she took the nickel tour of the woods, maybe Buford’s all-seeing eye blinked and missed something. “is frisk okay?”

“Yes,” Edge choked out. His voice was muffled into Stretch’s shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

Stretch shifted in his arms and only managed about an inch in any direction. “don’t take this the wrong way, but as fine as this feels, you don’t seem fine.”

That didn’t get any reply. Instead, Edge loosened his grip just enough to press his face into the hollow of Stretch’s collarbone where he inhaled deeply, mouth opened as if he wanted to taste whatever scent gathered there, get the whole experience.

Um. Holy shit. Okay, well, that was a fetish Stretch never knew he had, and if he wasn’t pinned like a sardine in Edge’s kung-fu grip, he might’ve honest to angel flailed at the feel of damp, hot breath against his clavicles. Every time Edge decided to go through his scratch ‘n sniff routine, it sent willie wonkers tingling right up his spine and right down his pants. All he could do was grit his teeth and stare blankly up at the ceiling as he tried desperately not to embarrass himself any more than the usual.

Finally, all too soon, Edge drew away. He took two steps back, putting some distance between them. He seemed almost embarrassed now and Stretch could only reluctantly let him go.

He was really, really grateful for his work apron right about now; good for catching dust and gook, with a side bonus of hiding inconvenient boners. Hopefully it wasn’t the not-at-all-a-pencil-in-his-pocket that chased Edge away. “not that i mind, like, really not, but you think you could let me in on what that was all about?”

“I’m sorry,” Edge said, stiffly. He crammed his hands into his jacket pockets and looked anywhere but at Stretch.

“uh, nope,” Stretch shook his head, “no apologies, hugs are free real estate.” He’d been this close to Edge before a couple of times but always before there had been distractions. Now looking at him was the distraction and Stretch let his gaze linger on the razer-sharp lines of his cheekbones, the tight narrowing of his eye sockets. The crack that ran through his left socket was obviously old, the edges worn relatively smooth, smoother than their owner.

Edge still didn’t look at him, not directly, anyway. A flick of his eye lights towards Stretch, then back away as he said, tightly. “We came very close to losing you last night. It was…upsetting.”

Oh.

Well, good news traveled fast, didn’t it, basically at the speed of light around these parts. He wondered glumly if Red was in his apartment busily composing a profanity-laden symphony titled ‘I Told You So.’

“How did you know?” Stretch sighed out. Maybe Frisk was tuned in to the local airwaves or Edgar Allen might branch out into branches instead of corn gossip.

“Buford,” Edge admitted. “He is the town constable, he looks after the town. Literally, in his case.”

Also had a big mouth, seemed like. “yeah, uh, he showed me his eyes.”

“Did he?” Edge seemed surprised, then pleased. “He usually wears his sunglasses. He rarely takes them off when he’s on duty because outsiders tend to find his eyes unsettling. But yes, it’s his duty to watch out for problems and he does it well.”

Stretch nodded slowly, “must be tough on him sometimes, seeing all that.” He had a little personal experience in that.

“Buford does his duty,” Edge said with a certain finality. Welp, looked like that topic was done and Stretch was fine with that since Edge was starting to look a little calmer. His eye lights weren’t on Stretch’s but lower, focused more on the mouth region and when Stretch flicked his tongue across his teeth nervously, those crimson lights went heavy and dark.

To his disappointment, Edge didn’t go for Ginormous Hug 2: Electric Boogaloo. Instead, he reeled back, shaking himself visibly and turning towards the door. “Well. I only wanted to check in on you, I should be going.”

“wait!” Stretch blurted and Edge hesitated, raising one browbone. “don’t go, not yet.”

He waved a hand in offering at the stool behind the counter and after a moment of hesitation, Edge stepped around the dog and took it. Mutt never stirred, burrowed down in the blanket Red had laid down for him, snoring away. Good thing they hadn’t been in the market for a guard dog.

Stretch hopped up on the counter to sit, (hey, his butt was cleaner than the whole store had been when he first got here) and wondered what the hell to do now. He’d wanted Edge to stay and now he didn’t know what to talk about. Every other chat they’d had was about some kind of Backwater weirdness, the peanut butter and pickle sandwich version of a conversation. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to have a white bread and butter chat.

Edge seemed to agree. He swiped a finger along one of the shelves behind the counter and checked the results, finding it to be relatively dust-free. “The store is looking much better since my brother hired you on.”

“yeah,” Stretch latched on to that topic gratefully, it was marginally better than bringing up the weather. “try to keep up on it. he’s paying me well enough for it, plus room and board, figured i can do my mr clean impression.” He gave the top of his skull a pat. “i’ve already got the bald part down.”

Edge made a rough, scoffing sound and even that was somehow delicious in that voice of his. “I suspect most of what fills up your board comes from my kitchen.”

Stretch suspected the same but leapt to his landlord’s defense, anyway, he owned Red that much and more. “hey, red is a damn fine microwave wrangler when he puts his mind to it.” Okay, so that was less of a leap than a trip and miss, but he’d tried. Maybe better to steer the topic boat out of the rapids and into calmer water. “my bro likes to cook, too.”

“Is he very good?” Edge leaned forward curiously, propping his chin up on a hand.

Woah, wait, abandon ship, that was not calmer waters, that was a storm a’brewing, a freaking typhoon. “good is relative,” Stretch said stoutly.

“Ah,” One corner of Edge’s mouth curled up into a smile. “Rest assured, I would never force you to disparage your brother’s cooking. If it’s any comfort, my recipes were somewhat unique when we first came here as well. Like the garden, it took some time for my skills to come into bloom.”

“seriously?” There was a little too much naked relief in that one word but fuck it, Blue wasn’t here to hear it, “so how many years until he’s less ‘nailed it’ and more ‘chef’s table’?”

That half-smile widened. “Time is also relative, as are brothers. How is your brother, I’m assuming he’s still back in Ebott. Have you spoken to him since you came here?”

Welp, he’d avoided the storm only to end up in shark-infested waters, wasn’t that just his luck, “sort of,” Stretch hedged.

Edge’s teeth parted in a silent ‘ah’ as he successfully decoded that message. “You texted him. Well, that’s better than leaving him completely in the dark.”

“i think he’s doing okay. he was even before i left.” He really hoped so, but then, Blue settled in easily enough from the start. From the Human’s perspective, his bro looked a little like he’d stepped out of some kind of cartoon. He was small and adorable, his starry eye lights in his huge sockets were as cute as if Disney blessed him from beyond the grave. Stretch didn’t begrudge his brother for that, ‘course he didn’t, but that didn’t make his own experiences easy cheesy. “frisk was pretty right about ebott. when it comes to monsters, it sure isn’t backwater.”

“I’m sorry.” Said with enough quiet sincerity to make Stretch shift uncomfortably.

He shrugged weakly. “eh, not your fault.”

“No, but I can still let you share your pains.” Edge reached up and took his hand. He rubbed a scarred thumb gently over his knuckles and Stretch caught his breath. “You know, I used to dream about coming to the surface. Back in my world, in the Underground. Frisk told you that it was a place of LV, not love. My brother and I spent much of our time there simply struggling to survive.” The reminiscence in Edge’s voice held no hint of fondness, but there was a certain faint wistfulness. “I had such grand dreams of what the surface world would be like back then. Hope was difficult to come by in my universe, I never truly believed a human would come and when they did, well.” Edge chuckled and there was the fondness missing from before. “Frisk was not at all what I imagined.”

“did the surface world live up to your dreams?” Stretch asked, curiously. His own dreams of the Aboveground were shaken to their foundations barely an hour into the sunlight, when the first Humans to arrive greeted them not with welcome, but with automatic rifles.

“In some ways,” Edge said. “Mostly, it’s very different from what I imagine. But like Frisk, not necessarily in a bad way.”

“ebott is sure fucking different then i imagined,” Stretch only realized how hard he was squeezing Edge’s hand when both of their joints popped. He loosened his grip, then pulled away entirely, picking up the pen from the counter to fiddle with; at least if he broke that, he’d be the only one stained. “doesn’t matter, anyway. i’m not there right now, am i.”

“Indeed not. You’re here, and Backwater is probably as different from Ebott as it is the Underground.” Edge stood in a jangling, creaking rhapsody of leather and buckles. “On that note, I do need to get going.”

Stretch stood too, hopping down from the counter. Much as he’d like Edge to stay, he did have some work to get done and who knew what Edge needed to get back to. “thank you for checking in on me.”

“Of course.” Too fast for Stretch to do more than blink, Edge leaned in and Stretch stood frozen as he pressed a chaste kiss to his cheekbone, the delicate scrape of his teeth almost ticklish against sensitive bone. He pulled back before Stretch managed to gather up all his scattered wits, and his smile was the soft, real one as he said, “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“soon,” Stretch parroted dumbly. He stood there like an idiot and watched Edge leave, only coming back to himself at the jangle of the bell over the door. Then he cursed himself, roundly and in every language he knew, including modified flamespeak. Smooth moves, there, Marvin Gaye, couldn’t even turn your head for a real kiss? Just stood there with crotch plug store book and didn’t even try to kick it up a notch? But he’d gotten one hell of a hug and a hand fondle, that was worth nearly getting eaten by Lady Cthulhu out there.

Well, almost.

“mind not getting your sop all over my counter?”

