#anyway. hand tailored clothes on his knees (he's like ridiculously rich) ON HIS KNEES

[capfalcon]

i literally cannot get over how gay in love nasty fucking whatever goes on in private between you two is like so intense and yet i want no part of it in love john reese and harold finch are like straight off the bat

[silverlightqueen]

The Other Half - Teaser

badboy!Jimin x richgirl!reader ft. bts, nct 127, twice, red velvet, got7, blackpink and exo

Word Count: 2.4k+

Summary - In Winchester, y/n has it all. Gorgeous and glamorous. A friendship group just as gorgeous and glamorous. Fantastic grades. A handsome boyfriend with a family just as successful as hers. A doting dad and a brother just as beautiful as she is. An amazing school, and an even more amazing house. As many cars and clothes and bags and shoes, and as much makeup and money she could ever ask for. But when Winchester Academy puts on an exchange programme with Burnley Tech School, a high school in an underprivileged area, two completely different worlds collide, and y/n has her hands full, practically overflowing, dealing with her exchange partner, bad boy Jimin with a whole lot of baggage...

Warnings - nothing yet except some offensive rich kid talk, a hint of classism and some mild bad language

a/n: I literally got this idea less than 24 hours ago and have already produced a two and a half thousand word long teaser for it so as you can probably tell, I am very excited about this ! lmk what you think so far and hmu if you wanna be on the taglist x

au masterlist

silverlightqueen masterlist

‘And then I told them to deliver it to my house and you know they said? They said they don’t do home deliveries,’ Nayeon wraps up her story, the rest of us girls gasping in shock. ‘You’re kidding?’ Mina asks, one hand flipping her hair over her shoulder, the other clasping Jaehyun’s hand. ‘Nope. I was like, bitch, do you not know who I am?’ Nayeon says, a laugh running around the group at that. ‘So what did you do, babe?’ Johnny asks her, arm around her shoulders, and she grins. ‘I asked to speak to her manager, and she went and got him. As soon as he saw me, his face fell, and he asked what he could do for me. I told him that his employee had told me they don’t do home deliveries and before I could even finish talking, he said that they could make an exception for me, of course,’ she says, a satisfied smile on her face as she inspects her fingernails, pristine no doubt, due to the award-winning nail tech we all share. ‘And did they?’ Tzuyu asks. ‘The clothes were in my room before I got home,’ she replies, all of us laughing. 

We’re sat out in the courtyard in our usual spot; a few benches in a huddle, half in the sun and half in the shade, close enough to the sports pitches and courts for us to keep an eye on the boys during the warmer months. It’s only April now, and sports start up again in May, when the air gets warmer, the days get longer, and our skin gets darker. Only half of our group are sat here at the moment, Nayeon, Johnny, Mina and Jaehyun taking up one bench, Momo and Sana on another, Tzuyu and Mark sprawled across another, and myself and Taeyong in another, my legs stretched across it and Taeyong sat between them, head resting on my chest. We’re all dressed in the tragically unfashionable uniform, the girls in black cardigans, blue blouses, green and blue checked skirts with yellow and red on them and knee high black socks (though we ditch the cardigans at any possible opportunity, our blouses tight and skirts rolled up so we don’t look like conservative catholic school girls from the Victorian era or whatever), the boys in tailored black trousers, light blue shirts and black ties, blazers the same print as our skirts slung over their shoulders. Other students pass us by with eager ears, trying to hear any hot gossip, and eager eyes, desperate to make eye contact and earn a smile from one of us.

I spot the others ambling over towards us, and wave as they near us. Chaeyoung practically bounds up to Mark, inelegantly landing on him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tzuyu makes space for Sicheng as Jeongyeon, Doyoung, Jihyo and Taeil take up another bench. Yuta joins Sana and Jungwoo joins Momo, Dahyun and Donghyuck taking up the last bench, and we are all as we should be. With our friends, in our couples, picture perfect as we’ve always been and always will be. ‘Oh, have you heard the news?’ Jihyo says, her fingers toying with Taeil’s tie as she speaks. ‘What news, Ji?’ Taeyong asks, his back vibrating against my chest with his words. ‘I don’t know how true this is, but I overheard Jennie speaking to Jackson and, apparently, we’ve got exchange students coming,’ she says, conversation erupting as soon as she utters the words. ‘No way! I don’t want anyone in my house!’ ‘Foreign bitches? Cool.’ ‘You’re fucking kidding, Ji.’ ‘Ooh, I hope they’re French!’

‘Why?’ Mark asks Chaeyoung, raising an eyebrow. ‘She’s got a kink for French boys,’ Dahyun whispers loudly, all of bursting into laughter. ‘No!’ Chaeyoung exclaims, a blush tainting her cheeks, ‘I just want to practice my French.’ ‘Oh, yeah, she’s fluent, Mark,’ Johnny teases, coaxing more laughter from the rest of us. ‘You can practice your French on me if you want, Chae,’ Taeyong teases with a wink, and I slap his forehead playfully. The jokes go over the two’s heads, both of them looking confused, and I take pity on them. ‘Being fluent in French is way of saying that someone’s… good at… you know?’ I explain, the realisation dawning on their faces, swiftly followed by annoyance. ‘You embarrassed to say it, babe?’ Taeyong says quietly, so only I can hear, as Mark and Chae begin to rant. ‘You weren’t embarrassed to do it,’ he teases. ‘Shut it, Tae, not funny. My brother’s right there,’ I reply, motioning to Jaehyun as Taeyong chuckles to himself.

‘Well, I hate to break it to you, Chae, but, no. They’re not French. They’re actually not foreign at all,’ Jihyo says, and we all frown. ‘What’s the point then?’ Sana asks. ‘Well, they’re so different to us, they’re practically aliens,’ Jihyo grins, loving keeping us all on edge like this. ‘Spill it, Ji, what are they?’ Yuta demands, getting impatient, as we all are. ‘They’re… poor,’ she says, everyone silent for a few seconds. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding,’ Momo says, and Jihyo shakes her head. ‘Oh, my God, I cannot have a poor person in my house!’ Jeongyeon exclaims as Nayeon starts to hyperventilate, Johnny getting the Chanel Grand Extrait perfume from her Hermes clutch and spraying it over her to help calm her down. ‘Jihyo, please tell me you’re joking. I don’t need this stress right now. I’ve got a shoot tomorrow and I can feel myself getting stress hives,’ Tzuyu says in a shrill voice, Donghyuck trying to do a breathing exercise with her. ‘I’m telling my father about this. He won’t allow it, not for a second,’ Jungwoo says, getting his phone out from his blazer.

‘Guys, relax. It’s not the end of the world,’ I say, all of them except Mina and my brother looking at me like I’m insane. ‘y/n, it might not be the end of the world, but how can we relax? What if they rob us, or give us fleas? Or Ebola?’ Taeyong asks, and I have to hold back a scoff. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. First of all, it might not even be true so there’s no point getting all worked up yet. Even if it is true, you can probably opt out if you want. If we did each have a poor person in our houses, imagine how good it’d look on our University applications. We’d look amazing for being so hospitable and charitable, and I bet we’ll even win awards in August at the banquet for it. They won’t rob us, and they won’t have any diseases or fleas. They wouldn’t be allowed to come if they did,’ my brother says, always managing to put a positive spin on things. Not that I thought it was negative anyway. Almost as though Jaehyun’s just said some sort of magic incantation, the others instantly agree with him, now excited to ‘have a poor person’. I zone out, used to tuning out when their rich kid talk gets unbearably stuck up, and it’s only when the bell rings to signal the end of our lunch hour does my mind re-join them.

We all rise up from our seats, heading towards the door into the school, and Taeyong puts an arm around me, his hand resting dangerously close to my ass. I can smell the Tom Ford cologne I bought him for his birthday, and I inhale the subtle scent deeply. ‘What lesson do we have now?’ I ask, and he laughs. ‘We’ve got tutor, babe, it’s Wednesday. Switch your head on,’ he teases, tapping my temple. ‘I forgot. I was thinking about this exchange student thing,’ I reply, and he looks at me thoughtfully. ‘You excited?’ he asks, and I shrug. ‘I guess. It’ll be fun. I hope I can take her shopping and get her some stuff. Maybe she’ll become a really good friend of mine,’ I say. ‘What if it’s a boy though?’ he asks, and I think. ‘Then I’ll take him shopping and get him some stuff. And become really good friends with him,’ I say, wondering what his point is. ‘What if he’s cute? What if he’s your type?’ he asks as we walk through the door into the busy corridor, heading towards our tutor room, our friends making a racket behind us. ‘Then he’s cute and my type,’ I reply. ‘So you wouldn’t do anything?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘What are you trying to say, Tae?’ I ask, and he takes his arm from around me, holding his hand out to me. I clasp it, wrapping my arm around his so his arm is clutched against my torso.

‘If I get a girl, and I sleep with her, would you be mad?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘Why would I be mad? It’s not like we don’t already sleep with other people,’ I say, and he nods. ‘Yeah, but like, we sleep with strangers from clubs. We don’t sleep with people that our friends know, people that will be living with us, people that will see us being in a relationship,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘Okay, but the people we meet at clubs see us as a couple before we go home with them. Just do what we normally do. Just say you’re cheating, it’s not like the girl will feel indebted to me to tell me, and vice versa,’ I say, and he nods thoughtfully. ‘How did I get so lucky to have a girlfriend like you?’ he says, leaning down to press his lips to mine, and I kiss him briefly, breaking away when I hear my brother call, ‘Stop defiling my sister, Lee!’ ‘I’m not your girlfriend,’ I reply as our friends laugh, and he grins. ‘Okay. How did I get so lucky to have a future wife like you?’ he says, and I laugh. ‘You have our parents to thank for that,’ I reply, and he chuckles under his breath as we enter the classroom. We take our normal seats, Nayeon on one side of me and Taeyong on the other, my brother in front of me and Dahyun behind me. We chat and gossip for a while, our teacher, Miss Jung, walking in a couple minutes later.

