#i didn’t mean for Eddie to reach this level of possessive exactly but… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novelconcepts · 4 years ago

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fic: (above) a boring little pub

“See where that takes us,” Dani mutters. “Sure. Yeah. Smooth.”

She’d said it like it wasn’t nerve-racking in the least, like she does this sort of thing every day. Get up at the asscrack of dawn, trying to remember how to make a pot of coffee she personally feels out of her mind even considering putting in her own mug. Coffee makes her crazy, spikes her already-wild anxiety straight through the roof; she hasn’t tried to brew the stuff since she was fifteen and making a last-ditch effort to get on Mom’s good side.

And, still, it was the best idea she had for Operation Fix Things With Jamie. Four days laying awake thinking, four days with her brain half on the kids, half on making Jamie smile the next time she turned up at Bly, and this was the best she could do. A cup of coffee that, to her untrained eye, looked like muddy water more than anything else.

And she had handed it to Jamie. Just pasted on a smile and thought, Maybe the stars have aligned, and I woke up good at this today. Whether good at the coffee or the talking to Jamie, she wasn’t quite sure--but soon enough, it appeared the answer was “neither”. Terrific. Jamie, still stung from the other night. Jamie, clearly still not ready to leap off a cliff just because Dani reached out a hand.

Who could blame her? Jamie’s maybe the most patient person Dani has ever met, so long as you’re not shredding her gardens behind her back, but she is still a person. A person who has shown Dani an extremely unexpected willingness to listen, but not so much the desire to be jerked around. Dani gets it. There’s nothing she wants less in the world, than to make Jamie feel like a chew toy to be picked up and discarded again on a whim.

Hence, the world’s most insulting attempt at coffee.

And the invitation.

Dani does not have what a thinking man might call “a strong history” with dating. Part and parcel of being with the same person since you were ten, she supposes, and even if Edmund wasn't...right, he was still simple in his own way. The bravest she ever had to be with Eddie was in daring him to kiss her, a desperate, futile bid toward understanding all the girls at school who sighed and groaned over boys. Dani didn’t get it then, didn’t get it when Eddie closed his eyes and puckered his lips and gave her the most exaggerated dry kiss a human mouth can produce. Didn't get it, either, as he improved over the years, though she was tactically aware of him doing so. On a strictly data-driven level, she watched him get better at kissing, at smiling without nerves, at leading her by the hand wherever he felt they should go. And never, not once, did she feel it.

But one night in a greenhouse, wine in her blood and guilt on her lips, and she gets it now. She gets all of it. Jamie’s hands in her hair, Jamie’s mouth opening beneath her own--a symphony only they could hear.

And then she’d gone and ruined it.

So, now she’s here. Standing awkwardly in a small room in a huge manor, poking through the approximately ten outfits she’s been carting across Europe for half a year. She’d been brave with Jamie in ways she’d never considered with Eddie--brave to take her hand, brave to follow her into the dark, brave to kiss her, brave to ask her out on a...on a..

“Date,” she mutters, holding up a pink blouse and remembering Jamie saying wryly, There we are. She shuts her eyes. “Just a date. Normal person thing to do. Nothing to worry about.”

Jamie’s meant to be back here in--she flips her wrist, winces--less than an hour now. Jamie’s meant to be here to pick her up, like they’re teenagers heading off for a Friday night on the town, and Dani must genuinely be losing her mind. She didn't come here for this. She works with Jamie, works here watching the kids, and if she leaves...if she leaves, who knows what will...

A light rap at the door, so soft, she almost misses it. Hannah, gently smiling.

“Everything all right up here? Haven’t seen you in quite some time...”

“The kids,” Dani interjects. “Of course. I’m so sorry, I’ll just--”

Hannah raises her palms in a placating gestures, slipping into the room with a nearly unearthly grace. Why, Dani wonders helplessly, can’t I be like Hannah? So elegant and serene and sure of every step?

“I did not,” Hannah says, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a sisterly little shake, “come up here to scold you. The children are perfectly fine; Owen is running them through the finer elements of...” Her brow creases, some mix of affection and distaste. “Baking chemistry.”

“Oh.” Dani sinks onto the bed, head in her hands. “Of course. So you’re...”

“Here to make certain you aren’t, perhaps, talking yourself out of a nice evening out on the town?” Hannah supplies. She’s too kind to make fun, at least where this level of anxiety is concerned, and Dani is grateful.

“Not talking myself out, exactly,” she says. “Just trying to decide what to wear. I mean, what does a person wear to a pub in Bly with...with...”

“A perfectly charming young woman whose primary uniform involves denim and potting soil?” Hannah’s voice is just a little too innocent. Dani grins.

“I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“I don’t think,” Hannah says carefully, “there’s much chance of embarrassing yourself so badly, she leaves you alone in that pub. Or fails to return to Bly, perhaps, tomorrow?”

Color floods Dani’s cheeks. Her choice of sweater is suddenly the most interesting thing that has ever happened in this room.

“The children will be just fine with us here,” Hannah continues, blessedly ignoring the way Dani’s shoulders go rigid with mortification. “Owen’s already planning to stay, and you know how Flora goes on about sleepovers...”

She’s smiling, but Dani thinks there’s a bit of distance behind her eyes that wasn’t there last week. A beautiful, kind woman, Hannah; it’s strange to see her even the least bit detached from the goings-on of the house.

“You’re sure,” she presses. “I could still tell Jamie--”

“You could both use the night off, I think.” Hannah pats her shoulder lightly. Dani bites her lip.

“Well, I can definitely make sure I’m back before--”

“Lunch tomorrow?” Hannah interjects. “Yes, I quite agree, that would be perfect timing. Rumor has it Owen’s planning a feast fit for kings and very small children.”

Dani is out of arguments, and she suspects Hannah knows it. Her shoulders slump. “Okay. Okay, good. Glad that’s all...handled. Now...”

“This one, I think.” Hannah pats the light purple, her hand possessed of such surety, Dani is briefly envious. “Brings out your eyes nicely.”

She makes her escape with another smile and a very small wave, and Dani gives herself a minute. Just one minute, sitting on the edge of the bed with her face in her hands, to really process the situation. A date. An actual real date with an actual real person she actually likes. Not just likes, but feels...slightly insane around. Insane in the best way. Stomach in knots, fingertips sweaty for no good reason, ears going hot at the sight of her insane.

Jamie kissed her back. Jamie kissed her like there was nothing she’d like more in the world. Jamie kissed her, and then let her go the minute she didn’t seem ready for it, and even with the worst coffee in England as a peace offering, accepted the idea of a drink with her.

Which means...

“The sweater doesn’t matter,” Dani mumbles, feeling very much as though nothing has ever mattered more.

***

Jamie has never quite done this before, either; she thinks of telling Dani so, thinks of taking a quiet moment before leaving Bly Manor to get ready for a date and come back, sweet Lord, she must be out of her mind, to say, “Hey, no worries, Poppins, this is brand-new territory for the both of us.”

But Dani is busy with the kids, and also sort of looks like she’s going to combust should Jamie stand too near her, so she skulks out to the truck alone instead. The date--it is an actual fucking date, I cannot believe she did this to us, what am I going to do on an actual fucking date with this woman?--is slated for seven in the evening. Jamie’s done working at four-thirty.

She spends about an hour of that in-between time showering, picking out a clean t-shirt--nothing too snappy, don’t want to scare Poppins off again--and jeans and a jacket that ensures she’ll look presentably-cool, and mussing her hair somewhat badly. The rest, she spends pacing.

You know I live above that pub, right? Told you that already. And Jesus, how Dani had smiled, like she’d been thinking of nothing else for four fucking days. Four days Jamie had spent planning ways to distance herself, to stop feeling all of this flappy butterfly nonsense at the mere sight of the woman, and the first thing--first goddamn thing--Dani did upon her return was ask her on a date.

To which she had...said yes. She’d said yes, and now off she goes to pick up her actual, real-live human woman date.

It’s one thing, she thinks as she strides up the drive to the door, to take a woman to bed. It’s a very natural, easy thing, in fact, to take a woman to bed. Strip off your clothes, strip off your inhibitions, get used to the notion of never seeing her again once the sun is up. But this? Dani? Jamie’s never been here before. Never wanted something so badly before.

“Don’t,” she mumbles, pushing the door open, “fuck this up.”

She expects to have to go on a bit of a hunt to track Dani down--maybe to the kitchen, or even (heaven help her) up to her room, but no: Dani is right there. Dani is standing in the foyer in a black skirt and loose-knit sweater, looking for all the world like Jamie just caught her running a trench into the floorboards.

“Hi,” she says, all deer eyes and suddenly grinning mouth. Her hair is up, so very blonde and perfect, Jamie’s mouth goes a little useless at the sight of it.

“Hey. Uh. Are we meant to be speaking with the chaperones, or...”

Dani shakes her head, looking just a little punch-drunk. “Hannah made it sound like we’d be in trouble if we went back there. Owen’s doing something with chemistry?”

“All the angels couldn’t help those kids and their empty bellies now,” Jamie says, “if Owen is fixated on another goddamn chemistry lesson.”

Dani laughs, and suddenly, it’s like a sheen of ice cracks open and all the warmth she’s come to associate with Dani Clayton comes rushing into the room. Jamie reaches out a hand, slides palm along palm until Dani is fitted neatly against her lifeline.

“Shall we?”

She doesn’t say, I’ve never done this. Doesn’t tell Dani any of that. It doesn’t seem important, all of a sudden, not with the way Dani squeezes back and follows eagerly into the passenger seat of her truck.

Jamie, looking at her out of the corner of her eye as she prepares to back out, is struck with the wild idea that maybe they don’t have to leave at all to do this. She could just reach across the seat, lay a hand lightly over Dani’s knee, tell her she’s never met anyone like her. Never met anyone who makes her want to tell sad stories and bad jokes and goodnights that are only acceptable because there will be a good morning to follow.

Date, she reminds herself firmly, though there’s a perfectly nice kitchen, a perfectly nice bedroom, a perfectly nice hidden spot out on the grounds that would do the job just as well. Maybe next time. There are flowers she’s certain Dani can’t go her whole life without seeing.

But tonight: it’s a pub in the tiny village of Bly, where Jamie has lived for years without ever really caring to get to know its secrets. Now, watching Dani look around like she’s just stepped into Oz, she sort of regrets that.

“Usually not too busy on a Thursday night,” she says, guiding Dani with a light hand at the small of her back past what she thinks of as the Attention Grabbing section--the tables up near the bar proper, where the denizens of Bly most like to congregate after work--and toward her own preferred spot. It’s in the back, near a near-secret exit that leads straight up to her flat, and Cal is charitable enough to keep most folks away from it unless the place is full-up. Not a bad guy, Cal; he’s about four hundred years old and insists on calling her Janey, but he’s still got the back for long nights serving bad drinks, and he keeps the rent cheaper than dirt.

“You live here?” Dani sounds like she’s never been more delighted at a prospect. Jamie can’t help but laugh, slinging her jacket over the back of her chair and settling in.

“Thought about asking for a job when I moved in, but luckily Lord and Lady Wingrave got to me first. Not sure it’d suit me, spending every night with the town layabouts.”

She winks at Cal as he shambles past to let him know this is a joke. He snorts.

“Like I’d hire you anyway. Too damn short. Couldn't reach the good stuff.”

“Wasn’t aware you carried the good stuff,” she fires back. Dani, watching this exchange with delight, laughs. Cal raises an eyebrow.

“Your friend’s pretty. Poor sense of character, to be spending her night with a felon, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

The smile on Dani’s lips dies instantly. Jamie swallows a curse.

“Yes, thank you, Grandfather Drunkard, I hadn’t quite gotten to that part of the tale yet. Round to make up for it, if you please.”

He has the good grace to look slightly ashamed, patting her on the shoulder as he winds back to the bar in search of clean glasses. Jamie leans back with a sigh.

“Well, it was bound to come up eventually, I suppose. Frankly, probably for the best he spilled those beans before I could lose my nerve and put off telling you.”

Dani’s brow is creased, less like someone horrified by a glimpse into Jamie’s storied past, more like a white knight ready to draw a sword in her defense. Jamie finds herself reaching across the table, glancing over her shoulder, and touching the back of her hand with two cautious fingers.

“Easy, Poppins, Cal’s a good sort. Our sort, even, if there is such a thing.” It’s a bold stroke, a shot in the dark, but given that Jamie’s already had this woman’s tongue in her mouth, she supposes it isn’t so dangerous to assume. Dani raises her eyebrows high enough to make her laugh.

“He’s--I mean he doesn’t--”

“He’s kind, and he knows the value of a closed mouth,” Jamie confirms. “Says things are better than they used to be around here, but there’s no point courting trouble. Anyway, he won’t say a damn thing when we--if we--”

Cal takes pity on her, delivering a pair of beers and a platter of cold chips, “on the house, as penance for fuckin’ up your evening.” Jamie raises her glass in a salute to his retreating back.

“Did he?” Dani asks. Jamie, glass halfway to her lips, pauses.

“Did he what?”

“Fuck up the evening.” Jamie’s not sure she’s ever heard Dani say the word fuck before, and suddenly feels as though it’s the best single syllable ever to cross her lips.

“Nah. Not unless you’ve, ah, got a problem with felons sharing your table?”

Lifting her own glass, Dani shakes her head. “Not as a rule. I’d like to hear about it, though. If it’s something you’re all right sharing.”

And so Jamie shares. All of it. It isn’t the plan, exactly, but when she gets started, she finds it increasingly difficult to locate a logical place to stop. To explain the prison time, she first has to explain how a young woman finds herself in such a situation; to explain that, she first has to paint a picture of a particular kind of home life. Before she knows what’s happening, she’s leaning across the table and saying names she hasn’t spoken in years. Telling about the coal mine. The other men. The baby. The burn.

Dani listens to it all, enraptured, never interrupting with so much as a question. She makes small noises, nods encouragement whenever Jamie falters, takes small sips of her drink when Jamie pauses for breath.

She doesn’t ask what Jamie did. This, above all else, strikes Jamie between the eyes. She doesn’t ask if Jamie lied, or cheated, or stole, or bloodied anyone along the way (yes, yes to one and all, and if she did ask, Jamie would tell her; they're old scars, the life of someone she feels she barely knows now, and if she’s ashamed, it’s the shame of a distant dream). She only listens, nods, takes it in.

“I figure,” Jamie says when she’s run out of history to unfold between them, “you showed me yours, yeah? It’s only fair.”

Dani raises her glass. “To not being defined by the sins of the past.”

Jamie chuckles, obediently following suit. “To people being the most goddamn exhausting concept on the planet, and trying anyway.”

They drink. They drink, and Jamie thinks, Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve exhausted the conversation topics for one relationship already. Maybe she’ll finish this glass and we’ll head back to the house, and that’ll be that.