Stretch whirled around, barely managing not to trip over his own feet, to see Red standing in the hallway entrance. He was leaning heavily on his cane with a brutally unimpressed look on his face.

Fuck.

“i’m sorry—” Stretch began and faltered, unsure of what to say. He’d tried to listen to Red, he really had. He’d warned Stretch against starting anything with his bro from the beginning, offered plenty of warnings against rebound fucks and people getting hurt, and Stretch had tried. Except he hadn’t, had he, not really, and he could try to blame Edge’s hips and that gorgeous voice all he wanted; in the end, it was his fault, just like everything else. He hadn’t really been fighting that hard, why would he, it wasn’t like he wanted to win.

Red only sighed heavily and waved him off. “ain’t nothing to be sorry for. toldja before, i ain’t worried about my bro. you’re the one keepin’ me awake at night.”

“speaking of worrying,” Stretch took a deep breath before plunging forward, away from the sharks and heading into the shallows where the piranhas swam. “look, before anyone else decides to spill the beans, i need to tell you something.”

Red held up a hand and Stretch fell silent. “lemme get my coffee first.”

Coffee sounded better than it had any right to and, in his chest, Stretch’s soul gave an uncomfortable lurch like it could hop out and get a cup of its own. Hopefully, he asked, “can i get some?”

“yeah, sure,” Red turned back towards the apartment and tossed back over his shoulder, “whatcha want in it?”

“honey?” May as well dream big.

“yeah, darlin’?”

What? ”No!” Stretch blurted. “I mean…I didn’t…”

“yeah, yeah,” Red snickered. “i gotcha, brat.”

It was both entirely too long and much too quickly that Red made his way back with two heavy white mugs that looked as if they’d been stolen from Mama’s diner. He handed one to Stretch and settled in to lean against the counter, sipping from his own. “so, this about why you and my bro were cozying up behind the counter?”

“uh, sort of,” Stretch hedged. He stalled by taking a sip of his coffee, glorying in the thick, over-sweetened brew. “he came by because buford got a hold of him.”

Red lurched upright as if someone goosed him right on his tailbone. Hot coffee sloshed over his hand and he hissed, shaking his wet, stinging fingers as he demanded, “he did what now? what the fuck happened?”

“it’s not that bad.”

It was a weak attempt at best, not that it mattered. Red didn’t fall for it in the slightest. He didn’t move, there was no noticeable change in his breathing or posture, but the sardonic humor that seemed to cling to Red like another shirt evaporated entirely and left behind nothing but cold sincerity. “buford don’t exactly text, he don’t get ahold of anyone unless—” Red stopped and gave Stretch a coolly assessing glance that he squirmed beneath. Quietly, he said, “kid, what did you do?”

“i didn’t do it!” Stretch blurted and no amount of defending himself to his own brother or even the Ebott police could have prepared him for this. “the dog ran off, but i didn’t go into the woods! not until—there was this…this thing!” Stretch gestured wildly, trying ineffectively to convey with skinny bone hands the shadowy, awful creature that lured him into the dark last night. He couldn’t hold back a shudder of revulsion, simply thinking about it was filling him with a renewed sense of horror. “it looked like a woman and then it didn’t, she was singing, she was doing something, and i couldn’t stop myself, i couldn’t even think!”

He stopped, panting, and Red said nothing. He only stood there statue-still and Stretch would have given about anything for the door to open, the bell to jangle as someone looking for a fresh supply of ass wipers broke that awful silence.

Desperately, Stretch pressed on, letting out a nervous laugh. “anyway, i’m okay. she didn’t touch me or bite me or anything. i got out okay.” He didn’t mention the bone dragon, wasn’t even sure why, but Red was still frozen and silent over hearing about one terrifying encounter, maybe better not to mention two.

“red?” Stretch tried, hating how his voice sounded so small and forlorn. In a dismal corner of his mind, he was already mentally packing his bags. He couldn’t go back to Ebott, not now, not yet, but where else could he go, what other job could he possibly find? Maybe a waiter at Mama’s or maybe the thrift shop needed a helping hand. He didn’t know. The little money he had wouldn’t last long and definitely not in a bigger city. He didn’t really have any options, no choices at all.

He jerked back as Red suddenly jolted into movement, limping around the counter without his cane. He staggered almost drunkenly and then swung around to violently ram his fist into the first rack of the shelves. The wooden frame rocked and groaned, scattering boxes and cans to the floor on either side. A small bag of cornmeal fell and burst open, scattering dusty yellow across the floorboards.

“i…i’ll just…” Stretch couldn’t say go, he couldn’t, saying it would make this real, and he couldn’t let it be real. He took a step towards the hallway, tasting heavy tears on the back of his tongue.

Red’s voice stopped him, “kid.”

Stretch stood there and watched Red wrap both arms around himself. The fingers of one hand were streaked with marrow, he’d probably cracked his phalanges, but Red only shuddered faintly, drawing in a long breath and letting it out in a shaky rattle as he said, “if i’d’ve known she was awake, i woulda warned ya.”

Oh.

Oh, that made a terrible amount of sense and it didn’t make Stretch feel one fucking bit better to realize that Red wasn’t mad at him.

“it’s fine, red,” Stretch said, gently. It was hard to bank his own fears, but he managed, “it’s not your fault. i’m okay.”

Red heaved out a hitching little sigh and Stretch didn’t need Buford’s powers or his own magic to see that Red didn’t believe that, not even a little.

“okay,” he muttered under his breath, low and indistinct, “okay, okay.” Then louder, “okay, kid, get on out of here.”

“you’re firing me?” Stretch blurted, horrified. He’d begun to believe it was all right, more fool he, hadn’t he had the rug ripped out from under him enough times by now, when would he ever learn?

“what?” Red said, aghast. “fuck no! take a little time off, is all, after a shitty night like that, you need it. go see a movie, ‘wizard of oz’ ’s playin’, think it’ll be right up your alley.”

Relief left him weak, but he made no move towards the door. “but. your hand?”

“what about my hand?” Red raised his browbones and his hand at once and Stretch stared at the clean, pristine bones in confusion, what the fuck, he was sure he’d seen—

“okay, but,” Stretch still didn’t want to leave, some part of him vaguely convinced that if he left he wouldn’t be able to come back, like this shabby little store was some kind of fae place. “here, let me clean up.”

“i can fucking clean,” Red said impatiently. “been doing it since long before you got here.” He hooked his perfectly unbroken thumb at the door, “now, git! scoot!”

It seemed better not to comment on Red’s cleaning skills. Stretch hung up his apron and obediently scooted while Red limped over to the broom.

Outside, the temperature was just above a swelter. Stretch headed towards the theater even as the kids pulled up by the shop and dropped their bikes to head in, about five minutes too late.

Red had the right idea, he decided tiredly. A movie sounded like a good idea right about now. If, that was, he could stay awake through the opening credits.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #welcome to backwater

29 notes · View notes

captain-lord-potato · 3 years ago

Text

SUCKER [R. Sakamaki]

"It was you. You're the entitled bastard who killed my brother."

PROLOGUE

Penny groaned as the old thread slipped out of the eye of the needle once again. Her eyebrows furrowed as she held the cool metal up to her eye and attempted to slide the thread through successfully. She missed the first time, and again the second time. The third time however, the thread began to grow apart, causing the young girl to huff and slam the materials on the ancient drawer beside her.

"Now, now Honey," her mother's voice was smooth as she walked into the room, "don' get angry." She crouched before the skinny girl and caressed her red cheeks as tears welled in her hazel eyes.

"Ma, it ain't working! S'just not fair!" she pouted, sniffling as her mother sighed and stood from her position, turning to look at the attempt Penny had made of sewing her clothes together.

"Do ye want me to finish it for ye?" she sighed as Penny nodded in frustration and hopped off the wooden stool.

"Does that mean I can play with Edgar, Ma?" she asked as a smile embraced her small lips. The older lady merely nodded as she sat in the creaky stool and began to fix Penny's errors.

Her dress was patchy and yellow with a large pocket by her stomach and a pretty sunflower sewn upon it. The white sleeves of the thin dress beneath reached her elbows and the skirts danced beneath the thicker one as she ran in the warm breeze. Her chestnut curls had been tied into a pair of thick plaits, allowing her to see without getting blocked by hair as she hopped over a small pond.

"Edgar!" she shouted, catching the attention of her younger brother who stood utop the grassy hill. He wore a white shirt with muddy, patched trousers. His long chestnut hair had been tied up in a ponytail to keep away from his freckled face. The tall boy grinned and waved towards her.

Penny panted as she hiked up the hill barefooted, she nearly fell (causing Edgar to laugh) before she reached the top and beamed with glee.

"Ma finally let me go!" she exclaimed, causing Edgar to laugh loudly as he pressed his hands to his hips.

"How badly did ye mess up?" he snorted, earning an annoyed grunt from Penny who folded her arms over her chest.

"Where's Shu?" she inquired, glancing over his shoulder curiously.

Shu was their best friend in the whole entire world. He was an older boy who lived in the large mansion concealed within the never-ending woods. He was a cheerful and talented boy who had become very close with the siblings.

"Dunno," Edgar shrugged, "it's jus' been me up 'ere. All by meself!" He grinned.

"Shouldn't we go 'nd look for him?" she asked, her round hazel eyes glazed with worry. Edgar nodded as he turned to face the mouth of the forest.