‘Class, quieten down please. I have an announcement to make,’ she says, looking around at us over the rim of her glasses. Due to our parents donating a lot of money to the school, we get certain privileges to keep us happy. Because when we’re happy, our parents are happy, and when our parents are happy, they spend. One of those privileges include our entire friendship group being put into one tutor group, just the twenty of us. ‘Is it the exchange thing, Miss? Because we know,’ Mark says, swinging on his chair. ‘You seem to always know things already,’ she says drily before lifting a paper up to read from it. ‘On Monday 4th May, a group of students from Burnley Tech School will arrive at Winchester Academy as exchange students,’ she begins, all of us bursting into chatter. ‘Wait, so are they all like computer programming nerds?’ Doyoung asks, eyebrows raised, and Miss sighs. ‘No, that’s just the name of the school. As I was saying, they’ll be staying for a month-’ ‘A month?!’ we chorus in shock, and she rolls her eyes. ‘And if all goes well, the period will be extended to two months-’ ‘Two months?!’ we exclaim, looking around in shock. ‘Won’t they like… miss their parents?’ Jungwoo asks. ‘Well, they can call them,’ she replies. ‘They have phones?’ Sana asks, all of us looking at her incredulously. ‘Obviously, Sana they’re not that poor,’ Tzuyu says. ‘Who told you they’re poor?’ Miss asks, all of us silent.

‘They’re from an underprivileged area but they’re not poor. It just means they’re not as privileged as you. They can probably still afford all their necessities, and most likely some luxuries too, but they don’t live the same way that you all do. For example, they probably have to commute to school because it’s unlikely their parents can afford to buy them a car. And they probably all have part time jobs,’ she says, gasps running around the room, myself included. Growing up in such a privileged environment, the thought of commuting to school or having a part time job makes me feel faint. Call me a spoiled brat, but I don’t think I could ever. ‘Oh, my God, I feel so sorry for them. Are we allowed to buy them things when they come?’ Chaeyoung asks. ‘That’s to your own discretion, we can’t dictate things like that. But anyway, as I was saying, this exchange programme is to enrich your knowledge of different lifestyles and understand the importance of acceptance and equality. It’s also to show to us the kind of knowledge you all already have of other people’s situations and lives. So far, you’re not instilling much confidence in me, but hopefully, I’ll see an improvement,’ Miss Jung says, all of us listening for any more juicy details.

‘Wait…’ Sicheng says, catching all of our attention, ‘does this mean… we’ll have to go live with them too?’ he says, this development filling us with horror. ‘I’m afraid so. If the programme succeeds, they’ll spend two months with you, and you’ll spend a month with them before coming back in August,’ she says, all of our mouths open in shock. ‘Miss, please say you’re joking. We’ve got to spend a month being poor?’ Taeyong asks, and Miss tuts. ‘Now, now, Taeyong, that’s not very kind of you. As I’ve said, they’re not poor, and you must be open-minded. This’ll be a learning curve for you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it greatly. We have an evening next Monday for your parents to all come in, get some more information about the programme and sign you up, if they wish,’ Miss Jung says, and I exchange a look with Jaehyun, both of us knowing our father would sign up for it in an instance, always wanting us to take part in these kind of things. ‘I know you’re all very unenthusiastic about this but give the students a chance.’ ‘We’ll give them a chance, obviously. It’s just unlikely we’ll get along. We’re so different,’ Taeil says, and Miss Jung eyes us all before she speaks; ‘You’d be surprised.’

[khaelisfics]

Different

Paring: Giacomo Casanova x Fanny Price Chapter: 1/? Rating: Mature Word count: 2990 Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Time

Summary:

When he decided to come to England, it was for the women. It wasn't to sell the Italian dresses he didn't make. It wasn't to drink champagne in posh garden parties he didn't like. It most definitely wasn't to fall in love with a woman he didn't want.

Read on AO3

New Teninch story I’ve started working on because I’ve wanted to do this for far too long! I know it’s not the most popular pairing, but I love it and I wanted to give it a try!

Tagging both @doctorroseprompts and @timepetalscollective should this fit in any of the ongoing prompts!

I hope you’ll like it! :-)

The hunting horn had blown. The moment he had stepped through the gate of the imposing mansion, the game had started. The first part of the game was setting up the rules. Making sure everyone knew he was a player, better yet, he was the man who would dominate the game. Make sure everyone knew he was the best hunter and would not let go of his preys, no matter how fierce or how cantankerous the opponents.

He had won the first round already. Pretend he was a wealthy Italian fabric merchant to slither his way into the garden, who unfortunately happened to have lost his invitation letter. The natural talent he possessed with his tongue and his charm were his best trumps, of course. His perfectly tailored costume, rich blue silk sewn with gold, white lace collar pinned with a jeweled brooch, knee-length leather boots were just helpful accessories. Outer evidence of a small fortune he only owned in the pompous discourses he had crafted for such occasions. Luxury clothes and precious adornments were but mere illusions. A few of his words were worth more than whatever money he could convince anyone he possessed. His mouth made him rich. His attitude made him respectable. His clothes only gave him the look.

Two young women walked past him, brushed against his arm, giggling and throwing the kind of decent smile high-society girls were taught to smile, but a smile that hid so much more. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips, and picked up a crystal flute from the table. Just half a glass of posh champagne he would nurse until he would find the perfect prey. Obviously, it wouldn't take long. He would have thought British girls to be more… Moderate. Elegant. Smarter, and maybe colder. Obviously, he had been wrong. Or so he thought.

Oh, they were classier, he couldn't deny that. Well-mannered, well-dressed, well-behaved. But he saw it. He felt it. In the way they tried not to look at him but their eyes burnt his body under the heat of a single of their fleeting glances. In the way their fingers slightly tightened around their glass when he walked past them, as if they were struggling to keep their hands from reaching out to him. In the way they shifted in their seats, or shifted on their feet, like little animals who knew they could get bit and dragged into a den, but who would have gladly let themselves be caught. In all of those ways, none of them were better than all the frivolous Italian women who would have sold their mothers and properties just to get a chance to be naked in his bed.

So, he began to seduce. That one woman, with a red corset that puffed out into a large skirt, glorious breasts pushed up so high and so tight her pendant was trapped between the two mounds of flesh. He rather liked it. He didn’t even have to speak. A wink from one of his piercing blue eyes, a tug on a lapel of his jacket, a small bow and a devastating smile. There went his first dance. The first occasion to get a proper feel of British flesh, his long fingers digging into her hip, her supple chest brushing against his despite the expected and required distance between their bodies, the round swell of her bottom under his little finger, just enough of a contact to map out a derriere that was probably just as glorious as her devant. She fluttered her eyelids at him, looked at him through thick eyelashes, a light blush on her cheeks, and he decided he could do better. She was well-endowed, yes, but her face was common. Not particularly pretty, nor special enough to spark his interest. Not yet anyway. He’d have to wait until the end of the hunt and find out which weakened prey he’d pick - he would stop at three, no need to make himself too noticed.

“Remember the name, Mia Signorina,” he whispered in her ear as he let go of her waist on the last note of the song. “Casanova.”

Oh he loved it, how women swooned when he spoke those few words, rolled his letters and made the vowels last - the moment he had set foot on British soil, he had found out his tongue could not only talk his way in and out of things, but could also speak a foreign language. It made it all too easy.

“Ciao Lady, you sure look like, la perfetta stronza, today,” he greeted the older woman who had been ogling his backside for far too long - and chuckled under his breath when she had to fan her rubicon face, most certainly oblivious to the meaning of his words. “Very nice bosom, though too flabby and too vulgar, I don’t even want to think about the rest. Definitely not doable. Buona giornata, eh?”

It seemed her husband had been watching them from afar, because he briskly walked to them when the wife began to shout at him, rise from her chair and threaten him with her pointy umbrella. She was turning even redder, but knew it had nothing to do with either his charm or his backside, this time.

“This eccentric foreigner told me...” she started when her husband asked what was the commotion about in a bark.

“Advised you on your sense of fashion,” he was quick to interrupt with a fake laugh and a dismissive bending of his wrist, the kind of gesture he was sure those British expected from an extroverted Italian designer. “I truly am sorry, Sir, but look. The pompom under the chestline is much too loose, you can see the string about to break. The dress might have suited her a few years ago, but it is now too small and doesn’t hug her shapes in the right places, which makes her look più grassa than she is, and also rather ridiculous. I would suggest adding a ribbon of taffeta here, change that old-fashioned pompom, and have it entirely retailored. Or you could ask me for a brand new dress, of course, I would be more than happy to take her measurements and have my stilistas in Venezia come up with a better model. Half-price, for a gentiluomo like you. Truth be told, where I’m from, such a depraved appearance would be condemned by law, so let’s make a deal. Give me a hundred pounds right now, I’ll take the measurements after the party and your Lady can have her brand new dress by the end of the week.”

“A hundred pounds?” the husband huffed, his eyes travelling from his wife’s dress he had to admit had seen better days but still looked fashionable and reasonably fitted, and this foreigner who tutted and shook his head at his wife, taking in her appearance with sighs of discomfiture. “That’s certainly expensive.”

“The dress I’ll give you is worth thrice that sum,” he smiled, thumbing a lapel of his costume tu push it towards him. “Italian quality fabric, the most renowned couturiers you’ll ever find, a dress your wife can wear until the rest of her days. It’s an investment, but a good one. A hundred pounds, and you leave it all to me. Next wedding, your wife will shine brighter than the bride.”

“I… Suppose it’s been a while since my Lady was gifted with a new dress,” he shrugged, reaching inside his pocket to take out a roll of banknotes.