“I’ve never done this before,” Dani tells her. There’s something relaxed about her, something Jamie finds new and deeply interesting. Relaxed is the last word she’d generally used to describe Dani Clayton.

Jamie gestures for Cal, refills following suit in short order. “Been to a pub?”

“Been on a date with someone I...” Dani hesitates. For a split second, Jamie’s sure she’s about to look at someone Jamie can’t sense over her shoulder. Instead, she shakes her head, smiles ruefully. “Someone I felt things for.”

“Things, huh?” She leans across the table, props her chin on one hand, makes a show of tilting her head. “What sorts of things?”

“I think you know.” Dani is blushing. This is maybe the best night of Jamie’s whole life.

“Think you should tell me anyway.”

Dani swats at her, and they’re both laughing with an ease Jamie can’t wrap her head around. It’s one thing to flirt; Jamie’s good at flirting. Comes easy, comes naturally. She’s good at watching for the little buttons in people, the little signs of what makes them laugh, what makes them squirm. Promised herself a long time ago never to use this power for anything less than leaving a room warmer than she found it.

But this isn’t flirting. Not the way Jamie’s done it before. This is something entirely new, entirely specific to Dani. It’s in the way Dani watches her, eyes too blue, jaw held taut like she’s trying to keep something dangerous from spilling out. It’s in the way Dani lets her fingers linger when she reaches for a chip, allows Jamie to brush against her in a fashion that looks utterly innocent from the outside and feels anything but.

Jamie swallows hard, liking the weight of Dani’s gaze more than she’s prepared to admit. Liking the way Dani very slowly, very carefully, moves a hand under the table to press against her knee.

“Bold, Poppins,” she breathes. Dani smiles, so clearly proud of herself and so clearly terrified that it’s all Jamie can do not to lean all the way across and kiss her.

Best not. Cal’s a good man, their sort, but there are others in the pub now. People who wouldn't take kindly to a sight like that. And this night is going far too well for Jamie to waste where it’s going on a bar brawl.

***

Jamie’s flat is nothing like Dani expected. Admittedly, she isn’t sure what to expect when Jamie drains the last of her glass and gives a knowing glance to the exit. A very small part of her thinks this is all going entirely too well--her hand has been under the table, pressed with a confidence she hadn’t known she possessed to Jamie’s knee, for almost fifteen minutes. Even as her thumb traces small circles into the denim, even as Jamie’s eyes go a little darker, her lips parting in a way Dani finds entirely too interesting, she thinks, This isn’t me, is it? She can’t be feeling it, too. No one has ever understood this.

Even so, here’s Jamie, standing a little too quickly. Her chair scrapes back, her jacket swung over her arm, and she’s reaching out. Dani accepts the hand, lets Jamie pull her to her feet. A good idea. A bad idea. The kind of idea that will get them out of the public eye in short order, either way, and Dani can’t think of anything wiser in this moment.

There’s a set of stairs just outside the door, leading up to a second door. Thick brown wood, with double locks Jamie works without really looking. She’s staring at Dani even as her hands move, staring from inches away, and Dani suddenly thinks how good it is, that they came out tonight. How good it is to be away from the house, the kids, anyone else in the world.

“After you,” Jamie says, pushing the door open with a flat hand and gesturing for Dani to enter. Her voice is a little raw, a little huskier than usual. Dani moves past her, arm brushing arm, and just about jumps out of her skin at the contact.

The space is small, sparsely furnished, with a curtain hung to break up the room. In one far corner, a tiny bathroom. In the closest corner, a tiny kitchen, barely broken from the living space by a change in flooring.

Jamie, wearing an expression Dani has not yet learned to decipher, says, “This would be it. The castle, as it were.”

Does she sound embarrassed? Dani can't quite tell. She wants to say there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, this place is small and quiet and somehow perfectly Jamie in its easy nature. There are books, though not many, on a small shelf. There are plants, considerably more, lined up like soldiers guarding Jamie from loneliness.

“It’s a place to lay my head, anyway,” Jamie says, and that is definitely a touch of embarrassment in her voice. Dani shakes her head, moves to join her at the front door, takes her hand.

“It’s yours,” she says, unable to clarify quite why that is so special. “Thank you. For bringing me here.”

It sounds better in her head than it does ringing between them in a space so silent, Dani imagines she can hear the echo of her own voice. Jamie is just looking at her, the way she’d looked the night Owen’s mother passed, like if Dani were to give the word, she’d make a move that would light them both aflame.

She’d been too afraid that night. Was carrying far too much. Even the simple act of touching Jamie at all, of running her thumb across Jamie’s hand, had felt like heroism.

Now, things are different.

She’s got Jamie by the sleeves, hands gripping Jamie’s t-shirt just above the skin of her biceps, and this is what going over feels like. This is what it feels like, Dani thinks, to just let go.

***

Kissing Dani is different here. Back in the greenhouse, Dani had been largely somebody else, Jamie thinks; still Dani, but a version carrying too much on her back. A desperate, hopeful, sorrow-laden Dani who had grabbed at her jacket like it was a life preserver.

This Dani, sighing and squeezing her arms, feels like freedom.

Jamie finds herself spinning them both, pressing Dani against the locked door, liking the convulsive way Dani’s hands fist around her shirt sleeves. Liking the way Dani slides one arm around her neck and leans back just a little, just enough to gaze into Jamie’s eyes, and this is almost too much all on its own. No one has ever looked at Jamie while she was trying to kiss them. No one, not even once, has looked at her with such profound affection.

And want. So much want, Dani’s eyes are stormy with it. Jamie’s grinning, but there’s a fist around her heart squeezing so hard, she worries it might burst.

“All right?” she breathes. Dani could say no. Dani could say no at any time, and Jamie would understand it. Would lean back, comb her fingers through her own hair, offer the bed while she sets up on the couch until the alcohol’s out of both of their systems and the sunrise gives them another chance at it.

Dani, rather than answering, makes a low sound at the back of her throat and finds Jamie’s mouth with an eager, open kiss that sends Jamie’s pulse through the roof.

She hasn’t done this before, she’s told Jamie, but she’s coming to it naturally enough. Her lips are soft, parting for Jamie’s tongue, her hips pushing against Jamie’s body in slow, easy motions. When Jamie rakes her nails down her scalp, fingers pulling the scrunchie from her hair, she responds with such a low groan, Jamie has to bury her face in Dani’s neck for a moment to breathe.

“Sorry,” Dani mumbles. Jamie, shaking her head, laughs against her skin.

“In no universe, Poppins, are you to be sorry right now. About anything.”

She raises her head, looking for signs that Dani is sorry in a more important way, a way that will say stop, back up, let this go for now. Dani takes her face between trembling hands. Kisses her slowly, sweetly, tongue tracing Jamie’s lower lip like the only thing in the world is to memorize her in tiny, hopeful doses.

Jamie sighs, one hand buried in blonde hair, the other finding purchase on the sleeve of a too soft, too tearable sweater. She feels too large for her body all of a sudden, too much adrenaline coursing through her system, and every time Dani turns her head just a little, every time she brushes her nose against Jamie’s and makes that tiny, soul-searing little sound under Jamie’s kiss, she thinks she gets a bit closer to plunging off the edge into something she won’t be able to forget about in the morning.

“You sure?” she asks against Dani’s lips, the words lost when Dani moves an arm around her neck and digs her fingers in hard. She can feel Dani nodding, breathless, and it’s enough. More than enough. Jamie finds she’s walking them backwards, navigating carefully around her small table, her small couch, the shelf upon which she keeps a few precious plants.

With every step, Dani is kissing her.

With every step, Dani is tracing shapes into the back of her neck.

With every step, Dani is pushing in close, like if Jamie breaks for even a second, some beautiful, perfect spell will break with her.

They’re past the curtain now, in the little space where Jamie sleeps and wakes and hasn’t taken anyone since moving in. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, lips swollen, opens her eyes.

“This is--”

“Not much,” Jamie says. On the one hand, she’s glad they came out tonight, glad she’s getting to hear all the little sounds Dani makes as she’s kissed without worrying about eavesdroppers. On the other, there’s nothing inspiring about her flat, nothing to say Jamie can take care of someone. It’s just walls. Just walls and a couple of plants, and for some reason, Dani is looking around like they’ve walked through a mirror into a land of magic.

“Anyway,” Jamie says. “We don’t have to--if you don’t want to--”

***

“Don’t you?” Dani’s heart is in her throat, pounding in her wrists almost painfully hard. Jamie, one arm around her waist, leaning back with flushed cheeks and her bottom lip between her teeth, raises her eyebrows.

“Want to? God, yes.”

Relief, flooding Dani’s body almost hard enough to knock her over. She grips at Jamie with both hands, the slide of dark t-shirt soft under her fingers, and kisses her again. She feels so good kissing Jamie, so good she forgets how nervous she is about the whole thing. Jamie, her hand strong at the small of her back, her fingers brushing just under the hem of her sweater, leans back again.

“Just don’t want to pressure you into anything. S’all right if you’re not up for--”

"I’ll tell you,” Dani promises. If Jamie keeps doing that with her hand, if Jamie keeps tracing the base of her spine with small, reckless movements, she thinks she’ll go crazy. “If it’s too much. I’ll tell you.”

She pushes gently against Jamie’s chest, feeling bold and brave and absolutely petrified of her own actions, and Jamie lets herself fold backwards until she’s seated on the edge of a thin, clean bedspread. Dani follows her down, knees on either side of Jamie’s thighs, sitting carefully in her lap.

“Now what?” Jamie teases, even as she’s sliding both hands up Dani’s sides, firm enough not to tickle as she brackets Dani’s ribs and lets the next ragged breath push against her palms. Dani closes her eyes for a beat, swaying, untethered until Jamie tilts her head and kisses her again. All at once, it’s like being caught at the end of a string. All at once, it’s like being handed serenity.

She realizes she’s moving her hips, rolling them forward against Jamie’s lap, liking the way Jamie’s hands tighten on her body and begin gently pushing her back and forth. There isn’t enough friction to really accomplish anything this way, but it hardly matters; it’s still so much, so much she feels like she’ll come apart anyway. Something this new, a feeling this big, reaching across the expanse of her, consuming her--she thinks she’ll lose something here tonight. Gain something. Tie the two together and be something different come morning.

She used to worry about that, with him. Used to worry that if she ever gave in, ever tried that one last thing to feel how she was meant to with him, she’d be different the next day. She’d be someone else.

This is something else entirely--so much so, she almost can’t breathe around the realization. That she will be different tomorrow, and that she will not be less Dani because of it, but more, somehow. Something more Dani than she’s allowed herself to be in her whole life, because it was chosen here, tonight, with Jamie’s hands on her body and Jamie’s mouth under her own.

***

With Dani in her lap, skirt riding up around her thighs, hips moving restlessly, Jamie thinks for a second they’ve hit a wall. A very good wall to hit, she thinks hurriedly. If this is as far as they go tonight, it’s still worlds past anything she really expected from Dani.

So long as she doesn’t regret it, doesn’t run from me, I could stay here forever.

Dani, who has been kissing her for what feels like forever, breaks contact and just looks at her. Her hand, soft and cautious and more certain than Jamie expects, presses against Jamie’s breastbone. Pushes again. Jamie shifts backwards, inching up the mattress, pulling Dani with her until she’s flat on her back with Dani looking down.

“Up to you,” she says. She likes the simple pressure of Dani’s body atop her own, of soft curve fitting all the spaces where Jamie doesn’t usually think of herself as lacking anything at all. Now, though, knowing what it feels like, how the whole of Dani is pressed flush to her, she wonders if she’ll ever feel complete in this bed again.

“You still--”

“Want?” Jamie’s lips curve. “If you’re asking, there’s something I’m not doing right.”

“I’m sorry,” Dani says, then seems to catch herself. She sighs, smiles, laughs a little in that dizzy, self-conscious way that breaks Jamie’s heart. “This is...as far as I know. This is...”

Jamie nods, understanding. “You trust me?”

***

Dani is nodding, too, liking the way her body is moving almost of its own accord against Jamie’s. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, hadn’t even realized she was still rubbing lightly against Jamie even as nerves pound through her system.

“Tell me,” Jamie says in a low, urgent tone. “If anything changes.”

She rolls, then, a quick flash of movement that makes Dani shriek-giggle. From this new vantage point, back pressed into Jamie’s mattress, head on Jamie’s pillow, she feels suddenly so much more intimate than while straddling Jamie’s lap. Doesn’t make sense, she thinks with a thrill of such powerful lust, all she can do is grab again at Jamie’s shirt and hold on. But this is hers, and I’m here, and she’s...she’s...

“Tell me,” Jamie says again, a quiet command that drags soft nails up Dani’s back. She shivers, nodding, and Jamie takes the lead at last.

***

She hadn’t thought, somehow, about this part. Not in so many firmly phrased words. She’d thought about the shape of it, of Dani in her flat, of Dani in her bed, of Dani kissing her, touching her, but somehow, this part slid away every time it tried to rise in her mind.

The part of the show where clothes go away. The part of the show Jamie has always liked the most, and the least, at the same time.

Dani is kissing her when she slides both hands beneath the sweater, easing it up, giving Dani ample time to pull away. Dani, instead, sits up just enough to allow the sweater to rise over breasts, shoulders, head. Jamie drops it off the bed, leans back on her knees, smiles.

“Is there...” Dani isn’t covering herself, exactly, but there’s a sort of nakedness to her expression that has nothing to do with clothes disappearing. “I mean, am I--”

She leaves it unspoken, a bit embarrassed: right? okay? enough?

“Perfect,” Jamie tells her. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

She takes the hem of her own shirt in her hand, waits, pleased when Dani sits up and covers that hand with her own searching fingers. She doesn’t want to go anywhere Dani isn’t willing to take her, and she certainly doesn’t want to deprive her of the small moments that make a first time with someone else so electric. When Dani guides the shirt up over her head, it’s like Jamie’s never done this, either--no woman has ever just looked at her, eyes steady and searching, in a moment like this.

Women are usually the fast, nervous, lights-off-don’t-talk kind of souls in Jamie’s bed. Touch me, kiss me, don’t look, don’t ask questions, don’t act like you want to be here. But Dani is looking at her with lips parted, hands tracing the lines of Jamie’s neck, collarbones, the dip between her breasts. Her fingers are shaking so hard, Jamie covers them with her own, pulls them to her lips.

“One thing at a time,” she says quietly. “Anything’s too much, we pull back.”

Dani pulls at her, guiding Jamie’s hands back to work the clasp of her bra, to cover her skin with soft, careful strokes. She arches into Jamie’s hand and whimpers, and Jamie thinks there was no way, no way she could have predicted any of this. Not as it is. Not as Dani is letting it be.