"Ye sure ye wanna go in there sis? Last time ya nearly wet yerself, ye did." Edgar chortled as he stepped towards the trees, "well, he can't be far, can he?"

"I hope so," Penny replied as she grasped Edgar's outstretched hand and followed him into the forest.

The skinny trees towered above them. The leaves danced beneath the sun's beating rays, causing the rustling to echo throughout the eerie setting. The leaf-smothered floor concealed sticking out branches and any holes, causing Penny to trip ocassionally.

"Stop laughin' at me!" she protested, "It ain't funny!" Her cheeks burned red as she glared at her brother who merely laughed in response.

"Relax Pen, we're totally safe," he assured, "yer just a wuss." Edgar snorted as they stumbled across a thick tree with low branches. A large blanket was laid out beneath it with a small picnic basket awaiting them.

"What's that?" Penny asked nervously, "Do ye think it's dangerous?" Edgar laughed as he stepped towards it.

"I doubt it," he said, turning to glance at her, "ye worry too much, ye do."

"Maybe it's a good thing that one of us is… oh what's the word? The one Shu taught me?"

"Cautious?" a high-pitched voice said from beside her, causing the girl to scream in surprise.

Standing beside her with a giddish grin was Shu. He was holding a shiny red apple which he offered to her, making her smile, forgetting the panic.

"There ye are," Edgar moaned as he sat beside the basket, "am starvin', ain't ye?"

"Yes, I had one of my maids pack us a basket for lunch," Shu informed, "I have checked through and there are no nuts or pineapple, just for your safety Penny." Jolly, Penny gave Shu a tight hug before moving to sit beside her brother with her back against the tree. Shu quickly sat on the other side of Penny and opened the box.

"I actually made something… for the both of you," he added, "as an apology for Mother getting rid of your dog." He pulled out two, knitted, dog teddies which had been stuffed hurriedly. The eyes were wonky and the nose a little to the side. Penny grin as he handed one to her.

"It's perfect!" she beamed, "Isn't it Edgar?"

"S'nice," he grinned, "much better than what Pen can do."

"Hey!"

"Oh shush, don' ye remember ye failed attempt at embroidery?"

"I'm only bad at it 'cause I'm forced to do it!"

"Sure, sure," Edgar winked as he took a bite of an apple and moaned with delight.

"Well, thank you very much Shu," Penny smiled, causing the blonde boy to grin. "I shall name him… Puddles!"

"Puddles is a fantastic name," Shu commented, causing Edgar to snort.

"Well then, mine'll be called Pudge," he announced, "since he's all chubby."

"Edgar, that's mean." Penny protested before taking a small bite out of her apple.

"It ain't mean, s'the truth!"

Yawning, Penny laid with her head upon Shu's shoulder. Her small arms were embracing Puddles tightly as she snored beneath the early-evening sky. The trio had moved so that they were on top of the hill and out of the woods. Away from sight of the villagers but away from the darkness of the forest.

Shu had his arm around Penny as she slept, his cheek pressed against the top of her head. He stared up at the red sky with a sigh.

"Ye'll have to get goin' soon," Edgar began, "won't ye?" Shu nodded glumly as he met Edgar's saddened eyes.

"We'll see each other tomorrow though!" Shu exclaimed, "We'll see each other everyday until I take my father's place and you can move in with me!"

"Yeh, we'll kick yer brothers out too! It'll be you, me an' Pen!" Edgar grinned, "An' one day, Pen and ye'll get married and have babies an'-"

"W-What makes you say that?" Shu's pale face glowed red as Edgar chuckled and rolled back onto the grass.

"Do ye really mean it?" Edgar asked after a while of silence, "Do ye really think that we'll live with ye?"

"Of course!"

"Ye won't forget about us?"

"You're my bestest friends in the whole world," Shu announced, "I'll never forget about you."

"Ye better promise," Edgar stated with teary eyes, "or I'll never forgive ye."

"I promise."

Time flew by and soon enough, Shu had to leave. He sighed sadly as Penny wrapped her arms around him sleepily and leaned her head against his chest. She smiled up at him.

"Can ye teach me new words next time?" she asked with sparkling eyes. Shu grinned.

"I'll even bring you a book," he said before planting a soft kiss on her temple.

"Yay!" she giggled as she stepped away from Shu and squeezed Puddles.

"Look after Puddles and Pudge," Shu chuckled as she nodded.

"I'll give them equal amounts of hugs and kisses!"

"Ew, gross, don't infect Oudge with yer gross germs!" Edgar moaned before shaking Shu's hand with a smile, "We'll see ye tomorrow, right?"

"Of course!" Shu nodded.

"Pinky promise?" Penny asked, extending her short pinky. Shu's long, cold pinky wrapped around hers as he smiled. He planted a kiss to the tip of her finger before turning to leave.

"Bye bye Shu!" Penny smiled before turning to Edgar who shook his head with a smile.

"Aristocrats an' their weird behaviour," he sighed, "let's get home to Ma." He crouched before Penny, allowing her to climb onto his back. He sighed as he hoisted her up. Her arms fell around his neck, both hands holding a paw of the teddies Shu had made.

"I love ye Edgar," she yawned.

"I love ye too Pen."

>>>-_-_-_-_-<<<

"PENNY! WAKE UP!" Edgar screamed as he shook his sister's body aggressively. Plump tears rolled down his cheeks as Penny stirred and sat up. She tightened her hold on Puddles as she tilted her head to the side.

"What's wrong?" she muttered as she rubbed her eyes. Edgar gasped for air as his tears fell. He grasped her shawl and threw it over her shoulders.

"RUN! AS FAST AS YE CAN! DON'T STOP UNTIL YE FIND SHU!" Edgar yelled as he pushed Penny out of their shared bed and towards the door.

"What's wrong?" Panic rose in her voice as he shook her aggressively.

"I love ye Penny," he said, "find Shu. I'll follow after ye, I'll find as much food and supplies as we'll need. Just run." He pulled her into a tight hug as tears fell from his eyes, "I love ye." Hurriedly, he pushed her out the door.

"Run." He urged, watching as she let out a petrified scream.

The entire village was up in flames. Charcoaled bodies lay across the muddy ground and blood-curdling screams sounded from the scared villagers. Cradling Puddles, Penny ran. She didn't care that her bare feet slipped in the mud, she didn't care she was only wearing a torn nightgown. She only cared about getting to safety. She took a quick glance behind her, Edgar was following close behind.

Penny screamed as a pillar fell down. She narrowly dodged it and heard as Edgar groaned. She turned once more. He was right behind her.

"STOP TURNIN'!" he scolded, "JUST RUN PENNY! DON' WORRY ABOUT ME." Sobbing, the girl did as she was told. She darted past the baker who was cradling her burnt child. She rushed past the milkman who was leaning against an unstable wall, gasping for air. She ignored the screams, she ignored the intense heat, she ran.

Finally, she was out of the fire and had made her way up the hill. She panted as she turned and expected to see Edgar there.

"Edgar?" she whispered softly, searching frantically, "Eddie?" Her throat began to close up, causing her to cough violently, "EDGAR!" Her choking sobs were drowned out by the town's cries as she searched frantically for her brother.

"PENNY!" a shout sounded… but it wasn't Edgar. She turned to see Shu running towards her. His pale hands caressed her red face as she cried.

"Shu," she gasped, "where's Edgar? Where is he?" She let out another heart-wrenching sob as Shu began to scan the village. He wrapped his arms around her, shielding her from the horrors of the fire. He rocked her side-to-side as the pair awaited the arrival of their Edgar.

"PENNY!" Edgar's scream could be heard as he darted up the hill, drenched in sweat. She pulled away from Shu and ran towards him, enveloping him in a tight embrace.

"Yer safe!" she wailed as she held him. The boy gulped as he pushed her away.

"I have to save Ma and Pa," he whispered before glancing to Shu, "protect her, no matter what. Meet me by that tree tomorrow." He handed over a basket stacked with food. "I stole them from the pantry, it's all there is." He gasped for air as he hugged Penny one more time, "I'll be back." Leaving a kiss on her head, he darted towards the fire.

"EDGAR!" Shu and Penny shouted in unison. Shu's arms wrapped around her torso, holding her back as she began to run after him. She kicked and struggled against him as she screamed and cried.

"SHU! LET ME GO!"

"STAY HERE!" he yelled back, "I'LL RUN AFTER HIM BUT ONLY IF YOU PROMISE ME YOU'LL STAY HERE!" She took a few deep breaths as the tears fell.

"Okay," she whispered weakly, "hurry. Please."

"I will." With that, the rich boy ran into the roaring flames after Edgar.

"How pathetic." A voice sounded behind her, causing the red-eyed girl to turn in fear. Standing there was a boy who looked the same age as Penny. His dark hair had been slicked back and the eyes protected by his rectangular glasses were a hot magenta. He was presented royally, much like Shu. He smirked at her. "My brother is the future king of my race," he stated, "yet he risks his valuable life to save scum."

"W-Who are ye?" she asked, her voice wavering as she stepped back, squeezing Puddles for dear life.

"Me?" he let out a laugh, "I'm only fixing the future king. No harsh feelings my dear."

His hand moved at the speed of light and wrapped around her throat. The mundane screamed as he lifted her off the ground and applied pressure. He smirked as she squirmed against his strength, her pants for air seemed to encourage him as he squeezed harder.