“I’ll give you the matching shoes for twenty more of these,” he raised an eyebrow - he knew he already had the wife swooning with the promise of that dess, and he congratulated himself inwardly when she purposefully stared at her husband.

“Fine,” he gave up, handing him a thick stack of notes.

“I shall meet you later, Signora,” he bowed, the notes quickly shoved inside the deepest pocket he could find. “My apologies if I chose the wrong words and made myself unclear earlier, English is a rather tricky language. Buona giornata.”

He saluted her with one last bow of courtesy and a charming smile - he knew she was perfectly aware he had meant the offensive words, but he also knew he had just bought her a brand new dress, or so she thought, so she simply smiled back and went away. Those British weren’t shy with money, it seemed. Maybe he could fill his purse by the end of the day and buy himself a first-class ticket for his return to Italy.

Feeling lighter despite the hundred notes protectively shielded in a folded layer of his puff-sleeved shirt, he swanned off in the direction of another young woman who could definitely win her way between his sheets or in a bush somewhere in the back of the luxurious gardens. His first real prey was in his line of sight. The woman with the red dress had just been a mere swim in the shallow pond to taste the waters. But that Lady with the emerald skirt and slightly lighter green corset was most definitely the occasion to make the big jump. Deliciously shaped and the face of Venezian beauty, with that added British grace that made her… Well he didn’t know what that made her, exactly, but he was sure it made him uncomfortably tight in the pants he had worn for the occasion   No full mast before the ship sails , he had to remind himself. Seduce first. That was part of the game.

“Ma ciao, bellissima,” he crooned, leaning against his cane crowned with a silver lion head, crossing an ankle above the other. “Allow me to compliment you on your choice of dress. This is by far the best I’ve seen today, it fits your body rather spectacularly. Molto bella.”

“I am married,” she answered, tugging on her shawl to cover her bare sternum.

“So?” he grinned with a raised eyebrow, almost delighted to be faced with a new challenge. “Can’t a uomo flatter a Lady who deserves it? I’m sure your husband has never told you how beautiful eyes you have, nor how elegant your gait is. I wanted to meet British class and beauty, and I’ve just met British perfection.”

“My husband often compliments me on my looks, thank you very much, Sir…?”

“Casanova,” he introduced himself with pomp, bowing to give the back of her hand a distant smack of his lips. “Forgive my audace, but would you mind if I readjusted some parts of your dress? I am a tailor, you see, dress designer in Venezia, and I’ve spotted a few things that could be improved. Don’t get me wrong, you look positively stunning, Signora, I put the blame on those English dressmakers. They lack the talent and imagination Italian couturiers have. Give me un minuto, and you’ll make all your friends jealous. You could be the queen of the party.”

“I already am,” she pointed out, her features not growing annoyed, but growing suspicious. “These are my gardens, Sir Casanova. My party. Forgive my asking, but I do not remember my husband telling me there would be an Italian tailor invited. Who introduced you?”

“Why, Sir Bellingham, of course,” he lied, citing a name he had heard after stepping into the party. “We met a while ago in Venezia, he told me he’d find me a suitable market for my designer dresses in England, and he invited me to this party to meet my first clients. See that Lady over there? Already bought one of my dresses, you can ask her. Le mie scuse, my Lady, but if you’re not interested in what my talents have to offer, I should go on with my business. Thank you ever so much for the invitation and the fine champagne. Ciao, brutta.”

He clicked his heels together with one last bow of courtesy and hurried to get away, fast enough to deprive her of the time she’d need to realize he was a fraud, slow enough not to arouse any more suspicion from any others. Well, some of those British girls were tough. Nothing like the Italian women he had courted seduced within mere minutes for the better part of his life. It might not have been the best enterprise to try his luck with a married woman who also happened to be the hostess, he reckoned, but still. In his country, he would already be bunching her skirt up to her hips and ravishing her against a tree - no, better not to think about ravishing women against trees just yet. His frustration was a fantastic remedy to his condition, anyway. He had to fight this frustration. He had to keep playing. He had lost a round, not the game. Yet. Because if all the beautiful British women were as uptight and sober as this one, he doubted he’d ever get to shove his pants down his knees, especially not in such ridiculously posh parties. He would give it one more try, maybe two, but if it kept going that way he would rather flee to the neighbouring town and find a brothel. He hadn’t come all this way, travelled several countries and crossed a sea to be disappointed and frustrated.

So, he kept going on his search for a prey. His previous failures made him more careful, however. Spot the rings, spot the husbands, spot those who looked at him as if they knew he didn’t belong. It made the hunt harder. Made him a predator that had to stay hidden in the shadows rather than run and hunt in the open. He had become a prey himself, in a way. He didn’t like it.

He walked for several minutes among the groups of people, occupied his hands with another glass of champagne he didn’t drink, picked up a few nibbles on the tables to pretend he knew what he was doing, only to discard them in the many plant pots disseminated around in the clean-cut grass. And then he spotted her. The perfect prey.

She was alone, sitting on one of the steps that let to the entrance to an appurtenance, isolated from the main hubbub of the party. No ring on her finger. A dress that looked much less elaborated that the others, a dull beige when all the others sported bright colours, a pale maroon tunic going askew on her shoulders. Rather disheveled, compared to the neat hairstyles and carefully pinned hats the other women wore. If he managed to seduce that one, it wouldn’t be one of his greatest achievements, nor one of his greatest prides. But then he saw her face, and an odd feeling coursed through him. A shiver of… Something. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew perfectly well his heart hadn’t beaten harder in his crotch like it usually did when he looked at a woman, but louder in his chest. She wasn’t even beautiful. Pretty, at most, with her blond curls, her full mouth, her round nose. A woman like a hundred many others he had made his bed creak with. No, not like a hundred others. Like a few others, only. Because he felt it from where he was standing, smelled it, tasted it. That young woman with that innocent sad face was a virgin. He didn’t particularly enjoy virgins. He liked his women like he loved his sex. Bold, mature, liberated. That blonde was none of that. The exact opposite, even. Shy, inexperienced, reserved.

Her deep whiskey eyes met his, her thick lips stretched into a small smile, her hand tightened on her tunic. And he saw in her eyes something akin to what he was feeling himself. The feeling that she didn’t belong here, the feeling of isolation, the feeling that she was pretending. Without knowing why, he realized she was a bit like him. A poor girl lost in a world of wealth who had had to learn the rules by herself rather than being taught. A girl that had been thrown into a cage full of hyenas, waiting for her to die to feast on her cadaver and make her disappear, like a nuisance that needed to be erased from the surface of this Earth. He saw it in the way the others looked at her. He heard it in the murmurs behind him. He felt it in the cloud of tension that thickened the closer he got to her. He was in the same kind of cage. Except he’d been lucky enough to be blessed with talents to help him fight off his enemies and fend off his demons. She obviously hadn’t.

“Hello, Sir,” she greeted him with a bow of the head - it was only then he realized his steps had taken him to her, quite against his most sensible reflections. “Please excuse my ignorance, but I don’t remember seeing you before.”

He had never really seen her before either, he thought. Because as he looked down at her face and into her eyes, he was suddenly struck by her beauty. Unconventional beauty, certo , but beauty nonetheless. Before he knew it, he was taking her hand in a gentle hold and brushing his lips against her skin. It terrified him to understand he wasn’t doing it to drag her into an empty room ten minutes later, steal her virginity against a cupboard and ditch her when he’d be done. He was doing it because he wanted to do it. No underlying purpose. He peered at her through his eyelashes, lips still hovering above the back of her hand, and he saw the way she nibbled her lip with an embarrassed grin.

“Più bella cosa, you’ll wish you had never seen me at all,” he said softly, pushing himself up straight with the help of his cane. “Call me... Giacomo.”

[maiden-of-wolves]

Heads in Beds - SM AU Fic - Chapter 6

This chapter’s SUPER LONG in comparison to the others. Full of drama and interesting things and gets a tad dark. Hopefully that’s okay! This is also the first chapter with a beta reader’s help. I’ve also changed things in previous chapters due to her invaluable assistance, so if you see anything you don’t remember noting before March 2018, it may be a part of those changes.

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Even though the office was a fairly large space, when the boys all filed in it felt terribly small. It didn’t help matters that they had to crowd her and each other just to see the small screen. She’d never cursed its small size until now.

“So what’s this about?” Sam asked. “Why’re you staring at that light book?”

Thea chuckled. “It’s called a laptop,” she informed him, turning around in her chair so they could actually see the screen. She’d pulled up men’s daily fashion in a google image search. “I got a bit of an idea with Sam’s little stunt with that ‘glamor spell’,” she said. “Can you all adjust what you’re wearing with magic?”

“In a sense,” James replied. “But it will draw from our reserves, so you may want to consider suggesting this carefully—”

“Would you wear actual clothes if I got them for you, then?” Thea asked, thinking nothing of interrupting James.

The brothers didn’t answer, looking between each other for a few moments. They didn’t seem to want to answer, rather than not being able to.

“I don’t want to wear shoes,” Matthew muttered, tapping his sneaker-encased foot on the floor.

“You don’t have to inside, but outside you’d better have them on,” Thea informed him. “Or you’ll need to wash your feet every time before you come inside.”

“Can do!” he piped up.

James sighed. “Are you sure about that, Miss? You are alright with bare feet traipsing about the house?”

“As long as they’re relatively clean bare feet,” she pulled up her own legs a bit to wiggle her socked feet. “I usually have socks or bare feet inside too.”

“Alright!” Matthew exhaled happily, grinning at Thea.

The innkeeper offered a smile in return before drawing their attention back to the laptop. “I’ve pulled up images of every day wear for fashionable men. It’d be good to pull from these to make an outfit you all like to wear in public. Multiple would be good, considering people tend to have a closet full of clothes instead of just one outfit… but I understand if it’s too much energy.”