***

She’d thought, back in the greenhouse, that Jamie’s kiss was enough to drown in. That Jamie’s lips traveling from her mouth to her throat to her ear was enough to drive her wild enough that she’d forget her own name.

It’s nothing compared to Jamie kissing her now, holding her with gentle hands as she explores every inch of skin she can reach. She is all tongue, all soft bite, all lips on shoulder, on pulse, on everything Dani has never been able to imagine letting someone else even look upon.

Here, Jamie’s jean-clad legs intertwined with her own bare ones, her skirt rucked high, Dani thinks maybe this is the best it could possibly be. To be in Jamie’s bed, with Jamie’s hand light on her breast and Jamie’s kiss burning hot as she travels lower, as she moves like they’ve got all the time in the world, is maybe the best the world could ever get.

Every so often, Jamie raises her eyes, and Dani feels something hot and tight clutch in her stomach. Jamie, asking if this is all right. Jamie, sucking a mark into the skin of her belly. Jamie, one hand moving lower so slowly, Dani sort of thinks she’s going to scream.

***

She’s trying to go slow, trying to take this as easily as she possibly can, but every inch of Jamie is on fire. Part of her is hyper-aware of the reality of the situation: that Dani is nervous, that Dani is special, that Dani is someone Jamie couldn't bear hurting even on accident. And, more: that Jamie’s scar is out on display, that Jamie’s home is out on display, that Jamie is more visible and vulnerable with shirt off and jeans on and mouth pressed to the smooth arc of Dani’s stomach than she’s been in years.

When Dani takes her by the wrist, she’s sure they’ve gone far enough--that the heat between her own legs will have to wait, that Dani is going to roll off the bed and scramble back into her sweater and away from--

Her hand, wrapped around Jamie’s, slides beneath her skirt.

Her fingers, wrapped around Jamie’s, guide her to press against damp underwear.

Her back arches. Jamie groans.

“Okay,” she breathes, looking up at Dani’s too-blue eyes. “Okay, getting the picture.”

***

She didn’t know. Didn’t have the first idea what this would feel like. Didn’t have even the remotest frame of reference, and if she were anywhere else, if she were with anyone else, maybe she’d still be too keyed-up to find out.

But Jamie is sliding back up the bed, hand rubbing soft, testing circles between Dani’s legs, and yes--she thinks she’s starting to understand at last.

She kisses Jamie hard, without care of how she looks or being even the least bit smooth, her own hand fumbling toward the zipper of Jamie’s jeans. No time like the present, she thinks with a truly unexpected delight, pleased when Jamie spreads her legs and shifts her hips to help her ease between cloth and skin.

“Right for it,” Jamie pants in surprise, and Dani is too invested to feel embarrassed. Jamie is soft under her hand, wet, hips jerking to match her clumsy movements. She closes her eyes, concentrates on trying to mirror what Jamie’s doing with her own considerably more nimble fingers. Tries to match her in slow, gentle pressure--then a little faster, as Jamie sucks breath through her teeth--and faster yet, when Jamie presses up in a way she doesn’t fully expect.

She doesn’t even realize she’s losing control until she’s already halfway gone, her hand tripping and fumbling as Jamie uses two fingers and a series of quick, rhythmic motions to set a pace Dani can’t help but follow with her hips. She realizes she’s rolling onto her back, arching, making noises she’s never heard from her own lips, and Jamie rolls to follow, kissing those noises into muffled joy.

Jamie rides out the spasms with her, keeping her hand exactly where it is, slowing to a gentle rest of fingertips against ruined underwear. Dani’s vaguely aware her own hand is still down Jamie’s pants, no longer moving. She exhales.

“I--”

“S’all good,” Jamie says, her smile edged with something Dani thinks looks rather smug. “First time. Takes practice.”

***

It doesn’t surprise her, Dani falling asleep soon after. There were some mumbling sounds about reciprocation, about fairness, about wanting to feel Jamie twitch and groan under her fingers--but Jamie, jeans unzipped, feeling rather good about herself, only pulled her in close. Kissed her slowly. Let her fade into a gentle doze against Jamie’s shoulder.

Good, Jamie thinks, though her skin is buzzing and there is an ache she hasn’t felt in a long time low in her belly. Rest, Poppins. There’s always tomorrow.

If pressed, she couldn’t say why she feels such pride, such easy pleasure, watching the way Dani sinks into sleep in her arms. Maybe because Dani hasn’t looked like someone with the benefit of a good night’s sleep since Jamie met her. Maybe simply because Dani feels perfectly safe, perfectly notched against Jamie in this small bed.

Either way, it feels right, Dani’s warm breath spilling across her bare skin. It feels right, even in this dumpy little flat above the only pub in Bly, though Dani is surely too good for a place like this.

Maybe not for someone like me, though, Jamie thinks blearily, too pleased and too tired to pile upon that idea the weight of a lifetime not being good enough. Past doesn’t matter, not with Dani. It’s different, with Dani.

She drifts. Tomorrow, they’ll wake to sunlight streaming through thin curtains, and maybe Dani will be a little embarrassed about everything they’ve done--maybe she’ll want to talk about it, or want to pretend it never happened, and Jamie will figure out how to handle the pain of that then.

She falls asleep thinking this is possible--but somehow knowing it isn’t likely. Isn't Dani. It’s too early to know a thing like that, but all the same, Jamie is pretty certain there will be no mortified scramble for clothes, no pushing her aside as Dani runs for the door, no awkward small talk on the ride back to the house.

She does not anticipate, upon waking, Dani kissing her cheek. Kissing the corner of her lips. Kissing her neck and murmuring, “Morning...” with a question on the end of the word Jamie can’t help but laugh at before she’s even fully awake.

“First thing, huh?”

Dani smiles at her, the smile of a woman who selected this very date venue not out of any polite curiosity about a small village pub, but because this particular bed existed above it. “Takes practice, you said.”

Jamie inhales sharply as a hand cups very lightly against the front of jeans that feel entirely irrelevant. “I did. Yeah. I definitely did.”

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jame x dani #all right all right something happy for once #for all the many anons who've been asking for the pub date #knew I'd get around to it eventually

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tommyquackson · 6 years ago

Text

The Plant That Grew From the Root of All Evil |P. Parker| Part 2

summary: you’re no good girl, no you’re quite the opposite, chaos itself even, yet somehow, he still affects you // in which a villan and a superhero cross paths

warnings: murder, violence, witchcraft and possesions?, cursing of curse, and torture (lowkey intense)

pairing: peter parker x villan!reader

authors note: this isnt exactly a love fic?? cause like it was more about their lives than eachother.. but idk i may change the last part and have them end up together, let me know though...

“Hey Pete, we still going to Mays for sunday dinner?” Ned asks his best friend and roommate. Peter is jolted out of his deep thoughts and research.

“Oh uh yea, text may and tell her we’ll be there in like in like 30 mins. I’ll text Tony.” He says finishing up reading the article he was on.

“What’re you working so hard on? Like we just finished midterms.” Ned walks behind peter to see what he’s reading.

“It’s just, some girl. You know Angel?”

“Angel....Oh! The badass lady villain you’ve been fighting?”

Peter gives his best friend a look of confusion.

“Uh..I mean, that bad criminal that’s wreaking havoc and that the amazing spider-man is gonna take down?” Ned corrects with a guilty smile on his face.

“Yea, well i found out she’s got, like i don’t know powers? I guess”

“What kind of powers?” Ned pulls up a chair to sit.

“I’m not sure” Peter rubs his face in thought. “Like strength and speed but it’s not like crazy noticeable. She-she-her eyes like glow? yea they glow like red and it’s creepy and I have no idea where she even came from.”

“Why don’t you ask that girl from high school? Remember everyone said she was like a pagan or something and she practiced dark magic and stuff. Maybe she knows something about it. What was her name? Something like-“

“Y/n!” Peter knows exactly who that is. She’d always been extremely quiet. She stayed in the library most days and seemed to always be studying dark magic and weird stuff like that.

How was he supposed to find you though, you’d dropped out of school 2 months before graduation. You didn’t have any friends and no one knew anything about you.

“I have no idea where she could even be” Peter says defeated.

“Oh she works part time at the library next to the little park. It’s just a train ride away. Can’t take more than 10 minutes.” Ned says moving to pull up the place on Peters laptop.

“Ned, you’re the best man in the chair a hero could ask for” Peter says winking at him, making ned swell with pride. “We can go tomorrow after classes, now come on. May and Tony are waiting”

Your day job was nothing short of fairly boring, you worked at the library near a small community college so you really only had to deal with students trying to study and little kids reading picture books. The library was fairly big so each librarian handled their own section. You handled the history and “magic/religion” section. But since that section was usually only littered with students trying to write a history paper, you stayed at the front desk on your floor.

Today, you’ve been at work since 9am and it’s already 3pm. You don’t get to leave until 8. You’re sitting at the desk, filing through the books that are recorded as late. You hear the door to your section open and you look up to greet whoever’s there.

“Hello, welcome to Green Acres, History and Magic/Religions section what can I do for you?” You speak kindly to the 2 college aged boys who walked in with their backpacks.

“Hey, this is probably super weird, but we actually wanted to talk to you” The smaller, white one speaks as he gets to the desk.

“Umm-“

“Sorry my friend Peter, made that seem really weird. I’m Ned, we went to high school with you. We just had a few questions and we figured given your occupation you’d be the best to help us” The larger one says stepping in front of “Peter”.

How’d they know you worked here, you haven’t talked to anyone from high school. Which occupation is he talking about, do they know about your secret identity. If so, how you’d been so careful.

“Okay...well what’d ya wanna know?” You relaxing into your chair a bit.

“We have questions about like powers... A friend of mine, she um, well they started behaving strangely and I was wondering if you could help figure out what was wrong?” Peter says tapping his long fingers on the desk.

“oh, sorry i’m in the magic and historical and section you’d be better off asking Mrs. Alice in the health and personal care section.” I say wondering why this boy would need my help. I’m not a doctor.

“oH! Yea I know, but my friend, we uh, we suspect that it has something to maybe do with possible magic?”

“You think you’re friend has gotten in to magic?” You raise your eyebrow.

“I know it sounds crazy but please you’re the only person i could think of to help me”

“Why because everyone at Midtown thought I was a dark and evil witch” You speak standing up from your desk and walking towards the shelves.

“No! No- I just, you used to study witchcraft and i figured since you work in the history section you could tell me if this has happened before. I didn’t mean to imply your a witch, that would be rude but I-“

“Who said they were wrong” You wink before guiding the boys towards a dimly lit section. “So, What’s happening with your friend” You say pulling out your favorite books.

“Well, she uh she’s much stronger than she was before, and she’s faster and more agile. She also has this um, this like type of glow around her? It’s like black and then her eyes glow red”

“Mhm, whole eye or just the iris?” You speak turning to one book.

“iris”

You look at the pages that detail when spells go wrong. Nothing describes the right situation. You turn to entities that may be possibly possessing the friend.

“I’m not seeing anything, wait, you said she has a glow around her kinda like an aura right?” You slam the book closed and move to this super large book about entities and witchcraft.

“Yea..”

“Holy fuck. Your friend, might just be the Grand One. The Grand One is someone chosen by the evil sprites to possess the grand power. It can be anyone, or anything at anytime for any reason. But they tend to sway towards people who have practiced and studied dark magic. If this chick gets anymore powerful, which i’m assuming she will, if you’re telling me the truth, she can wreak extreme havoc on New York. But that’s all if you believe in that mumbo jumbo anyway.” You slam the book closed and put it back on the shelf before walking away to your desk again. It was different outside, you could see through the large windows that the atmosphere had changed.

“Um. Thanks y/n, you helped out a lot” Peter and his friend Ned smiled as they left my building, whispering to each other.

You’d forgotten about the Grand One. It was simply just a dream you’d had when you were little. Telling you what would become of you. The people you would hurt and the chaos you’d reign. You thrived in chaos, reveled in it even, but it was a certain chaos. It was the frustration of everyone around you, knowing they’re just not smart enough, or strong enough not worth enough. It was the slow, dark, treaterous journey to the depths of hell that got your blood really moving.

At least, that’s how it was in the dreams. In real life, you weren’t exactly sure what was going on. You were too busy living day to day hoping that it’s all gonna be enough one day.

But what if, no, she wouldn’t have chosen you, she shouldn’t have chosen you. You weren’t meant to be the one to destroy the city. You weren’t Loki, you were just Hells Angel, low-level villanary. So why was the world trying to make you more powerful. It’s not what you wanted. But who dares be ungrateful when the gift of the Grand One is bestowed upon them, it certainly was quite a gift.

You shake your head and get back to work, waiting until it’s time to go home. When the time does come for you to go home, once again the atmosphere of the world has changed. It seems almost, sinister in a way. Like everyone knows it’s all ending tonight, they’re just not sure how or why.

You step through your house and hear thunder begin to roll outside, Shovel darts across the room and behind your legs. You weren’t expecting storms tonight, just then a strike of lightning lights up the entire room and you hear Eddie flip out upstairs.

fight

destroy

You spun your head around to see who could possibly have whispered that in your ear. You grab a knife you have and slowly inspect your room and apartment, you find nothing.

take

kill

THERE IT WAS AGAIN! A whisper, barely there but still strong enough to have you almost trembling in fear.

y/n

“who are you? what do you want” You felt so cheesy yelling those cliche lines.

you

Suddenly, you’re pushed down to your knees, when you look up you see her. She looks just like the picture in the old book you’d shown Peter and Ned just hours before. Her old face clouded in a dark fog like aura. Her eyes were red and empty, her long boney finger reached for you.

i have traveled years

to show you your destiny

my fate is now yours

Was this bitch really speaking in haikus right now? And what was she talking about? She continued to repeat her haiku from hell and seemed to get closer to you.

“If you’re the Grand One, does that mean i’m the one who you’re gonna possess?” You ask at her. She doesn’t answer just gets louder and closer.

You get a splitting pain in your head, it feels like someone is driving a knife between your cranium. You scream out and cover your ears as the witch gets louder and louder.

Then everything is silent, the witch is gone and so is the pain in your head. You look around and you feel normal. You sit on your bed in shock.

Was she in you now? Were you possessed? What would happen now?

you’ve always been possessed

i’ve been here for some time now

you recognize that voice! That’s Hells Angel, her voice drops am octave lower than yours and she speaks slowly but more confident. You’re going crazy.

You hear a knock on your door.

“Y/n? Are you okay? It’s Eddie, We-uh- I heard you screaming”

You stumble to the door and rip it open trying to fix your hair.

“Eddie, hey. Yea i’m fine. Just got a little frustrated with um, the TV. You know how Family Fued can get” You out on your best fake smile and lean against the door frame. Trying not to let Shovel out. “Are you okay? I know you don’t like storms and that lighting was weird” You speak trying to change the subject.