"You should feel blessed," he spoke, "to die at my hands, the hands of a prince." He let go, letting her fall to her knees. She gasped loudly, holding her throat as she coughed violently. "I wonder how you taste," the boy commented as he grasped her hand and held it to her lips, staring down at her shivering form. "Mother says that I must wait to feast on humans until I'm of age… although, I'm sure she can let this mishaps slide."

His mouth opened, revealing sharp fangs which pierced her bony wrist. She screamed and screamed as he sucked out her blood. A crazed look danced across his features as he grinned at his helpless victim.

"My, my, you taste so sweet," he groaned as he pulled her up, his arm holding her waist to push her against him. His fangs punctured her neck next, sucking the life out of her. She tried to push against him, she tried to escape… but he was too strong.

Eventually her vision faded to darkness and her brain completely shut down. She fell limp, causing Puddles to fall in the mud beside her. The vampire prince groaned as he pulled away, her blood dripped down his chin as he dropped her to the mud.

"What a shame," he sighed, "I wish you'd lasted longer." With that said, he took to the shadows, disappearing just before his brither arrived.

"Penny!" he cried out desperately as he searched around, "I can't find him, I can't find Edgar, I-" he froze on the spot as soon as he saw her lifeless body. Horror and sadness raced through his blood as he took shaky steps towards her, "P-Penny?" He fell to his knees beside her before letting out a blood-curdling scream. Birds flew from the forest, the clouds gathered and began to weep upon the tragedy of the town as Shu Sakamaki clutched his friend's body close to him. "Penny, no…"

#diabolik lovers #diabolik brothers #sakamaki brothers #reiji sakamaki #shu sakamaki #fanfic #prologue #romance #enemies to lovers #vampire #sacrificial bride #anime #yui komori #horror #murder #angst #fluff

4 notes · View notes

sourbat · 4 years ago

Note

(Metalrat) 8 and 23 for Magnus and Melmord in The Living Dead? :D

Oh, wow. You want that Magmelm? You know the writer is a complete dingus, right?

Well, here we go

What do the like best about their partner?

Melmord: Alright, so this is a little hard to explain, but I guess if I could simplify it to a sentence, it wold that Magnus validates Melmord. I really do see Melmord being this smug, overconfident guy who, until his untimely death, lived a very swank life. After the fall, Melmord is covered in scars, and his name is besmirched. And it gets worse. Unlike some, I don’t let Melm go on fantasy trips to Australia. He’s given the most menial of tasks to perform. He does this because Charles wants to punish him for coming close to having his position removed. And it gets worse. Charles is one of the few people who communicate with Melmord while he’s trapped. Hell, I have this whole period where, when Charles is away (between s2 and 3) where Melm is essentially alone and without anyone to talk to because the klokateers had strict orders to only deliver basic supplies to him, and nothing more. Imagine that, having only the devil to talk to, and then nothing at all. And it gets worse. Just like Charles has no trouble trouble torturing Rockso or abusing Edgar Jomfru, he’s subjected Melmord to the same when he tries fighting back. Magnus was the first real friend Melmord made underground, and over time, proved to him that there are second chances. Melmord has someone who shares scars like him, a complicated past, a difficult relationship with Charles, and a desire for something better. It’s a big deal to him that Magnus is attracted to him, enough for him to be the one to initiate first. It means so much that Magnus saves him potential clashes with Charles, honest critique, and opportunities for him to promote up the ranks and use his skills as a businessman. He will never forget that Magnus dragged him across a forest and across an ocean to get away from their hell, and constantly thinks about the fact that Magnus puts so much effort into keeping him safe.

Magnus: The fact that, despite everything, Melmord is still around. I HC Magnus with BPD, and in world where there’s a whole lot of black, and not nearly enough white in it, Melmord proves to be a constant that he can safely rely on and keep him anchored. I’m not suggesting that their relationship is in any way unhealthy; rather, Melmord does play a crucial role in keeping things healthy. Magnus is paranoid and in a constant fear that everything they’ve worked for can be taken away at any given moment. He literally cannot bring himself to be comfortable on his own, and he obsesses over the possibility that he could lose Melmord. That’s not fun. So, Melmord being able to smile, use his humor for good (instead of defense mechanism), mark the calendar within eyesight, etc. all function to brighten his day and give the man a sense of purpose. Because, when it comes down to it, the only reason they escaped is because they were together. Without Melmord, Magnus wouldn’t really have much to live for, come home to or produce meaning in an otherwise shitty scenario. Melmord is kind, tolerates him at his worst, reciprocates and doesn’t cross boundaries, and keeps things in check. While this is all natural to Melmord, it isn’t so much to Magnus, not after years of basically roughing it. Sure, there was Charles, but that version of him is long gone. While Magnus will never admit to it, he’s really grateful that Melmord jumped with him, and he can’t imagine losing him.

How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?

As things get better, and they spend more time openly flirting.

Melmord:Those side hugs evolve and become more greedy. Melmord never quite With no one watching, the guy’s pretty grabby and I can see him leaving trails of kisses. He’s a rather kinesthetic fellow, and enjoys as much contact as he can get, so his teasing is very hands on. Verbally, he’s smooth, at least in public. The man can afford the time now, so he builds a mood. And well, yeah, he’s a comforting guy, I think. I say he probably takes a more “give you space” approach when it comes to Magnus (depending on the scenario), and quietly waits for Magnus to come to him. Though he can be impatient, he does his best to respect boundaries.

Magnus: He either awkwardly tells Melm to come here” and hugs him, or is in a good enough state where it naturally happens, and as long as Memory doesn’t say anything things are good and they keep hugging. His hugs are just like him in that they are stiff and a big rough, but give away so much of what he’s thinking. In a heat of a moment, Magnus’ll just grab the guy and hold him like his life depended on it. Magnus kisses are going to be nippy, and now that they have time, a lot more hungry. Magnus takes a more practical approach to Melmord’s depressive states, and tries to solve them, rather than outright comfort them. This is in part because he has a hard time trying to sort through his own feelings, and honestly seeing Melm in a “weakened” state probably unsettles him. I’m sure if he had more time, he’d get better at it. If Melm is quick to tell him he’s not lookin for answers, Magnus might sit besides him, maybe offer him a shoulder. I can see Magnus going out to get food or something as a panacea, and while it doesn’t fix things, lets Melmord know the guy cares about him.

#magnus hammersmith #melmord fjordslorn #magmelm #thejollybeardcollection #ship ask thing #thank you

12 notes · View notes

katedrakeohd · 4 years ago

Text

A Very Merry Birthday? (4)

[MASTERLIST]

Author's note: This chapter took an unexpected turn, I blame it on the wine. 😏🍷

I haven't participated in Wacky Drabbles forever and missed playing along, so I cut this part short so I could squeeze in the prompt for week #77.

Rated PG: suggestive language, angst, little bit of fluff

Word count: a tiny 1,109

@wackydrabbles @emceesynonymroll

12 days of fictmas Writer tags: @texaskitten30 @emichelle @leelee10898 @zaffrenotes @alj4890 @burnsoslow @kat-tia801 @darley1101 @msjr0119 @annekebbphotography @god-save-the-keen @plumeriavibes

@ofpixelsandscribbles @camillemontespan @ao719 @cocomaxley @cordoniansgonewild @twinkleallnight @the-soot-sprite @cordoniantrash @axwalker @innerpostmentality @lucy-268 @janezillow

Reader tags:: @mom2000aggie @sfb123 @bbrandy2002 @debramcg1106 @desireepow-1986 @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @fluffyfirewhiskey @jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @kingliam2019

In the Edgar Restaurant at Ravenhurst Castle Hotel, Drake and Kate sit quietly while they wait for their bill. Drake kept looking toward the door, anxious to leave. He'd had about enough of being in public for one day, and after the events of the evening he felt like everyone was watching and waiting for the entertainment to continue. No doubt word had spread amongst the employees and guests, and any anonymity he had hoped to hide them behind was gone. It was almost like Coronation night all over again. Unfortunately they no longer had Preston to protect them either.

He didn't know how Kate could look so calm and composed across the table from him, while he felt like bolting for the door. Show's over folks, now let us get outta here.

Kate can see the frown of impatience creasing his brow and the way he held his mouth in a grim line. His head was practically on a swivel the way he kept turning to look for Eric. Every now and then his line of sight would fall on her, as if he was making sure she was still there. She offered him a small smile as reassurance, but it didn't seem to be helping. If they were sitting closer she'd reach up and lay her hand on his cheek to distract him, and soften up his tense mouth with a kiss to calm him down. As he turned in his seat again to look back toward the bar, she knew that she had to intervene now before his anxiousness escalated to anger. Drake was many things, but a patient man was not one of them.

Reaching across the table she holds her hand out to him, speaking quietly and calmly so his hyperactive senses wouldn't be overwhelmed, "Drake, Honey?"

His head snaps around at the softness of her voice, and he's mesmerized by the gentleness of her expression, "Huh? yes, what is it?"

Kate beckons her fingers and he shifts over in his seat to fold his hand around them, he blinks and smiles as she smiles back and caresses his thumb with her's. "Despite the snow storm, and what happened with Preston, I did enjoy my birthday. Thank-you."

Leaning forward in his seat, Drake lifts their joined hands and gently kisses the top of her knuckles. He smiles, keeping his voice low, "You're welcome, but there's still plenty of birthday left for us both to enjoy."

Kate blushes and pulls her hand back as she sees Eric approaching to settle their bill. "Then it's a good thing we're about to leave."