The brothers leaned in, trying to get a good look at the images.

“It’s like… paintings…” Damien murmured.

“But really detailed! And on a lit page,” Matthew marveled.

“What’s that one?” Sam asked, pointing at a particular picture.

Thea adjusted her stance enough that she could click on the picture, making it easier for him to see. “Looks like... a twill jacket with T-shirt and jeans. Nice loafers, too,” she pointed to each piece as she noted what it was.

“The shoes are stupid,” Sam said, though he shimmered and soon stood in the soft green twill jacket, grey T-shirt and his jeans remained on his legs. His feet remained in their black and white sneakers.

She tilted her head as she observed him. “That looks pretty good on you, actually,” she noted. “Nice choice.”

Sam completely avoided eye contact and said nothing, though Thea could see a light blush painting his cheeks and she grinned at him.

“Not that what you think matters,” he muttered. “It’s comfy. Not as comfy as nothin’, but you humans don’t go around naked or shirtless much.”

“Glad you remembered that,” she mused, which seemed to startle Sam back into silence again.

Thea started scrolling again and Matthew stopped her next. “Hey, wait! That one!”

She clicked to enlarge the picture. “Ah, you like a hoodie?” she asked, smile returning to her lips.

“Is that the second shirt there?”

“The jacket, yeah. Hoodies are cool. They have pockets that are actually comfortable to put and leave your hands in and, true to the name, have a hood you can flip up and down.”

“So it’s a hooded cloak?” James asked, quirking a brow.

“No,” Thea replied, shaking her head. The way they saw things was very interesting to her. Our worlds and times are so different… she couldn’t help but think to herself. “Cloaks are long, to your knees or ankles. These are just to around your butt or your waist and the hood is only enough to shield your head from rain. It takes a fair amount of stretching for it to cover your face much more than that.”

“Still, it looks interesting,” Matthew said, nodding to himself for a moment before focusing. His form shimmered just as Sam’s had, materializing a hoodie over his T-shirt and ridding him of his sneakers. He looked down at his toes and wiggle them with a grin. “Comfy!” he said, slipping his hands into his partially-zipped hoodie.

“Is there something that you enjoy seeing on males, Princess?” Erik inquired.

Thea chuckled again. “Not really,” she admitted, glancing over at him. “But, if you want to be smartly dressed…” she mused, thought trailing off as she turned her attention back to the laptop. She scrolled down further, finally finding a model with a tailored vest. “This would probably look good on you,” she told him, leaning away after she’d clicked on the image.

“Hm! That does look nice~” Erik admitted. A moment’s shimmer later and he had a brown vest overlaid on his T-shirt. “Though it doesn’t look as good with this shirt, nor in that color…” he sighed. “I will have to adjust this.”

“You have plenty of time,” she assured him, eyes making little secret of admiring how the new vest hugged his form. He really was like a model, though she supposed they all were. It was ridiculous.

“Is there anything that is considered formal?” James asked.

“Well, yeah, suits…” she started, hesitating for a moment. “But you really don’t need to be wandering around in a full suit n’ tie ensemble during regular days,” Thea answered. She turned her attention to the computer once more. “You could be all fancy, though. Erik’s vest is like that, but I’m sure you want to be different.”

She nibbled on her lower lip as she scrolled through. “Ah! Here,” she finally said, leaning back after clicking on another image. “Something like this.” The newest image had a man with a khaki trench coat, blue and black scarf wrapped loosely about his neck, double breasted grey vest and black slacks that ended in well-polished black loafers. “Of course you won’t need the coat and scarf— the second layer of clothes on his shoulders and the thing about his neck— right now. It’s summer. Too hot for that stuff.”

James hummed to himself for a moment as he looked at the image. “The...coat? Seems like a bit much anyway,” he admitted. Moments later, he closed his eyes and his form shimmered. He’d apparently taken what Erik said to heart and substituted a long sleeved shirt for his T-shirt when he put on a vest. The black slacks that appeared were perfectly tailored and the loafers were squeaky new.

Thea shook her head slowly, a smile at her lips. “Man, having magic must be nice,” she said. “To think how much time and money I’d save by being able to just think and manifest the clothes I wanted.”

“It certainly is easier than using a tailor,” Erik admitted with a light chuckle.

She quirked a brow. “Do you all wear clothes?”

“Sons and Daughters of Lilith do not, but many other demons do,” James interjected. “The clothing is typically far more for propriety or for protection than simply to accessorize.”

“Sons and Daughters of Lilith?” Thea echoed.

“Incubi and Succubi, respectively, Miss,” James answered easily. “It is another name for us, as our race was birthed by Lilith.”

“Lilith… like Adam’s first wife Lilith?” she inquired further.

“Or so the christian bible goes,” he replied, chuckling. “There are many stories of how the human Lilith appeared in the Abyssal Plains and how she gave birth to our race, but none know the truth of it.”

The innkeeper’s mind swam with the implications, but she shook her head to help clear her mind. “Back on to our original topic— the reasons for clothing are essentially the same here,” Thea informed them. “Though the rich use clothes as another way to show off their wealth and their individual tastes.”

“So some bullshit traditions are just everywhere,” Sam grumbled. “The only place you need to put your wealth is back in the kingdom. In defenses or offence… but a massive offence is better than any defense.”

The innkeeper nodded. “For once, we agree,” she admitted. The brothers looked surprised, but she held up a hand as she continued. “Though less about the massive offence part. To have anything you own be strong, anything you get from it you need to put back into it. Reinvest time and energy into your life, money into your business, love back into your pets or plants...”

“Attention back into your relationship?” Erik offered, a sly smile parting his lips.

Thea nodded. “Exactly.”

“A wise strategy, especially for someone as young as you,” James noted.

She raised a brow as she looked to him. “Young?” she echoed. “You all can’t be older than me. No way.”

“Time… moves differently between the human and demon worlds,” James began. “That being said, I had passed my 114th year before we came here.”

Thea stared at him blankly. ...wut? she thought. It was the only thing that the gears turned out before they squeaked to a stop. “You’re… 114…?” she finally managed to ask.

“Ah!” Damien gasped, actually making his brothers jump as well as Thea. “Harold gave us those hard papers,” he said. “He said those would have all our information on them.”

James relaxed. “Oh, yes. The identity papers…” he mused, fishing around in his new slacks pockets. He grasped whatever he was looking for and pulled it out. “Here.”

Thea took the ID card that James held out for her. It was a full license... for Illinois. Mr. Anderson really had pulled out all the stops. These looked entirely legit. They have all their paperwork. You’ll need to take them to the local DMV to get it updated.... K’s commentary echoed in her head. They did indeed have all they needed. Especially if they had birth records and SS numbers as well as this. If Harold could get legitimate ID’s… there’s little doubt in her mind that he could get the rest, too.

“Your last name is Anderson,” she noted, chuckling at the thought. “I suppose that would have made it easier for Harold to keep in contact with you and help you out if you needed it. He was going to pretend y’all were his sons.” Thea’s lips parted in a small smile. “He did have quite a plan…” She flicked her eyes over the rest of the info, unsurprised to see his height listed as 6’0, certainly unsurprised at his hair and eye color and even less surprised that he was marked as ‘M’. 8/30/1994 the DoB read. “You’re 23 here,” she read out. “So, in human years at least, you’re younger than me by 2 years.”

James took the card back as soon as she offered it to him. “That will take some getting used to,” he admitted, putting the ID back in his pocket. “But considering how much more you know than I, perhaps it will not be as difficult as I think.”

“Your birthday is just a few day ahead of mine,” she informed him. “I was born on September 2nd.”

All the brothers looked very confused and glanced between each other.

“You… know exactly what date you were born?” James finally spoke up, seemingly for all the brothers.

“Oh yeah, we have a celebration every year or at least acknowledge whenever that date comes around, too. I usually just drink,” Thea shrugged. “Or maybe binge on food and or TV.”

“TV?” Matthew and Damien asked, nearly simultaneously.

“I’ll have to show you all that later,” she said. “It’s… not really something I can explain without you seeing it.”

“Do we all have birthdays now, too?” Damien asked.

“If you all have those ID cards, yeah, you do,” Thea told him. “They have to be on there. It’s part of your identity here.”

Both Matthew and Damien seemed terribly excited and enamored by the idea. “What’s mine?!” Matthew all but blurted out, fishing in his new hoodie pocket for the card before sticking it in Thea’s face.

She laughed, taking the ID and looking it over. “May 1st. It’s the 5th month of the year.” Thea handed it back to him without ceremony. “That’s usually also the day a lot of people celebrate spring coming back around.”

“What about mine?” Damien asked, far quieter than Matthew had been but still all but vibrating with excitement as he held out the ID to her.

She took it and scanned the info. “October 11th,” she informed him. “Good thing it wasn’t a month before,” she added, a mirthless chuckle passed her lips at that. My humor is so dark sometimes…

“Why?” Damien asked, tilting his head after he put his card away again.

“September 11th was the day of a horrible tragedy for this country. Thousands of people died,” Thea recounted. “It was back in 2001. I was a kid. Just 9. I didn’t really understand what was happening, aside from it being a bad thing. Smoke and fire were usually a good indicator of something bad.”

“What happened?” Surprisingly, the question had come from Sam.

Thea looked to him, silent for a good few breaths as she thought over the answer. “If humans are good at one thing, Sam, it’s killing each other,” she finally told him. “It was a very effective attack. Using our own technology of flight against us.” She got the feeling that someone would have asked about how humans could fly, but they could feel her distress at the topic and decided not to delve further for the moment. “They martyred themselves in order to cause the most damage possible. And they did a very good job of that.”

The room went quiet, all the brothers apparently cowed into silence by the heaviness of the topic.

After a few moments, though, Damien spoke up. “Did you lose anyone?”