“Oh yea, just uh, caught us, me. It caught me off guard. Well, just wanted to check on you. So uh, goodnight y/n. Let me know if you need anything” He bods before sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets and walking up the stairs at the end of the hall.

You shut the door and walk back to your bed, ready to just go to sleep. You settle in and close your eyes almost asleep.

tonight’s the night

“oh for fucks sake”

taglist: @detroitconnorfangirl @unicorn-sparkles123 @shallowshawn

#imagine #tom holland #tom holland imagine #spiderman #marvel #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #spider man: homecoming #harrison osterfield #TPTGFTROAE #writing prompt #spiderman imagine

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askvenomandthekids · 6 years ago

Text

it takes a monster to raise some kids - chapt. 3

Summary: Eddie Brock’s life is already a nightmare with his monstrous alter-ego. Now, throw some two runaway kids into the mix, and things get even crazier for him.

Part 1: https://askvenomandthekids.tumblr.com/post/177041383497/it-takes-a-monster-to-raise-some-kids-pt-1

Part 2: https://askvenomandthekids.tumblr.com/post/177076018607/it-takes-a-monster-to-raise-some-kids-chapter-2

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697584/chapters/36597255

Genre: Friendship/Family/Angst

Warnings/Ratings: None Apply

Eddie reels from the sudden flashback. Everything Venom experienced last night are now his memories. He can remember every single detail and sensation, right down to their victims’ lumpy flesh traveling down their throat - he swallows the bile before he could throw up. His head throbs painfully, bordering a migraine. He clenches his teeth, trying to ignore the ache.

‘They’re not ours.’

‘WE DISAGREE.’

‘They’re both CHILDREN, not property!’

“Mister Monster?” The little girl speaks up, interrupting their argument.

Eddie flinches, forced out of the internal turmoil. He glances shakily down to the kids. The little girl, bright and oblivious to the danger she and her brother are in, frowns slightly in concern when she sees the caged look on Eddie’s face. On the other hand, her brother is polar opposite, regarding him with a suspicious eye. Trying to mask his growing alarm, Eddie gets on one knee to meet the kids’ level. The brother responds by drawing closer to his little sister, giving the most deadly glare a child’s face could muster. The girl blinks curiously.

“H-hey…” Eddie begins hoarsely, flashing a weak smile. “How did you get in my apartment?”

“Mister Monster brought us here.” The girl answers nonchalantly, stuffing another fistful of cereal into her mouth. Eddie sucks in his breath, knowing what the girl was referring to. How was she not frightened of them? She’s simply too young and too trusting. His eyes slide over to the boy, whose face is closed off.

“She keeps on saying that,” The kid says stiffly. “We both woke up here, and I don’t remember what happened. So how’d you bring us here?” His eyes narrow at Eddie. He was just a child, yet the boy looked like he’s already knew too much.

Eddie falls silent, gauging the situation. How much did the children exactly know? And why were they being escorted by the Life Foundation, no less?

“We - I found both of you. You were inside of trucks. Why is that?”

The boy turns his face away. Silence. No answer. Eddie decides not to pry, moving on to the next subject.

“What are both of your names?”

“None of your business,” The boy snaps, but his sister answers faster.

“Lily!” She proclaims, with a slight puff of her chest. She sticks a finger at the boy saying, “And that’s my big brother Shen.”

Shen flashes his sister a vexed glare. She freezes up, and turns to look at him with big eyes. He shakes his head, ever so slightly. Lily’s small face crumples into a pout, and she sullenly crosses her little arms over her chest. Eddie raises an eyebrow at this odd interaction, his eyes flickering to the older brother. From the deep scowl on the boy’s face, Eddie can safely guess the kid doesn’t trust him. A smart move.

“Lily and Shen. Er, where are your parents…?”

Lily opens her mouth, probably about to blurt something else out, but this time Shen beats her to the punch.

“Our dad’s farther upstate. We’re on our way to see him.” Shen gets up to his feet, grabbing his sister by the hand. “In fact, we should be on our way. Where’s the nearest bus station?”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows to this rushed explanation. He couldn’t tell whether Shen was lying or not, but the boy definitely wanted to get out of the apartment with his sister as swiftly as possible. Eddie couldn’t blame the kid. If anything, he was smartly handling the situation.

‘THEY COME FROM THAT PLACE. TELL ME YOU CAN’T SMELL THE STENCH FROM THE CHILDREN. THEY ARE NOT SAFE.’

Eddie ignores the Other’s voice, and turns his back from the kids.

“Sure thing. Er, closest one is a few blocks away, I can write you an address…” He stops, wincing in pain when its voice comes crashing back. It drills into Eddie’s skull, more demanding this time.

‘YOU ARE CONDEMNING THE INNOCENTS, EDDIE. ARE YOU CHOOSING TO BE IGNORANT FROM WHAT WE SAW LAST NIGHT? THEY ARE NOT YOUR COMMON PAIR OF HUMAN CHILDREN.’

‘Shut up. Shut up.’

‘IF YOU WILL NOT LISTEN, I WILL TAKE OVER IF I MUST.’

Oozing and alien black liquid begins to ebb up Eddie’s neck. His stomach lurches. He can’t transform in front of these kids, anything but that. They had to leave while they still can, before his insane alter ego forces them to stay. Eddie sinks his fingernails into his arms, desperately focusing on the pain to keep the symbiote in check. He’s twitching erratically, clearly disturbed.

“A-actually...you guys should...just leave.” A sharp whimper escapes him. The symbiote’s mental and physical willpower are far too great. If the kids won’t move quickly, then it’ll take over in a matter of a minute. “Please.”

He couldn’t see the kids’ faces, but he can feel their frightened eyes on him.

“Come on Lily.” Shen finally says. There’s a brotherly urgency in his voice, since he clearly understands the growing danger of the situation.

“But he’s in pain!” Lily cries out, indignant. “Is Mister Monster being mean to you?” She might’ve asked Eddie, but the adult man was much too distraught to pay attention to them anymore.

“Lily, we have to leave, right now.”

Before she could protest, there’s a crackle in the air, and the kids are gone.

Eddie didn’t even have enough time to ponder how they could’ve possibly left the apartment without going out the front door. He’s too busy mentally wrestling with the Other, trying to keep it from coming to surface. Black, spiderwebbed veins bulge at his forehead and neck. Black eats away at his eyes. A guttural growl rises out of his throat, more demonic than human. He screams, throwing himself on the floor. He can’t let it come out. They both had to calm down. They both had to calm -

‘LET ME OUT.’

“No!” His voice already sounds distorted and warbled, as if two people were speaking at once.

This resistance only makes the Other more aggressive. His veins flare up, feeling like they caught on fire. His clothes ripple, as if something was struggling to rip out of the fabric. It was horrifying, unnatural, plain wrong to feel the alien symbiote crawling through his skin, trying to take over. He thrashes against the walls and floors, battering himself in an attempt to subdue them both. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Pain wrecks his entire body, and Eddie is completely helpless to it.

Just when he was about to surrender completely to its control, the TV, still playing this entire time, is interrupted by an emergency alarm.

“- We interrupt this broadcast with a public service emergency. This message is brought to you by SHIELD. We thank you for your patience.”

The television replays the ear-splitting alarm, bringing intense pain to both Eddie and the symbiote. They screech together in unison, moving to cover their ears from the harrowing noise. The TV continues rattling on, and a pleasant female voice announces:

“Attention NYC citizens. Be on the lookout for two mutant children. Both possess unstable psychic powers that can pose harm to the average citizen. If you do see these fugitive mutants, do not interact with them under any circumstances. They are hostile, and will not hesitate to attack, I repeat, will not hesitate to fight back. If you have seen anything suspicious, or suspect foul play, please contact SHIELD’s emergency public number immediately…”

Hearing this message, Eddie weakly rolls over to glance at the screen. On the bottom is scrolling text, reads: DANGEROUS ESCAPEE MUTANTS. A STATEWIDE MANHUNT HAS BEEN ISSUED AND IS UNDERWAY.

Onscreen shows Lily’s round and smiling face along with Shen’s sharp and cynical scowl.

Shen rushes through the streets, dragging Lily close in hand.

His heart is still pounding from the encounter they had with that unsettling man. There was a presence, a dark presence that clung to the stranger. It was sickening, and it was trying to reach out to Shen. He was sure his sister sensed the aura as well, yet she wasn’t fearful in the slightest like Shen.

“Too tight!” She complains, her short legs struggling to keep up with her brother. Lily tries to pull her hand away from Shen, but he keeps her grip on her. “Shen, we’re walking too fast!”

Exasperated, Shen pulls her to the side. He gets on one knee, and looks her straight in the eye.

[Lily, we have to move. The bad men are gonna find us.] He says directly into her head. Shen squeezes her shoulder to emphasize his point. He has to make her understand.

Her eyes fall to her feet. He knows she remembers those bad men perfectly well.

[But Mister Monster chased them away.] She retorts, stubborn as ever.

[You mean that weirdo back there? He’s not gonna protect us! Nobody’s gonna help us unless we get to Dad.]

A loud alarm blares out of nowhere, interrupting their discussion. Lily and Shen’s heads perk up, and they turn to look where the sounds were coming from. A small crowd of people already gathered around a window shop, multiple television screens playing an emergency broadcast onscreen. Curious, the siblings join the gathering crowd.

“Attention NYC citizens. Be on the lookout for two mutant children. Both possess unstable psychic powers that can pose harm to the average citizen…”

As Shen listens to the broadcast, his face pales. They’re on the news? Wildly, he glances around. Surrounding strangers are looking at their phone screens, definitely watching the emergency broadcast. The female announcer’s voice from the screen plays from multiple screens. Starkly conscious of watching eyes, Shen pulls Lily closer to his side. He starts to back away. Lily glances up, confused.

[We have to go.]

Before he could start running, someone nearly knocks them over.

“Watch where you’re going!” A man in a business suit says, looking up from his phone screen with a scowl. When his eyes lie on Shen and Lily, they both widen. “Wait just a second...you’re those mutants from the broadcast -”

The man is suddenly knocked off his feet from an unseen force, crashing on the ground.

Shen tugs Lily, and they break into a sprint. He runs blindly through the sidewalks, pushing anyone in their way with his vectors. Some people curse at them, most stop and stare, others recognize the siblings and begin shouting after them. Desperate to shake the attention off, Shen takes a sharp turn into a brick wall.

Instead of running smack into it, he phases through the wall, Lily towed behind.

Once they’re out of the streets, Shen skids to a stop. He quickly glances around their surroundings. Now, they’re standing inside a narrow alley. Dumpsters are stacked against the walls, hiding them from any passerbys. Good. No one can see them. He allows himself a moment of reprieve. At least they’re away from prying eyes. For now.

A shaky breath escapes Shen’s lips. How were they going to get to Dad’s now? They would have to take a train, but with people everywhere, they’re bound to get recognized.

“I’m thirsty.” Lily says, rubbing her eyes.

Shen worriedly looks down at her. It also strikes him in that moment that he, still a mere eleven-year old, virtually had no means to take care of his little sister. They had no money, shelter, or means of discreet transportation. They’ll definitely get caught. He bites the inside of his cheek, forcing down the anxiety. He can’t freak out in front of Lily.

Before Shen could comfort his sister, a shadow is casted over him. He looks up to see the most horrifying monster that ever crawled out of his imagination.

It’s tall, taller than any adult Shen has ever seen. It’s a hulking mass of bulging muscle, easily towering over them. A spider symbol is on its chest, similar to Spiderman’s costume. The huge difference is, the monster’s suit - or skin, Shen thinks, is completely pitch black.

What looks like a pair of eyes, stares down at Shen and his sister. At least, he thinks the monster is staring at them. He couldn’t tell since it didn’t have any pupils. Worse of all, it’s wearing a frightening smile, full of too many shark-like teeth.

Shen tried not to scream when the monster steps toward them.

He scrambles to his feet, getting in front of Lily. He has to protect her, at all costs. His hands begin to heat up, gathering flame. He wills his hands to stop shaking.

“Get away from us!” Shen shouts, his voice cracking near the end. He directs the fire at the monster, and it’s tar-like skin immediately begins sizzling.

It recoils, hissing like a nest of angry snakes.

Seeing a chance for escape, Shen screams at his sister. “Lily, run! I’ll hold him off!” She doesn’t seem to hear him, though. She’s staring up at the monster, entranced. “Lily! Please! Come on!”

Much to Shen’s disbelief, she goes towards the monster instead of running away.

“Mister Monster?”

It crouches, but that hardly made the monster any shorter. Even crouching, it’s still so tall, sunlight won’t shine into the already cramped alleyway. The monster leans forward, its smile growing impossibly wider. Shen freezes up in place. How is his sister not running, screaming her head off? She stands there, unaffected by the monstrous freak of nature.

“LITTLE ONE,” It utters in a horribly garbled voice. “YOU MUST COME WITH US.”

Its clawed hands begin reaching down for Lily, and Shen is brought back from shock. Brotherly fury comes rushing back into his blood. The nearby garbage dumps suddenly combust into flames. To Shen’s command, they levitate and hurtle towards the monster.

“Get away from her!”

The assault bounces off the monster, nothing more than weak blows. The monster growls, annoyed. It sharply turns to Shen, then grabs him by the scruff of his neck. He plucks Lily from the ground, and settles her into its arm. Its face comes close to Shen, and a creeping smirk twitches at its slobbering mouth.

“YOU ARE TENSE. TENSE AND FIERY.”

“LET US GO!” He wildy thrashes his arms around, hoping to land some punches on the monster. When his fists connected with its face, it was like punching hardened tar.

“Shen! It’s Mister Monster! He’s here to help!”

Innocent and pink warmth surges into Shen’s mind. It’s his sister’s presence, sending some empathic waves to calm him down. He stops fighting, only briefly, and throws her a perplexed look. He glances back to the monster’s, grinning face.

It cocks its head, its pupilless eyes sizing up Shen. Then, it’s skin peels back, like a grotesque peeling away of a rotting onion.

Shen freezes, and can only stare, horrified. Underneath the unnatural black skin, is another face - a human face. Tired and tormented eyes look at Shen, and he recognizes that face immediately.

“It’s you!”

“Sorry kid.”

No longer wearing that monster’s face, the man set Shen and Lily down on the ground. It was plain, plain weird seeing a human head on a monstrous body. It unnerved Shen to no end. He moves to grip Lily, covering her head if the man-monster-thing was going to hurt them.

Thankfully, the man-monster shrinks back down, the tar skin melting into versatile liquid and snaking back under the man’s clothes. In a few seconds, there stands no longer a monster, but only a man.

Lily pushes Shen’s hand away from her eyes. “Hi Mister Eddie!” She says with her ever-bright smile.

The man - Eddie, gives Lily a funny but forced smile. Shen only stares, dumbfolded. He tries not to think where that strange black liquid went, and manages to find his voice.