Drake sighs as he puts his credit card back in his wallet then tucks it away. "For a dinner date, it sure cost a lot for what little we actually ate."

Kate quirks an eyebrow at him and then goes back to putting the contents of the Charcuterie board into a takeaway container. "Well you didn't have to buy the whole bottle of wine."

Drake shrugs then answers defensively, "Hey, I was going for romantic ambience. And I think it worked quite well."

Kate closes the container and then slides out of the booth, holding onto the seatback as she sways a little on her feet. "Well if you working toward getting me intoxicated, then Bravo sir."

Drake steps over to wrap his arm around Kate to steady her. "You know I wouldn't do that on purpose. I'm not that kind of guy. You could have ordered a more substantial appetizer, or drank less of the wine."

Kate turns toward him, smoothing her palms down the lapels of his jacket and tipping her head back to look up at him. "You know how unpredictable Drunk Kate can be. She tends to blurt out stuff she doesn't mean."

Drake grins down at her, reaching up to comb his fingers through her hair, dislodging a piece of cracker from their food fight. "That's okay, I like Drunk Kate, she's fun."

Kate slaps him playfully on the chest and laughs. "Oh my gosh, you liar. You were trying to get me drunk afterall. Some date you are, getting me drunk so I'd be more fun."

People exiting the restaurant turn their heads and look as they catch Kate's outburst. They whisper amongst themselves as they turn away to leave.

Drake grabs the takeaway box and quickly escorts Kate back toward the bar, and the other exit. When he's sure they're alone he mutters at her angrily, "I think we've heard enough from Drunk Kate, now zip it."

Stepping away, folding her arms defiantly across her chest she counters back. "Excuse me? How dare you tell me to 'zip it' like I'm some disobedient child?"

Drake checks around them, hoping nobody is watching. His hushed tone of voice comes out more like a hiss, "Do you hear yourself?! You totally twisted my words and made me look like some asshole who was trying to take advantage of you."

A deep sense of shame and regret washes over Kate, but it's the disappointment on his face that brings tears to her eyes. "Oh shit, Drake, I'm sorry. You know I wasn't serious. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Yes, I know. But it's too late to tell that to everyone who overheard you. We had quite an audience during our date. And it's a pretty safe bet that we were recognized by somebody."

Kate wipes her eyes, the thought of being part of scandal gossip again sobering her up quickly. "Okay, now what?"

"I need to get us back to our room without being stopped or stared at. Preston would be handy right now for crowd control."

Kate thought about Preston, and how he had just pulled her onto his lap with such ease. His arm had felt so strong as it had wrapped around her. Sure Drake had done the same thing so many times, but it had been a long time since she'd been grabbed that way so forcefully by another man. It was all planned and fake, but it had felt real enough. She wondered what else he would have done if she hadn't cut him off with that slap…

Drake noticed Kate's far off look when he mentioned Preston, "Uh..earth to Kate? Where'd you just go?"

Kate blinks, "I was thinking about Preston."

Drake frowns, "Thinking about him how?"

"I know we've already put him out of commission.."

With a cough, Drake clears his throat, "We?"

"Ok, I did that. But you mentioned paying him extra for his trouble."

"Yeah, and?"

"How much extra are you willing to pay him?"

...

#drake walker #once upon a merry birthday #wackydrabbles

22 notes · View notes

heyyyharry · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 10: Don’t Turn Around

(from ‘The Conman and the Maid’ Series)

…in which Y/N accepts her fate.

Warning: SMUT and ANGST (what a terrible combination).

Word count: 7.4k

AU: princess!y/n, conman!harry, prisoner!harry.

Series description: Y/N is a princess and Harry is a prisoner in her castle. With his help, she escapes from her arranged marriage in search of a happy ending, if there is one.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

I was really emotional while writing this, probably because it's been raining this whole week here where I live, and rain makes me depressed *sigh*

Songs that inspired the chapter: Winter Bird - AURORA, In And Out Of Love - Oh Wonder, Salvation - Gabrielle Aplin, everything i wanted - Billie Eilish, Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Lorde, Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift.

Y/N woke up with a sharp numbing pain above the hip. The room faded into view. She saw the grey ceiling, the early pale light pouring through the window, then Harry. He said something, his lips moving, yet she couldn’t hear a single word; the buzzing in her ears was too loud.

Had she died in her sleep? It was the only good explanation for why Harry was here. But from what she’d been told, the moment after you died should be painless. Right now her body was aching all over.

She lifted her head and saw that her dress was bunched up right below her breasts, her bottom private parts covered by a blanket. The bruises scattered all over her arms and torso had gone from red to blue. She looked like one of those lifeless paintings displayed in her father’s reading chamber.

It was only then that she noticed her wound was now coated with this black slimy fluid, and she almost freaked out when Harry applied some more to it with his black slimy fingers.

“This will heal you faster. Trust me,” he said with his other hand on her knee.

She almost said she would trust him even if he led her to a cliff and asked her to jump. She was so madly in love with this man, it made her feel stupid, especially in this situation.

“What is that?” she asked and propped her head up.

“Magic,” he replied, his lips curved a little. “Those sisters in the woods cured my wounds with these herbs, so I stole some just in case. I almost forgot that I kept them under the saddle.” Then the corners of his lips lowered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think we’d need them for this...For you.”

The remorseful look in his eyes led her to believe that he meant it. This Harry was not the one who’d bellowed at her yesterday and made her feel like the most worthless being in the world. This Harry seemed like her Harry. She then pushed the idea to the back of her mind, so she wouldn’t grow too attached to it.

Once Harry finished, he cleaned his fingers with a rag that he kept on his lap, and turned away so she could cover herself. She smoothed down her dress, careful not to touch her wound and pushed herself up to sit with her back against the wall.

“Do you know who did this to you?” he asked.

Her gaze shifted from his face down to her wound. “My brother sent him.”

“Why does your brother want to hurt you?”

“Everyone wants to hurt me,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

He considered her for a moment.

“Last night…”

Her head shot up as soon as she heard the words. It was only then that she remembered why he was here. He’d been here all night. She’d had a nightmare about the man at the market, woken up in the middle of the night, seen Harry, and crawled onto his lap. She remembered crying so hard she couldn’t speak. She remembered him holding her like he used to. Like he didn’t hate her.

Her tears threatened to spill, and she had to inhale a shaky breath to hold them back. Harry’s mouth clamped shut before he even started his sentence. Perhaps he noticed her previous reaction and concluded that she didn’t want to talk about last night.

She truly didn’t.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said.

She averted her eyes, hands clasped on her stomach. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.” It sounded so pathetic when she whispered like that. “My brother and father used to yell at me all the time.”

“That doesn’t make it okay, Peach.”

He called her Peach. He’d called her Peach last night, too. Not Your Highness, but that stupid name she’d grown to love more than her own.

“Did they always mistreat you?” he asked.

“My father called it tough love,” she said with a sneer, shaking her head. “That was the only kind of love I knew after I’d lost my mother.”

“There’s no such thing as tough love. Either you love someone or you don’t.” After a moment’s silence, he carried on, “What would you do when you return to the castle?”

She wondered why he suddenly took an interest in her life. If they were still acting normal toward each other, she would attempt to joke about it. Yesterday you hated me. Today you care. What’s that all about, Harry?

“Hug my uncle,” she answered. “Take a walk in the rose garden. Eat all the food I want. Put on one of those pretty dresses that I can’t breathe in.” A small grin tugged at her lips. “Attend a ball and dance barefoot while all the guests stared and silently judged.”

He let out a laugh so short she wasn’t sure if her mind had made it up.

“I’ve attended the King’s party once,” he said.

She immediately turned back to him. “You have?”

“Not as an official guest, of course.” He laughed. “That was after I’d met you by the river. I was in the castle to help Kenny’s mother, who was one of the cooks for the party. Then Kenny and I snuck into the dining hall to observe the members of the gentry. I saw your father, mother, and brother. But you weren’t there.”

“My father ordered to have me confined in a tower.”

“Because you almost drowned?” Harry sounded aghast, or angry; she couldn’t tell.

“Because I misbehaved.”

Now that she thought of it, she realised she couldn’t be royalty or even a nobody. She’d been somewhere in between her whole life. There was really no place for her in this world.

“I’m sorry I got in the way,” she said. “If it weren’t for me, you and Kenny would have been free by now.”

When he sighed, she took a gander at him. He looked nervous and couldn’t stop twisting the rag on his lap. “I’m not going anywhere with Kenny,” he said. “I wouldn’t even if you hadn’t got hurt.”

“Why not?” she asked, almost expectant.

“I said that to anger you,” he admitted to his hands. “Or at least I hoped it would anger you. But I regretted it immediately. I was a coward; I couldn’t handle the truth.”

“What are you saying, Harry?” she asked in a tone more urgent than the beating of her heart.

Before he could answer, the door swung open and Gemma barged right in. “They’re looking for her,” she said between short rapid breaths, then pointed a finger at Y/N. “You’re…you’re Princess Y/N...”

Every time Y/N thought she couldn’t be more ashamed of her name, someone would say it with insurmountable disgust, or fear.

This time, she hoped it was disgust.

“We can’t turn her in, Gem,” Harry told his sister, who was shaking like a ghost. Eyes still broad with panic, she looked at Y/N like she could see right through her.