Thea shook her head. “Thankfully, no. But I have met people who did. It was particularly tough for them because it was a national tragedy and it felt like they couldn’t be alone in their grief. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been. No to mention anyone that didn’t want a war over it. The politicians used it as an excuse for more bloodshed and more lives lost in a war that’s been going on most of my life.”

“This place doesn’t look like a battlefield,” Matthew commented. “It’s peaceful. And not covered in blood…”

The innkeeper smiled, though there was no happiness behind the expression. “It’s not fought here,” she attempted to explain. “We try and keep our wars off our soil. We go where the enemies, or where the politicians claim our enemies are.”

“Sounds like a good strategy,” Sam noted. “Bring the fight to them. Protect your kingdom.”

Thea laughed again, though bitterly. “And what of the other people in the country? The ‘kingdom’ doesn’t just have soldiers. It’s just ‘good strategy’ to destroy places that service soldiers… but they also serve the people. You end up murdering innocents and creating more martyrs.”

“Have they attacked you again since?” Sam asked.

“Not as directly—”

“Then the war’s working.”

“It’s not that simple, Sam,” she snapped. “War is fought on multiple fronts here. With every innocent person we kill, we do the extremists’ jobs for them. Recruiting is easy when you don’t even have to provide propaganda to show the enemy is evil.”

“Evil?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “You’re just defending yourself!”

“By taking over their land? Murdering their people? I think not.” Thea watched him, gaze hard. “If one can avoid war or violence, one should. The cost is too high. Both in actual lives and collateral damages.”

No one seemed brave enough to speak up at that and after a few tense moments, Thea sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m going to leave this search page up,” she told them. “All you need to do is tap these to enter new words to search for,” she began to explain, gesturing to the keyboard. “And then press this one labeled ‘enter’,” she added, tapping oh-so-gently on the ‘enter’ key. “That’ll bring up new results, if you all want to explore clothing a bit more.”

She stood and the boys parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Thea paused at the door. “Remember to turn off the lights before you leave,” she told them. “Like this,” she casually flicked the switch by the doorframe down and received a soft click as the room went dark aside from the laptop. She left them in the dark for only a moment before flicking it back up.

“Woah…” Matthew exhaled, eyes wide as saucers. “So that’s what you meant! Do it again!”

Thea chuckled. “Do it yourself if you want,” she suggested.

Erik groaned as Matthew scurried over to the switch and began flipping it back and forth while staring up that the ceiling. “Must you do that so quickly?”

“It’s really fun!”

“It strains the eyes,” Erik informed him. “Stop it.”

“Is this also electricity, Miss?” James asked, clearly just as bothered by the flickering light as Erik judging by his squinted eyes was but trying to ignore it.

“Yes,” she answered, also having to squint her eyes a bit as she let Matthew get his latest excited phase over with. “It’s typically how we illuminate anything. We don’t really use torches or candles much. Sometimes we have scented candles, though. Those are nice.”

“Can you not smell others?” Damien asked. “There are scents for emotion, intensity of scents for power… why would you need more?”

Thea quirked a brow. “No. I mean, not unless they’ve stopped bathing and are dirty or something. Most people don’t have a smell or, at least, we clean ourselves enough that any smell we naturally have is washed away regularly. We can put stuff on us to change how we smell, but it doesn’t usually last long. The candles are meant to help relax.”

“Or maybe human senses are just too weak,” Sam muttered, though his attention was clearly on the curly haired brother as he gleefully continued messing with the lights. “Matthew! Stop it!” He growled at his brother, reaching out and grasping the younger incubi’s wrist and pulling it away from the switch.

“Hey!” he whined, pursing his lips as he looked at Sam. The rest of the brothers were relieved that they could finally see without their pupils constantly adjusting.

“You can be the one to turn on and off the lights,” James told him. Matthew’s eyes widened again as he looked to his eldest brother, a light blush on his cheeks from excitement. “But,” he added, Matthew’s energy barely dampening, “Miss Thea will tell you when to turn them on or off. None of this back and forth.”

Thea took notice of Jame’s use of her name for the first time, a small shiver tracing her spine. It was interesting how much more important her name sounded when it wasn’t used so often. “I’ll have to get used to telling someone else to do it,” Thea said. “But, sure.”

“Really…?” Matthew asked. When he received a nod, he all but jumped on her, wrapping his arms about her shoulders and squeezing her. “Thank you~!”

Thea yelped, heart hammering within a second and hands at her sides twitching. Too close. Too much. Too fast. Let go. Her mind chanted at him, but she was frozen.

“Matthew, let go,” Damien instructed.

“Huh?” Matthew asked, turning his head to look at his brother.

“She’s extremely uncomfortable…”

“Oh…” the second-youngest released his grip, offering Thea a sheepish smile. “S-sorry…”

Thea released a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding and it shuddered on its way out. “It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Eventually. I just… need to get used to the fact that you’re touchy-feely.” She offered him the biggest smile she could muster, though it was small in comparison to his. “Anyway, I’m going to see if I can’t put my bags up in the master bedroom and get ready to sleep. You all have fun with the search. Hopefully you can find outfits you like.” With that said, she shuffled around Matthew and headed out of the office.

She hadn’t even gotten to the door of the innkeeper’s living area before she heard footsteps beyond her own.

“Miss—” James started.

Thea turned to find him having stopped only a few paces away. “Yeah?” she asked.

For once, the eldest brother hesitated. “...are you... alright?”

She took in his expression, concern etching across most of his face but she swore she saw a twinge of pity. That was something that always irked her, even though it came from a place of compassion. “I’ll be fine, like I said.”

“Will you?”

“Why do you all not take me at my word about this?” she huffed. Despite the minor outburst, the innkeeper averted her gaze and pulled up a hand to rub self-consciously at her opposite arm. “I have a lot of scars you can’t see,” she relented. “They’re still tender, even though I’ve made a lot of progress. I’d prefer it if you all ignored them, as I do. I’d like to think they’d go away faster that way.”

“From that past you don’t want to talk about, I take it?” James prodded.

“Yeah,” she answered crisply, her mind recalling K’s reaction to her prodding about Harold. “From that.”

She knew he was watching her, but they sat with the silence for a time. Thea lifted her gaze to the office as she heard the remaining boys arguing about something.

“A wound won’t heal without proper treatment,” James offered, his expression still of concern as Thea’s gaze finally turned to him before he continued speaking. “Just as ignoring hunger does not sate it.”

Even though it was hardly a come on, Thea’s cheeks flushed. “Oh,” she breathed. “Right… You were,” she paused, swallowing. “Needing to feed.” She had completely forgotten about that in all the chaos that his brothers had stirred up.

“I can wait, if necessary,” he offered, voice quieter than she ever recalled it being. She didn’t immediately take him up on his offer, so he continued. “But… the glamor spell adjustments drained some reserve.”

There was a tenseness between them, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Thea still didn’t answer, sensing there was something else that was itching to be said but she was unable to insist he spit it out.

“And you,” he started again, gaze expressing something Thea couldn’t quite place. “Impress me. I… would very much like to taste you.”

“Taste?” she echoed, a nervous chuckle slipping over her lips as her ears bloomed pink. The hand that had been at her arm lifted to rub at the back of her neck. “That’s quite a way to put it...”

“But not incorrect,” he reminded her, still not moving forward despite her apparent acquiescence. After they seemed stuck again, he held out a hand. “Should I help you to your room?”

A round of raucous laughter and what was apparently Sam yelling echoed into the room from the office. Thea smiled as her gaze slipped over towards the noises. They need you, she thought to herself. Relax. They’re not going to hurt you. Her gaze shifted back to James. Especially not him. Thea grasped his hand. To his apparent surprise, according to the sharp exhale she heard, she also pulled it as she headed into the living room. “I don’t really have much to put upstairs,” she told him. “But it is three levels of stairs, so your assistance would be helpful.”

“Of course,” was all she heard from him as she guided him along. He offered no resistance to her and kept up easily due to his height.

Thea was surprised to find that she was reluctant to release her grip on his hand, but forced herself to. Her now free hand wandered between two bags for a moment before slipping her arm through the loop of her duffle bags’ handle and standing up. “If you could take that one, that’d be great,” she said, tapping the handle to her cheap, world-weary khaki suitcase.

She headed towards the stairs only when she saw James nod and reach for the bag. They climbed the stairs in their comfortable silence, not finding any trouble on the way up. Thea hadn’t even been in this room yet and she was waffling between emotions as she entered. She’d never seen a spiral staircase with a door only at the top level, but she supposed her mother had been one for privacy if nothing else in her life.

The decor was pretty much as far from Thea’s taste as one could get. A beautiful powdery blue lined the walls and the furniture was all light cream or white. Even the king bed’s linens echoed the color scheme. There were small details here and there of inlaid gold and the woman even had an old-fashioned vanity with a powder blue puff of a cushion on the stool that sat in front of it. Thea could practically see her mother putting on her makeup as she stood there and tsked under her breath. “This is gonna have to change,” she muttered to herself, lazily plopping the duffle bag on her shoulder down onto the chaise at the edge of the bed.

“You don’t like your mother’s taste in decor?” James asked.

As she looked at him, she swore she saw the faintest of smirks at his lips. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or not. “No,” she answered firmly. “This is way too bright. And fancy. And, frankly, opulent...” she muttered.

He actually chuckled, holding a closed hand against his lips as if to muffle the sound. “You know, for not liking Sam much, you’re a lot like him. Just with a far larger vocabulary and better morals.”

So he was picking on me! she cried in her head. Okay, James. You wanna play? I can play. “Of all your brothers, you compare me to him?” she asked, sighing. Thea ran a hand through her hair and leaned her head back as she did so, adding a dramatic flick of her wrist as it left her locks. She wouldn’t directly insult Sam, since James clearly loved his brothers, but the suggestion was there.