“What...what are you?”

The man chuckles. His eyes are strikingly dark.

“Wish I knew. Sorry for back there. We - it - can be a little...aggressive.”

We? Shen frowns, his head still spinning from this craziness.

“L-look. We saw the news. They’re looking for you.”

“Yeah, I know. So?” Shen shoots back ruefully. Unconsciously, his grip tightens around Lily. “Just leave us alone.”

“But they’ll find you again. Those people. Life Foundation.” Eddie’s expression hardens for a second. It’s a poisonous and deadly look, a hint of the darkness the man possesses. It disappears as quickly as Shen saw it. “You and your sister will be safer if you come with us. We’ll protect you.”

“Why? How do you know about the Life Foundation?” Shen’s mind automatically jumps to the worse case scenario. “Why should we trust you? You’re a monster!”

“You’re right about that.” Eddie crookedly smiles. “But if you guys wanna escape the Life Foundation, we’re the only ones who can help you. Everyone else might turn you in. Aren’t I right about that?”

To this, Shen couldn’t reply. He falls silent, knowing perfectly well that this man, Eddie, was right. He still can’t meet the man’s eyes. His mind kept on flashing back to the monster’s face, a slavering and animalistic grin, that’ll definitely haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. He wanted to protect Lily from that thing.

But how can he even begin protecting her if he can’t protect himself?

He looks into Lily’s brown eyes, searching for her opinion.

[What do you wanna do, Lil?]

She blinks, a thoughtful look crossing her face.

[I like them. They won’t hurt us. And we can make them buy us McDonalds. I’m hungry.]

Shen sighs, defeated. His sister’s simple and childish logic, wins this round. He forces himself to look at Eddie.

“Fine, we’ll come with you. Then you’ll tell us everything.”

“McDonalds.” Lily tugs his vest, insistent.

“And, we want McDonalds.”

#venom #venom 2018 #venom movie #venom fanfic #marvel fanfiction #it takes a monster to raise some kids

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kingdenbro · 7 years ago

Text

There’s No Us

summary: Sometimes the people that we fall in love with aren’t the right ones for us. Sometimes the people who teach us what love means are also the ones who teach us when it’s right to let go. And sometimes letting go means letting go when you’re both still helplessly in love.

word count: 6,685

warnings: break-up; implied sexual content; referenced homophobia; mental breakdowns

author’s note: dan here! i loved this concept but i kind of ruined it, yikes. i’m not too pleased with it or the ending but whatever is floating thy goat. hope you guys enjoy! also, this is unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own, oops!

tag list: @rememberingtozier ; can you believe i’m cool enough wowowow

”I’m sorry,” Bill said, his voice gentle and unwavering. His legs dangled over the edge of the cliff of the quarry as he casted his gaze down to the still water below. His feet pressed downwards as the heels of his worn sneakers grinded against the rough surface of the rocks. His heart hung heavy in his chest, the weight of the unspoken words crushing his shoulders. He took a drag of the cigarette glued into his right hand, letting the smoke slowly bleed out of his mouth before stating it again. “I’m sorry, Stan.”

“Don’t be,” Stan whispered. He sat within arm’s reach of Bill but they felt so far apart. Stan looked up to meet Bill’s own eyes but was met with the bowed head of shame. The curly-haired boy wasn’t sure of what to say or do. Everything, in this very moment, was being exposed and torn apart for what it truly was. The night silence hung between the two boys, vacant and open and ready for them to speak. After a few minutes had past, Stan ran his hands up and down his jean-clad thighs nervously before his voice broke out into a stutter. “D-Do you remember?”

Bill leaned against his own desk, arms folded over his chest as he took a deep breath inwards. Stan was sitting on the edge of his bed, fingers wound in the rich navy blue comforter. Stan was the perfect contrast to Bill’s dreary and dark room, lightly littered with crumbled balls of paper. The boy, with his iron-pressed beige shorts and pale polo shirt, gave Bill a sense of familiarity and home.

“W-Wuh-What’s up?” Bill asked after fifteen minutes of pure silence had passed. It was ticking onwards to twelve in the morning and Bill knew that Stan had a set schedule at a set time. He'd try to help the boy in order to get him out and into his system. Stan began to tap his index finger and his thumb together in a series of three's. Three rapid taps, a second of silence, followed by three slower taps. It was something that Bill had noticed the boy did whenever he got extremely nervous. Bill pursed his lips momentarily before taking a deep breath and pushing himself off of the desk and moving to sit next to Stan. The other quickly flinched, his hands covering his face before he inhaled shakily and let them fall.

‘Something's wrong,’ Bill noted as he gently placed his hand on Stan's thigh. ‘Something's really, really wrong.’ Stan drew in a shuddering breath before looking up at Bill and the elder noticed the tears that were forming in the corners of Stan's eyes. His hazel eyes were glassy and distant as if he was trapped replaying something over and over again in his head. Bill frowned, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the top of Stan's thigh, gentle yet steady enough. Stan let his eyes flutter shut and leaned towards Bill for a couple moments, the tension in his body dissipating.

"My parents kicked me out." His voice was barely above a whisper. "They kicked me out and I just... I came here." Bill stopped his movements and kept his eyes level with Stan's.

"W-W-Why did they k-kih-kick you out?"

"They found out I'm gay." Bill's breath hitched in his throat, letting out a vocal hiss. Stan shrunk his shoulders, folding himself inwards and he let out a soft whimper. A tear slipped down his cheek but he was quick to brush it away, fearing that Bill would say or do something. He was disgusting, that much Stan knew. Why else would they do that to their only son?

"That's it?"

"No.. They found out something else. They found out about this guy and they-" Stan's voice broke off with a whimper and Bill reached upwards to snake his arms around Stan's torso to pull him closer. They sat there with Bill's chin resting on top of Stan's head and Stan's trembling hands clutched into Bill's shirt. Quiet cries filled the nightly air, slowly faltering as soon as Stan took a deep breath. He pulled away from Bill and began tapping once again. Taptaptap.. tap-tap-tap. "Richie wrote me a note in AP History. It said something along the lines of 'damn Uris, stare the boy down any longer and you'll cream your pants' or something along those lines." Stan let out a soft chuckle at the memory of his best friend's wiggling eyebrows as he flushed a deep red. "I guess I forgot to toss it and Father found it when he went into my room. Then, uh, things happened." His voice cracked and let out a shaky sigh. "Things happened and I'm here now."

"There's some p-p-pajamas of yours in the clos-s-set. Change into t-them and we'll watch a mo-o-ov-vie." Bill changed the subject, nodding his head towards the closet in the far corner of his bedroom. He had clothes suited for every Loser packed away in some area of his bedroom. Richie, Eddie, and Mike all had a shared drawer in Bill's dresser. Ben and Beverly shared a tote that was tucked away beneath Bill's bed and Stan, meticulous about the state of his clothing, had it hung in Bill's closet. Bill watched as Stan moved out of the bedroom, probably aiming for the bathroom. He glanced over at the clock that blared a bright red '12:46 AM' and sighed deeply. He moved to pull his sheet and blanket downwards and slid into the right side of the bed, closest to the wall before plopping his head down on his pillow and staring up at the ceiling. His parents wouldn't bother him about Stan in the morning. They didn't really care about what he did in his free time - or any time, really. As long as he wasn't causing them stress or dead, they really couldn't care less about his state.

"Bill?" Stan whispered, startling Bill into looking into his direction. Stan looked nervous as Bill stared at him expectantly. Bill knew what Stan was referencing so he held his arms open and watched as his best friend relaxed. Stan slowly climbed into the bed, facing Bill with his hands folded beneath his head just like a pillow. Bill chuckled, turning fully onto his side with one arm folded over his torso and the other tucked beneath his pillow. The two boys sat there in silence, letting the emotions locked in their eyes speak for them.

“So… No m-mm-movies?” Bill asked as Stan's eyes began to glass over with exhaustion. He let out a soft huff of air, signaling a slight sound of laughter. Bill moved his arm from his torso to push a strand of Stan’s hair out of his face. “I'll take that as a no. Goodnight, S-St-S-Stan.” Stan let out a soft noise of content, his lips twitching at the light touches that Bill let linger on his skin and made no move to pull away. Bill smiled softly at his friend, his heart clenching at the idea of how much pain Stan was going through. The struggle of just merely having OCD was hard enough. Now, Stan didn't have the strength or energy or place to soothe the urge of his compulsions. He was accepting his sexuality but that meant the rejection and heartbreak of those who he thought would love him forever. Then there was the basic stress of friendships, of school, of everything. Bill let out a soft sigh and dropped his hand back down to land on the bed. He was truly aching for his friend.

When Stan woke up the next morning, he was tucked snugly into Bill’s torso, his leg slipping between Bill’s own. Stan attempted to pull away, ashamed, but Bill, with his feigned sleepiness, pulled him back in. Perhaps they could pretend, just for a moment, that things would be okay. Just for a moment.

"Remember what, ex-ex-eeh-exactly?" Bill asked, lifting his head to look at Stan. Stan was staring up at the sky, his eyes narrowed and face relaxed in a saddened frown. Raindrops began to trickle down from the skies, a few drops landing on Stan's flushed cheeks. Bill looked over the boy, staring as if this was going to be the last time he met with Stan and he didn't want to forget /anything/ about the boy he once loved. Stan's curls framed his face perfectly, clearly taking a strange form of leaning to the right from how often the boy ran his hand through his hair. His hands were resting behind him, supporting his weight as he remained in the same position. His knuckles were bruised and scabbed from a fight that no one suspected. No one suspected that Stan would throw the first punch. Or the last. Bill's frown deepened at the thought of Stan mirroring his own trait of jumping into a fight rather than acknowledging the feelings behind it. The sleeves of the hoodie that Bill gave him ended just before the knuckles, illuminating the boy's frail frame. The hoodie was a pure black one with the words 'Derry High Athletics' embroidered in large, white font on the front. On the back of the hoodie, the number 7 and Bill's last name were embroidered in thick white font. It was Bill's baseball hoodie that Stan had clung onto. A sense of pride and possession exploded in his chest at the sight followed quickly by sadness. Bill's eyes grew damp as he remembered that Stan wouldn't want to wear the hoodie anymore. Not when it branded him with something that he didn't want.

"Us." Stan finally said, his eyes open and now turning to look back at Bill. They maintained eye contact, blue getting lost in hazel, before Stan gave a smile. A smile filled with fond memories and an aching heart. "Y'know the us before all this. Before all the screaming and the fighting. Before the stress of moving, of graduating, of all this. The us that was so in love and so, so happy." A lump swelled at the lump of Bill’s throat as he nodded in agreement. His eyes flickered to Stan’s fingers drumming against the damp rocks and he felt a compulsion to hold his hand.

“I-”

“Don’t.” Stan pulled his feet from over the edge and folded them beneath himself, pushing his hands off the ground to rest against his thighs. He shook his head and let the curls fall into his face to cover his eyes before drawing a deep breath. “Don’t do that.” His voice wavered.

Bill watched Stan with admiration every single time that the boy wasn’t looking. All their friends teased Bill for being so fucking in love and refusing to admit it to Stan (who stared at him just the same). Stan was laughing loudly, his cheeks tinted pink from the sun’s rays. Richie was next to him, his fingers clutched in his other hands. He was dramatically reenacting a scenario from his earlier shift at the theatre. Bill was drowning out his friends voice, focusing on the way that Stan's face bore every emotion he was feeling.

“Billiam!” Richie shouted, throwing his shoe at the other boy. Bill, with startled red cheeks, looked up to his grumpy friend. Richie towered over Bill’s sitting frame, arms folded over his chest. “Stop watching him and pay attention to me!” Bill shifted his eyes to the side, his lips curled in a displeased smile. He turned his eyes back to his friend and began watching him, Stan's figure sitting in the corner of his eyes.

“I've got to go home,” Eddie whined, rolling his eyes as Richie pouted about being interrupted. It was obvious how much Eddie hated being home; it was almost as bad as Bill’s dislike. Richie turned on his heel and chirped at Eddie.

“We mustn't delay the venture any longer, my good maiden!” Richie extended his arm to Eddie who just shoved it out of the way and mumbled ‘shut up’. Richie turned to Mike with an over-exaggerated defeated look on his face, clearly trying to will the boy into tagging along. Mike sighed quietly and pushed himself to his feet, allowing Richie to pull him up. He swung an arm around Richie’s shoulders and walked towards Eddie, smiling at the small boy who was ranting about something. If anyone noticed the way Richie’s shoulders relaxed and he stopped needlessly chattering, no one said anything.

“I'm going to put get ice cream!” Stan suddenly spoke, pushing himself off the rocks of the quarry. He turned to Ben and Beverly, blushing at the wink Bev gave him. “Does anyone want to come along?”

“Mm, no.” Beverly glanced up at Stan before nodding her head towards Ben. “Mister Hanscom here promised me a sneak peek into his journals so I must hold him to that. You and Bill enjoy yourselves.”

Bill opened his mouth to argue with Beverly before Stan turned to him with hopeful eyes. “You wanna come?” The sound of Bill jumping off the rocks was answer enough for Stan. He waved goodbye to the couple before turning to Bill.

“You don't have to come. I know Bev made it seem like you do.” Stan's voice held a hint of sadness. Bill shook his head, knocking his shoulder against Stan’s with a wide grin.

“I'm coming,” he confirmed before picking his bike up off the ground. He turned to watch Stan climb on to his own bike before shouting, “Away we go, Silver!” Stan let out a quick burst of laughter before speeding past Bill, shouting something along the lines of ‘Last Loser pays!’ The two boys biked down to the Derry Waterside, a local restaurant that the Losers frequented. When they got there, the smile of familiarity grew on Bill’s face. Here he was, sitting in a place of good memories with the one person he loved most.

“Let's go,” Stan called, setting his bike against the side of the building as Bill dropped his own down onto the pavement of the parking lot. Bill scrunched his face at Stan's rolling eyes, wishing he clued make a witty comment in response. Nothing was coming to mind other than the fact than Stan was hanging out with him because he wanted to. “Bill, C’mon!” Bill snapped out of his trance before following Stan.

They were greeted by a shout of their names, the owner of the shop smiling fondly as he saw the two boys. “Where's the rest of ya’?” The owner Demetrius asked. “Thought ‘ere was seven.” The Waterside was frequently filled with small families and young teenagers on dates but Demetrius always got to know his frequent customers. He referred to Stan as the respectful one, Bill as the leader, Bev as the troublemaker, Ben as the kind one, Mike as the surprisingly patient one, and Richie as Hurricane Tozier. The nickname he used for Eddie, although often in private, was Drama Queen.