“They’re coming for her. They’ll kill us if–”

“My brother can’t arrest me.” Y/N tried to sound as positive as she could, but her voice was shaky. “A king’s power is void outside his kingdom. We’re all safe here.”

Gemma kept shaking her head like she wanted to get it off her neck. “It’s not your brother,” she uttered. “It’s...our Queen.”

“Calanthe?”

Y/N had never met Calanthe. She’d only heard of her. The ladies in court had exchanged so many tales about what Y/N’s father had done to Calanthe’s family. She didn’t know which of those stories were true, or if any of them was true, but she knew Calanthe had been married to Uncle Edgar because it’d been the only way for her to remain royalty. Y/N’s father had felt deeply insulted when her uncle decided to wed an illegitimate princess, who was also the daughter of an enemy.

“Is my uncle looking for me?” Y/N asked. Hope grew inside of her, only to burst like bubbles when Gemma’s expression turned grey.

“The King is...dead, Your Highness. He was murdered last night...”

The rest of what Gemma said remained unheard as the floor and ceiling started spinning out of control. The beating of her own pulse was all Y/N could apprehend before an inhuman scream tore through her body, and she collapsed like she’d been shot by ten arrows at once.

She screamed and screamed as Harry folded her into his arms and clutched her like she might disintegrate across the floor. She reached for her own dagger, but his hand found hers first and pinned it to his chest, squeezing them as tight as he could until she caved in.

She cried and cried. She couldn’t stop...

Harry thought it was impossible to truly feel another’s pain, but Y/N’s scream had come so close. She’d screamed with her whole body, eyes wide with horror, mouth rigid and open as her nails dug deep into her own arms. By the time she’d lost her voice and could only weep quietly against his chest, she’d been covered with bruises, some blue, some red that she’d caused herself.

She still looked troubled after she’d passed out from exhaustion. It was like even in unconsciousness, she knew she’d lost everything she’d held dear. Her uncle had been her only purpose. Now Harry feared there was no reason left for her to go on.

The thought had crossed her mind, he knew it. Her second instinct had been to reach for the dagger she’d always carried on her hip, only to remember she’d been unarmed. She hadn’t been in her right mind to choose death, but she’d thought of it. She could have ended her life right in front of him.

Harry had no idea how he’d drifted off, but in his dream, he saw Y/N waving him goodbye before disappearing into a veil of black smoke. He jerked awake, sweating and gasping for air only to find himself alone in the dark.

He pushed himself up and sprinted out of the pantry like he was on fire. He ran into Gemma outside the house; she was carrying two buckets of water in both hands. He asked her if she’d seen Y/N, and his sister blanched when she replied, “She just took the black horse and headed to the river.”

Curses spurted out of Harry’s mouth as he broke into a run to the stable and took Lightning out. He rode on the mare’s back through the city, galloping across the hills to Vidarr River, to where they’d first met. He hoped she was still there, and it wasn’t too late.

At the riverbank. Dusk was falling. Y/N had lost track of time since she and Thunder had got here. In only a nightgown and a black coat, she sat as still as a rock by the water, legs crossed, chin on her knuckles. She was gazing thoughtfully at her reflection in the river when the galloping of a horse intruded the serenity of the forest. Her reflection blurred. She shot her head up and saw Harry arriving on Lightning.

He unmounted the horse, strode straight toward her, and before she could say a word, he swept her into his arms. He was panting, chest rising and falling without rhythm. Then, she heard a sniffle.

He was crying.

“Did something...did something happen?” she faltered. If something had happened to his family while she was here–

“I thought you’d done something stupid, Peach,” he croaked into her hair while holding her like she was his only possession.

She pushed away with her fists against his chest, lifted her chin, and took in the sight of his unbearable frown. Tears on his cheeks sparkled in the dusk-tinted light, while his green eyes were as clear and dark as the night river.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she brought a hand to his face and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Why did you leave the house?”

“I told Gemma I needed some fresh air…” She looked down, her hands returned to her sides and tightened into fists to resist touching him again. “Don't worry. Nobody saw me.”

She felt his fingers in her unruly hair, his palm rested at the nape of her neck. Then he lowered his head, guardedly, leaning closer, his warm breath fanning her burning face.

She almost tiptoed and met his lips halfway to forget about everything else for just a short-lived moment. But the voices in her head didn’t allow her to do it. She drew back, arms secured around herself. His hand, which had previously touched her hair, halted midair as he didn’t know what to do next.

“I have to go.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded scared. “Go where?”

“To the castle. To see Calanthe.”

“Peach…”

“There’s a monetary reward tied to me. If you bring me to her–”

“Fuck! Would you stop that?” he snapped and shoved his hands in his tangled long locks, turning away. She touched his shoulder. He brushed her off. She touched him again, this time fisting his shirt and forcing him to face her.

“You have to trust me, Harry,” she said calmly despite herself.

He shot her an agonising glare. “I don’t want money. I want you. I want you to be safe. I want you h-here. With me. Where I’ll keep you safe.”

“It’s not that easy.” She could barely hear herself.

“It is! Listen.” He caught her hands and brought them to his chest, his eyes desperate and hopeful at the same time. “We’ll run far away from here where no one can find us. Let’s go West, or East, cross the ocean; I don’t care. I just want to be with you so I can protect you.”

He was saying everything he’d said to her in her dreams. Those were everything she’d wanted to hear. The only thing missing was those three words, which she prayed he wouldn’t blurt out at this moment.

Sometimes the things we wanted were the things we couldn’t have. And it’d be selfish to take them knowing you didn’t deserve them.

“I would never be safe if I kept on running,” she whispered, not sure if that was to herself or to him.

“Calanthe will kill you, Peach.”

“She can’t kill me. She’s not allowed. Not when I’m still the Princess of Isolde and she doesn’t have proof that I killed my uncle, because I didn’t.”

Harry stalled for a moment before he said, “It’s Egon…”

She gave an assertive nod, her lower lip trembling. “I don’t know how he’d done it, but I know it was him, and Calanthe is falling right into his trap. She wants to use me as a bait to start a war with the North, which is exactly what Egon wants. He’s killed our uncle and he’ll kill her, too, because she knows nothing of politics and therefore is incapable of ruling a kingdom on her own. The people and alliances of Theros were already against my uncle’s marriage to her; if she takes me as her prisoner without any proof of my crimes, the other kingdoms will turn against Theros and support Egon in the war.”

She halted to suck in a breath, her entire body shaking.

“Let me come with you then,” Harry broke the silence.

“I c-can’t.” She shook her head, her heart beating louder and faster. “I can only guarantee my own safety. They’ll kill you. I can’t let them kill you...”

As she burst into tears, he held her face and inclined his head. She thought he would kiss her, but he didn’t; he kept their foreheads together, his eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain.

“I can’t let them kill you,” he growled. “I don’t trust anyone. Not Calanthe. Certainly not your brother.”

“Egon doesn’t want to kill me; he just wants me to come back. And I don’t know why. I honestly don’t know why he can’t let me go, but I have to take responsibility for what I’ve done. I have to surrender.”

There was a moment when neither of them moved or made a sound, and all she could hear was the rustling of leaves and sighing of water. She wished time would stop, and they’d be here, like this, forever.

“Peach,” Harry’s voice brought her back to reality. “I have to tell you something.”

She hid her nervousness with a straight face while her pulse began to flutter. “What is it?”

“That night, at the King’s party–” her chest expanded with relief even though she was half-disappointed; those weren’t the words she’d expected to hear “–there was a lady who arrived in the middle of dinner. She was one of the royal guests. Beautiful, white-haired, dressed in all black, a shiny smile…”

“Did she have a gold tooth?”

“I think so...Have you met her?”

“Right after I met you.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “She called me Princess, or...Your Highness. I don’t remember if she said anything else, but she knew who I was. I was so scared, so I ran.”

“She was a witch.”

“A witch?”

How come no one had told her about this witch? Not even her uncle who had invited the witch to his own party?

Harry went on despite her puzzlement. “Your father didn’t believe in magic. So the witch offered to tell the fate of his kingdom by reading Egon’s palm. She said Egon becoming King would endanger the people of Isolde.” Hesitation ensued. “And…”

“And what?”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, his eyes dimmed like he was looking at something he wholeheartedly desired but could never possess.

“You’re the saviour in the prophecy, Peach.”

It took her a moment to let that sink in, and when it did, she started shaking her head. “No, no, no, that can’t be true. I’m not....I-I can’t!”

She couldn’t be the saviour. She couldn’t even save herself. Everyone around her died, either for her or because of her. If there was a word for someone who brought death upon people without intending to hurt anyone, she would be that word.

She glanced back up at Harry’s face, hoping he’d agree with the voices in her head and tell her she wasn’t the saviour, just a naive girl who caused trouble everywhere she went to whomever she met.

She wasn’t the saviour.

The corner of his mouth turned up and dropped so fast she almost didn’t notice. “Egon’s afraid of you. He can’t kill you because he doesn’t know what would happen to his kingdom if he killed the hero in the prophecy. That’s why he wants to keep you in his castle to make sure you don’t turn against him and take the throne.”

The idea of her being the saviour was preposterous enough, she could not dare to imagine herself as…

The Queen.

She stepped back, stopping just before she fell into the water. She couldn’t feel her toes, couldn’t even look him in the eye. Was the ground beneath her feet shifting or was it her who was shaking?