“Which of us would you prefer to be compared to?” James asked in return, his hand moving away from his mouth and slipping beneath his arm as he watched her. He was no longer hiding his smile.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she countered. Start with the others. Then lead up to him. she instructed herself. “I would like to think I share Damien’s gentleness.”

“When you are not defending yourself from perceived invaders, perhaps,” he admitted. “Is that your preference? My youngest brother is… special, in many ways. There is much to see there, if he lets you in.”

“I will have to keep that in mind,” Thea mused. “I’m afraid I can’t be as smooth as Erik, but there must be more than that to him.”

“Indeed there is,” James replied. “Though he will make it difficult for you, in particular, to see anything else.”

“Why?”

“Because he— as do each of us— owes you a debt. It is only natural to want to show your best side to those that hold power over you.”

Thea actually barked out a laugh at the idea that she held any power over these brothers. They had magic, and special abilities; she did not. There was little to compare in terms of power. “Power? Really, now?” she asked. “I doubt that.”

His expression fell, and she immediately felt guilt pool in her gut. “We are… resourceful, Miss, but we would be arrogant to think that we would survive long in an entirely new world without guidance or monetary assistance.”

“And you think I’d be the type to kick you all out after letting you in just to get some kind of power trip?” Thea inquired, quirking a brow.

“No!” he said. His answer came so quickly that even she was a bit surprised. “You are magnanimous, even after we all but invaded your new home. You offered us shelter; are teaching us; providing us a living. Even though it was not what Harold originally intended, my brothers and I will never be able to pay you back.”

She was struck silent for a few moments, actually feeling like she might tear up from the sheer gratefulness in his tone. She’d never been in this kind of position before. She’d been the one needing help, but not the one that was able to give it. “Well,” she finally managed to say, offering him the largest genuine smile she had since they arrived. She took a few steps forward, raising a hand to gently grasp his shoulder. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not the type to take advantage of any power I have over others.”

James’s smile returned and his gaze caught hers, intent, like it was searching for something. “Oh, I think my brothers and I wouldn’t mind if you took charge a bit,” he mused. Thea was still not entirely certain he was joking or teasing her.

“Really?” she asked, clearly incredulous. “The eldest brother would simply turn over his reins to an all but stranger?”

“You lead from a place of knowledge and experience and aren’t harsh,” he informed her. “I have had far worse teachers than you, Miss Thea.”

There it is again… she thought. Still, even though her name was gated behind that ‘miss’, it struck her. “We’ll see how long you feel that way, James,” she chided him in reply.

They were quiet again, though it was still not awkward. Each of them seemed to be looking for something in the other, but either could not find it or were not sure they had.

“Are you still…?” she started, unable to figure out how to properly bring up the topic.

“Yes,” he replied simply. “Is that an invitation?”

Thea’s flush returned and painted the tips of her ears as well as her face. She couldn’t form the words, but managed a small nod.

James’s smile turned to a smirk, whiskey eyes easily shifting to gold and within a breath Thea felt the emotional effects of enthrallment take hold. Her pulse quickened, flush deepened and this time she noted energy zipping along from even her core and dancing along her skin. His hand reached out, fingertips tracing along the skin of her neck and gently pushing her jaw up. Their height difference made the adjustment necessary as he leaned over and placed a kiss at the edge of her lips.

Even through her enthrallment, she was confused. “Did you just... miss…?” she asked, though the question came out more like panting.

“Purposefully,” he answered her in a breath, pressing another kiss towards her cheek. Her energy tickled her skin, leaving heat not only at his touch but following as his face and hand moved along her form. Her body bade her try to follow and actually have him kiss her but he held her jaw in place. Gently, which she was grateful for, but still firmly. “Just… let me,” he murmured against her skin as he placed several more kisses along her face.

Thea didn’t have much option, even if she didn’t want him to continue. The thought made a part of her not so thoroughly entranced, panic. What if he doesn’t want to stop? Can I stop him? Would he actually listen if I said stop? The thoughts roiled in the back of her mind, but she didn’t speak of them and did her best to ignore them. The enthrallment was still working its literal magic and she was wrapped up in her body’s need. Her arms reached up to wrap around his neck, drawing him closer even as he took his time kissing down to her jaw and lightly nipping at her neck. “I thought,” she started, still having difficulty forming words through the heat the enthrallment brought her. “You said you wanted to taste me,” Thea managed to pant, threading her fingers into his hair.

“I am,” he replied easily, vibrations from his words tickling her neck. After another light kiss, he pulled back. His golden orbs stared into hers with an intensity that should have scared her, his free hand ghosting over her skin to draw the energy about as if to tease her further. “Was there something else you wanted…?”

There was a new quality to his voice, Thea noted. A deep timbre that was not just his voice. It echoed and the effect ran a chill up her spine her even through the enthrallment. They’re still not humans, she heard herself think. I have to remember that. She wasn’t certain what she was hearing, but she did know it wasn’t her imagination. “Aren’t you going to feed?” she asked, her voice suddenly small and uncertain despite her flushed face and rapid heartbeat.

Something flashed in his expression, but she couldn’t pinpoint what. After a moment, his eyes glittered and the mist expanded. “In due time,” he told her, a small smirk painting his lips as she involuntarily released a moan. Her mind’s worries were pushed away, though she could still hear them they were a distant chorus that she could no longer focus on. The heat that pooled in her core made her wriggle in place, the earlier wish for it to be wrapped up forgotten for the constant drumbeat of more, more, more.

As if he could hear her wishes like his youngest brother, James kissed just below her ear and this time she actually felt some of her energy leaving her skin. Her vision lost focus as he took up a sharp nibble at her ear and she gripped even tighter to his hair. The faint chorus grew louder again. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually say anything like ‘stop’ to him. Why was she having so many concerns with James? She’d been worried with the others, but it got easier after they started. Maybe because he was taking his time and the others had been quick?

The thoughts were forced away again as he sucked on her earlobe and she whimpered. Energy shot from her core through her neck, flaring pleasure and heat before it slipped away and into James. As his lips’ travel along the shell of her ear was rewarded with needy pants, he chuckled. His lips brushed against her ear and the sound echoed in her mind. It held that new timbre, the ethereal echo that she hadn’t seen in any other brother. “I see why Erik had such a hard time with you earlier,” he murmured, assailing her ear one last time with a sharp nip. Another round of energy shot through her and was pulled away. “You’re fit to burst…” James leaned back to look at her, that impossible to pin down expression crossing his face once more. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead he finally leaned into her and laid claim to her lips. The kiss was simple, entirely lip lock, but radiated need even more than Damien’s had. His hand slipped from her jaw along her neck and held the back of her head tightly as he kissed her. Once, twice, thrice, each claiming their fair share of her energy as it raced along her skin. Her head felt light, then her body and she clung to him for support.

All at once, the enthrallment ended and the flaring heat subsided. Her thoughts came screaming at her again, worries raging in her head. Comparisons to Keith, though not deserved, were amongst the raucous chorus. James held her tightly as she shook, unable to decide if she should try and pull away or just break down in tears.

“M-miss?” he asked, gently running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She slowly shook her head, but buried it firmly against his chest. Tears had spilled from her eyes as she tried to manage her thoughts. It was to little avail.

James kept hold of her and part of her screeching thoughts wanted him to release her immediately, the rest suggested she’d likely then fall over. There was so much conflicting in her head and in her heart. She jerked in his grip as a series of hard knocks came to the door.

“Thea?” She already knew it was Damien, even with the voice muffled through the door. Her thoughts had been loud enough for him to hear and come running.

“The door’s unlocked,” Thea said, finally turning her head so that he could hopefully hear her despite her voice being barely above a whisper.

The redhead peeked out from around the corner of the door frame, apparently concerned about actually interfering. James’s expression was unreadable as Thea looked up to him. He reached up and brushed at the corners of her eyes to pull the tears that had begun to form from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have increased the enthrallment. Something was wrong…”

As much as she wanted to, Thea couldn’t tell him it was okay. Something was wrong.

“She said stop in her head, but she didn’t know if she really wanted it to,” Damien offered. “I came because it got very, very loud and I couldn’t ignore it.”

James sighed heavily, almost dramatically, and turned his gaze fully on Thea. “Next time, tell me— or any of us— to stop,” he insisted. “It will not hurt us. Or insult us. You are being gracious in offering us your energy in the first place.”

“Okay,” Thea agreed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it…” she added after a moment’s pause.

The eldest offered a smile, but it was tinged with sadness or perhaps even guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her, releasing his grip on her.

Thea followed suit, but had to focus on steadying herself.

“Woah, hey!” Damien cried, scrambling over to her. James had reached out, but hesitated, so his brother had taken the initiative instead. “Let me help you to bed…”

Thea simply nodded and let him guide her to the bed. All of the sudden she didn’t have the fucks left to care what color the room or the bed was. She sank down into the plush bedding the moment Damien allowed her to, eyes closing.

“Rest well, Miss,” James said. A few moments later, the door opened and clicked shut.

[veryloyalfan]

SorielWeek 2020 Day 3: Fairytale

Day 1: Dance & Day 3: Fairytale

More under Cut:

Bare bone ground against the rough stone floor as the short, ragged clothed skeleton scrubbed at the muddy bootprints on his hands and knees.

“SANS!!! SANS, GUESS WHAT?!?”

His younger brother raced into the room, no doubt trailing more muddy tracks. *papyrus, keep it down, will ya? and where have you been?!

The older skeleton kept scrubbing, but winced at the silence that ensued. He shouldn’t have snapped like that, but he’d gotten  a rude awakening from a hungry dog that morning, and realized that not only had he slept in, but Papyrus was nowhere to be seen.

His brother shifted his weight self consciously as he stopped yelling, and started yelling whispers. “OH… I DIDN’T REALIZE HOW MUDDY IT WAS OUT THIS MORNING, OR HOW LATE IT’S GOTTEN… ARE… ARE THEY STILL ASLEEP?”