“The others are momentarily busy, sir. Bill and I were just hoping for some ice cream.” Bill nodded lamely at Stan’s words, admiring as the boy interacted with their older friend. Stan was flawless and impeccable, his maturity and respect for elders oozing through his very presence. He slapped a handful of quarters onto the counter before turning to Bill.

“Do you mind if we take our ice cream cones to go? I don’t really feel like staying here today.” Bill shook his head before walking towards the counter, giving Demetrius a gentle smile as he handed them their ice cream cones. A chocolate-strawberry mix for Bill and a french vanilla for Stan. Demetrius took the change with a gentle shake of his head and bidded the two boys a good day. They called out to the older man before leaving the restaurant, Bill already with ice cream on the tip of his nose.

“Whaddya wa-anna d-d-do?” Stan turned to Bill, reaching a finger out to swipe the small blob of ice cream off the boy’s nose. Stan looked ridiculously perfect in the moment. His tongue was swiping along the ice cream cone, keeping it a fair distance to not spill it over his clothing. His dumb, dumb ironed thigh shorts and his meticulously ironed button up. Bill stared in admiration, thoughts rolling over his mind on a constant run. When the shorter boy pulled his finger back to stare at it momentarily, Bill blurted his train of thoughts out.

“Date me.” Two simple words. Two simple words that made the world freeze. Stan looked up with melting ice cream on the tip of his tongue, eyes wide with Bill’s melted ice cream still coating his finger. He stared at Bill, mouth dropped in shock as the other boy’s cheeks flamed with red. Bill opened his mouth to counter his statement before Stan nodded.

“Yes-” Stan couldn’t finish his statement without blushing furiously so he turned his gaze to the ice cream cone he was currently eating. They stood there, Stan with red cheeks and Bill with a sudden urge to jump for joy. When Stan refused to look up at Bill calling his name, Bill couldn’t help but to frown.

“Am I s-so irres-si-sistibile that you can’t even l-l-look at me?” Bill joked and Stan swiped his finger across his face with a stifled laugh.

“You didn’t le-let me f-f-finish,” Bill countered, his lips curling into a slight pout. He kicked his legs back repeatedly against the cliff, the feeling of his heels crashing painfully against the rocks distracting him from the pain that burrowed in his chest. Stan shook his head, a light chuckle slipping from between his lips.

“I don't have to, baby.” The pet name twisted in Bill’s chest but he blinked the growing tears away. Stan wasn't often keen on using sappy pet names except he knew how it always made Bill feel loved and feel safer - how everything always felt a little more bearable to him. The realization of everything was finally beginning to settle into his bones and everything in Bill screamed to run. He clenched his eyes shut before feeling Stan’s freezing hand against his flushed cheeks. He felt the fingers slowly turn his face to meet Stan’s eyes. The boy was a mere few centimetres away, reminding Bill of all the times they sat this way. “I know you, William. I know you'll apologize because you think this entire thing is your fault and I know you'll shut down on me.”

“Talk to me, Billy.” Stan’s voice was level and firm as he stared at the lump in the bed. Bill had his blanket pulled taut over his frame, leaving a small gap for fresh air. An empty bag of chocolate chips was on his night table along with a half empty bottle of cough syrup. Stan stood over Bill with a frown, his arms folded over his chest. They hadn't seen each other in days because Bill would refuse to let anyone in. He would avoid them in school, deliberately taking paths that he knew the Losers took. It just meant he had a few run-ins with a newer set of bullies.

“Bill.” Stan's voice was now growing impatient and Bill could almost see him tap against his forearm. After a few moments, Stan tucked his hands into the small opening and yanked it up. Bill was curled up in a ball, his arms curled around his torso, hugging himself. Stan winced at the scent of stale sweat but took a deep breath before slipping to lay next to Bill. He pulled the blanket over himself as well, leaving them nowhere to be except with each other.

“You're shutting me out,” Stan whispered, reaching over to run his thumb along Bill’s cheek. Bill turned his head to burrow into the sheets but Stan prevented him from rolling away. He grabbed Bill by his forearms and yanked him closer, rolling onto his back in the middle of doing so. After a few minutes of struggled grunts and unintentional smacks to the face, Stan had Bill completely on top of him and had his hands around the boy’s torso. Bill’s head was tucked into the crook of Stan’s neck, his chest pressed against Stan’s and his legs intertwined with Stan’s. Stan slipped a hand beneath Bill’s too-large shirt and began to draw small shapes on the small of the back, soothing the trembling boy. “Please don’t shut me out, Billy.”

Bill broke.

Tears began streaming down his cheeks as broken sobs slipped from his lips and he cried into Stan’s neck. Stan pressed his lips to his boyfriend’s head and whispered soft reassurances of love and happiness. They stayed there, Bill clinging onto Stan for dear life and Stan refusing to move.

“I-I-It hu-urts,” Bill whined, his throat hoarse and his stutter worse. He moved his hands to the base of Stan’s neck, twirling the stray strands between his fingertips. Stan wasn't one for having people touch hi s hair but judging from the sedated looking he gave Bill, it was okay this time around. Stan let out a gentle hum as Bill struggled around his words, cursing his stutter for getting worse when he was upset. “I h-h-heh-hate being s-s-so u-u-u-unwanted b-by t-t-t-them.”

“I know, Bill.” Stan sighed gently, sliding his hand up to the centre of Bill's back. He dug his nails into the flesh and began scratching lightly. “And I know it's not the same but we're here. Richie and Mike and Beverly and Ben and Eddie. And me. I'm here for as long as you want me to be here, baby.”

Bill's cheeks flared up a crimson red as he moved his hand blindly to jab Stan in the side. Stan squealed loudly, immediately jolting causing Bill to slide down to his left side. Bill laughed loudly, his eyes narrowing as a wide grin stretched across his face.

“Did you just stab me?” Stan shrieked, causing Bill to let out an effeminate giggle. He buried his face in Stan's shoulder, stretching his arms across the boy’s waist before mumbling.

“Stop c-ceh-calling m-m-me baby.” Stan angled his head awkwardly to look at Bill, noting the twitching smile and flushed cheeks before shaking his head.

“No, I don't think I will.” Bill let out a whine in protest but he failed to disguise the growing smile on his face. “I think my Billy likes being called baby. In fact, I think he likes pet names, don't you?” Bill's cheeks flushed darker as he nodded. Stan chuckled lightly before pulling himself away from Bill, wrinkling his nose.

“As much as I like cuddling you, you need to shower. C’mon, shower and I'll make you breakfast.” Bill nodded in defeat, letting Stan drag him out of the bed. Truth be told, he knew he looked and smelt terrible. His hair stuck up in wild directions and the right side of his face was still caked in dried blood from an altercation with a bully a few days ago. He hadn't showered or brushed his teeth in days - he just didn't have the energy or motivation to do so. Stan pulled him into the bathroom, pressed a kiss to his forehead and closed the door.

When Bill walked into the kitchen in fresh, clean clothes, he was greeted with the sight of Stan pouring him his favourite cereal. He smiled fondly before walking over to press a kiss to the curly-haired boy’s cheek.

“You're w-wearing my s-s-s-shirt,” Bill commented, smirking. Stan was wearing his faded black shirt and it hung down to the middle of this thighs, making Bill snort at the image it created out of context.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Bill,” Stan scolded as he turned to hand Bill the bowl of cereal. “I knew I was going to have to drag you out so I had to wear something that could get damaged.”

“I know.” Bill took the bowl and before he could turn around, Stab pulled him into a sweet, gentle kiss. It was over as quickly as it started. Bill chased after Stan’s lips blindly, eyes still closed. Stan slipped two fingers over Bill’s lips, shaking his head.

“Eat your food, Denbrough. Then we need to talk.”

“Yeah yeah, princess.” Bill didn't miss the way Stan’s cheeks grew to match the colour of his shirt.

“It's not the right time,” Bill said after a few minutes of silence, his hand lifting to curl around Stan’s.

“Nor are we the right people.” Stan’s voice was cold and drained of emotions and both of them froze at the harshness of what he said. Bill’s eyes filled with shame and Stan slowly caressed his thumb along the redhead’s cheekbone. “At least, not right now. Not with my..” Stan’s voice cracked and he pulled himself away from Bill’s gaze to look down at the water of the quarry. After he had recollected himself, he looked at Bill and took a deep breath. “Not with my hyper fixations and your inability to just let yourself love.”

”This is bullshit!” Stan screamed, raising his hands to yank at the hair on the sides of his head. He was pacing in Bill’s living room, his throat raw. Bill was sitting on the counter adjacent adjacent to his living room. He stared at Stan, arms folded over his chest and face void of emotions.

“S-So it's t-t-true.”

“No, Bill, you don't get to say that.” Stan's hazel eyes were brimmed with tears and his normally kept hair was sticking out in wild directions. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned to the third button, creating a mixed image for Bill to look at. Here was his boyfriend, normally kept together and calm, whining and looking he just walked out of a frat house. Bill pursed his lips, tilting his head before shaking it and tensing up even more. Stan stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to reply. They were fighting over Bill’s accusation of Stan finding better people to be with and Stan was defending his position of hanging out with Mike and Ben. Stan had stormed into Bill’s house, eyes dark as he demanded to know why his boyfriend was ignoring him.

“It's true.”

“You don't get to do that! Not when I've been trying to see you for days and you've been blowing me off and hanging out with Bev and Richie to get drunk, high - I don’t know! I'm sorry I didn't tell you but they're my friends too.” Stan was a few feet away from Bill, his chest rising and falling. He looked frantic, all of his pent up emotions finally spilling out. Stan wasn’t normally one to talk but he was working on it. Working on his biggest fear of being open just to be close to Bill. And Bill was just shutting down, ignoring everything that Stan was trying to say. To say at the very least, they were terrible at communication. Stan just wanted the confirmation of Bill loving him back and Bill just wanted the confirmation of Stan wanting him and not just using him for his own personal gain.

“Whatever.”

“This isn't fair, Bill! You don't get to do this! We all have issues and you're using yours to blame me!” Bill’s eyes grew dark as he moved towards Stan with balled up fists. His thoughts shut down and he bit down on his tongue, the bitter taste of blood quickly filling the insides of his mouth.

“I get it. It's hard to talk, I know. But I can't be the only one trying to talk. If that’s how things are going to be then we’re not going to work!”

The next few moments skipped by in a blur, ending with Stan pressed against the wall and Bill’s hands pressed against Stan’s chest. He didn’t say anything, his words burning at the tip of his tongue. Stan had fear flashing in his eyes and Bill let go, staggering backwards. A lump swelled up in his throat and he felt like a monster. He pulled himself back to reality and ran out of his front door, full sprint, ignoring Stan’s cries of his name. He was suffocating and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He was a terrible person and didn’t deserve Stan.

Not if he was willing to do something that could have come close to hurting him.

”You know I-”

“I know. You did and maybe you still do and I know I did, I do, and I will always-” Stan pulled his hand away from Bill’s cheek and sighed. A stray tear slipped down Stan’s cheeks as he took a deep breath. “I will always love you.” Bill glanced over with a scrunched face before Stan gave him a sad smile. After what felt like eternity, Stan stood up and began to nibble on the peeling skin on his lip.

“Staaann, “ Bill whined pathetically, clenching his eyes shut as he felt his boyfriend’s arms tuck around his waist. Bill was working on a painting while Stan was across the room, working on scholarship applications.

“I've missed you,” Stan mumbled, his face hidden by Bill’s overalls. “and I can't help it when you look so good.” For a sweaty, tired mess, Bill did look good. He had black overalls on, the strap of the left side slipping down his arm. His shirt was tattered, a once vibrant orange was now a pale red. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the paint splatters over his forearms. He had paint smeared across his cheeks and his fingertips, both dried and wet. Bill turned around to look at Stan who was staring back up with a sympathetic smile.

“You're just s-s-saying that,” Bill commented, rolling his eyes as Stan shook his head. The shorter boy rocked up onto his tippy-toes to slide an arm around Bill’s neck while the other was left to curl into the front of the overalls. Stan shook his head once again, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

Bill dipped down, his paint-covered fingers curling around Stan’s waist. He slid his hands beneath the fabric of Stan’s t-shirt, greeted by a band of skin that was flaming hot. His lips hovered over his boyfriend's for a few moments before Stan let a whine out and pulled Bill down hastily. Their lips molded together perfectly, filled with desperation and sexual tension. Stan flicked his tongue along Bill’s lower lip, making the boy gasp out in shock. Their tongues slipped against each other and Bill moved backwards, stumbling towards the bed. The reminder of his parents not being home - god knows where they went - blared at the back of his mind and Bill grinned against Stan’s lips.

“Yes,” Stan breathed against Bill’s smile before pulling away. His knees hit the edge of the bed. “Please, just yes.” Bill guided his boyfriend down gently, pressing his lips to Stan’s exposed neck. The quiet whimper that slipped from Stan's lip was enough to give Bill the courage he needed.

“I've missed you.” There it was. Bill wasn’t referring to the sappy, in-love Stan that he had for the months they first started dating or the gentle, quiet Stan who encouraged him through the beginning of twelfth grade. He was referring to his friend, the one who taught him how to whistle and the one who showed Bill the hidden closet in their elementary school. As much as he fell in love with Stan, he missed what they used to have. He missed the friendship that was balanced perfectly, with Stan’s maturity and Bill’s slight attitude of recklessness. He missed the young childhood innocence that they pretended to have, indulging in the memories of the past.

”I've missed you too, baby. See you later?” Stan was standing above Bill, hands shoved into the pockets of the hoodie.

“Yeah.”

Bill’s loud laughter filled Stan’s bedroom, causing Stan to slip a hand over his redhead boyfriend’s mouth. He giggled in response, watching the way Bill’s blue eyes were filling with joy and Stan couldn’t feel more in love with him. They were standing in the middle of his bedroom, Bill with his shirt off and plaid pajama bottoms on and Stan with his matching striped blue pj’s on. The soft lull of Stan’s radio was flowing through the room, falling faintly on the boys’ ears.

“You’re quite s-s-so-something, Stanley Uris.” Bill reached up to grab his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him closer. Stan shook his head, a frown on his lips before he slipped his hands onto Bill’s shoulders. Stan dropped his head to rest in the crook of Bill’s neck, a smile growing on his face. He felt the blush begin to flare up his cheeks and the tip of his ears, making it harder for him to focus on the warmth of Bill’s arms around him.

“I could say the same, William Denbrough.” Stan pulled away from the crook of Bill’s neck and stared at the older boy with a gentle smile, amusement filling his eyes as Bill began to sway with the music. Stan shook his head but allowed to let himself follow Bill’s movements.

Here they were, eleven at night, swaying in Stan’s bedroom as the rest of the house stood in silence.

“You know I-I-I l-” Bill’s mouth clamped shut and he took a deep breath in, attempting to will himself into saying the words he truly wanted to say. Despite his issues with love and abandonment, he wanted to let Stan know how he truly felt. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to say the words.