This wasn’t as simple as submitting herself to Calanthe and talking the poor woman out of another meaningless war. If the prophecy was true, Egon would be the death of Isolde. She had to take power back from him. But how? She couldn’t even take a sword from his hand.

“Saviour or not, I have to do something,” she said almost to herself. “I can’t run away forever.”

Before he could speak, she had turned and strode back to her horse. She mounted Thunder and looked down at Harry; his mouth was agape like he wanted to say a lot more.

“I’ll meet you at the house,” she told him, kicked the horse, and rode away.

Y/N tramped around the pantry to collect all the things that belonged to hers – her sword, her coat, the clothes she’d worn when she arrived, and her gloves – while he watched anguishedly from the doorway. She cleaned the entire place until there was no sign that she’d been here.

As she stopped to survey the room to make sure she left nothing behind, he couldn’t help the thought that when she walked out this door, she’d disappear from his life like a ghost. Just thinking about it made him feel like his heart had been ripped out.

“Will your wound be alright?” he asked, despairingly needing a reason to keep her around.

“It’s gotten better,” she said with a reassuring smile. He knew she wasn’t lying because those herbs were indeed magical.

Selfishness rumbled in his chest. He wished he’d never cured her. Her wound would heal eventually, with or without the herbs, but if she left to be the saviour she was destined to be, she might be killed, or worse, live and continue to endure her brother’s abuse.

He opened his mouth as she bent down to pick up a few coins on the floor, yet stopped himself before he could beg her not to go. He could have vowed to be her humble servant for the rest of his life, as long as she ran away with him and let him take care of her. But that wasn’t what she wanted. Her destiny was bigger than him, than her, than both of them. If she succeeded, she would take the throne. She’d have all the humble servants she wished for, and marry a king.

“All right. I’ve got everything I need.” She turned back to him with a tight smile while fidgeting with the fur on her coat draped over one arm. She must expect him to move out of the way so she could leave, but he remained standing at the door, like a royal guard refusing to take her order.

“If you really want to leave, I cannot stop you,” he blurted before he could help himself. “But please answer one question.”

“Harry,” she stressed his name as if to beg him not to speak. He didn’t care. They would never cross paths again, so this might be his only chance to ask.

He raised a finger and swallowed in an attempt to wet the dry patch in his throat. “One question. Then I’ll let you go.”

She regarded him with contemplative eyes. “What is it?”

He pushed his tongue into his cheek, staring at everything in the room but her, while she waited, arms folded over her chest.

“From the moment we met until now,” he said. “Was there anything real?”

He watched her expression soften as she thinned her lips and inspected his face. She looked baffled yet sorrowful.

“Because it was all real for me,” he appended, his throat closing in. “I’m...pathetically...in love with you.”

She froze, her eyes too large for her face. It was the same look she’d given him when she woke up last night and saw him. He wondered what it meant. Did she not want to hear those words? Did she hate them? Did she not care?

“Does this mean no?” he trembled.

She still said nothing.

With two long strides, she closed the distance between them, dropped her coat to their feet and cupped his face with both hands. Her delicate touch made him feel so precarious, like he might crumble if she let go. He brought his hands up and placed them over hers. He peered at her face; she looked breathtakingly beautiful when she cried.

“We were the only thing that was real,” she said to him.

He didn't know he was crying, too, until he felt hot tears running down his cheeks. He dropped his head as she arched her neck, meeting his lips halfway for a fiery kiss that got his head spinning.

Fire in the pit of his stomach. Fire everywhere. Intense heat spread all over his body as he tore his shirt over his head, unbuckled his leather belt, and pushed down his trousers. Once he focused on her again, she had discarded her nightgown and was standing bare and flustered in front of him.

He swept his eyes down the curves of her body. His body reacted strongly to the sight. Candlelight danced across her skin. With all the scars, bruises, and the bandage above her left hip, she was still God’s most beautiful creation.

He was too distracted to notice how long he’d been gawking at her with his cock standing shamelessly at attention. Only when she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her nakedness did he flinch back to reality.

He took a step forward, holding her nervous gaze as he placed his left hand on her hip, the other on her neck, before trailing two fingers down to her collarbone, the valley of her breasts, her stomach…

Goosebumps rose on her skin as she gasped and shuddered. She swept his hair back, fisting it tight as he slipped a finger into her heat. He worked his finger in and out of her, their mouths reattached, his tongue caressing hers as he swallowed all the sounds she made. He was unconsciously rutting his swollen cock against her stomach. He felt her cold hands making their way down his back, to his chest, his abs, his biceps, his buttocks. Pleasure fanned the flames inside of him into bigger and bigger ones.

A groan got stuck in his throat when her fingers found his cock. Before he could stop her, she was on her knees, staring up at him through her thick lashes, puppy dog eyes making his cock twitch embarrassingly. He dropped down on his knees as well and touched her face.

“You don’t have to,” he said, kissing her neck.

“I know,” she told him and shoved him to the mattress. He lay on his back, head propped up as she crawled on top of him. He panted when she put her mouth on his nipple and licked, eyes locked with his as she did the same to the other one. His stomach clenched when she kissed it.

Her fingers closed around his needy cock again as her mouth reached his groin, leaving sloppy kisses until she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth. His hips bucked, causing her to stop. She looked scared. She thought she’d done something wrong.

It was in that moment that he remembered she’d never done this before. He sat up, back against the wall as she scooted closer so he could pet her hair.

“Did I do something wrong?” she shyly asked.

“No, you took me by surprise, that’s all,” he murmured with a lazy grin.

“May I...continue?” she pleaded, her lashes fluttering. "Please let me try. I know how."

Right. She’d been taught to please a man...

His muscles stiffened as he ground his jaw. She would do this with someone else, most likely because she was forced to. Someone else – a king or a prince – would be in Harry’s place and touch her like he had. He shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind, grabbed her face, and kissed her deeply, for a moment, forgetting that he must breathe.

She broke away from him, catching her breath and reaching for his cock again. She considered his face before licking up the shaft of his cock, around the head, and sucking the tip into her mouth. He was out of breath, his hands spasming. She was messy and clumsy, but he guessed she was too dazed to care if she was doing it wrong. She wasn’t. She was perfect.

Delirious and aroused, he watched her take a little more, stopping when he hit the back of her throat, easing off and building up a rhythm. The way she held him in her mouth sent a wave of irrational jealousy through him. His hand moved to her hair and brushed it back as she bobbed up and down.

He left his hand on the back of her head and started thrusting gently, unable to stop himself. He couldn’t look away from the way his cock disappeared in and out of her mouth. She put her hand on his thigh but didn’t tell him to stop.

He was so close. When his stomach clenched and his thighs started to shake, he dragged her up to kiss her. She made a small, startled sound before kissing back, her hot tongue sliding over his. He moaned and kissed her harder.

In the next moment, he lay her on her back and hindered as he caught his breath, his eyes boring into her. Her lips parted, wet, full and sensual, the look in her eyes drowsy yet lustful, her breasts were full and round. This felt surreal. Almost like a dream. If this were a dream, he wished he’d never wake up and they’d never have to leave this room or each other.

He reached out and cupped one of her breasts. Her nipple hardened under his touch, and he couldn’t help but duck down and take it in his mouth. The way she whispered his name made his cock throb with the need to come.

He thrust against her thigh and turned his attention to her other breast. He dragged his teeth lightly, enjoying the way her stomach trembled under his lips. He then spread her legs to find her wet and heavy with the scent of arousal. She released a startled gasp when he kissed her clit.

"Please," she murmured, her voice weak. "I need you."

He growled like a hungry wolf at her words and got his mouth fully on her cunt. Her legs sprung up in surprise, and he held them open like he’d done the first night they’d been together, draping one over his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. He knew he was good at it, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious. This might be the last time he got to make her feel good, so he didn’t want her to regret anything.

He held her open with his fingers and gave long and slow licks that made her squirm beneath him. He sucked at her clit until she was gasping for air. She was slick and hot under his tongue; the taste of her made him grind his dick into the mattress. When her hand clenched handfuls of his hair and tugged him this way and that, he wasn’t sure if she was aware of it, but he loved when she gained control. He moaned around her clit, feeling his cock growing harder than before, which he didn’t think was possible.

He pulled back to suck two fingers into his mouth, and she mindlessly pulled at his hair to get his mouth back where it belonged. He smoothed a palm across her thigh to calm her as he thumbed over her clit before sliding two his fingers back inside her.

“Ah,” she cried out, spreading her legs more, the grip on his hair staggering.

Harry smirked up at her in pride. He couldn’t help the selfish thought of making her feel so good she could never feel the same with another man. He shook off that thought immediately, not wanting to imagine her breathless, naked, and spread open for someone else other than him.

He decided to overlook his worries and focus on her. He drew his fingers in and out while kissing her hip, her thigh, her stomach. It only took a few more soft laps of his tongue when he got his mouth back on her for her to come.

She was blushing and breathing heavily when he crawled back up and captured her lips with his own. She moaned into his mouth at her own taste.

“Was that okay?” he asked quietly.

She huffed, nodding fast. "That was...perfect.”

Harry kissed her warm cheek, grinning. His entire body was burning at this point. The fever of desire made his head spin while his cock ached and twitched against her thigh. He hovered above her between her parted legs, propping himself up, an elbow on either side of her head. He reached between them, and his jaw dropped as he bumped his cock and dragged it on her soft inner thigh before nudging the tip against her cunt. They both made a sound at it.