Sans rolled his eyelights. *yeah, and don’t wake ‘em up. we don’t need them bellowing at us for breakfast just yet. specially since it’s not ready.

Worry started to seep into Papyrus’ voice. “I’M SO SORRY, BROTHER! I DIDN’T MEAN TO BE GONE FOR SO LONG. BUT YOU’LL NEVER GUESS…”

*later, bro.

Sans stood up, grimacing over his shoulder. Thankfully, there was no new trail of muddy bootprints leading up to his brother’s feet.

When Papyrus squirmed anyway, Sans sighed, and found a smile. *here, finish mopping up before she sees while i check the porridge, will ya?

His brother nodded meekly, quickly taking the mud soaked rag and rinsing it before going back over the spots Sans had deemed “clean enough”. Course, with Papyrus doing the scrubbing there was probably time to do the whole thing. He shuffled over to the stove, relived to find the porridge boiling steadily, and only sticking to the very bottom of the pot.

While he started stirring it, Papyrus tried again. “BUT YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT DAY IT FINALLY IS???”

Actually he knew full well what day it was. How could he have forgotten? It was all Papyrus had been talking about.

Drat. It had been Sans’s turn to wash the dishes last night, so there they sat… in the sink, coated in stuck on food. He pumped some fresh water in. *okay, okay, wassup?

His brother squealed. “IT’S PARTY DAY!!! AND EVERYONE IS INVITED, AND I CAN’T WAIT!!!”

The thrill in his voice dug at Sans as he focused real hard on the dishes. *cool, i guess.

“IT’S TONIGHT!!! I’M SO EXCITED!!! THERE WILL BE SO MANY PEOPLE THERE, AND IT WILL BE A GREAT OPPORTUNITY FOR ME TO SHOW EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM HOW AWESOME I AM, AND I’LL BE SO POPULAR!!!”

He certainly hoped so, for Papyrus’s sake.

“Papyrus! Like, where’s breakfast?!”

“Yeah! And why is my laundry still, like, all over my floor?”

Papyrus jumped up but Sans pointed at the floor. *you finish up, i’ll take the food to our evil step-sisters.

He smirked as he was scolded. “SANS!!! BRATTY AND CATTY AREN’T EVIL! THEY’RE JUST… A LITTLE RUDE SOMETIMES. AND THEY MUST BE SUPER EXCITED ABOUT TONIGHT!!”

*yeah, yeah, whatever you say.

He dried the bowls, filled them and balanced them on the tray that he took his time taking upstairs. Sort of. Unfortunately anything he slacked off on would just pile onto Papyrus’s chore list, so he couldn’t really afford not to care.

“SANS… MAYBE… DON’T BE RUDE BACK? JUST FOR TODAY?”

He smiled thinly. *don’t worry, bro, i’ve held out this long, haven’t i? i’m not gonna blow your chance now.

“OUR CHANCE!!!”

Sans waited to shake his head until after he’d left the kitchen. He couldn’t care less for big fancy parties at the castle, and he was fairly sure he wouldn’t actually be allowed to go. Their stepmother had said they could go if they got their chores done, and had something presentable to wear. That was a pretty big if under normal circumstances, but the three women had really piled on the chores, intentionally or not.

Naw, the most he had to look forward to tonight was an evening without those three working him ‘to the bone’. Heh. Papyrus though… he hoped with everything in him that they could satisfy River Lady Tremaine enough that his brother would be allowed to go, and he’d only have to be on this extra best behavior until tonight.

To optimize his chances, he quickly dropped off the breakfasts, and gathered the laundry from the girls’ room, ignoring their excited prattling about tonight, which he REALLY couldn’t care less about except they’d taken to laughing about how ridiculously out of place Papyrus would be at the castle.  

“Did you hear that?”

“Like, how could I not?”

“Can you imagine thinking of going to a party with royals dressed like that.”

“Like, totally gross. Oh, but what are we going to wear though?”

Sans refused to pay them any attention, but he dragged the laundry out just in time to see Papyrus look down at his clean, but tattered clothes. When his brother gave him a brave smile, he grinned and winked a silent reassurance it would be alright. One that he could only hope he could actually deliver on.

Of course nothing in their life was ever easy.

If chores had been bad all week, they were insane today. Not just helping the girls prep for the party, but strange, random cupboards needed organizing, the attic needed to be cleaned. Each extra task was more daunting, but they weren’t counting on Papyrus rising to the occasion through it all.

But at the end of the day, when the chores were all done, he couldn’t say he was REALLY surprised when they went to get the suit they’d made for Papyrus, only to find an empty hanger.

“…DID I DECIDE TO WASH IT AGAIN?”

*only the three times, bro. it was right here.

“…MAYBE THEY MISPLACED IT? I’LL GO CHECK!!!”

He didn’t bother to try to stop him from racing upstairs to where the girls were leaving. He should have known better. Should have hidden it. But even he hadn’t thought they’d pull something that low.

And maybe they actually hadn’t done it on purpose. But when he made it upstairs, they were giggling about how they’d thought ‘that tacky old suit” was trash, and they’d sold it to a friend as a joke.

Their stepmother led the girls out to the waiting carriage with a few cryptic words, and left them standing there, Sans trying to hold back anger, Papyrus trying bravely not to cry. “WELL… MAYBE NEXT PARTY.”

He turned and quietly went out the back door.

The anger left Sans in a rush, and he was left just feeling helpless as he scrambled to think of something he could do or say to make it just a tiny bit better. But when he followed his brother, Papyrus was the first to talk. “I’M SORRY YOU CAN’T GO TO THE BALL, SANS. YOU CERTAINLY EARNED IT. YOU WORKED SO HARD…”

*me? papyrus, i didn’t even…

Even now he somehow couldn’t bring himself to make light of the promised party his brother had wanted to attend so badly. Making it less appealing however… *probably woulda been way too stuffy for me, anyway.

“…MAYBE.”

*and i’ve heard they eat real weird food like snails up there.

“YEAH… AND ANY FOOD YOU THINK IS WEIRD IS PROBABLY REALLY, REALLY WEIRD.”

*heh.

He went over to the bench Papyrus slumped onto, and sat down beside him reaching to pat him on the back. *i’m just sorry you had ta miss out.

There had to be SOMETHING they could do? Trade one of the stepsisters outfits for a suit? Find the alleged guy they sold the suit to? Maybe they’d just pranked them and the suit was actually somewhere… ”WHAT’S THAT??”

*huh? what’s what?

“DON’T YOU SEE THAT OVER THERE?”

He looked where Papyrus was pointing and for a second, all he could make out was a big, poofy blue dress, but after the bright lights died down a little, he realized a rectangle was wearing the dress and coming towards them. “HELLO DARLINGS! DON’T FRET, I’M HERE NOW.”

Sans squinted. *and you are… who exactly?

The robot struck a pose. “WHY, WHO ELSE?? I’M YOUR FAIRY-GODFATHER OF COURSE! NOW THEN, PAPYRUS, WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME… LET’S SEE NOW… HMM, YES, THIS WILL DO.”

The robot waved a wand, shooting an electric current into an old plate of spaghetti in the trash. Noodles stretched and snaked and grew as the plate expanded and Sans actually had to fight an urge to run before it stopped, transformed into a fancy carriage.

Another flick of the wand, and their little dog friend floated over, growing until he was big enough to pull the carriage.

“ONE LAST THING…” Papyrus’s clothes were next, transforming into a perfectly tailored red suit. “YOU LOOK FABULOUS DARLING! NOW YOU BETTER GET GOING BEFORE YOU MISS YOUR GRAND DEBUT! SADLY, THE MAGIC CAN ONLY LAST UNTIL MIDNIGHT, SO KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE CLOCK!”

Papyrus seemed dumbstruck for a second, before blinking it off. “WOWIE!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH, BUT… WHAT ABOUT SANS?”

“HMM? SANS? HIS WISH WAS FOR YOU TO GO.”

“WELL, YES, BUT… CAN’T HE COME WITH ME? PLEASE?”

Sans shrugged. *bro, it’s fine, really. you go and have a great…

A surge of magic hit him, changing his familiar rags into a matching suit in blue. *…time?

“ONLY UNTIL MIDNIGHT! REMEMBER DARLINGS!!!”

Papyrus squealed and grabbed Sans, pulling him into the spaghetti carriage, and off they went.

Despite not really caring about going, Papyrus’s excitement was contagious, and he was overjoyed to see his brother so happy.

There was a lot of chatter about the reason for the party being something about the princess choosing a suitor or some other political nonsense that didn’t concern the little people.

Papyrus was finding it EXTREMELY easy to chat with these people. That suit, combined with his outgoing friendly attitude, demanded attention that normally these rich snobs wouldn’t have spared him for anything.

Sans backed off, watching his bro shine from one of the many food tables. Many of which did contain snails, and none of which contained ketchup. There were some nice fancy sauces that were pretty good though.

He was just putting some kinda sauce dipped cracker snack up to his mouth when something bumped into him. “Oh my! I am so sorry!”

He glanced up into a dazzling pair of kind eyes, then followed their gaze down to the sauce now dripping down his suit and white shirt. He shrugged, and because she looked so mortified, *knock knock.

“Oh… who is there?”

*dishes.

“Dishes, who?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets with a grin and a wink. *’dishes’ a very bad joke.

Her mouth twitched, and then she giggled, and then her giggle just, unfolded, into the most beautiful laugh he’d ever heard in his life. Her eyes twinkled. “Knock knock?”

He held his breath. *who’s there?

“Old Lady.”

*old lady who?

She smiled brightly. “Oh! I did not know you could yodel!”