“I l-l-love y-you,“ Bill managed to get out, startling Stan. Stan looked up with wide eyes, his hands slipping from Bill’s shoulders. Bill frantically searched his mind for an apology but the words refused to leave his throat. Stan’s face of shock twisted into one of pure glee as he leapt closer to Bill, pressing his lips against Bill’s as he moved to cup his cheeks.

The kiss was soft and sweet with a hint of desperation. Bill melted into Stan, letting the shorter boy take the lead. When Stan pulled away, lips swollen and wet, Bill couldn't help but to smile back.

“I love you too, Bill.”

The Losers haven’t seen each other in weeks. Richie was cooping himself up in his bedroom, driving his fingertips to bloody stumps as he awaited an acceptance letter. Eddie was locked in his house, grounded for walking into the house at three in the morning with the glassy look of a high. Mike was busy caring for a pregnant pig that was due any day, whining about wanting to be anywhere but. Bev and Ben were tucked away in the corners of the library, eyes scanning over “OPEN HOUSE” sections of the New York Times. Stan also locked himself in his bedroom, causing the Tozier parents to grow with worry over their two sons. And Bill was simply being Bill. He was trapped between the what-should’ve-beens and what-really-is, making himself barely existing in the present. It wasn’t until he got a frantic phone call from Richie saying that everyone needed to meet up. So, the date was planned for the following Sunday.

The Sunday that marked a month since Bill last saw Stan. A month since they had that conversation.

When the Sunday rolled around, Bill was sure to be the first one to show up at the Quarry. He situated himself against the rocks away from the cliff, maintaining a heavy gaze on the spot where he and Stan once sat. He glanced away at the sound of Mike walking towards him, eyes bright and voice loud. He had his shoulder bag thrown over his shoulder and a Biology 12 textbook clutched in his hands. Bill raised an eyebrow but didn’t bother to question him. Ben came by shortly after, three cups of slushies in his hands with Beverly hot on his trail with four cups in a tray. They sat in a small circle, laughter filling the air as Ben began telling a story about the little kids that he coached soccer too. Bill couldn’t help but to let his worries slip away, allowing himself to sink into a sense of deja vu. Eddie finally came running over, his cheeks flushed as he struggled to catch his breath. He explained that his mother was relentless about letting him out but he fought back and ran out when she wasn’t looking. Ben held up a slightly melted slushed drink with a sly smirk at the way Eddie rolled his eyes. Then, after ten minutes, Richie came barreling down the road with Stan close by. Richie was grinning cheek to cheek, two pieces of paper clutched in his fists with Stan coming by with a stifled grin on his face.

“Listen up, Losers!” Richie shouted, taking the slushie out of Eddie’s hands as he sat next to the boy. Stan moved to sit next to Mike and Beverly, quietly thanking her as she handed him his own drink before glancing up at Bill. He looked terrible with dark bags beneath his eyes but the smile he gave Bill was one of contentment and happiness. It told Bill that despite everything, they were okay. They were just fine.

“Billy!” Richie whined, throwing a rock in Bill’s direction. Bill flinched, his fists raising in defense before glaring at Richie who now had his own slushie. Richie rolled his eyes before looking over at Bill with a knowing look in his eyes. “Now, Big Bill, if you’d just listen instead of moping, Stanny and I have news to share!”

“Stan?” Bill questioned, looking at the other curly-haired boy who, with pink tinted cheeks, shrugged. Bill turned his gaze back to Richie who held up the two pieces of paper up in either hand; a letter from Richie’s dream school in one hand and one from Stan’s dream school in the other. “We got accepted!” The entire Losers Club exploded with joy, Eddie squealing and wrapping his arms tightly around Richie’s waist while Ben clapped him on the back. Bev and Mike wrapped their arms around Stan, startling the boy to freezing before clearing his throat. He finally relaxed into their touch before smiling and staring at Bill.

‘Ristken,’ Stan mouthed, referencing to the letter clutched in Richie’s hand. ‘Full scholarship.’ Bill’s face twisted into a wider smile, remembering all of the times that him and Stan talked about leaving Derry and moving to their dream schools. Bill nodded before moving towards Richie to wrap him up in a hug. They all exchanged their congratulations and hugs before situating themselves back into an attempted, listening to the different stories that they’ve all missed through the past few weeks. Beverly was sitting in front of Ben, her back flushed against Ben’s chest as her feet rested on Richie’s lap. Richie was fiddling with Eddie’s hair who in turn was throwing pieces of grass at Bill. Bill was pressed up against a rock, his arms folded over his chest as he remained away from the group and its copious amounts of physical affection. Mike tapped his foot against Bill’s knee, raising an eyebrow and twitched his head to get Bill to move closer. Bill let out a gentle sigh before sliding to the end of Mike, letting the boy rest his feet on his own lap. Mike resting his head on Stan’s lap and Stan was running his fingers along Mike’s scalp. Bill glanced over at Stan once more and Stan gave him a soft smile, tilting his head slightly. The redhead let his eyes drop to Stan’s currently unusual outfit; he was wearing Richie’s jean jacket covered in patches with a hoodie beneath it.

Bill’s hoodie, to be specific.

Bill’s eyes flashed back up to meet Stan’s eyes and suddenly, everything was okay. Bill felt it; everything was going to be okay.

Sure, they weren't Bill&Stan but they were still Bill and Stan.

#stan uris #bill denbrough #stenbrough #stenbrough hc #losers club hc #dan writes #did i make up a university? yes #i think #anywho #enjoy this peeps

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multifandommandy · 7 years ago

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I Get to Love You

Requested by @sgarrett49: Hi may I please request an Eggsy imagine where instead of the Princess he comes home to/marries the reader? Just snippits of their life together after the events of Golden Circle ex: their honeymoon or them being domestic? Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x female Reader Warnings: Plot fix-it’s from yours truly to the best of my abilities. A few NSFW references and Eggsy level swearing. *Y/F/N = your full name. Word Count: 2,082. yikes.

The sweet melodic tune of Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You has you dashing like a madwoman across your small apartment, abandoning both your task of preparing dinner and a highly indignant pug waiting for table scraps back at your counter.

Within seconds a handsome and familiar face is peering at you through the screen of your phone, your heart doing a familiar flip in your chest from seeing him alive and in one piece. “ ‘ello angel.” Eggsy grinned, immediately blowing you a kiss that you pretended to catch. “Hey baby! I’ve missed you.” Crawling onto your shared bed, you were nearly knocked over when JB made a running leap into your lap and stuck his little face into the screen of your phone. “Okay, okay – we’ve missed you.” You corrected, absent-mindedly scratching behind the pug’s ears. “Does this mean you’re coming home soon?”

Despite the hopeful tone in your voice, the way Eggsy’s face dropped told you that something serious was troubling him. Even more so than the fact that his home and most of his possessions had been destroyed by a missile, save for the few belongings he kept at your place and the pug that’d joined you both for a movie night when it happened. “Darling?” You prompted, causing the blonde to withdraw from whatever conversation he was having with himself and focus on you once again.

“I’ve kind of got a bit of a save the world situation here.” he told you carefully, waiting for him to continue before you said anything. Eggsy’s job was saving the world, as far as you knew. As long as he came home to you in one piece that’s all you cared about. Or it was – until you heard what else he had to say. “– I have to sleep with the target.”

The idea of another woman kissing your man made your brows knit together, mouth opening and closing from trying to form a coherent sentence. How the hell were you supposed to be okay with this? You’ve done your best to be a supportive girlfriend, accepting the little bits of information he was allowed to offer you because you loved him. But you couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else touching Eggsy – let alone having him make love to her the way he did you. “… You have to?” Was all you could manage, averting your eyes from your phone and staring at a spot on the quilt.

“Y/N…” When you refused to meet his gaze, Eggsy let out an even deeper sigh. “Angel, you know I love you – more than anything in the entire world. You’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.” This had you turning back to him, the sincerity from his voice and expression causing you to tear up further. “Is that a proposal?” Now it was Eggsy’s turn to stutter and flush like a fish out of water. That serves him right for putting you in this situation. He was only calling you to warn you about what would happen, putting your relationship over the safety of billions of people only ever happened on television. “Not exactly?” He glanced at his watch and grimaced before facing you squarely in his chair. “Love, I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta go.” You bobbed your head in understanding, the defeated look on your face made his mind up for him.

“Tell me you love me?” He breathed, so softly you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. “I love you baby.” you told him truthfully, making him smile for the first time in what felt like forever. “I love you too, Y/N. Trust me, I’ll make this up to you when I get home.” Blowing you and JB one more kiss, Eggsy killed the feed and left you staring at your phone with your heart in your throat. What were you supposed to do now?

The next time you saw Eggsy you expected there to be an awkward wedge of silence between you. Instead he swept you into his arms and kissed you deeply, sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip as he moaned into your mouth. The feeling of something hard insistently pressing against your belly made you wiggle out of his embrace, doing your best to smooth out your hair while you took in his appearance. Aside from the obvious exhausted bags under his eyes he was no worse for wear, JB dancing excited circles around his legs.

“Is this how you meant to make it up to me?” You grumbled, making a vague gesture towards his crotch. “Because I’m really not in the mood for -” “I didn’t sleep with her.” Eggsy cut you off before you could finish your thought, reaching towards you slowly to cup the side of your face in his hand. “I thought there was no other way, but God I’d do anything for you.” His thumb instinctively brushes away the tears you didn’t know you were shedding, his free hand fishing for something in his pocket. Before you could ask what on earth he was doing, Eggsy was unbuttoning his blazer and dropping to one knee in front of you.

“Now this – this is a proposal. Just so we’re clear.” he grinned, leaving you to gape as he opened the black velvet box to reveal the biggest, most beautiful diamond ring you’d ever seen. Eat your heart out, Kim Kardashian West! “Call me a fool for not realizing it earlier, but when I told you I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you – I meant it. I never thought I would be blessed with a woman who’d become both my best friend and the love of my life.” Both of you are openly weeping when Eggsy reaches for your left hand. “Y/F/N, would you please make me the happiest bloke alive and marry me?”

Words are beyond you at this point, Eggsy taking your happy squeaking noise as a yes and sliding the engagement ring onto your finger. He surged up from his knee to kiss his fiancée, starting his kisses out slow and sensual and ending with the two of you fucking on every horizontal surface in your flat.

“I can’t wait to be your wife,” you panted into his shoulder four hours later. The equally nude man beneath you gave you a doped out grin, kissing your mouth and your ring finger before tucking you in beside him on the bed. “I can’t wait to be your husband, either.” You and Eggsy share sweet kisses and each other’s embrace until you fall asleep, waking up way past noon the next day to call your friends and family and tell them the news.

Exactly one year later you stumble through the door of your honeymoon suite, already half undressed from the romp in the private jet with your husband. The two of you had been all over each other ever since your carriage ride away from the wedding chapel, a long day of so much happiness and nerves working you both into a frenzy.

You’d cried when you slipped into your wedding dress, staring at yourself in a full length mirror with your Mom and Michelle hovering around you. Little Daisy was pressed to your skirts eagerly, the tiny flower crown on her head matching yours. “Bootiful big sister!” She told you, grinning her little toothy grin up at you.

You’d cried when you saw the look on your Dad’s face, his lower lip trembling when he realized his little girl was about to get married. You formed a group hug with your parents, whispering to them that no matter what – you’d always be their little girl. That only made you cry more.

And of course – you’d cried when you saw Eggsy waiting for you at the end of the aisle. Your crowd of friends and family all rose up to see you enter the chapel, collective gasps as they all marvelled at how you radiated happiness, beauty and love. You felt as if your Prince Charming was the only person in the room, dressed to the nines in his best suit with an elated smile on his face. You’re so beautiful, he’d mouthed to you. How had you gotten so lucky?

The sound of your zipper drew you out of your happy recollection of yesterday’s events, eagerly fumbling for the button of your husband’s jeans. Husband. Husband. Husband. No matter how many times you said it, you still couldn’t get used to it.

“I love you so fucking much, Missus Unwin.” He panted, letting out a muffled grunt as you slipped your hand inside his briefs. “I can’t believe I get to love you for the rest of my life.”

“ – Our life. The rest of our life,” you corrected him pointedly. Eggsy chuckled appreciatively, reluctantly withdrawing your hand and hoisting you up into his arms. “That’s right, the rest of our life. How ‘bout I take my wife to our bed?”

No need to ask you twice.

Eggsy was fairly certain he’d never been more tired in his life, barely able to amble out of the cab and fish around in his pocket for his house keys. All he wanted to do was take a hot shower and sleep for a day – possibly two, at least until he opened the front door.

“Daddy’s home!”

The first thing he hears is the scramble for poor old JB and his son Eddie to round the corner and get to Eggsy first. Hot on the tail of the two chubby pugs is a vivacious four year old girl, the spitting image of her father in every way possible. Any trace of fatigue is pushed to the back of his mind the second he lays eyes on his daughter, setting down the bag of presents to pull Amelia into a hug.

“MAAAAAAMA! LEO! DADDY’S HOME!” She squealed – just in case you couldn’t hear him the first time, leaping into Eggsy’s awaiting arms and hugging him tight. “I missed you so much, Daddy!” He’s spinning her around when he hears a second voice join the excited chattering in his ear.

“Hey! Get back here!” Eggsy and Amelia both turn towards the sound of your voice, stepping out of the front hall to see your toddler running as fast as he could towards his sister and father on chubby little legs. Eight years of marriage, and the sight of you still made Eggsy weak at the knees.

Chasing after Leo with a towel in your hands, you watched your golden haired boy continue to try and out run you. It only took you a couple of grown-up steps to catch up to your son, hoisting him into your arms with a defiant squeal from the tot.

“Gotcha!” You grinned, blowing a raspberry against his tummy and carrying him the rest of the way. Eggsy already had your daughter in one arm, pulling you close with the other. Happy-go-lucky Leo stretched to kiss your husband’s chin, watching with stars in your eyes as Eggsy alternated rapid fire kisses between your two children.

“No kisses for Mommy?” You pouted, letting Leo snuggle back into your chest as Eggsy set your daughter down. You knew as soon as your bedroom door closed you’d get plenty of deep kisses, but for now you were content with the polite soft peck Eggsy gave you.

“Eeeeew!” Amelia groaned, standing on her tip toes to try and shield her little brother from the gross sight of parents kissing. You quirked an eyebrow at the pint sized blonde, narrowing your eyes at her in mock annoyance. “You think Mommy’s gross, huh? And to think I was going to order our favourite pizzas for dinner.”

You were met from three different sets of pleas from your family, Eggsy taking a squirming Leo from your arms. “I’ve got the baby, love. I’ll meet you in the kitchen?” Amelia was already running off to find the take out menu, following your daughter and her excited chant of “Pizza, Mama! Pizza!”