“Please. Want you,” she said, running her hands up and down his arms. Her eyes pinched closed, her head thrown back.

Harry pushed her thighs further apart and took himself in his hand, angling his cock to press the head into her cunt, pushing in with steady pressure. They both moaned. He dropped his head to her shoulder, elbows locking from the effort of not collapsing. He would bang his head against the wall if he crashed onto her wounded body and hurt her in any way.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice strained as he tried to control himself. She was tight, so goddamn tight. She’d never done this before, so he tried to be as careful and slow as he could. He waited for her to shake her head, and when she told him to go on, he pushed deeper, slow and steady.

“Harry,” she moaned, shuddering. He was all the way inside of her. He felt embarrassed as his hips stuttered with stops and starts. He tried not to come too soon, while glancing between them every second to make sure he wasn’t rubbing against her wound. He heard a frustrated groan, and she pushed at his chest. He whined when he slipped out completely.

Frightened, he thought he’d hurt her and she didn’t want to do this anymore, but she pushed him all the way down. He hit the mattress hard on his back and blinked up at her climbing on top, throwing one leg over his.

“What are you–”

She shushed him. Her hair fell long and messy down her chest, not quite covering her breasts. He continued to stare.

When he saw her struggling to get him back inside, a chuckle rumbled in his throat as he gripped her waist to help her balance. She reached behind herself, taking hold of his cock and guiding it to where she wanted it. He wetted his lips, his throat completely dry.

They both groaned when she slid down and braced both hands on his chest for support. He helped her rock her hips until she huffed, hair tossed back. She then started rolling her hips the way she liked it, putting her whole body into it. His jaw went slack as he made an embarrassing noise, clutching her right hip, his other hand squeezing one of her breasts, teasing her nipple.

He was already this close to coming, but he needed to make sure she came, too. He brushed her hair out of her pretty face, his feet flattened on the bed as he pushed up when she rocked down. Her insides sucked him in tightly; he felt an explosion coming. He couldn’t hold it much longer, so he took the hand from her hip to thumb over her clit, rubbing it in a firm steady motion until she was choking on air, hips faltering, cunt clenching around his cock.

When he felt himself getting close, he tried to lift her off of him, but her body didn’t comply. She sat fully on his cock. He pushed himself up, an arm around her waist, his chest against hers, their foreheads together.

“Inside, Harry, p-please,” she whimpered before pushing her tongue into his mouth, and his cock pulsed as he spilt into her, shuddering with her.

It wasn’t after he’d recovered from his fever and opened his eyes that he realised what he’d allowed to happen. She covered his mouth before he could say a word, her eyelids drooping as she steadied her breathing.

“I'm pathetically in love with you, too.”

He felt tears forming in the wells of his eyes, and he tugged her in and kissed her again, and again, and again…

Moments later, stillness had taken over. Harry was lying on his side, head propped up on his hand as he rubbed circles on her belly. She was lying on her back, lazy dark eyes peering at his face.

“What if I’ve impregnated you?”

“Does it matter?” she whispered while tracing his features with her fingertips.

“It does to me," he said. "You’d have my daughter.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he chuckled.

“You said daughter,” she said and bit back a smile.

“Or son.”

Her smile widened but didn’t last too long before worry overtook her face. She grasped his hand and brought it to her cheek.

“I won’t ever marry or fall in love again,” she said.

His stomach twisted into double knots. “You will, Peach.” He hated to say that, but he knew for a fact that she would fall in love or at least marry someone else. “You’ll marry a prince, or even better, a king.”

“How is that better?”

“A king, Peach.” He raised a brow. “And knowing you, if you succeed, and become Queen, you’ll marry someone who worships you, someone who would live and die for you.”

And if she carried Harry’s child because of what they’d done tonight, that child would belong to that king, who could give it the life Harry could never offer. That child would never know Harry existed. Y/N would never talk about Harry for the baby’s own sake. Harry would want that, too. Even when it was killing him just thinking about it.

“Would you?” Her voice pulled him back.

He dropped his gaze to her mouth for a second before glancing back up to her twinkling eyes. They crinkled as she smiled.

“Would I what?”

“Live and die for me,” she said, her tone teasing yet anticipative.

“In a heartbeat,” he answered without a second thought.

“Good,” she sounded content. “Don’t love me less than that.”

Before he could come up with a proper response, she’d already drifted off.

Y/N woke up just before dawn. It wasn’t easy to sleep when all that you saw when you closed your eyes was dying people. Except that this time Harry was there with her. He’d held her close as she’d broken down in front of her uncle’s body. A headless corpse. She didn’t know if he’d been decapitated and she prayed it wasn’t true, but that was the worst image her mind could come up with.

When she was little, she’d been forced to watch a public execution. The prisoner had smiled before they'd chopped his head off in front of the people. For him, death had been an escape, not a punishment.

Y/N had considered death, too. She’d almost executed the thought, but then it hit her that she wasn’t that prisoner – death wouldn’t be an escape for her. If she died, she’d die as someone who’d not only betrayed her kingdom but also murdered her uncle. If they wanted to accuse her of the crimes she hadn’t committed, they would have to say it to her face.

She and Harry had travelled through the night. He had insisted on taking her to the castle just in case something bad happened along the way. She believed he just wanted to buy some more time with her, which was also the reason she’d let him come. She wasn’t brave enough to say goodbye so soon.

They rode fast, and the roads through towns were empty at early hours, so they managed to reach the castle at sunset. Since they couldn’t be seen together, they stopped on the hill outside the castle grounds where they bid their final goodbyes.

The sunset fell on the castle walls, painting the cold grey of stone golden. The sky was a canopy of gold. Standing in the knee-length grasses, Harry and Y/N clutched each other like it was the end of the world. She could hear his heart beating in her ears and his hot breath in her hair. The summer heat penetrating their skin, the air warm and dry, but Y/N felt cold in her bones.

She pulled away to see his face, which was basking in sunset colours. The green in his eyes was a shade darker. A tender breeze blew through his hair, carrying the scent of flowers and dewy grass, wafting it all around them. She tucked his long locks behind his ears as she observed every movement on his handsome face. He had to be the most beautiful man in the world.

“I fell in love with you at sunset,” he said.

She blinked and smiled, a tiny bit confused.

“When we first watched the sunset together on the mountain.” He inclined his head, his eyebrows lifted as he peered at her intensely. “That was when I think I fell in love with you.”

The hollowness inside her chest threatened to engulf her at once. She pressed her lips together, her tears forming again. “This is our last sunset together,” she mumbled, trying to laugh but what came out was a depressing sigh.

His jaw clenched as he contemplated her. “When this is all over,” she guessed he meant everything else, not them, “Can I still see you sometimes?”

It made her somewhat happy that he believed this would end with her victory. She placed her hands on his shoulders as her lips curved slightly. “I don’t think that's possible.”

She had to be practical and not give him false hope. She knew what it was like to believe in a happy ending which never existed.

When the corners of his mouth lowered, she wanted nothing more than to kiss that frown away, but she resisted. “Besides,” she went on. “You can’t love me more than you do now. All I ask of you is to not love me less…”

“I love you more every moment, every day.”

She shook her head, dismissing the idea. “Not after we’ve said goodbye. You’ll forget about me. You’ll love another woman. If you could get over your first love and fall in love again, you will fall in love again after me.” She worked her jaw, trying to look for the right words. “You’re the first man I’ve ever loved. And if...if the prophecy is true, and...I become Queen–” It was the first time she’d dared to say that out loud “–then I’ll marry for the sake of my kingdom. It won’t be for love. Royalties don’t marry for love.”

“Your parents did.”

“They met by the river, Harry. They didn’t know they were a prince and a princess. They were just a boy and a girl.” She bit her lower lip, looking up at him through her wet lashes. “They were the lucky ones.”

She felt like he had a lot more to say and could have a whole debate with her right here, but he chose to remain silent. She was thankful for that.

“Here.” She pulled the gold ring off her finger and put it on his hand before he could refuse to accept. “Find a good doctor for your mother. Quit stealing and do something that wouldn't get you in trouble. I don’t want you to get arrested again and be rescued by some other lady.”

A corner of his mouth rose as he gazed at the ring. “No lady is like you, Princess.”

Something about that statement gave her a little hope. If no lady was like her, she could remain a special part inside of him, even after he’d fallen in love with another woman.

She stepped away, clasped her hands behind her back, and lifted her chin as she commanded, “Now look away.”

“Are you about to change right here?” he joked, yet didn’t sound like his old playful self.

She flashed him a beam. “Just do it.”

He didn’t argue and spun around, hands clasped behind his back.

She fought back tears as she reached for his fingers, which held onto hers as soon as he felt her touch.

“You’re not allowed to watch me leave,” she said matter-of-factly as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Don’t turn around until you hear the gate close.” I won’t be able to leave if you’re watching.

He gave a nod, so she slipped her hand away. He didn’t try to keep it this time. He had accepted that this was the end for them. She walked backwards to her horse and mumbled a silent goodbye to Lightning before she mounted Thunder. Giving one last look at Harry, whose back was still turned to her, she kicked the horse into a gallop.

As Thunder carried her across the field, her hair flying in the wind, she almost looked back to see if Harry had turned around.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles series #tctm series #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fiction #harry styles fictions #harry styles fanficti #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #princess!y/n

224 notes · View notes