Man. That right there had to be the reason that when she asked him if he’d like to dance, he let her lead him out to the dance floor, where he became so utterly lost in her eyes, he barely noticed when they stopped dancing, and when they’d slipped outside to talk, and joke, and swap terrible puns until they both had tears in their eyes.

“Those are very interesting shoes.”

*heh, ya like em?

He lifted a foot to study it with a shrug. Instead of getting fancy shoes with his outfit, he’d gotten nice comfy slippers. But who wanted to talk about footwear with a lady like this?

Sans was so utterly smitten, in fact, that he almost didn’t react when he glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly midnight.

After all, she didn’t seem like the type that’d hold it against him that he was a total fraud when his fancy suit turned back… to…rags…

Papyrus!

If he didn’t get him out of here NOW the magic was gonna wear out right in front of Papyrus’s new fan club. *i.. i’m sorry…

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

*i gotta go. now, but…

As he raced back towards the castle he turned for one second to tell her, *i had a real nice time. erm… goodbye.

“Wait! Please!”

It tore at him, but he just couldn’t. He ran, fast as he could. Thankfully he didn’t have to look far to find Papyrus. He never did. “SANS! WHERE WERE YOU??? WE NEED TO GO!!!”

*i know, i know, sorry!

Papyrus scooped him up under one arm and fled out the front door and down the steps with him as fast as he could go, ignoring the cries of “Wait! Please!!!” behind them.

Papyrus dove headfirst straight into the carriage, one slipper falling to the steps and staying there as they sped away without it, breathing heavily and laughing a bit hysterically as they raced from the castle grounds and around the bend where the magic unfolded, leaving them in a laughing heap, holding the annoying dog and all three of them covered in old spaghetti, after what had to be the most magical night of their lives thus far. Lives that, little did they realize, were about to change for the better.

[felinehypocritical]

Please write Stan and Bill and Richie hanging out in a diner talking about things (anything you want)

The air around them was filled with clinks and quiet talking, their voice mingling with three dozen others and their laughs intertwining. Stan Uris, Richie Tozier, and Bill Denbrough sat in their favorite, hole-in-the-well diner, discussing everything and nothing.

 Richie tore his gaze away from his coffee parfait for long enough to catch Bill looking at him strangely, and grinned widely.

 “What’re you looking at, Billy, my boy? See something you like?”

 Bill shook his head, simply looking at him pensively while he sipped his tea. “You’re ridiculous, Ruh-Richie.”

 “Oh, but am I, Bill? I see where you’re lookin’, and it’s not polite, not one bit!” Richie smiled wider as he saw Stan choke on his coffee, satisfied with his influence. “You doing okay there, Stan?”

 Stan waved a hand, before putting his hands back on the table, his slender fingers clasped together tightly. “I’m fine. Go on, Bill.” He turned his gaze toward the redhead and rolled his eyes at Richie’s huffiness towards being ignored.

 “Ruh-Right. So, I was just thinking, m-maybe we should get Eddie a b-birthday present while we’re ou-out. I was th-thinking, l-like, an ah-actual ring instead of th-that cereal buh-box one.” He smiled smugly as Richie cackled, his slightly uneven teeth showing as his freckles scrunched up. Bill really was beautiful, in a sleepy, bedraggled way, his freckles densely spotted all over his cheeks, his smile lopsided and his hair constantly mussed from running his hands through it as he wrote. Especially now, at nine in the morning, he looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and both Richie and Stan were jealous of his ease.

 Richie slapped his knee comically, saying as his giggles subsided, “oh, that’s a knee-slapper. Ain’t that right, Stan?” Stan only pursed his lips slightly, sitting up straighter in his chair as he sipped his black coffee (the only coffee he insisted on having nowadays), before shrugging a little and cracking a grin.

 “Sure, Rich,” he said, sounding dry and irritated despite his good humor- though that was just Stan, for you. Always sounding on edge. “But where are we three stooges gonna find any nice rings?” He chewed on his lip, already worried about how the mechanics would work, but Bill rushed in to make amends.

 “Hey, huh-h-hey, let’s n-n-n-ot worry about that r-right now, k-k-kay? Let’s j-just talk. Smuh-smell the coffee. Suh-see the sights.”

 The two other boys looked comically and slightly forlornly around the small, dingy diner, before Richie got up slightly, proclaiming: “well, I’ve seen the sights, Billy. Can we go now?”

 Bill put a hand on Richie’s, sliding it up his arm until he was able to pull Richie down into his seat.

 “Nuh-no, Richie. Sit d-d-down.” He looked at Stan, who recoiled slightly, still scared of the criticism Bill had given him just days ago. “Stuh-Stan, Richie told me ab-bout some stuh-stuff I said th-that upset you.” Stan shot Richie daggers when he heard that, but Richie only shrugged sheepishly. Bill took Stan’s hands in his own, wincing slightly. They were so, so cold on the outside. Only the palms that had touched the outside of his scalding cup were warm, but everything else was ice. Still, Bill held onto them without stopping as Stan tried to jerk them away. “St-Stan… look. I’m suh-sorry, okay? I dih-hidn’t know you were there. I wou-houldn’t have s-s-said it if I knew y-you were.” He saw Stan’s hurt face, and pressed on. “I kn-know it still huh-hurts. I’m s-sorry. But y-you can’t take my word for it. I was with Eddie. And Eddie’s…” His eyes seemed a bit dreamier, but he soon lost the look and most of his stutter. “Eddie’s dih-hifferent. He’s way different from you. And… I’m so sorry, Stan. I say this out of love. But you’re not healthy.” Stan’s eyes snapped down, and he suddenly looked as if he’d lost two sizes with how small he was. “You’re n-not. You didn’t get breakfast here, and I’m sure that when you a-ate at home, y-y-you did the ah-absolute minimum.” His stomach dropped slightly as Stan looked away, confirming his suspicion. “And… if yuh-y-you’re not healthy, I… I cuh-can’t let Eddie feel bad because of you. I l-luh-l-love you, Stanny, but s-seriously, you gotta get yourself t-t-together.”

 “Hey,” Richie said sharply. “Stan’s together. Get off his back, dude.” His hand flitted at Stan’s and Richie’s own freezing hands covered his as well as they could, despite being smaller. Even he, who had unconditionally cold hands, felt how cold Stan’s were. Not that he minded- he’d love Stan if his hands were two thousand degrees.

 “B-but he’s nuh-not, Richie.” Bill frowned across the table. “Look at h-him! He’s duh-dead in his seat!” Stan did, indeed, look slightly sick. His dark circles were more defined, his hair taking on a strange sheen. His arms were small and thin, with his maroon sweater pushed up his elbows. His clothes absolutely hung on him, something they almost never did, what with Stan’s taste for tailored clothes. Sure, they were clearly pajamas, but still, it gave the illusion of a little boy wearing clothing he still had a long way to fill out.

 Richie glared at the taller boy fiercely. “No he doesn’t! Stan looks fine! He looks great, actually, much better than you do with this attitude, Bill. And anyways, who-”

 “It’s okay, Rich.” Stan’s quiet, stable voice broke through the din of Richie’s quickly rising one. “I know.” His voice wavered, before dropping as he looked down at his lap. “I don’t…” He looked around desperately, as if searching for a way out, before not finding one and pulling his eyes up to meet Bill’s. “I don’t mean to make anyone worry. Or make Eds feel bad. I don’t want any of that.” He suddenly looked so much weaker, so much thinner and more defenseless than he had that night a few days ago. He said the next in a near whisper: “I just want to be small.” Stan curled his knees up to his chest in the book and tore his hands away, wrapping his arms around his legs. He looked, in a word, dejected. “I just want to be small,” he repeated, rubbing his encircled pointer finger and thumb up and down the circumference of his wrist absently.

 It was then that Bill saw, really SAW, how in need Stan Uris was at that time in his life.

 Richie was already on it, however, and he awkwardly gave Stan a hug; although it was more draping himself over the boy and shushing when Stan tried to protest than a hug. “Stanny. Hey, dude…” Richie trailed off, but he kept trying after a moment. “Hey! Get it together, man! You’re Stan the Man Uris! You don’t take no shit from NOBODY, ‘specially not some stuttering no-good freak like Denbrough!”

 “H-hey,” Bill warned, although he, too reached over to pat Stab’s hand. “Stan, I’m s-s-sorry. You’re doing gruh-great, okay? Just… Yuh-you’ve got some stuff to wuh-hork on. We’ll h-h-help you…” But then he saw Stan’s lips pressed into a prim line and grinned crookedly. “Or n-nuh-not. We duh-don’t have to.”

 The dark-haired boy nodded, and slowly let himself be pried into an open stance by an insistent Richie. “Thanks.”

 There were a few moments of silence as they wondered what each of the others were thinking of them right now. Stan looked at Bill with a newfound outlook, and upon Richie with a sort of cheesy and reluctant adulation. Richie and Bill, despite that they’d never admit it, were actually more worried about Stan than ever before. Something about the way he looked all folded up in on himself made them antsy. And Richie barely had ANY room for the redhead in his brain when Stan was sitting right next to him smelling slightly like aftershave Richie and Stan both knew he didn’t really need (Stan barely grew facial hair, much to his chagrin, especially since his father had such a nice beard- not that he’d ever want one, but he’d like to know he could), wearing a shirt that was, at some point, Richie’s, but looked much better on Stan with his darker complexion.

 They wondered how this was going to work, what with Stan refusing help for a problem he so CLEARLY had and Richie not knowing how to really make anyone do ANYTHING, and Bill feeling as if he couldn’t condone Stan’s habits of not eating for hours and hours until half of a day had gone by with no meal all for the effort of becoming as small as he wanted- but that was for another time. For now, they would drink and make merry.

 Richie cleared his throat. “So,” he said, with a wicked grin. “Where do you think we’ll find a ring of high enough quality for our dear little Eddie Spaghetti?”