Later that night with both children asleep, you laid comfortably on your husband’s chest listening to his heartbeat. “Thank you for coming home to us,” you whispered. Even in his sleep, Eggsy nuzzled into your hair.

If the last 8 years were any indication of the rest of your lives together – you were in for one hell of a ride.

#eggsy unwin x reader #eggsy unwin imagine #kingsman imagine #kingsman x reader #*

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fenton-bus · 3 years ago

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Stan-Academic Decathlon, Model U.N., Derry High baseball team, manager of Eddie Kasbrek's 2017 campaign for junior class president, quietly experimenting with color regarding his wardrobe, unsuccessfully trying to find the words that accurately describe the depth and width of the horror, the pure, unrelenting disgust with which he holds the world outside of his bedroom, in a constant state of awe at the novelty of even the most basic applications of friendship demonstrated most clearly by the fact that in at least thirteen of the fifteen games he plays per season, plus the twenty-five to thirty he averages during the long, merciless Derry summers, all of his friends (with the exception of Bill Denborough, who is usually guarding first base with the focused intensity of a Secret Service agent, or making faces at Georgie to distract himself from a hellish tenure in left field) the people he loves most in the world have elected to sit directly behind home plate, so that by running home he is essentially flying toward their glowing, impossibly proud faces whose giddy, steadfast affection suggest they've mistaken the floppy, almost absurd propulsion of his ridiculous body toward a dirty, plastic pentagon for an act of God. Upon reaching the plate Stan forever wants to shout "I successfully ran a short distance morons!" directly into their Proud Parents In A 90's Kid-Themed Sports Movie expressions, but he'd have to hit Double-Breasted Finch levels to be heard over all of their damned cheering. It's practically noise pollution.

While Stan makes subtle, calculated sartorial choices that typically go unnoticed by everyone except Beverly Marsh (who when she notices the white liner peeking shyly out of the breast pocket of his light blue button down or the thoughtfully placed crimson tie clip he affixes to his lucky academic decathlon tie, gives him steady nods of what Stan imagines is approving solidarity) and Mike Hanlon (who, when he notices the thin circle at the mouth of Stan's socks is the same shade of 'bordering on off-putting' eggplant as the third stripe of color in his belt, or that in lieu of a collar button, his favorite poplin dress shirt fastened by one of the million middle school choir pins his eleven-year-old self pines over like a possessed Boy Scout, has no qualms about glancing pointedly from Stan's ankles to his belt to his face in one fluid motion, or stepping forward and gingerly running his index finger across the left side of his the quarter staff-shaped pin sitting at the nape of Stan's neck, saying "this is cool" or "I like this" at a volume low enough to indicate that not only does he understand the delicate and subversive nature of this process, he completely respects it, while wearing the expression he gets in that four to five second span between when he figures out the answer to an academic decathlon question and when he hits the buzzer.) Richard Tozier decides to walk the halls of their minimum security prison in koi fish print rompers and Smiths t-shirts.

When Richie isn't sending Stan six am 'what should I wear?' selfies live from his Heisenberg of a bedroom floor situation, he's trying on Stan's clothes and sending six am 'what should I wear?' selfies from Stan's closet. The bone-chilling disgust Richie feels at the young republican daywear collection that is Stan's wardrobe is equal only to Stan's desire to set every garment his best friend's greasy little paws touch ablaze upon a roaring pyre of Get Out Of My Life. While Stan favors the former scenario, the latter is much more frequent. The unpredictability of Mr. Tozier's mood swings render Eddie's 'fucknuts-sitting' excel spreadsheet useless, their severity means that on any given night Richie is crawling through Stan's window, or Bill's or Mike's or Ben's, and alternatively: hogging the quilt Stan's nana knits him while whispering facts about silver-backed gorillas directly into his ear for half the night, asking Bill to tell him a story then interrupting it every chance he gets, serenading Mike with Wrecking Ball and Bitch Better Have My Money (respectfully), opining loudly and speculatively about the status of Ben's. Stan possesses a complete and total understanding of what this is, experiences all manner of helpful flashes from every dry video, every tortured, poorly-acted from every abysmal skit, morale-killing assembly he endures from five to sixteen, but apparently, the existence of this knowledge isn't powerful enough to warrant the opening of his goddamn mouth and the spewing forth of the rough approximation of the appropriate sequence of words to make this stop.

For reasons known only to Richie and God, Bev is spared. Perhaps it's her aunt's default expression, which is that of an individual positively giddy about the prospect of exercising her second amendment rights. Eddie however, is far less fortunate and more frequently than should be legally allowed finds himself submitting to fitful bouts of uneasy sleep while Richie snores away at his desk chair, or on the rug, or at the foot of his bed like the fucking Siberian Husky he didn't ask for. (Like Stan, Eddie knows exactly what this is, but looking directly at it means looking directly at it and this, like everything they share is a reflective surface.)

#arcane clown posse #ninety-nine red blood balloons #Hellscapes for Kids!#cruelest summer #outlines and outliers #modern woe aus

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kootenaygoon · 5 years ago

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“The boy in the bassinet”

This is a sad story, but also a beautiful one.

Beneath the harsh glare of the midnight moon, late in the summer of 1898, a young woman launched a rickety rowboat off the sandy shoreline of Adams Lake. Nestled securely in the bow was her only son, a hearty infant who squawked delighted at the night sky as she struggled with the oars.

A mother’s love is a mysterious, inexplicable thing, and we will never know for sure what exactly inspired this young woman to take that fateful late night voyage. She was flush with youth, but also heartbroken, and convinced there was only one way to ensure a prosperous future for her progeny. The whispering wind had carried her here, and now it was the lapping waves that she put her faith in. The currents, she trusted, would take her where she needed to be.

After rowing through sheet after sheet of dancing mist, out into the middle of the lake, she help up her lantern to illuminate the blackness surrounding her. She couldn’t see shore in any direction as the boat swayed and rocked beneath her bare feet. Reaching into the the cool waters with one hand, she wondered if she would have the strength to go through with her plan. If she allowed herself to doubt, to fear, then she might be tempted to turn the boat around. Instead she decided to trust her instincts, and the wise voices groaning stoically from the trees, and put her faith in a force much more powerful than herself.

Less than a year earlier she’d been living as a healer and shaman, resolute in her solitary status, when she happened upon a young trapper en route to the Yukon. Men of all stripes were flooding north for the Gold Rush, all possessed by the same delusion, and his grandiose dreams were no different. She loved the way he told stories, though, how he conjured up visions of the future and rhapsodized about their imagined family. Late at night in her teepee she would lay in his snoring arms and wonder if he actually believed his own pretty lies.

By the time her pregnancy was apparent to those around her the strapping trapper had been gone for months. As the seasons changed and her belly swelled, the mother sometimes wondered if he hadn’t been some sort of apparition, a supernatural trick. Was he even human, really? And would he ever return to meet the child he left inside her?

As the woman scanned the darkness, her dress whipping lazily around her shins, she reflected on everything that had brought her to this moment. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her son—quite the opposite! Somewhere during her pregnancy she’d become filled with a holy conviction that her son had a special destiny ahead of him, that he’d been born on the mouth of the Adams River for some preordained purpose. It would break her heart all over again, saying goodbye to him, but that’s what she had to do.

The boy burped at the front of the boat, batting his tiny fists. Onshore he’d been asleep, but the rocking of the waves had awoken him. The wind was beginning to gust, the air was thick with moisture, and all around them the shadows swirled. The mother crouched down to his bassinet and ran one wet finger across his forehead, pushing back a tiny forelock of blond hair.

“You may forget me, sweet child, but I will never forget you. The journey in front of you is yours alone, but my spirit will follow as long as you live. You’re a part of me, just as I’m a part of you.”

With these words she hoisted the bassinet, which she’d constructed from twigs and branches from the forest surrounding her hermitage, and lowered it into the black water beside the rowboat. Her son giggled and spat, lolling his head from one side to the other. He was exactly three months old as his mother took a deep, tortured sigh and released her grip. Tears free-flowed down her cheeks, dribbling on to his face and chest.

“Goodbye, my boy.”

Almost immediately the current took ahold of the bassinet, sweeping him into the mist and out of sight. Legend says the mother instantly regretted her decision, that she spent the remainder of that night desperately searching through the fog, shouting out his birth name. Even to this day boaters report hearing her mournful ululations echo across the water. Had the spirits tricked her? Had the universe used her as a mere vessel, only to snatch away the fruits of her labour? Lightning streaked across the sky as she shrieked, her hair hanging around her face in wet tangles, and she leapt into the icy waters to be never seen again. Each person must decide for themselves if they believe she eventually found peace, deep below the surface, among the lake spirits of lore.

Early the next morning, as a fiery red sun appeared burning on the horizon, the boy’s bassinet drifted past a logging operation at the base of Adams Lake. It swirled across the surface, bumping once or twice against some jutting rocks near shore, then bobbed past a quartet of loggers who were still drinking from the night before. They were hunched over a card game, chugging whiskey and smoking hand-rolled cigarillos. None of them thought to glance out in the direction of the lake, where a large boom of bundled logs was affixed to a piling. That was the next shipment to send downriver, but it was still hours before they had to clock in. The boy drifted by listening to the cacophony of their barbarous voices.

Eventually the bassinet began to pick up speed. The lake was constricting as it wound down towards the choke-point where it transitioned to Lower Adams River. An eagle lazy-flapped overhead, circling the bassinet, then landed on a towering perch to oversee the boy’s passage. It had gotten used to human habitation but had never seen an infant before. Curious, it decided to swoop low to the surface for a better look. The boy screamed in excitement as it neared, startling the proud bird, but eventually it decided the creature meant him no harm. The eagle landed on the edge of the bassinet and looked the boy full in the face, seeing that he was blameless and vulnerable. It doubted this child could survive the serpentine trip down to the Shuswap without help.

By this point the river was thick-packed with salmon in the midst of spawning season, and the surface of the water was the colour of blood. The eagle wrenched one from the river and viciously pecked it apart, shoving the boy shreds of fish flesh with its beak. The boy squished the salmon between his fingers and smeared it on his face, but he ate too. The eagle kept dismembering the fish and the boy kept eating until there was nothing left but a sloppy skeleton. The eagle marvelled at the child’s appetite and once again took wing, following the boy’s progress at a distance. The little raft continued its lackadaisical descent, getting pulled into eddies then swept through roiling waves. Through it all the little passenger never cried, or wailed for his mother, but rather hooted and laughed through the rollicking chaos of the rapids.

Finally, by that afternoon, the boy’s bassinet began the descent towards the Adams River Gorge. Cliff faces dotted with pictographs jutted out of the foliage, and the river narrowed as the current continued to pick up speed. A team of Indigenous fishermen were perched on the rock ledges brandishing long-handled dip nets, and they were scooping bucketfuls of fish from the raging, watery chaos below. They sang together, cheering with each new haul, as the women and children sorted the newly caught fish at a small beach downstream. The food they harvested would be used year-round to sustain their population, and it was these salmon that made their entire lifestyle possible. One of the fishermen was taking a momentary break, dangling his feet off the cliff, when he saw the boy approaching the canyon. At first he thought it was some sort of animal, maybe the head of a swimming bear, but eventually he could make out the baby’s features and knew the canyon would mean a quick death for him.

That man’s name may be lost to history, but what he did next will be long remembered. He threw aside his fishing equipment and sprinted to an outcropping upstream, a hundred feet above the boy, then hurled himself into the current. His people had been fishing in the canyon for 10,000 years and knew every nuance and rock ledge, every cave and crack and fissure, but nobody had ever jumped from that spot. The other fisherman cried out in alarm, confused, as their compatriot hurtled through the air. What was he thinking? Didn’t he know the water level was too high, the rapid too powerful? The men were dumb-founded at first, wondering if they had just witnessed an impromptu suicide.

The man reached the bassinet just as a curling wave flipped it, sending the infant sprawling facedown in the water. He took ahold of the kid by one ankle, hoisting him out of the water, as he frantically paddled for shore. His friends were shouting at him now, running down to the river’s edge, reaching out their dip nets to save him. The man knew he could grab ahold of one and save himself, but that would mean letting go of the baby. Instead he rolled on to his back and held the child aloft, like an offering to the sky. He knew that if they could make it through the next thirty seconds there would be calm water waiting for them at the bottom.

Unfortunately, the river had other plans. As he rounded the bend of the canyon the man beheld a beastly wave hungry for carnage. Instinctively he understood, without even processing it, that he was looking at the instrument of his death. The wave was thrashing relentlessly into the cliff wall and sucking everything deep underwater, drunk on destruction. And though he only had a few moments to think, the man knew exactly what he had to accomplish with his final act on this earth. Rearing up with a mighty kick, he swung the baby overhead by the ankle and hurled him towards one of his friends perched on the cliff walls. Within seconds he’d disappeared into the wave, and out of sight, but the baby was giggling content from where he hung in a drooping dip net.

Later that evening the tribe gathered on the beach of the canyon, surrounded by their salmon catch. The man’s lifeless body was carefully arranged in the sand, his arms neatly tucked across his chest. Women wailed and mourned while the men muttered in concerned, angry voices. Who was this child? The man had a wife, and kids, so why would he give his life for some white stranger? Some argued it was a good omen, while others were convinced it was bad. They argued late into the night, standing around their beach fire and fighting about the boy’s fate.

“He came from the river, he should go back to the river!” said one tribe member.

“Who knows how many more lives he could cost us?” asked another.

Finally, a wizened elder named Quaalaout spoke up. For hours she’d stayed silent, listening patiently to the bickering, but everyone quieted once they heard her soft whisper of a voice. She was three feet tall, with waist-length white hair, and had been alive for nearly two centuries. She waddled to the edge of the flames and looked at all the rapt faces staring out of the darkness at her, then she sighed. She’d long wondered why the Creator had kept her alive this long, why she’d been waiting all these years on the shores of Adams River, and now she understood.

“We have built our lives around this river. It nourishes us, it sustains us, it keeps us going from one generation to the next. Because of the river, we need never thirst. We were hungry, so the river brought us salmon. Men live and die, but the river remains. As a people we have always put our faith in the river, and we must put our faith in it now. We know not its reasons, but it has brought us one man and taken another. Who are we to question its reasons?” she said.

Quaalaout then reached down to lift the baby, which was nearly half her size. She grunted from the weight, then positioned him on her hip. She took a long, quiet moment before saying anything else. Hundreds of faces stared out at her. Then she explained that the boy would be the newest member of the tribe and would be named “Joe-tsuschecw” — a word that meant “river’s gift” in her language. She heard some murmurings of disapproval, while others chattered excitedly, as she lifted him up for them to see.

“We will call him Shuswap Joe.”

The Kootenay Goon

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